Weekly Motor Fix: the car with a cult following — the Mini Moke

10 November, 2015

Mini designer Alec Issigonis laid down his blueprints for a utilitarian Mini in the early ’60s, and his idea became reality with the Mini Moke’s debut in 1964.

Starting with the standard four-cylinder A-series transverse Mini engine — front-wheel drive, of course — the Moke’s off-road ability was severely curtailed by its low ground clearance, a factor necessitated by the use of 10-inch Mini wheels. However, despite that, as any Mini owner will tell you, these little front-wheel drive marvels can pull themselves out of almost any situation – with the right tyres, and as long as they don’t bottom down in something like mud.

Eventually, BMC fitted 13-inch wheels to the Moke, also popping in their larger 998c motor. The totally open Spartan Moke also eventually received perspex side windows, mud flaps, and wider wheel arches. Later still, the Moke’s utilitarian hood received zip-in doors, and roll bars were added as the more powerful 1275cc engine became available.

In Australia, where all production shifted in 1968, roo bars also became standard. Between 1964 and 1968, around 30,000 Mokes had been built in the UK, but only 1500 were registered in their homeland.

In the ’70s, our Australian cousins relabeled the car as the Moke Californian, and the car was even available with flower power–style floral hoods to complement vibrant colours such as pink and aqua. The final Mokes were built in Portugal up until the early ’80s.

Today, the Mini Moke is considered to be something of a cult car, helped by their exposure in Patrick McGoohan’s infamous ’60s TV series, The Prisoner.

Motorman: Blame it on Rio!

Following the third polite advisory, I figured there had to be a fair degree of substance to the warning. “If this is your first visit to Rio de Janeiro, please be careful,” came the personal hushed dialogue from the pleasant hostesses on a far from crowded Varig flight from Los Angeles to the famous Brazilian seaside city.
The previous evening I had flown into LA from Auckland en route to the 1985 international launch of the Fiat Uno Turbo. I was prepared for another long haul of just under 12 hours across Mexico, central America, Colombia, and central Brazil to that nation’s third largest city. Surprisingly the 10,500km run from Los Angeles to Rio is actually longer than the 8800km LA-London air route.
With the journey including a brief stopover in Honolulu I expected to travel just under 44,000km for the return journey to sample what was to be a low-volume version of a popular Italian car that would sell in even lower numbers in New Zealand. I like to think this shows nothing more than my deep commitment to my craft. In fact, even though I became lost on the homeward journey my total air miles would be little different.

Pinnacle Porsche

We were stopped at the side of the road, setting up the next photograph, when a faded Toyota slowed alongside and stopped. The window was already down to give the driver a good look.
“That’s my dream car,” he said, speaking for more than a few of us.
He drank in the gleaming red paint, shining in the sun, and the car’s purposeful swoops and curves. He exhaled half a lungful of cigarette smoke, gave a hang 10–style thumbs up and drove off.
On the side of the road, against a clear blue background, the Porsche stood out in all its stark red glory. It’s the classic 911 shape on steroids. It has the fat, even pouty, front lip of the G series 911s, added to comply with 5mph bumper restrictions in the US. It also has the oversized haunches to accommodate the wider rear wheels and tyres – a first for Porsche, which also confirmed its supercar credentials – and, most noticeably of all, that enormous whale-tail spoiler. They made it look as if Porsche had abandoned its restraint.