Driven: 1971 Restomod EV Mini

The story of Dr Frankenstein has captivated hearts and minds through words and imagery for decades. Mary Shelley’s gothic novel paints an unmistakable portait of methodical madness. The hands of a genius cobbling together old and useless body parts, only to bring to life a creature as equally terrifying as it was magnificent.

The tale rattled around in the mind after a day behind the wheel of this restomod Hyundai N-line blue 1971 Mini.

A classic reimagined

But this was no ordinary “Flying Brick” as aficionados affectionately know them. No sir: this was more akin to a Besser block falling from a great height with a trajectory aimed at an innocent bystander, or first-time driver perhaps.

A little dramatic yes, but stay with me.

It was during my first visit to the Modern Classic Cars Foundation workshop that I noticed the Mini; at that stage it was devoid of guards, interior and drivetrain.

I actually tripped over the latter when David Dyer, Founder of the Foundation, walked me up to a mezzanine. Upon questioning the obscure items strewn across two pallets, I was informed that the bruise on my shin was caused by a Tesla model 3 drivetrain.

Electric vehicles aren’t exactly the subject matter of dreams in these parts, but I was quietly bemused to discover David’s intention to endow the glowing blue mini downstairs with this hardware. Fast forward a year or two, and the completed project was front-row-centre at an industry night held at the workshop.

That late-model colour works surprising well on this shell, where it presents as a more vibrant version of a powder blue. It's not coincidental either, rather a direct outcome of by the teams’ vision to retain a period correct visual.

Unlike the “solid” factory finish though, this is a clear over base, resulting in a deep flawless lustre that contrasts beautifully against the Diamond black roof.

Despite the Australian-delivered donor shell presenting in good condition, the team poured 200 hours into paint and panel work. The result pays homage whilst bestowing it with a level of finishing that mainstream manufacturing simply cannot match. In fact, the only alterations are integration of the charging socket behind the original fuel filler cap, an earlier chrome grille, and an English boot.

180 man hours also ensure interior accommodations are just as refined an affair. The first thing that catches the eye is the blue tartan inserts from a late model Volkswagen GTI, of all things. They work beautifully against the impossibly soft Nappa leather trim across the reshaped factory front seats.

The theme continues to the back seat, which is deemed redundant thanks to an impressive looking cross-brace, an engineering requirement for the conversion. It’s no great loss, as I can’t fathom how anyone would get back there anyway.

Ahead of the driver, the dash is an aesthetically pleasing mix of body-coloured steel and that same beautiful Nappa leather. The word spartan comes to mind, with limited switchgear and a wireless charger sitting below period correct dials. The keen eye will spot and question the fuel gauge. The fact that it monitors battery charge is the perfect indicator of the detail that’s gone into this build.

A drive selector sits ahead of the seats, which along with the dials noted above, are the most obvious parts of the conversion kit from Electric Classic Cars in the UK.

But it’s the not-so-obvious parts that are the most intriguing. That Tesla motor sits in a modified subframe for added rigidity, with drive to the front wheels through a Quaife ATB LSD. The latter does its best to aid traction through the 165/60 R12 Nankang semi-slicks, which are wrapped around period-correct Minilite alloy wheels.

The motor is of course stock being a sealed unit; a counterintuitive thought for such a custom build. That is until one is reminded of the 295Hp, 400Nm outputs available from the moment the throttle is engaged; but more on that later.

The kit separates the battery into 3 modules for improved distribution of the 80kg increase in overall weight. Interestingly, the weight differential between powerplants is 15 kilos in favour of the Tesla motor. However, the addition of the battery means the combination lands 15 kilos over the factory setup.  The remaining two battery modules reside under the rear seats, and the boot floor.  

This focus on weight distribution is critical, given that the Mini’s giant-slaying status emanated from its ability to outhandle more powerful rivals. It’s a characteristic that’s not as relevant when you consider the conversion results in a power to weight ratio of a modern Porsche 911. 

The team then turned their attention to setting the chassis up to cope with the resulting lunacy.

Braking is handled by front discs and rear drums from a later model mini, a mental conundrum that I only got over upon remembering the regenerative-braking properties of the driveline. The suspension has also seen attention, with heavier shocks and height adjustable coils to keep the tyres on the tarmac.

Big numbers and beautiful finishes aside, nothing truly prepared me for time behind the wheel. Folding and unfolding into the drivers’ seat gave "shopping centre kiddy-ride" vibes, with knees perched in right angles and hands gripping the Motolita 12-inch leather-trimmed steering wheel.

A twist of the tiny key in the centre of the dash “fires” up the motor, and a pull on the gear selector selects drive. Manoeuvring out of the workshop was a slow and measured affair, a paltry effort to get an early feel for the machine.

Turning onto a 3-lane arterial with a quarter-throttle saw the mini lurch in complete silence, with the only sound coming from the front Nankangs violently breaking traction and sending the chassis torque-steering into the second and third lane. It was at that moment I came to the frightening realisation that this Mini commands respect, especially when all 295 horses are available.

David’s advice (with a slightly maniacal grin no-less) on our return was that I needed to throttle it and steer through; easy words for an ex-Mini racer.

Thankfully the EV Controls app allows adjustment of everything from power output to regenerative braking. After multiple adjustments, we found 60hp to be a sweet spot where we could explore the chassis without risking a license or life and limb. It sounds mild, until you realise that’s twice the factory power output!

It proved to be a hoot. It’s stiffly sprung but characteristically responsive to steering inputs and direction change, if not a little rough on Sydney’s pockmarked roads.

Not only does it command respect, but it necessitates a complete rethink of the driving process. The instant power in such a featherweight chassis was one challenge to contend with, but the other was the regenerative braking when off pedal. To be clear, it was not unlike any electric vehicle I’ve road tested, but the trait was seriously exacerbated by the size and weight of the chassis.

Ultimately, it’s a vehicle that needs to be driven to get the most out of it, very similar to the characteristics of a factory Mini. But it’s different, in the most scintillating kind of way.

I wouldn’t have been alone in casting dispersions on the team for “ruining” a beautiful classic by stuffing an electric motor in it. Part of me still feels that way. The other part is desperate to have it for a little longer to get better acquainted.

With thanks to the team at the Modern Classic Car Foundation for trusting me with their monster!

Intro to the Franken-Mini

How does it drive?

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