One fast two-ton German

When BMW introduced the new E39-chassis 5-series sedan for 1997, I wanted one. Specifically a 540i with the big, 4.4 liter V8. I'd seen one on TV that did such a ferocious burnout, it left a pile of smoking rubber at the start line.

And then I saw my first E39 M5 in 1999. It was Imola Red, with those signature graphite grey wheels, and it rumbled into the parking spot next to me. It was low. It was wide. It looked like it had just eaten a Miata for breakfast and, like a distended snake that had just swallowed its prey, was in the process of digesting it and would eventually spit out the spare parts.

But it was amazingly expensive, and completely out of my price range, so I spent the next 13 years drooling over them. Even though BMW introduced two revisions of the M5 since, they never spoke to me like the 1998-2003 models did.

One day recently, I got a call from a fan of this blog. "I have a 2003 M5 that I want you to drive." I'm in.

It turns out that Mike is a local, and has owned some really cool cars over the years including a modified Porsche 928, a track-only Miata, and a screaming-yellow Honda S2000. Mike and I are close in age and, like me, has always had an affection for the E39 M5 but could never afford one when new. All that changed when he came across a well-maintained dark silver 2003 M5, and sold the S2000 to help make the deal."I still miss the convertible top, but the driving experience of the BMW makes up for it," he says.

So on a clear, warm Saturday morning, I'm sitting outside with a cup of coffee when I hear some wicked muscle car coming up the street at high velocity. It doesn't sound like the typical guy in a Camaro or hopped-up pickup truck. No, it's Mike and his Sterling Grey Metallic M5 cresting the hill up the street at the top of 2nd gear. The car burbles to a low rumble, and pulls into the driveway.

Within minutes, I'm sitting in the driver's seat making adjustments for comfort and visibility. I give a glance to the interior, which is enormous, roomy and very comfortable, when it hits me: this car weighs more than two tons. 4,024lbs, in fact, not including the two people inside.

Being a fan of lightweight cars, I couldn't shake the fact that there was a good chance this car was going to be a big disappointment. After all, it's a looker, but it's also a big, heavy sedan. However the 4.9-liter, 4-cam V8 sounded great through the modified exhaust, and there was a six-speed manual transmission waiting for me, so I kept an open mind. Which is a good thing.

The thing is, this car is easy. The revised steering ratio and suspension bits mean this car will dance through back roads, and the dampeners soak up road imperfections and make the entire chassis feel light on its feet. For the poser who's driving it around town, it's firm. But to the owner who loves driving, it's balanced beautifully for such a large machine.

Although the engine is rated at 396hp, the four cams, individual throttle bodies, and 11.1 compression mean this engine comes up to speed with amazing immediacy. BMW claims this car will do 0-60 in quite a bit under five seconds, and there's no doubt in your mind (or your right foot) that you and the car just covered that bet. Like the suspension, the perception of performance is much different than reality. The car accelerates faster than many "fast" cars, but does it in such a refined way that it doesn't feel hurried or ferocious. You just put your foot down, and the car responds effortlessly and in a controlled manner.

Out on the highway, you really start to notice that the M5 is designed for high-speed travel on something like the Autobahn. Cruise control becomes a welcome ally, because if you don't pay attention to your gauges, you'll find yourself at a comfortable cruising speed that is well above the speed limit. Without much more than a revised front air dam and a tiny lip spoiler on the trunk (along with a lowered ride height over the 540i), the car just hunkers down and will probably happily stay that way up to its computer-controlled top speed of 155mph.

The transmission shifts smoothly, and the gear ratios are spaced very closely together. Aiding in acceleration is the 3.15 rear end, but paired with the big, thirsty V8, this isn't a great car for gas mileage. A great addition would be a super-tall 6th gear (like in the Corvette) for cruising speeds, but the costs for modifications to the transmission would most likely be very prohibitive.

One surprising feature that was a bit of disappointment was the "Sport" feature. Engaging this means revised throttle response, among other things, that go somewhat unnoticed. So if you ever drive one without the feature turned on, you won't be missing much. I also wasn't a big fan of the gauges, which were a mass of numbers that take a while to get acclimated to.

Overall, however, this was one of the most complete cars I've driven. The balance of performance, comfort, and style continue to stand out in my mind, and none seems particularly compromised to benefit the others. If anything, I'd be interested to see how this drivetrain works in a lighter package, like the V8 BMW M3 or the Z8 roadster.

At the end of the day, Mike pulled out of the driveway, and ran it through a few gears for me. The exhaust gloriously rumbled through acceleration, and crackled between gears. My wife turned to me and said, "It's too loud."

No, Honey. It's just right.

 Image from freerevs.com

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Car #3 - The Bitchin' Camaro

After my much-loved Datsun 310 died, I was in need of another car. Through an acquaintance, I had heard of an old Camaro that might be for sale. I tracked down the owner, and went to inquire about it.

"Oh hell, I don't remember what year it is," said the owner, a gruff, greasy local mechanic who lacked the idea of customer service. "But I'll bring it over to the shop and you can see it."

So my father and I, along with our car-guy friend, Don, went to inspect it.

The car turned out to be a 1977 Camaro Z28. It was silver with black vinyl interior, and some obnoxiously loud, two-tone orange stripes. Except for a front fender, here wasn't a single body panel that wasn't dented or rusted through somewhere, the vinyl interior was cracked and falling apart, and the trunk opened with the turn of a screwdriver. This was fine, however, since the ignition key was stuck in the switch.

I loved it instantly.

For as bad as this car looked, it was a screamer on the road. It idled with a nasty rumble, it had a Muncie M21 4-speed transmission, and a 3.73 Posi rear end. The original 350 disappeared long ago, and had been replaced with one from a pickup truck. Its engine was slow to rev, but the torque-biased cam meant that when you got on it, you could smoke the tires through third gear. It was everything that a 19-year-old repressed car guy could ever want.

Somehow, a pile of paperwork managed to survive with the car, including its original window sticker. The car was purchased at a dealer in Virginia, and was optioned for speed, including the Gymkhana suspension and a/c delete. If it had survived in that condition, it would have been an amazing car.

But the problems started mounting quickly. A local mechanic freed the ignition key, and installed a new lock set all the way around. In the process, he also noted the radiator was bad, and replaced it.

Soon afterwards, the car failed emissions due to a lack of catalytic converters, so those were welded into place by another local mechanic. This, unfortunately, took away that great rumble at idle, and the NASCAR-like wail it had during interstate driving. “You young guys just have to own those damn cars, don’t you?” he said.

Despite the newfound quiet from the car, I still loved it in all of its awfulness. The speed from the engine was awesome. Shifting a big, Hurst-style manual transmission felt amazing. And I felt like it was the car I’d always dreamed of owning.

I was even willing to turn a blind eye to the rust deterioration, which included the floorpan. It was always great fun to lift up the driver’s floor mat, and watch the road pass under you at speed through a 3” hole.

One of the luxury items from a previous owner was an old Blaupunkt cassette player, which I discovered wasn’t grounded. This, combined with the lack of shielding on the engine’s rear-mounted distributor cap, instantly de-magnetized my tapes under hard acceleration. To this day, if I were to listen to “Sleeping Bag” by ZZ Top, you’ll hear a whine during the guitar solo that quickly increases in pitch. This, of course, was me downshifting into 2^nd gear and revving the engine for full effect with the music!

But despite its wicked-fast nature, I kept it pretty calm. I found out quickly that this trait would come in handy, as the car attracted police like crazy. On several occasions, I had police cruisers follow me for 10 miles. In some cases, they’d even turned around to follow me.

After a year ownership, my friend, Chris, and I went out one night for some food. On the way there, we decided to take the scenic route through the country. All was well until we came across an eight-point buck. I locked up the brakes, but I hit the deer on the left front of the car, breaking out the fiberglass nose and putting a large dent in the car’s only unscathed body panel. The force spun the car 180 degrees, and we somehow avoided sliding into a drainage ditch.

The damage would have been worse if not for the steel bumpers, of which 1977 was the last year. So for the next six months, I drove with a broken fiberglass nose, which really made for a sad-looking ride. Eventually, the car was traded in for $1500 at a local car dealer, and a new car purchase was made. It was the only muscle car I ever owned.

It’s been 16 years since I sold that car, but I still look back on that death trap with fond memories. I’ve never seen another in person done in that color combination, and I always wondered what happened to the beast. Sometimes, I even regret letting it go.

But one of the biggest regrets I have about getting rid of that car came from my friend, Renee. When I told her I owned it, she said, “Wow, a Bitchin’ Camaro!”

I looked at her with a strange gaze, but six months after selling the car, I finally understood her reference to The Dead Milkmen’s Song, “Bitchin’ Camaro.” If only I’d have known, I’d have kept that car just for the irony!

Christian's 1977 Camaro Z28, circa 1995.