I’m in trouble with my wife.

With good things and sometimes even bad, it’s hard to say goodbye. Such is the case of a very good thing I recently sent off to a new home: My 2023 BMW M440i xDrive Convertible, a mouthful of a name for a really wonderful car.

 Back in 2023, I reviewed the car in this very publication and was so impressed that I added it to my garage. Initially, like many performance junkies, I wondered if I would feel I had settled, for while the M440i was clearly a strong performer, it was also not a full-blown M-car.  For the first year of ownership or so, I periodically found my gaze wandering to the M4 Competition Convertible and even came close to making that move on more than one occasion. But after a bit, that hot-bloodedness cooled down and life with the M440i settled into familiarity and comfort. 

I’ll spare an exhaustive recap of the car’s particulars. But in short, it’s powered by BMW’s ubiquitous B58 3.0L inline-6 cylinder “M TwinPower Turbo” engine that makes 382 hp @ 5,800 RPM and 369 lb-ft @ 1,800 RPM.  It scoots to 0-60 in 4.6 seconds, sending power to the xDrive all-wheel drive system through the always-impressive ZF 8-speed Steptronic Sport transmission. It’s a solid engine and drivetrain package that’s hard to fault, which is likely why it’s percolated through much of the BMW line-up over the years.

My wife especially came to love the car.  It’s design and looks, especially its vibrant Tanzanite Blue II Metallic color and Tacora Red Vernasca leather interior, garnered nothing but positive comments from onlookers, contrary to the commentariat who couldn’t stop criticizing the G20-series car’s large kidney grill. And its general performance was effortless around town and on spirited country drives. My wife would put the top down at very possibility, with the windows up and the “neck scarf” blowing on high, drizzle or snowflakes arching over the windshield header during damp days.  As she said on more than one occasion, “If you go at least 45 miles an hour, you won’t get wet.”

But when the opportunity arose for me to acquire an allocated sportscar from a different German manufacturer, the realization that our garage only had so much storage somewhat tempered my normal new-car excitement with the marital dread of disappointing my spouse by selling “her car.”  Which I ultimately did.  Because I am dumb.

While the M-Sport range of BMWs still causes heartburn in the online fanboys, in the actual driving world they’ve been nothing but a success. As vehicles from the Motorsports division have gotten to the point where their functional limits are well beyond the realm of road driving, not to mention their ever-increasing price tags, the M-Sport spec brings many of the unique elements of the M-range with more usable performance and distinctive personality. And with the homogenization of BMW’s engine and transmission range, what really is the kernel of differentiation anyway?

I’d argue that the apex of modern BMW M was the e92 M3, with its unique (and one-off) sonorous and high-revving V8 engine and twin-clutch transmission, critical elements that could only be had on that car alone. Software and tuning alone did not differentiate it from its fellows in the lineup. It’s one of the few cars I truly regret no longer owning, and a clean, low-miles version is one for which I’m constantly on the lookout. Would BMW green-light that car today? Doubtful, as platform sharing and tweaking seems to rule the roost.

That’s not to say I’m immune to the glorious excess of an X5M or the steroidal bulldog charms of the current M2CS, but really, those are banzai versions of more pedestrian cars, which fan their excessive plumage as a shout to be taken seriously in the pecking order rather than in service of simple driving enjoyment. (And I’ll avoid any mention of the XM here, because I’ve recently eaten.) But as a spirited daily driver, those cars can tend to be overkill.

Which brings me back around to the M440i xDrive Convertible.  Its performance was sterling, it’s handling precise and balanced, its suspension tuning never jarring, it’s exhaust sound throaty but not obnoxious.  And any serene drive could be enlivened to extra-legal levels with a shift to Sport mode and a pull on the paddle shifters.  It was a Golden Retriever with a penchant for letting it lose at the dog park, and never anything but engaging fun.

A strong element for me was the car’s iDrive 8.0, the last version of the system prior to BMW’s move to their v8.5 all-screen interface.  In short, 8.0 was the final version with a smattering of buttons and a “human-sized” central screen.  I’ll spare a rant on the “screenification” of BMWs and modern automobiles in general, but suffice it to say I’m not a fan, and I view some of the design push-back from all-glass infotainment systems by certain manufacturers as a real positive.  But alas, BMW has gone all-in, and my recent acquisition of an iX shows I’ll get on board when the interface and overall package is well done, which BMW’s certainly is.  (In fairness, the iX’s system is well-resolved and responsive, if perhaps a tad awkward.)  But v8.0’s mix of buttons and bright screen interface struck me as just right, and I’ll lament the loss of the more tactile interface as this car leaves us.

Over three+ years of ownership, the car provided nothing remotely like an issue.  Aside from regular service, the only tiny nit was a noticeable knocking thump the top developed when being raised, a single staccato “clunk” on one side of the mechanism as the top passed through the apex of unfurling.  My local BMW center checked it out, agreed that the noise had developed since new, but that it was still within spec, and suggested I keep a close eye (ear?) on it in case it got worse.  Which it never did.  Plus, the folding wind deflector is, frankly, a bit of a PITA to install and also stow, but that’s endemic of all wind deflectors on 2+2 convertibles. Since the only regular users of the back seat was our dog and bags of groceries, I just left the deflector installed most of the time.  Aside from those minor issues, the car was flawless.

The general demise of convertibles, both in market uptake and model availability in general, is a source of disappointment, as I’ve long believed a day driving with the top down is at least equivalent to a week of driving with the top up.  But I understand mine isn’t a view shared by all, to which BMW’s sales numbers would attest.  The paradoxical platform homogenization yet flexibility provided by the new EV platforms, though, seems to beg just this sort of differentiation; why not a soft-top Vision Neue Klasse iteration, or even a whimsical convertible SUV form, to round out the model line-up?  Impractical?  Maybe.  But any less impractical than an X6M?  No.  Here’s hoping.

My M440i certainly fit the bill for a useful all-arounder, and our girl Doberman, Stella, loved perching in the back seat with the top down, smelling all the smells and taking in the world around her (though not so much with the top up). The car had surprising cargo room, though the hard plastic cubby that protected the top mechanism when the top was retracted ate significantly into available storage space.  But hey, with the top down, the rear seat was entirely accessible from above, so no worries.

Our M440i xDrive Convertible will most certainly be fondly remembered, and the fact there are two of these G20 4-series cars in our condominium parking garage keeps that feeling fresh (and gives my wife persistent opportunity to remind me of the same).  It’s a great car and one that will be missed from BMW’s portfolio if a worthwhile successor doesn’t make the line-up.  Picking up a low-miles version of one of these is not a bad decision.

As I sat astride a BMW Motorrad F900GS in Spartanburg, South Carolina, instructor Terry Smith offered some sage advice: “Off-road riding makes you a better on-road rider, but it doesn’t really transfer the other way.” This would resonate over my next two days of training and challenges at the BMW Performance Center’s ADV Off-Road Rider Academy.

The Spartanburg Performance Center: A Fantasyland for BMW Enthusiasts

Located on the 137-acre grounds that house the manufacturing facility and the Zentrum Museum (itself somewhat a parallel to BMW’s Welt facility and Museum in Munich), the Spartanburg Performance Center is a fantasyland for BMW enthusiasts and motor-heads, a proverbial feast for the motoring senses. It’s what Willy Wonka would design if he were into cars and motorcycles rather than confections.

Inside the facility, lucky owners arrived to take delivery of new BMWs with all the excitement of Christmas morning, while outside, M-cars did power slides and donuts on the wet skid pad, engines wailing, and on the test track, all manner of BMWs turned hot laps, tires shrieking. Meanwhile, our class of student off-road riders ventured into the forest for instruction and to explore obstacle circuits, winding forest trails, gravel, and sand pits to learn and test our mettle.

A Brief History of the BMW Performance Academy

The history of BMW’s driving and riding academy dates back to 1999, when BMW set up a US-based delivery program for automobiles. The Performance Academy was a natural offshoot, and today owners and enthusiasts can attend classes ranging from basic defensive driving skills to semi-pro race training in BMW’s spicy M-cars.

On the Motorrad side, the list of available courses is comprehensive, ranging from Motorcycle Safety Foundation (MSF) classes for beginning riders, to on-road Street Survival courses, to Adventure-bike off-road training. There are women-only classes, and a two-day “Authority School” featuring a curriculum tailored to the skills particular to law enforcement. Prerequisites are simple: “To participate in any class aside from the MSF Basic Rider Course, you must be comfortable operating a motorcycle.

Six months to a year of riding experience is recommended.” I’d suggest that last recommendation should be the absolute bare minimum, as being comfortable operating a bike, especially at slow (emphasis on slooooooow) speeds on challenging surfaces is essential for the ADV Off-Road courses in particular.

Choosing the Right Motorcycle for the Off-Road Course

Several weeks before the class, a coordinator reached out to inquire about my preference of motorcycle, a detail I didn’t expect, since I assumed we’d just be assigned some variety of BMW GS bike when we arrived. It was an unexpected bonus, as the class offers the full lineup of current GS machines, from the largest globe-gobbling R1300/1250GS bikes down to the more lithe, svelte G310GS bikes for those riders wanting something smaller.

I selected a F900GS, the one I’d ridden earlier in the year at the Las Vegas launch event, both for familiarity and because it offers just the right mix of maneuverability, power, and suspension compliance. (The Vegas event was where I’d become seriously enamored with off-road riding, and which sparked my desire to attend this course; in fact, I’ve been so impressed with the F900GS that I’ve actually ordered one for myself.)

The average class size for the one-and two-day course is twelve students, but our class only had eight. Given the three instructors, our 2.7:1 student-to-teacher ratio might as well have been 1:1, as all of us received an amazing amount of personal attention. Our student group was an eclectic one.

There were three pals from South Florida who had ridden their own bikes up to the class; an executive from Palm Beach (who had also ridden his own bike up); two friends who worked in IT from Maryland; and another IT guy from Kentucky, along with me. Each of us in the class had significant road riding experience, but off-road was fairly new to all of us, aside from one of the Maryland pals, who was taking the class for a second time just for fun and proficiency, and to encourage his buddy to embrace the discipline.

Day One: Learning the Basics of Off-Road Riding

Day one began at 8:00am for check-in and orientation, and also to meet our instructors: Ricardo Rodriguez (BMW Motorrad Chief Instructor), Wendy Naessens (our lead instructor and wearer of multiple hats at the Performance Center), and the abovementioned Terry Smith (who performed most of our demonstrations). Samantha “Sam” Lane also served in an essential support role throughout the class (and whose guidance ultimately saved my bacon more than once).

The curriculum for the course is straightforward, with six key precepts: Learning proper technique, recognizing bad habits, thinking about the way you behave on the bike, managing traction, developing good instinctive reactions, and a focus on so-called “perfect practice.” But if there’s one overarching instructional mantra, it’s “Challenge by Choice.” No one is pushed into a challenge before he or she is ready or comfortable, and there’s zero shame in bailing. In fact, pretty much all of us would self-select the “bail” route once or twice, even if just for a momentarily breather.
The instructors provide a supportive and judgement-free environment, and the goal is for everyone to learn at their own pace and to their own comfort level. That said, instructors encouraged pushing that limit a bit more when they were confident in a student’s abilities, and trust me, they watched like hawks.

Out on the paddock, we learned the various ways to mount the motorcycle, proper use of the center stand (a technique which I’ll admit had previously eluded me), and the three primary methods to “recover” a dropped bike. Instructors Wendy and Terry took a 1300GS off its center stand and laid it down on the pavement, then demonstrated various methods to upright the bike. It’s a foundational skill in the world of off-road riding, as we all would learn.
Both mornings, we began with “Bike Yoga” to loosen us up and build some quick confidence. We rode gentle follow-the-leader loops, balancing on one peg while sitting side-saddle on the bike, progressing into more awkward positions. If you do actual yoga, imagine doing a “resting pigeon” pose balanced on a foot peg while controlling the motorcycle’s speed with only the clutch lever and you’ll have a reasonable idea. It’s challenging, fun, and one of the first “circus tricks” we learned, and a great exercise to get a feel for slow-speed body and bike balance.

Mastering Slow-Speed Maneuvering and Bike Control

When riding off-road, going fast is rarely the point (unless you’re training for the Dakar, of course), so slow-speed maneuverability occupied the bulk of exercises. Riding a motorcycle slow is almost ballet-like, and a heady rule of thumb is, the better the rider, the slower they can go. Day one began with a simple slalom course on a gravel pad with two lanes of bollards, one lane tighter than the other, where we worked on positioning and balance.

We learned to weight the inside peg of the turn while simultaneously twisting our hips around the turn’s axis and bracing our outside knee on some fixed hard point as the bike rotates, feathering the clutch bite-point all the way. It sounds more complicated than it is, as it’s really an extension of the basic low-speed handling and turning skills most of us were taught in an MSF Basic Rider Course. (With the notable exception being that it’s all done standing up on the pegs, in the off-road manner. The class was two solid days of standing up.) By the end of the class, all of us were rounding the tightest bollards (and trees and switchbacks on Enduro Laps) with relative ease.

Slow-speed maneuvering is an essential off-road skill, and pretty handy on-road as well. Instructor Terry, who also teaches the “Authority School” course, told of a group of motorcycle cops he knows who were involved in a triple-digit chase with a guy on a sport bike. The rider kept the cops at bay for a while, but at some point, he got himself into a pickle and had to do a U-turn…which he couldn’t do. He dropped the bike. Busted.

The exercises built logically, with new challenges and skills enhancing the previous ones. We practiced “Trial Stops,” basically bringing the bike to a stop while upright, then waiting a few beats before proceeding. We learned to ride over washboards, maneuvered through ruts, practiced riding up and down “camel humps” (“clutch in on the way up, front brake on the way down”), and learned the intricacies of emergency braking by exploring what ABS can and can’t do.

When road riding, a rear brake lockup can end in tears fast, whereas off-road, we learned the trick of locking up the rear brake in a panic stop and controlling the slide with directional control. Instructor Wendy provided some germane motivation when she suggested, “Imagine you come around a bend in the woods and there’s a bear on the trail.” How hard can I stomp that rear brake again?

A Newfound Confidence

After an evening to recuperate, day two began with a quick refresher and…more bike yoga! Though this time with even tighter concentric follow-the-leader circles and figure-eights, which we managed to pull-off without a single collision. (Of note is that the one- and two-day courses have exactly the same curriculum for the first day.)

Next up were “Cowboy Mounts.” In practice, this is when a rider stands next to the bike, puts their foot on a peg, rolls on the throttle and lets out the clutch, and throws the other leg over once the bike is rolling. It’s a skill built on the morning’s bike yoga practice, but it certainly feels unnatural at first, almost dangerous. “The ladies really like this one, fellas,” encouraged instructor Wendy, shooting straight for the lizard brain of her male students.

Terry demonstrated this move from both the left and (harder) right side of the bike, with a deftness seen in Hopalong Cassidy Westerns. When it was our turn, it was pretty clear that, if we were the bandits, the Sheriff would have caught us before the edge of town. But with practice, it started to click. And it was certainly cool. It’s a useful skill to develop if there’s some obstruction or ground condition on one side of your bike that doesn’t allow a more traditional mount. But…did I mention that it’s cool?

Facing the Gravel Pit Challenge

Next up was the more intimidating challenge of the gravel pit, which simulates riding in deep loose rock and stones and, well, gravel. The pit was a rectangular mount of road gravel, roughly 100’ by 30’ and twelve- to sixteen-inches deep, looking like the sad aftermath of a dump truck accident. Instructor Wendy humorously backed this up. “The South Carolina DOT likes to just dump gravel here and there, then lets [motorcyclists] come along and spread it out.” I asked the veteran student if he liked the gravel exercise. His face turned rather gray, his voice somber. “No.” This didn’t instill confidence, and the gravel pit didn’t win a huge number of friends.

Instructor Terry demonstrated the Goldilocks zone of pace to traverse the rock pile (and also demonstrated what not to do, by once zooming through the pile at escape velocity, his big GS clattering all the way). But it was still nerve wracking, especially as one student after another bogged down or fell over or generally got all wonky. I decided speed was my friend, but it’s a careful calculation, as two slow and the bike will bog and sink into the gravel; too fast and directional control will be out the window.

“Don’t look down. There’s no answers in the gravel pit,” instructor Ricardo sagely advised. I might suggest that there are, actually, answers to be found staring into the gravel pit, but they’re the sort of answers in the same family as touching a hot stove or sticking a fork into a power outlet, so best to leave them right where they are. We did three runs, and I managed to make it across all three, my first successful run being attributable to dumb luck, but the next two more comfortable and controlled.

The Sand Pit: Testing Dynamic Control and Balance

Once we finished with the gravel pit, we took a leisurely route through the woods to our next challenge: The sand pit. We quickly realized that, solidity of materials aside, this was a progression from the frying pan into the fire of difficulty.

“As you get into looser surfaces, you just have to be really dynamic on the motorcycle,” advised instructor Wendy. In practice, this translated into kicking your backside backwards on the bike, moving your weight as far rearward as possible and lightening up the front end. The bike wants to squirm and shimmy like a greased eel, but with a right hand full of throttle and your weight back, the motorcycle almost surfs over the sand.

Just don’t slow down and do your best to not follow the inevitable ruts, and also try not to turn the bars much to avoid making the front tire into a plow. My one face plant in this exercise was when my bike’s front tire found a deep rut and I didn’t weight up the rear enough. POW!, down I went. (Pro tip: When riding in sand, remember to close your face shield.)

At one point, instructor Terry made what initially seemed a rare mistake. His GS bogged, his front tire tracked into a rut, and he went flying. He practically launched himself off the bike, doing a half-summersault in the air and completing the move when he hit the sand, immediately popping up. “Terry’s really into the martial arts,” explained instructor Wendy. “He does that all the time, for fun.” He bounced up laughing. We students all chuckled and glanced around nervously, but none of us made even half an effort to emulate the move. Fortunately, crashing dramatically in the sand pit wasn’t a required part of the curriculum, though some of us inadvertently gave it our best effort.

After we’d all made five passes through the sand, our sense of both relief and accomplishment was palpable. The sand is fun! I’d have taken runs at the sand pit all day if we could have, and jokingly suggested to one of my fellow students, a Floridian, that this would be so fun on the beaches near his house. “It certainly would!,” he answered, quickly adding, “Of course, I’d be immediately arrested.”

The connecting threads of the course are the Enduro Laps, which carefully and seamlessly tie together each cumulative skill of the curriculum in ways that build confidence, muscle memory, and capability. It’s one thing to carefully work on your skills traversing hillocks and mounds when the lesson is deliberately step-by-step, instructors giving patient feedback throughout; yet quite another when you round a tight bend on a wooded track to see a grooved camel hump in the middle of a damp path, while also getting whacked in the helmet with low-hanging branches and brambles.

Much of this comes down to reflex, when you string together a group of new skills in unfamiliar terrain (the instructors are great at looping through the same general route in a variety of ways), only to realize that the skills that seemed somewhat perplexing when taken solo actually made complete sense in the “real world” as you put them together.

On the Enduro Lap, you come upon a challenge, react, then quickly think, hey, I did that, cool!, then the next little challenge is right on top of you. Lather, rinse, repeat. As the Laps got progressively longer and more challenging, individual skills started to flow together reflexively, and with them the confidence of pretty much every student built and swelled.

All of this was under the watchful gaze of the instructors, who encourage students to freelance as much as they’re comfortable, always offering gentle guidance and correction throughout. (Or more pointed guidance, when appropriate. “We just need to get you out of your own head” was a common refrain, or maybe that was just to me.)

Day two ended with several additional essential skills, including emergency stopping on steeper slopes and recovering a bike if it falls on a hill. By that point, we were generally comfortable at least trying spooky new things, and the overall tapestry of two days of work was coming together. And finally, it was time to apply it all on the longest, most challenging Enduro Lap of the class, which ended way too soon. And then: It’s a wrap.

Our student group, to a person, had nothing but positives about the course, the instructors, and the overall experience. And in what may be one of the underlying motives for putting on the school, I’m pretty confident BMW Motorrad sold two or three bikes out of the class (one of the Maryland guys had moonbeams in his eyes about the F900GS he’d ridden for the two days and was already googling insurance rates).

Without question, we all left more confident and capable riding off-road than when we’d arrived, and we were all angling for more opportunities to ride in the dirt, rocks, and woods. I know I’m certainly looking forward to the arrival of my own F900GS, and I’ve been searching for quality off-road routes around Tucson, Arizona, where I’ll keep the bike. (For the record, there are many.)

Conclusion: Becoming a Better Rider On and Off the Road

I finished the course vastly more comfortable riding off-road than before, and while I may not be quite ready to apply for the next BMW International GS Trophy team, I certainly have the newfound confidence to explore formerly intimidating off-road trails, and do so with a fresh set of skills.

And did the course, as instructor Terry hinted at the beginning of day one, make me a better, more confident road rider? Absolutely. The day after I got home from South Carolina, I went for a ride on a road bike over a country road route I know well, feeling a newfound effortlessness in bike handling and control, along with a heightened awareness of my surroundings. I also found myself frequently glancing into the woods, thinking, man, I wish I could explore there. Thanks to the instructors at the BMW Rider Academy, I’ve now got the confidence to do just that.

Ask most enthusiasts to name a BMW motorcycle and the answer you’ll likely receive is, “The GS.”  And by GS, they’ll likely mean the big-bruiser, dual-sport, world-conquering Boxer-twin (the latest example of which tips the engine scales with 1300-cc displacement), which can cross continents and ford streams and sand dunes with the same formidable ease with which it navigates urban jungles and highways.  But in the BMW Motorrad line-up, the GS F-models offer a less bulky, more nimble option as well.

BMW has taken the wraps off their latest updated middleweights, the F 800 GS, F 900 GS, and F 900 GS Adventure, which replace the F 750 GS, F 850 GS, and F 850 GS Adventure respectively.  Each bike benefits from a revised and updated engine, significant weight savings, new suspension, and a fully upgraded electronic suite.

Testing The F 900 GS Off-Road

Recently, BMW Motorrad invited BMWBLOG and other media members to Las Vegas, Nevada, to test out the new smaller GS (specifically, the F 900 GS), as well as spend a day of urban play with the new CE 02.  (Talk about a study in contrasts!)  While the new GS bikes are certainly smaller and more to tossable than their big brother, they are far from diminutive.   BMW refers to the trio as fitting into the “upper midsized segment,” and this seems correct for such capable, substantial machines.

“Stick out your candy on the outside of the turn and rock your weight down on the outside peg. Easy as that.”  Ride leader Gina, an instructor at the RawHyde Adventures riding academy in California, gave out this basic advice like she was talking to an MSF Basic RiderCourse student, but I latched onto her words and repeated them like a mantra.  (And for the record, when Gina said “candy,” she was referring to a certain body part that rhymes with “mutt.”)

As a relatively novice off-road rider surrounded by seasoned gravel pros, this simple but specific advice from an experienced instructor was a welcome lifeline. “Stick out your candy” I repeated silently to myself with every sharp turn and rutted washout. My focus was entirely on avoiding “doll’s heads” (slang for child-head sized loose rocks scattered across the trail) and tire-destroying rock shards; as one fellow rider dryly offered, “when you see the pointy rocks sticking up, try not to hit them.” Great advice, though pointy rocks and doll’s heads seemed to make up thirty percent of the trail.

Fortunately, the newly svelte and capable F 900 GS had my back.

2-Cylinder Engine, Up to 105 HP

The mid-sized Adventure segment is perhaps the most exciting and innovative in the motorcycle industry, where all the cool kids want to be, with KTM being the 800-pound gorilla with their capable and appealing 890 Adventure R.  Triumph slots into the #2 position in terms of market share (with the Tiger 900 being the stand-out), with BMW Motorrad trailing close behind.  The new trio of F-bikes aims to close that gap considerably, with the KTM the clear benchmark (though I think it likely we’ll be seeing more head-to-head with the new Ducati DesertX as well).

To power the new bikes, the Motorrad started with the 2-cylinder in-line engine already used in the BMW F 900 R and F 900 XR, tossed it in the engineering shaker, and poured out two subtly different variations on the theme.  Somewhat confusingly, each new variation displaces 895-cc capacity (the engines in both the 800 and 900 have the same part number), so the difference is largely down to tune. The 900-series bikes generate 105 hp at 8,500 rpm (up from the previous 95 hp) and have a maximum torque of 68.6 lb-ft at 6,750 rpm (up from the previously 67.8 lb-ft), while the 800-series model has an output of 87 hp available at 6,750 rpm (up from the previous 77 hp), as well as 67 lb-ft of torque at 6,750 rpm (up from the previous 61 lb-ft).  With four valves per cylinder and twin overhead cams, the liquid-cooled engines have two counterrotating balance shafts to moderate undue vibrations. With a 90-degree offset crankshaft with 270/450-degree firing order, the engine sounds nothing so much like a V-Twin, throaty, raspy, and deep.  A light clutch pull and up-and-down quick-shifter are standard.

Significant Weight Savings

An emphasis with the new bikes is weight savings, and BMW has pared down the F 900 GS by ~30-lbs alone.  Most of that savings comes from a new fuel tank design; the new plastic tank shaves nearly 10-lbs off the outgoing bike’s steel tank, with further weight reduction from the redesigned tail section and new standard Akropovic exhaust (which also accentuates the in-line twin’s native burble).

At the launch, my bike for the day was a F 900 GS with the Off-Road Package, a group of options designed to make the bike significantly more biased towards off-pavement performance.  The package comes with additional shift and ride modes, a more compliant suspension (with gorgeous gold Showa forks in front and a ZF Sachs rear shock, adjustable for preload, compression, and rebound), handlebar risers, better engine protection and enduro hand protectors, and more aggressive off-road tires.  This package targets the KTM 890 Adventure R specifically, and while the specs of the two machines don’t line up perfectly, the differences are really in the margins and will come down to personal preference.  The GS Trophy paint scheme on the new model is especially fetching and I imagine will have a high take-rate, though the Sao Paulo Yellow is also striking.

Designed For The Off-Road

Ergonomics have also been redesigned to accentuate the off-road bias of the new bikes.  The handlebar is 15mm higher than before, with 24mm more extension available on bikes equipped with the Enduro Pro package.  Foot pegs are 20mm lower than before, and have a new more rounded, self-cleaning design.  I’m 5’11” tall, with a normal inseam and arm length, and I found the geometry of the new smaller GS to be squarely in the Goldilocks zone, especially when riding off-road.  All hand and foot controls are easy and natural to use on the fly, and the design of the new foot pegs and slimness of the new tank design made transferring weight and gripping the sides of the bike with my knees natural and comfortable, especially when riding while standing.

A 6.5-inch TFT display is standard, which is bright and legible and controlled by BMW’s ubiquitous multi-controller on the left handlebar.  If you’ve ridden any BMW motorcycle in the past few years, you’ll quickly master how to navigate the menus and sub-menus, which flex depending on which options are configured on a given bike.  And the BMW Motorrad Connected app is fully integrated, as you’d imagine.

My particular GS had four available ride modes available: Road, Dynamic, Enduro, and Enduro Pro (which disables ABS at the rear and retards traction control even further than in Enduro).   (The Rain mode was disabled for some reason, though not of concern around bone-dry Las Vegas).  After playing with each setting, I settled on Dynamic and Enduro as the go-to modes for the day’s ride, with Dynamic mode adjusting everything from throttle response to suspension compliance on the fly, and Enduro mode slowing everything down to a manageable level, while allowing the bike to be significantly more tail (trail?) happy in the dirt and rock.

A High Level Of Customizations

As expected from a member of the GS family, BMW Motorrad came out of the gate with a bevy of available accessories. From a full line-up of aluminum side cases and canvas top bags to various Enduro enhancements and engine protection bars, to different seats to accommodate riders of all sizes, customization is almost expected with the GS.  And the after-market will inevitably add to the possibilities significantly.  An F 900 GS Adventure outfitted with a full complement of bags really does look like a full-sized GS washed in hot water (sans the bulbous cylinder heads, of course).

Carving Up The Canyons

On the road, the F 900 GS is a nimble, playful barnstormer, somewhat surprising for a bike with such an off-road bias.  With the understandable limitation of the off-road tires notwithstanding (a sticker on the dash admonishes to keep it below 100-mph vMax), the bike handles neutrally and predicably.  On the sublime and twisty roads through the Spring Mountains to the northwest of Las Vegas, up to and down from Mt. Charleston, then twisting around Red Rock Canyon, the GS leapt from corner to corner with eagerness, and responded quickly and predictably to quick mid-corner steering adjustments to avoid the ubiquitous mid-apex rock falls.

I expected the front end to wash out more readily than it did, particularly with the compromised tires, and was initially tentative with my lines and velocity, but as confidence grew with the grip and general suspension compliance, speeds picked up accordingly.  The bikes in our group equipped with more road-biased rubber had a distinct advantage, but I think most of that just came down to psychology; the GS I was on handled everything asked of it on the mountain road switchbacks with barely a squeal, and both throttle response and traction control were predictable and largely unobtrusive.

Comfort on longer, flatter runs of pavement was also a surprising strong suit.  A small irritation was the non-adjustable windscreen, which generally directed wind squarely at the middle of my head.  A taller “Dakar”-style windscreen is available as an accessory and is one for which I’d likely opt if I was going to ride the bike mainly on the road.  (The larger windscreen also looks cool.)   But overall, that’s a small nit, and our ~220-mile ride (with 70% on various paved roads) was comfortable and relatively relaxing.  While the new smaller GS is no mileage-eater quite like its big brother bike, it’s also not purely an off-road plaything.  Versatility was clearly high on the design and engineering brief.

Feels Lighter Than It Is

When the pavement runs out, the new F 900 GS really shines.  The new ergonomics, coupled with the weight savings and playful suspension, combine for an amazing level of confidence when trail conditions get messy.  The bike responds immediately to even the slightest weight transfer (“stick out your candy, stick out your candy!”), and the upgraded suspension soaks up shocks that frankly seem like they should bring the machine to its knees (or the dirt, as the case may be).  The bike’s overall diet pays added dividends with agility offroad, and the sophistication of the overall tune makes the bike feel even lighter than it is.  It’s quite a magic trick.

I mentioned I’m not an experienced off-road rider by any stretch, as the bulk of my riding years have been on roads or tracks.  But the F 900 GS was a worthy and patient tutor, smoothing over my initially ham-fisted inputs and tendency to ride more slowly than advised.  As my confidence level grew and my speeds increased, the bike lightened up and responded even more intuitively to throttle inputs and weight transfer, and I found myself riding harder and faster over what the more experienced riders described as “intermediate to advanced-intermediate” terrain.  The GS was unflappable, with Enduro mode allowing just enough playful room to explore my own limits without fear of disaster.  When pavement finally showed back up, my only thought was, hey, can we turn back around and do that again?

Candidate For One-Bike Garage?

My experience demonstrates the beauty of bikes in this category and Adventure bikes in general: That of flexibility.  As an all-rounder, the F 900 GS is playful in the twisties, comfortable on the open road (especially in GS Adventure guise), and confidently planted and nimble in the dirt and rock.  It’s a bike with immense personality, significantly more so than its immediate predecessor.  With the versatility to explore multiple limits, the F 900 GS makes a worthwhile candidate for a one-bike garage.  The “baby” GS has certainly grown up.

“Hey, man, is that electric? That thing is awesome!”

At the recent BMW Media Launch for both the all-new F 900 GS and CE 02 in Las Vegas, I had the opportunity to put the CE 02, BMW Motorrad’s latest electric scooter, through its paces for a day of grooving and shimmying around various landmarks, avoiding unceasing roadwork and traffic jams and mobile ads for zombie burlesque shows (don’t ask), all while exploring the limits of BMW’s latest 2-wheeled runabout.  I wouldn’t be needing my customary ear plugs for this test.

Testing BMW’s Latest Electric Marvel in Las Vegas

I live in the dense urban core of a large Midwestern city, and of late, my most common street sighting has been that of traffic cones and construction equipment.  Thus, for those of us with, you know, cars, access has been pinched and restricted and limited (the “road diet” of which urban planners are so fond), even making quick errands require advanced planning and blood pressure medicine.  What’s a driver (or motorcyclist) to do?

Enter BMW’s solution to this increasingly common urban challenge, both in the US and abroad:  The CE 02.

The Rise of the CE 02

BMW describes the CE 02 as an “eParkourer” Urban Mobility Vehicle, and while I’m perhaps not hip enough to fully grasp that concept, what I can say is, the CE 02 is a veritable grin factory.  As an alternative to a Vespa Elettrica or Honda Grom, the CE 02 is an adorable and lively little jackrabbit.  BMW’s market brief positions the CE 02 as a competitor to all manner of smaller scooters and bikes, both conventional and electric, and even smaller-displacement motorcycles like the KTM Duke 125.  But its real achievement is just banishing urban commuting malaise.

The Design Language of the CE 02

Design wise, the CE 02 is cute as a box of kittens.  You know those impossible Hot Wheels concepts first-year design students dream up every year at the ArtCenter College of Design?  The CE 02 is like that, only doodled on an iPad by a bored high-school kid serving detention.  The look is accentuated by single-sided swingarm and 14” wheels, which lend decidedly playful elements.

Prior to the CE 02, BMW previously released the CE 04, an altogether more sober and sophisticated electric machine.  More substantial in every dimension, the CE 04 can hit 75-mph and carries 509-lbs of bulk, more closely resembling the hypergliding scooter Jeff Bridges sluiced around in “Tron” than a simple runabout.  Its design is altogether more geometric and imperious.  To mix fantasy movie metaphors, think of the CE 04 as the bike ridden by Storm Troopers chasing those pesky rebels on their CE 02 bikes.

Power and Performance: The Heart of the CE 02

The CE 02’s 48-volt electric motor, with output comparable to a 200-cc dino juice burner, is borrowed from BMW’s automobile side of the house, a nifty bit of repurposing.  It’s more than up to the task.  As Oleg Satanovsky, with BMW’s Motorcycle & Motorsport Communications Group, remarked, “If that motor is strong enough to move a 5000-pound SUV off the line, it’s certainly up to the task of powering a 291-pound bike around.”  And how.

Peak motor output is 11kW/15 hp with an optimal battery range of ~55-miles.  Top speed is 59mph, and I can validate that figure.  The motor delivers 15-hp at 5000-rpm and, significantly, 40.5-lb-ft of torque from 0-1000-rpm.  It’s connected to the rear wheel via a double belt drive with a 1:7.8 fixed ratio.
Charging is designed for standard household outlets, though the lack of support for Type 1 or 2 charging stations, and thus access to the growing urban charging infrastructure, might prove to be a limiting choice for some.  The CE 02 has 2 air-cooled batteries for drive, as well as another 12-volt battery used by the bike’s electrical system, and an LED on the traction batteries themselves always shows the charge level. An external 900-watt charger is standard, with a 1200-watt charger optional.

Technology and Simplicity: User-Friendly Features of the CE 02

The CE 02 has three drives modes: Flow, Surf, and Flash.  Flow and Flash both enable regenerative charging, with the friction resistance in Flash being significantly greater in addition to enhanced throttle response.  Think of Surf as “coast” mode.  As with most EVs, regeneration also occurs under braking, and the modes and activity of the battery and motor are displayed in the bike’s micro-TFT display.  For most of my ride, I left the bike in Flow mode to conserve energy, and while I didn’t find the snappier throttle response in Flash to be as pronounced as I’d hoped, the increased regeneration lets you essentially ride with just the throttle; it was my favorite mode of the three.

As is typical of electric vehicles, the CE 02 moves off the line with torquey verve.  0-30mph arrives in 3 seconds, which for an urban machine is more than quick enough to hit holes in traffic or even settle juvenile scores.  On our way to the National Atomic Testing Museum, a local on a Suzuki GSX-R pulled up to admire our little herd.  “Is that thing fast?” he shouted over the din at a traffic light.  When the light turned, we pinned our throttles and left him in the dust.  Yes sir, that will do. (He passed again soon after, howling with laughter, which was a relief since he was brandishing a visible handgun on his hip.  Ah, Vegas.)

The technology in the CE 02 is purposely opaque (“discreet” in BMW parlance), and the simple controls invite riders to try out the bike immediately.  At the media launch, this point was punctuated by presenting the assembled journalists with a line of shiny new scooters and the instruction of, “There they are folks, and the proximity keys are on the seats.  Have at ‘em.”  The controls are simple in the extreme, and we all figured them out within a few moments. The little bike also has the smartphone connectivity expected in a consumer product like this and works with BMW Motorrad’s Connected app to display info such as charge level, charging duration, and last trip info.

All electric vehicles of any sort carry a weight penalty due to the bulk and density of their batteries, and the CE 02 is no exception.  Tipping the scales at 291-pounds, the CE 02 outweighs a fully fueled Honda Grom by 68-pounds, but in practice, that added weight is a nonissue.  Between the CE 02’s low center of gravity and cartoonish tires, you never feel like the weight is doing anything but keeping you planted to the road.  BMW includes a handy Reverse function to mitigate any concerns about pushing the little bike around, but the added weight actually gives the little scooter vastly more substance and presence.

A Day on the CE 02

The CE 02 has a nominal range of ~55 miles, and our day’s route should have gobbled up all that juice.  But after eight hours of hooning around the urban jungle, I returned my bike with 30% of the charge remaining, all down to the magical properties of regenerative charging. (Lesson: I should have used Flash mode more liberally.) So, your mileage may vary, literally.  My takeaway with pretty much all quoted EV ranges isn’t much different from ICE vehicles.

Range is almost entirely dependent on how you use the thing, and thus I tend to intuitively know after a short time how many miles I can go without refueling in a given situation (driving around town in an SUV nets way fewer miles than driving the same vehicle on a long highway journey; duh).  The CE 02 and its ilk are no different.  In practice, that ~55 miles of range is likely more than ample for the intended usage of the little thing; no one is doing highway commuting on a CE 02 or Vespa (and if you are, thank you, hero).

Unlike it’s big brother CE 04, the 02 has zero storage space or cubbies (though an optional phone mount is included with the “Highline” trim).  There are several voids that seemingly could have been morphed into some useful storage spots, but that would have inevitably compromised the minimalist design, so it was clearly an intentional omission.  BMW Motorrad offers a bevy of fun accessories for the CE 02, including a top case, rear case, and several side case options, so anyone wanting to add a tad more utility can do so.  But out of the box, the CE 02 is very much a “toss on a backpack or messenger bag and scoot” sort of proposition.

Customization and Accessories: Personalizing the CE 02

The machine is primed for individualization.  Our test bikes came in “Cosmic Black 2” finish  and included the “Highline Package” that brings various fun and helpful goodies (including enabling the Flash drive mode), so the bikes were far from strippers. The “Price as Tested” was $9,069 when all the various packages were added up.

Our test bikes had both front and rear foot pegs, the rear ostensibly for passengers, but our group generally favored those rear foot pegs for a “Speed Racer” mode of riding, legs bent backwards with weight over the handlebars.  The negative about this position was that the seat edge tended to cut into your inner thighs a bit, so I hope some enterprising after-market firm will create a “Speed Seat” for the CE 02 that resolves this.  (The positive about this position was that it was flippin’ fun.) In fact, the entire bike seems primed for an R nineT motorcycle type of after-market accessory ecosystem, and I wouldn’t be surprised to see such a seat and many other items appearing soon.

Market Positioning and Potential: Is the CE 02 a Lifestyle Revolution?

This points to a real marketing question for the CE 02: Is BMW prepared to segment the machine into the “lifestyle brand” space, as Ducati did with their Scrambler line?  This little bike cries out for just that sort of special treatment and would help it to avoid the rather “meh” response received by the CE 04 in the US.  (On a recent visit to Paris, I saw more CE 04s in one day that I have in the entirety of the States since their launch.)

The folks who seek out a BMW Motorrad shop for a stately K 1600 GTL or uber-serious GS or go-fast S100RR are not the folks who will accessorize a CE 02 with their latest sneaks.  The CE 02 needs to be seen and played with to be really appreciated, and I hope BMW’s marketing and branding folks are busy exploring various tie-ins with non-traditional outlets.  If Yeti can make ice coolers into an upscale hipster totem, BMW certainly has the making for such a branding hit with the CE 02.

Designed in Germany, built in India, with a motor from France, not to mention a design that looks like the lovechild of a Brooklyn coffee shop and the Venice Beach boardwalk, the CE 02 has genuine global bona fides.  That in itself is cool and plays into the “Global Citizen” vibe of the hipster set.

Is BMW up to the task of positioning this unique machine?  And maybe more importantly, is the US urban market ready to adopt such a premium electric scooter?  Time will tell, but for all fans of pure joy, I sure hope so.  How much did I like the new BMW CE 02?  I haven’t had that much fun since I stopped putting playing cards in my bicycle spokes.

Let’s get this out of the way first:  I dig this car’s grill.  More on that later.

 The car you see here is a 2023 BMW M440i xDrive Convertible, BMW’s just-below-an-M, mid-sized, open-aired joy machine.  (And since BMW’s contemporary vehicle nomenclature can be a bit of a mouthful, we’ll just call this one the “M440i”.) In BMW parlance, this example is the second-generation of the 4-series platform, code G20/G22/G23 for the intelligentsia (the convertible is the G23) and was first released in mid-2020 as the first significant update to the 4-series platform (code F32/F33/F36) originally launched in 2014.  Notably, the G23-model convertible BMW moved away from the previous folding hardtop to a more classic multi-layered soft top design, an aesthetic and functional return to the past that, to this reviewer’s mind, is an improvement is every way.

 Assembled like all 4-Series cars at BMW’s plant in Dingolfing, Germany, this particular M440i is loaded with numerous goodies from the BMW options list, including the Dynamic Handling Package, Parking Assistance Package, Adaptive M Suspension, and gorgeous BMW M 50-Years Roundel.  It’s painted a lustrous color BMW calls Tanzanite Blue II Metallic, a stunning, deeply shimmering base for any-and-all fingerprints, with the interior in Tacora Red Vernasca Leather, which reads closer to a French Burgundy color than a true red.  It’s an elegant, timeless combo on this car, and immensely popular with pedestrians and other drivers, given the number of compliments I’ve received while tooling around.  The MSRP on this car, with its robust list of goodies, was $77,765.

 The convertible’s fabric convertible roof weighs roughly 40% less than the previous generation’s rigid folding top and takes only 18-seconds to open and close (which can also be done at speeds up to 31-mph, handy for those “first drops of rain” moments).  The frame of the top uses large panel-bow elements with honeycomb construction for lightness and rigidity and features a flush-sitting glass rear window with full defrost.  The top is extremely quiet, allows for a sleeker coupe profile, and increases trunk space from the previous generation, with 9.0-cubic/ft of storage space and a pass-through for longer items.

 As with most 4-seat convertibles, the M440i is fitted with a manual wind deflector to quiet turbulence in the cabin, and the deflector comes with its own cargo bag to store in the cabin.  While it’s simple to fit and certainly works as designed, in practice it’s a bit of a chore to install and most drivers will either leave it in place (hello, Florida or Arizona) or rarely if ever fit the device at all (hello, the rest of the world).  A permanent, powered wind deflector for a 4-seat convertible remains one of the engineering holy grails it seems.

Inline-6 for the Win

BMWs are righty lauded for their Inline-6 motors, the configuration that’s been the marque’s calling card for generations of cars.  (With a few oddballs thrown in; I still get misty thinking about the bespoke V8 in the E92 generation of M3 cars.) This iteration is a worthy addition to that legacy.  Codenamed B58, this motor is a 3.0-liter twin-scroll turbocharged inline-6, which began production in 2015.  The water-to-air intercooler is integrated into the intake plenum, and the engine is equipped with both of BMW’s “killer-V” technologies (Double Vanos, aka variable valve timing, and Valvetronic, aka variable valve lift).  At 7000rpm, the B58 makes 382-hp and 369-ft/lbs of torque from 1800rpm onwards.

Power is put down through the ubiquitous ZF-sourced 8-speed automatic transmission, and in this car’s case, BMW’s available xDrive AWD system coupled to an M-Sport differential and suspension.  (And while I, like most enthusiasts, would love the option of a manual, this car’s personality is well flattered by the ZF.)  Performance is impressive.  The car launches from 0-60mph in 4.7-sec according to BMW, who is known for conservative official performance numbers.  Other instrumented road testers have measured the same acceleration as 4.1sec for the 0-60 sprint, and some have measured even quicker to that.  Suffice it to say it scoots and is even quicker than the aforementioned V8-powered M3.

The Nose Knows

Now, about that front grill.  Recently, more angst-ridden sentences have been written about the large kidney grill on the 4-series than tears shed at the Hatch Chile Eating Contest, but what many reviewers and casual observers fail to note is the historical context of the design.  Much of the howling distills down to one errant point:  How could BMW dilute the elegance of the classic kidney grill to such a degree?  But this fails even the most basic contextual observation, that being that there is literally no single benchmark shape of the kidney grill design over time.

Witness, for example, one of the most classic of all BMWs, the 1930s-era 328.  It’s a stunning design by any measure, held in esteem by Bimmer fans everywhere.  And one that also has a huge grill that spans the entire vertical width of the vehicle.  Precedent!  (Also, anyone who glimpsed the luscious 328 Hommage Concept from 2011 shouldn’t have been surprised when the double-height grill made another appearance.)

For a quick primer on kidney grill shapes over the years, BMW provides an excellent guide: “The BMW Kidney Grille Through Time.”  From the 503 to the M1 to the E9 CS to the i3 to the XM to the current-generation 4-series, there exists a wonderful variety of kidney grille shapes and sizes for almost the past one hundred years of BMW design.  And with even a cursory glance at the current lineup of BMWs on today’s market, it’s clear we’re living in a golden age of BMW grill shapes.  Do I love them all? No.  Am I delighted there’s such variety?  Absolutely. 

All that said, ultimately design and aesthetics is down to the eye of the beholder, and to my eye, the 4-series design is elegant, dramatic, and proportional.  (And the hood scallops on the M3/4 models make it even more so.) Most of all, it’s distinctive; there’s no doubt what model you’re seeing when you see a 4-series from the front.

When is an M-car Not an M-car?

The M-Performance designation of BMW’s has also caused relative Sturm und Drang amongst the aficionados, who view any “dilution” of the M-brand as heresy to be handled with Bastille Day fervor.  But this reviewer thinks BMW did an immense service to lovers of well-balanced performance cars everywhere by creating this “almost-M” line of engines and suspensions.

Perhaps this will get me excommunicated from BMWBLOG, but I find most contemporary M-cars to be almost too punishing and challenging to drive on most normal roads (especially those in the US, which tend towards broken pavement and a patchwork of materials), not to mention with levels of engine power that are impossible to access in any manner short of felonious or irresponsible.  Enter the M-Performance series of vehicles.  With power levels that aren’t obscene and suspension tuning that trends towards the more compliant, the M-Performance range live in a Goldilocks Zone between largely pedestrian and over-the-top.

For example, this M440i convertible.  Regardless of how you spin it, a convertible of this type tends towards the GT side of the automotive continuum, rather than as a pure sports car (BMW offers the Z4 for that).  While the M4 Convertible is an utter hoot, it can be a bit harsh, and if you’re really flogging it to get at what makes it so special, the topless nature of the car exposes compromises in both stability and passenger comfort that just don’t make much sense.  You don’t buy a car like this to be beaten up; you buy a car like this for the serenity and joy of wafting along in open air, the sights and smells of the environment blending with the tactility of the car for that special driving pleasure experience.  The overall M-Performance package absolutely delivers.  It’s likely more car than you’ll ever need but provides just the “right amount of that much more” that you’ll really want.

Top-Down Bonus Ratio

A few years back, when I reviewed the M235i xDrive Convertible, a friend stuck his nose in a spreadsheet, did some fancy cyphering, allegedly had a cocktail or two, and calculated that each day of top-down driving was worth 6.4-days of driving with the top up, for a ratio of 6.4:1.  With this M440i convertible, I’d likely revise that to be an even higher ratio, as the enjoyability of this car (top up or down, honestly) is immense.  The engine starts with an appealing little bark, then settles down to a tensioned smoothness at idle, which builds quickly (with the usual modern turbocharged flatulence) in all gears.   The transmission’s Sport setting is your exuberant friend for most daily chores and has the added benefit of disabling the Auto Start/Stop system; there’s no dedicated button to do that, as in full-M models.  (Though in fairness, the Start/Stop system in this car is almost transparent, thanks to the 48v mild-hybrid system that smoothly relights the engine with even the gentlest lift from the brake pedal when at a standstill.)

Recently, on a drive from West-Central Missouri down through the wonderfully twisting (and newly paved) Ozark roads in and around Bentonville, Arkansas, I had an opportunity to really flog the car a bit.  Handling is precise and direct, with little of the dead-on-center feel of the last couple of generations of BMW 3- and 4-series cars.  Steering response isn’t as leisurely as on non-M-Performance models, but also not as darty as on contemporary full-M models.  That Goldilocks Zone is very much in play here.

As with all M-Performance models, the M440i lets you choose between several drive modes to tune the car’s overall feel.  These modes are accessed through four buttons on the center console, labeled Sport, Comfort, Eco Pro, and Adaptive.  Each mode is distinctive, but after living with the car a bit, I settled on Adaptive with the transmission in Sport mode as my typical setting, to bring the car alive but not in a harsh way.  Serenity is the point of cars like this.

Cowl shake over lousy pavement or railroad tracks is barely noticeable, and the difference in rigidity between the convertible and the hard-top model is negligible and more than outweighed by the bonus of being out in the world.  That said, I’m a fan of convertible cars in general and thus I’m clearly in BMW’s target market here, but even for those who wouldn’t normally gravitate to topless versatility, the gap between the coupe and convertible in terms of driving dynamics seems minimal.

The Living is Easy

As a flexible GT car that offers the distinctive benefit of letting you literally smell the roses and work on that always-fetching wind-blown look, the M440i xDrive Convertible is a well-resolved and engaging package.  It’s planted on the road, powerful, and comfortable, and has a shape and presence that sets it apart from other mid-sized, 2+2 convertibles on the road (admittedly a small class).  A day wafting along behind this steering wheel is time well spent indeed.  For those looking for a versatile and capable premium convertible, it should be at the top of the wish list.

At a vibrant event at New York’s Guggenheim Museum on June 28th, BMW announced Julie Mehretu as the 20th Art Car artist.  The vehicle chosen as the next Art Car canvas is the BMW M Hybrid V8 race car, which will race the famed Le Mans 24 Hours event in 2024.

Julie Mehretu: An Artworld Superstar

Julie Mehretu was born in Addis Ababa, the capital city of Ethiopia, in 1970, and along with her family moved to the USA at the age of seven. She received her B.A. from Kalamazoo College, Michigan, graduated from The Rhode Island School of Design with a Master of Fine Arts degree in 1997, and spent a year studying at Cheikh Anta Diop University, Dakar Senegal.

Known primarily for her layered, narrative, large-scale abstract paintings, Mehretu’s work incorporates themes as diverse yet interrelated as politics, literature, and music.  Her paintings have an unmistakable dynamic vibrancy, with her latest work blending images from media depicting conflict, societal injustice, and social unrest.  She has maintained a studio in New York City since 1999.

Mehretu has received numerous awards for her work, including a MacArthur Award and the US Department of State Medal of Arts Award, and in 2021 she became a member of the American Academy of Arts and Sciences and the National Academy of Design.

Mehretu’s BMW Canvas

The canvas for Mehretu’s Art Car will be the BMW M Hybrid V8 race car, which made a splash the weekend before the Guggenheim unveiling by earning its maiden victory in the IMSA GTP-class at Watkin’s Glen in upstate New York.  Returning to prototype racing for the first time since 1999, when the BMW V12 LMR won the 24 Hours of Le Mans, the BMW M Hybrid V8 is powered by a 4.0-liter, eight-cylinder turbo engine coupled with a supplementary electric motor. (The P66/3 combustion engine is based on the unit used in the BMW M4 DTM in 2017-2018.) This hybrid drive system has a regulated output of approximately 640-hp and makes approximately 650-Nm of torque, good for a maximum speed of up to 345 kph/215 mph, depending on track layout.

BMW’s chassis partner for the car is legendary Italian race car specialist Dallara.  The Italian designers are among the most successful manufacturers of race cars in the world.

A Unanimous Nomination

In 2018, an international jury, composed of artworld heavyweights from the museum and gallery worlds, met to consider the next artist to be selected for the BMW Art Car program.  Julie Mehretu was their unanimous choice. 

Said Madeleine Grynsztejn, Pritzker Director, Museum of Contemporary Art Chicago:

“Julie Mehretu is the perfect artist for this early 21st century. To merge her work with the shape and form of a speeding vehicle is really an alignment of perfection. For years, Julie has painted speed and for a long time worked very successfully at scale. This means to me that she will be able to create a form that you can see from a distance because with many of her large commissions, you need to back up to really enjoy them. She has an understanding of space and speed that is a perfect partner to the BMW Art Car.”

Other Jurors were equally effusive in their praise.  Said Okwui Enwezor (1963 - 2019), former Director, Haus der Kunst, Munich: “Julie Mehretu’s work incapsulates different questions of movement. She expresses dynamism within a form. It is a very clear and sound understanding of how the object acts in space. And I think this really makes it a very exciting proposition to have an artist of her caliber who has the long-standing experience to take on this project.”

BMW & The Art World

At its unveiling, the M Hybrid V8 sat like an otherworldly movie prop in the lobby of the Guggenheim’s alabaster main hall, the car’s naked carbon fiber body hinting at design possibilities to come.  Previous Art Car artist Jeff Koons snapped pictures with his mobile phone, while various dignitaries and enthusiastic supporters from the art and automobile worlds took in the stunning architecture of Frank Lloyd Wright’s iconic building.  Club music pulsed and an innovative multimedia display projected names of previous Art Car artists and car images on the swirling interior balconies of the building.  BMW also exhibited models of each of the previous Art Cars, in display cases fit for a museum (certainly appropriate in this instance.)

BMW’s involvement with the Guggenheim goes back to 1986, when they sponsored “The Art of the Motorcycle” exhibition, an event with caused quite a stir in both the art and motorcycle/automobile communities for its then-novel juxtaposition of two seemingly disparate worlds.  The event proved prescient, though, as it foreshadowed how the art and corporate design worlds would blend seamlessly in many different venues and occasions over the next few years.  It also deepened BMW’s significant involvement and support of visual arts programs worldwide.

In 2011 through 2014, BMW partnered with the Guggenheim for the innovative “BMW Guggenheim Lab,” which travelled to major cities (New York, Berlin, and Mumbai) aiming to inspire an ongoing conversation about important urban challenges around the world.  The company has also been a supporter of the Art Basel series of art fairs (particularly in Miami) for many years, an event they’ve used to introduce numerous new design directions and stylistic themes.

Why is BMW so visibly committed to supporting the arts?  According to Ilka Horstmeier, Member of the Board of Management of BMW AG, People and Real Estate, Labour Relations Director, it’s been BMW’s philosophy to do so for over fifty years.  “It all started with Gerhard Richter (referencing the artist from whom BMW commissioned three major paintings in 1972 for its Munich headquarters). We wanted to give our people an inspiring work environment, and supporting artwork was an integral part of that.  [Art] is deeply rooted in BMW’s genes.”  Moreover, she’s clear about the value to BMW’s brand from its support of the arts.  “We’re not just here for altruistic reasons.  People get emotionally attached to these cars.  That can only be good for BMW’s business.”

BMW Art Cars: Literal “Performance Art”

The history of BMW’s Art Car program is as unexpected as it is delightful.  In 1975, Frenchman Hervé Poulain, a young auctioneer and racing driver, hatched a plan to combine his two life passions into one.  He approached Jochen Neerpasch, founder of BMW Motorsport, about providing him with a BMW 3.0 CSL to run in the 1975 Le Mans 24-Hour race, and approached his friend, American artist Alexander Calder, about creating a memorable design for the car.

As reported by French auction house Artcurial, Poulain purchased a model of a 3.0 CSL from a toy shop and set off to meet Calder in Saché, France, where he was staying.  Calder bought into the plan.  Over lunch, Calder wrote out in longhand to Neerspasch his commitment to participate: “OK to paint the car of Poulain and his colts, regards to everyone.”  (The French word “poulaine” means “colt” in English.)

Recognizing the unique value they’d created, BMW insured the car for DM 1 million (~US$430 000), and Poulain (along with co-drivers Sam Posey and Jean Guichet) ran a competitive race until the sixth hour, when the car was retired with a broken driveshaft.  Though an unfortunate result, the car was a big hit with both fans and BMW itself.  The Art Car program was born.

(In a wonderful postscript to that effort, when the Andy Warhol M1 Art Car raced at Le Mans in 1979 and finished sixth, one of the three-driver team was, fittingly, none other than Hervé Poulain himself, his efforts justifiably rewarded with a place in both art and racing history.  Said Warhol about his design:  “I love this car. It’s better than any work of art.”)

Over subsequent years, BMW engaged additional art world luminaries, such as Frank Stella, Roy Lichtenstein, David Hockney, Jeff Koons, Ken Done, Sandro Chia, Coa Fei, and others, to express their artistic visions using the mechanical palate of various BMW cars.  Until 1986, all the Art Cars were racing cars that participated in race events.  With Robert Rauschenberg’s 635 CSi in 1986, BMW began to work production models into the Art Car mix.  (And in the case of Ólafur Elíasson, something different entirely).  In all, BMW has partnered with nineteen artists since 1975 to create these unique rolling artworks, the most recent being John Baldessari’s M6 GTLM in 2016, which raced in the IMSA series in the US.  (Baldessari notably said of his car, “[it’s] the fastest artwork I’ve ever created.”)

(This writer’s favorite Art Car has to be Jenny Holzer’s V12 LMR, which raced at Le Mans during the 1999 campaign.  The white racing car was painted with phrases from Holzer’s “Truisms and Survival Series,” such as “Protect Me From What I Want” and “Lack of Charisma Can Be Fatal,” in vibrant chromium and phosphorescent paint.  Holzer, whose father was a car dealer, brought her trenchant criticisms of Western society to the vibrant and iconic racing event in a subtly provocative manner.  While Holzer’s Art Car didn’t finish the race, one of its sister cars claimed the overall victory.)

Perhaps surprisingly, artists aren’t directly compensated or actively recruited by BMW to participate in the Art Car program (though they are provided significant materials), but this also provides each artist with total creative freedom; once selected for the program, BMW has steadfastly taken a “hands off” approach to what each artist creates.  In a 2020 interview in British GQ, BMW Board Director Ian Robertson said, “Artists have to want to do this, they come to us.  We don’t pay them, either.  The lure is that they become part of history.”  Added Robertson, “The moment you say, ‘You don’t have total creative freedom’, then what’s the point?”

All in all, artists from over nine countries (and five continents) have been represented in the Art Car program.  After being raced or completed, the Art Cars are kept and maintained by BMW at the BMW Museum in Munich, and periodically turn up at automobile and art events around the world, providing both art- and BMW-aficionados the rare opportunity to see these unique creations.  (You can find a full list of the existing nineteen Art Cars HERE.)

What’s Next for Art Car #20

Julie Mehretu has already begun working on her final design for the car, first on a 1/5-scale model and ultimately on a full-sized version later this year.

With weight so important to racing machines, the specific materials for the car’s finish are a consideration for the artist as she works with the BMW team.  Said Timo Resch, Vice President Customer, Brand, Sales at BMW M GmbH, “She envisions her final artwork to be very lightweight,” explaining that the team is working through whether to use a wrap of some sort, airbrushed paint, or some combination of the two materials.  “She absolutely doesn’t want to compromise the car’s performance.”  He paused and chuckled a bit.  “Though if she comes up with some aerodynamic device that improves the car, we’re all for it.”

At the Guggenheim, after being introduced by Thomas Girst, Global Head of Cultural Engagement at the BMW Group, Mehretu spoke about how pleased and honored she was to be included in such significant artistic company, and her thrill at tackling the design challenge.  “This is a moment to push the [design] of the vehicle to be more than the car can otherwise be.  That blur of a racecar going by is one of the first things that struck me when I saw this car on the racetrack,” referencing her visit to Daytona earlier in the year to see the car perform its initial on-track tests.  “That moment of a car speeding by, the uncertainty of it, is interesting for me to investigate.  And a big part of art is play.”  She added, “That uncertainty, of a racecar at speed on the edge, is something I want to explore in creating something like this.”

With the official announcement of both the artist and platform complete, the question of when the public will see the completed car was on everyone’s mind.  At a breakfast for the press the morning after the evening Guggenheim event, a questioner asked Ilka Horstmeier when we might see Mehretu’s finished Art Car.  She paused before speaking, looking a bit mischievous.  “Timo, how many days until Le Mans?”, she asked Resch, who was sitting at a nearby table.  “364 days,” he answered.  She smiled before answering the questioner.  “Well, certainly no more than 364 days.”

Can a motorcycle cosset?

That seems the question BMW Motorrad is asking with the new K 1600 GTL, BMW’s flagship touring motorcycle.

In the hierarchy of BMW automobiles, the 7-Series has long occupied the top step in terms of luxury and ability to effortlessly cover long distances in style.  Each iteration seems ever more powerful, technically advanced, trendsetting in design, and outfitted to cover long distances with minimum fuss and maximum comfort.  In other words:  Cosseting.

So why am I mentioning this in a review ostensibly about a motorcycle?  Because the K 1600 GTL is the closest thing to a 2-wheeled 7-Series that BMW Motorrad has yet built. 

Released as a new model in 2011, the K 1600 has been BMW’s motorcycle standard-bearer ever since, as well as the Motorrad’s showcase for innovation.  Electronically adjusted suspension? Adaptive headlights? Throttle-by-wire? Multiple ride modes?  All pioneered on BMW’s K 1600 bikes.  Newly updated for 2022, BMW started delivering this next-generation uber-K bike to European customers late in 2021, and it’s now available here in the United States. 

Over the course of several weeks, I had the opportunity to experience the K 1600 GTL in many different environments: From the urban landscapes of Dallas and Fort Worth to the rolling ranchlands of rural north Texas; from the treed hillscapes of eastern Oklahoma to the undulating prairies of southern Kansas and western Missouri; and back again.  And after more than 1000 miles in all manner of weather and on a variety of road types, I came to anticipate and enjoy each mile on the renewed big Beemer immensely.

Buttery Smooth Inline-6 Power

There are officially four models in the K 1600 family, but really there are two models with two variations apiece:  The GT and GTL, and the B (for “Bagger”) and Grand American.  The differences are subtle, though meaningful.  Think of the B and Grand American as the longer and lower cruiser twins of the more mature GT and GTL and you’ll be on the right track.  And the GTL and Grand American versions are more passenger-friendly than the more solo-oriented GT and B bikes.  The GTL is the ultimate luxury-touring model of the family and adds to the overall package nicely integrated rigid cases (top and sides) for ample and usable storage.

Regardless of the version, power is provided by one of the sweetest engines ever to grace a motorcycle, an oil/water-cooled 1649cc inline-6 that makes 160-hp at 6,750rpm and a whopping 132.7/ft/lbs of torque at 5,250rpm.  This engine debuted in the K 1600 line in 2011 and has been steadily updated and improved ever since.  Like BMW’s venerable inline-6 automobile engines, this one is linear and supremely smooth.  Riders more accustomed to the shimmy of BMW’s horizontally opposed Boxer engines will likely find the buttery smoothness of the GTL’s engine a bit disorienting; it’s a progressive, drama-free buildup of power and torque that seems almost electric.

The engine has almost preternatural balance.  Place your hand on the tank while the bike is at rest and give the throttle a twist.  The tachometer and your ears register the motor revving but there is barely any vibration on the bike.  I recently got off the GTL and onto a Ducati Multistrada V4 Pikes Peak, a wonderful bike by any measure with the most advanced of the Italian marque’s engines.  It seemed almost coarse in comparison with the BMW’s inline-6.

It’s an absolute honey of a motor, with a smoothness perfectly in keeping with the bike’s overall velveteen demeanor.  I’m sure the Motorrad’s boffins could squeeze more power out of this powerplant with little effort, but I applaud the restraint BMW has shown in not overpowering this bike with pointless top-end.  Never once did I want for any more juice, even when passing in high gear on the highway, where the bike seems to pull without limit (there’s that plentiful engine torque in action for you).  BMW lists the GTL’s top speed as “120+,” and while I didn’t put that entirely to the test, at speeds close to that (for science, you understand) the bike was entirely unflappable. 

All that power is delivered to the rear wheel through a 6-speed multi-disc, oil-filled clutch that drives the typical BMW Motorrad shaft.  The bike has quick shift (both up and down) that works seamlessly, with a nicely weighted clutch lever, useful for getting the big bike rolling (especially on hills), or if you’re just old-fashioned like me and still enjoy the hand-and-foot ballet of manually switching gears.  The big bike also has BMW’s Hill Start Control to aid with, well, starting on hills, as well as a reverser, useful when parked nose-in on slight down grades.  As of yet, BMW hasn’t equipped the GTL with a dual-clutch transmission (as on Honda’s Gold Wing), but between the smooth quick-shifter and the buttery clutch feel, it’s hard to imagine any significant payoff for the engineering effort. 

The GTL’s Duolever front-end, unique from the Telelever on BMW’s R 1250 GS and RT bikes, steers with lightness, precision, and accuracy, and provides consistent anti-dive behavior when heavy on the brakes.  (The difference between the Duolever and Telelever being that, while the Telelever suspension leaves some load through the bike’s headstock and frame, the Duolever completely isolates the suspension from steering duties.) Steering feel on the GTL is great, progressively weightier as the bike speeds up but lightweight and responsive at slower speeds.  In fact, for a bike of the GTL’s size and heft, the delicacy of steering at slow speeds almost seems like a parlor trick.

Underway, the bike is agile and deliberate, and does a better-than-expected job of concealing its mass.  While the GTL is most certainly no sport bike, it tracks precisely when leaned over and responds quickly and accurately to all manner of steering input.  I’ve loved the handling on any BMW I’ve ever ridden that’s equipped with one of these trick front ends, and the GTL is certainly no exception.

While there is certainly no entirely fooling physics, the giant brakes (four pistons in front, two in the rear) do an admirable job of bringing the roughly 800-lb GTL to a stop with little drama (much of it due to the Duolever’s intrinsic anti-dive properties).  The braking is even more sure-footed due to the Motorrad’s Partial Integral ABS, a system which applies the brakes to both wheels when the rider squeezes the hand lever, but only applies the brakes to the rear when the rider presses the foot pedal.  It’s a seamless system, with none of the somewhat unnatural feel I recall from the integrated braking on the R18.

A Robust Technology Package

The rider’s primary interface with the bike’s myriad systems is a bright, easily legible 10.25” TFT display, with the various menus and controls accessed through buttons arrayed around the left grip and in concert with BMW’s novel Multi-Controller wheel.  I’ve always found this rotary controller somewhat unintuitive when I first use it, but like an iDrive controller on BMW’s car side of the house, familiarity comes quickly with a few twists and pushes.  While I’m still old-fashioned enough to prefer a smattering of analog gauges (as with the gauge cluster on the Honda Gold Wing, or the previous K 1600 for that matter), the GTL’s TFT display is easy to live with and configurable, though as with most large digital panels, it’s prone to washing out in direct sunlight.

All variations in the upgraded K 1600 family are laden with electronic paraphernalia, including Dynamic ESA (Electronic Suspension Adjustment) with automatic load-levelling, integrated navigation (in conjunction with the BMW Motorrad Connected app; more on that later), and BMW’s Audio System 2.0, which, while not at quite the level of the fantastic Marshall system on the R18, provides loud, clear sound with numerous connectivity options (including Bluetooth) for your favorite sound sources (including SiriusXM).  There are numerous additional comfort and convenience features as expected on a bike in this class , including standard heated grips and seat, though in the 100-degree Texas heat, I took BMW’s word for it and didn’t give these a try.

BMW has kept ride modes on the GTL simple:  Road, Rain, and Dynamic.  Each adjusts throttle response, engine drag-torque control, traction control, and ESA (suspension) depending on conditions, and are configurable on the fly.  I put the Rain mode to the test during a five-hour stint in the pouring rain between Oklahoma City, OK, and Kansas City, MO, and the bike was nothing but stable and sure-footed.  In dryer conditions, I found the Dynamic setting to bring the most character out of the bike.

The electrically controlled windscreen is height-adjustable with a dedicated switch on the left handgrip, and I was able to find multiple positions that enhanced comfort in multiple situations.  At its lowest setting, plenty of air came over the top lip for cooling, while underway at speed, I found a middle position that blended airflow with calmness (though the top edge made a clean bisection of my sightline, like a non-progressive bifocal lens; my brain adjusted quickly).  At its highest position, the airflow curled up and around and intersected with my helmet to produce an annoying subwoofer-like buffeting, but that’s more a fact of my height relative to the bike than any sort of design criticism.  There are also a pair of adjustable fairing-mounted wind deflectors that when extended look a bit like insect mandibles, or maybe the curb feelers from your Uncle Jimmy’s ‘72 Eldorado. Regardless, they redirect oodles of airflow into a rider’s lap, which is most welcome in the summer heat.

Each of the K 1600 models feature BMW Motorrad’s LED adaptive headlight array, whereby the low-beam LEDs swivel up to 35-degrees into a curve according to the lean angle of the bike, along with a 2-degree up/down deflection to keep the lights level under acceleration and deceleration.  This sounds complicated, and it undoubtedly keeps the bike’s IMU on its toes, but in practice it works seamlessly and provides supreme illumination.

The GTL’s 7-gallon fuel tank keeps fill-ups to a reasonable minimum.  During my time with the bike, I saw an average of 37.8 mpg, but my throttle wrist tended to want to exercise the wonderful inline-6 more than would be typical for normal touring use, so your results will likely trend towards the higher side.

One small miss is the lack of backlit buttons on the thumb controls and various other buttons.  This isn’t a big irritation on the primary controls, but at night the four configurable buttons on the lower left fairing are basically invisible.  While this might seem like a small thing, it’s an expected refinement for a bike in this class.

A much bigger miss, particularly on a bike with the GTL’s touring intent, is the lack of an Adaptive Cruise system.  Having used such a system on several recent bikes (including BMW’s own R18), I can attest to that system’s utility and function, one which makes long-distance cruising that much more effortless and pleasant.  It’s a curious omission on BMW’s part, particularly since they have the system in their parts bin, though I imagine the GTL’s trick LED headlight array takes up the real-estate where the adaptive cruise system sensors would naturally live.  But on a bike of this caliber, it’s an obvious upgrade that would have blended perfectly into the cruising role, and I’d expect to see the system on the next iteration of the K 1600 family.

Navigation System Pains

As mentioned, Navigation is built into the GTL’s large, configurable TFT screen.  But there are a few significant caveats.  For starters, the nav system relies on the BMW Motorrad Connected app, which, while relatively simple to use, isn’t nearly as feature rich as users have come to expect with Google or Apple Maps.  The system also relies on a mobile device for its connectivity, so a persistent connection between your mobile phone and the bike is required for the dashboard Nav system to function.

BMW has also engineered a nifty little cooled cubby (with a power-port) at the base of the windscreen to hold your mobile device, but unfortunately the windscreen needs to be fully deployed to access the cubby.  And did I mention the windscreen automatically retracts when the bike is turned off, thus trapping your phone in the storage compartment?  On more than one occasion, I found myself turning the bike’s power on and off to raise and then lower the windscreen, just to pry my mobile phone out of the compartment, which was a tight fit for my iPhone 13.  Additionally, the only wonky buttons on the entire bike seem to be the ones that latch the cover for the device storage compartment, so just getting it to latch correctly was hit-and-miss and a minor frustration.

But…when it all comes together, with the phone in its cubby and the app paired, the Nav arrows and directions on the bike’s screen are legible and responsive and generally helpful, in a simple quick-glance way that’s useful on a motorcycle.  So okay.  But BMW, really, consider rethinking this entire approach for the next iteration of this machine.  Please.

Elegant Design & Colors

The GTL’s design is elegant, powerful, streamlined, and fully resolved, a flagship Federation Starship in motorcycle form. (Contrast that with the design of BMW’s own venerable GS bikes, which are closer to an attack ship from The Expanse, with their angular, more industrial-rugged design.)  More than once while getting fuel, some fellow rider or driver remarked how great the bike looked, and almost everyone also mentioned how plush and comfortable the machine seemed.  I was happy to confirm their observations.

The bike is indeed a looker.  My tester example was a 2022 model, finished in last year’s available Option 719 choice of Mineral White Metallic with deep navy-blue accent stripes, as well as a delicious saddle brown diamond-stitched seat and passenger backrest, with chrome accents aplenty.  For 2023, the available colors are Black Storm Metallic, Gravity Blue Metallic, and this year’s Option 719 choice of Meteoric Dust II Metallic.  I’m a little bummed the Mineral White Metallic was only available last year, as it’s a sophisticated, classy color combination.  If you feel the same, I encourage you to scour BMW Motorrad dealers for one in stock.

Base price for a 2023 K 1600 GTL is $27,790, with the price of this particular 2022 bike coming in at $31,790 (including the Premium Package, Option 719 paint and seat, and floor lighting options).  That’s a hefty price for any motorcycle, but for the small handful of ultra-luxe bikes in this class (Honda Gold Wing, HD Ultra Limited, Indian Roadmaster), it’s in keeping with expectations. 

The Complete Touring Package

For riders wanting the most cosseting combination possible of performance and amenities, the K 1600 GTL hits all the marks.  From the surprisingly flickable way the big bike handles, to the robust complement of conveniences and electronics, to the locomotive smoothness of the brilliant engine, the GTL is the complete package.  I can’t think of a plusher way to gobble up miles, short of a BMW 7-series itself.

Close your eyes and imagine a classic BMW bike from days gone by, then open your eyes and look at the newly launched R18 B and Transcontinental models. The marque’s family heritage is immediately apparent. Recently, I was in the foothills of the Rockies outside of Denver for the launch of these two new motorcycles, designed to appeal to the enthusiast cruiser crowd but also to showcase BMW Motorrad’s long history of designing and building interesting, characterful machines. The two new bikes do not disappoint.

While both bikes are based on BMW’s “standard” R18, the R18 B (for “Bagger”) and Transcontinental are fraternal twins differentiated by subtle, though meaningful, differences. The Transcontinental is essentially an R18 B outfitted for greater comfort and appointed for traveling with a partner on the back. Specifically, this amounts to the addition of a substantial top-trunk with an integrated passenger backrest, and an extended windscreen on the handlebar-mounted fairing, along with some other subtle additions to aid long-distance cruising with a passenger.

Concept Show Looks

The R18 was released in 2020 to much fanfare, as it was BMW’s first foray back into the true cruiser market since the R1200C exited in 2000. That bike was a retro-futuristic design hamstrung by a relatively tepid engine, while the R18’s styling has a clear lineage dating all the way back to the R5.

As with BMW’s jackrabbit R nineT, the R18 has spawned several iterations. To date, the R18 models include the R18, Classic, and now B and Transcontinental iterations (both available as First Editions). If the standard R18 is more the natural stablemate to the Harley Fat Boy, Indian Scout, Ducati Diavel 1260, and even Triumph Rocket 3 R, the new R18 variants have different competition in mind.

Baggers (essentially cruisers with hard-shell bags) occupy a unique and versatile place in the motorcycle firmament.  At once useful and stylish, a bagger exudes overt attitude but also unmistakable usefulness.  Intimidating and imposing while rumbling down the street, they’re also practical and comfy when plying greater distances.  The latest R18 models fully exhibit these characteristics. With apologies to Lowell George: Tucson to Tucumcari? No problem. Tehachapi to Tonopah? No sweat. If Easy Rider were remade today, Captain America would likely be riding a bagger.

At once nostalgic yet entirely modern, there’s something wonderfully unexpected about the design of all of versions of R18 bikes.  It’s as if the Motorrad’s skunkworks worked with their Marketing folks to make a nostalgic splash for a BMW show display, then somehow managed to sneak the bike onto the production line.  From the front forks sheathed in cladding to partially hide the slider tubes, to the nickel-plated driveshaft, to vintage pinstriping, the detailing and appointments of the bike just seem entirely improbable to have come from a factory bike.  Smile-inducing to be sure.

German Technology and British Sound

As expected with BMW machines, both bikes come festooned with all manner of technology. Most functions are controlled through a bright, responsive 10.25” TFT color display, which is slung beneath four retro gauges (one of which is a cool “Power Reserve” similar to that found on BMW’s sister company Rolls Royce cars). And how can you not love the “Berlin Built” script on one of the instrument dials and several of the fluid reservoirs?

Dynamic Cruise Control maintains the bike’s speed (even when riding downhill), and the optional Active Cruise Control uses radar sensors to maintain a set distance from vehicles in front (and adjusts speeds during cornering). This system is similar to that on Ducati’s Multistrada V4 S models (called Adaptive Cruise Control by the Italians). The list of electronic aids is comprehensive and easily accessed by logical controls on the left handlebar.

Both bikes have LED lighting throughout (the most powerful headlights on any production motorcycle, incidentally), with the option of BMW’s Adaptive Headlights, a system which turns the headlight into a bend to compensate for both lean angle and pitch. ABS is standard, as are a multitude of additional rider aids (Active Stability Control, three riding modes, engine braking control, and the aforementioned cruise control features). Navigation requires a linked mobile phone connection, but there’s a useful carrying compartment for a phone (with USB-C port) built into the tank.

But baggers are all about cool, so I’ll pose this question: What do the rock-and-roll tunes Runnin’ with the Devil (Van Halen), Back in Black (AC/DC), Foxey Lady (Jimi Hendrix), and Crossroads (Cream) have in common? Answer: They were all played through Marshall amps. The British manufacturer has partnered with BMW to equip these new R18 models with a new integrated sound system, and it certainly gets the Led out (Jimmy Page reference very much intended). It’s two optional configurations produce clear, clean sound even at higher speeds, and the Marshall logo script lettering built into the speaker grills provides a nice retro touch.

“Big Boxer” is Big Fun

BMWBLOG laid out the mechanical particulars of these news bikes in late-July when they were officially announced, but to recap: Both of these bikes are built around BMW’s new “Big Boxer” engine, an air/oil cooled 1802cc 2-cylinder boxer engine which is the largest of the type ever used in motorcycle production. The engine’s output is 91-hp (67kW) at a lazy 4750rpm, with maximum torque of 110 lb-ft (150 Nm) on tap between 2000-4000 rpm. Maximum engine speed is 5750 rpm, and it idles at a lazy 950 rpm.

To make use of that torque, power is transmitted to the 6-speed transmission through a single-plate dry clutch, which for the first time incorporates an anti-hopping mechanism, eliminating always-exciting stamping of the rear wheel during hard downshifting.  There is also an optional reverse gear driven by an electric motor, useful on a bike that can tip the scales at a curb weight of almost 950-lbs (for the Transcontinental).

On startup, the big lump shimmies like a sumo wrestler with a shake-weight, but when it warms a bit, it settles down into a steady burble; a sumo wrestler with a hula-hoop, if you will.  But be wary of the throttle while standing still.  While the engine has an additional main center bearing, designed to help prevent what BMW terms “undesirable longitudinal vibrations” from the crankshaft, there’s no hiding the sheer amount of reciprocating mass oscillating side-to-side.  Revving it above 3000 rpm while parked might result in a low-speed embarrassing whoopsie for the unwary (and no, this did not happen to your humble reviewer).

A Heavyweight Canyon Carver

At the recent launch, BMW Motorrad put together a route designed to show off the laid-back yet nimble personality of their new R18 versions. During the morning rush hour, we headed off from the Cherry Creek area of Denver with bright skies and climbing temps. The timing provided an opportunity to feel how the bikes handled in stop-and-go urban traffic. As expected, the sheer size and weight of the bikes didn’t make for the nimblest of city companions, but once out on the open road, through Golden and up to Boulder, the bikes came into their own. The load-leveling rear suspension always felt planted to the often-questionable pavement.

North of Boulder, we made our way through the glorious canyons leading to Estes Park, and the bikes proved to be lively companions. Steering is direct and precise, and though the heft of the machines generally makes them want to press onward, a bit of braking followed by a judicious use of throttle lightens up the front and helps with turn-in. While the bikes always feel substantial, they also fall into an easy rhythm; weight transfer is predictable and progressive. Lean angles are necessarily compromised by the size of the cylinder heads, but in the canyons, I found myself regularly scraping the plastic guards under the chromed floorboards. Fun stuff.

In 6th gear, the engine loafs along at 75-80mph turning an easy 3000rpm, which is clearly its happy range.  Above 4000rpm, the big Boxer sends significant vibrations through the handlebars and floorboards.  While the sensation is manageable, it also encourages not spending too much time in the upper reaches of the tachometer.

Braking, given the electronic aids in play, is progressive and confident, though a tad peculiar at first. Controlled by BMW Motorrad Full Integral ABS, the front and rear brakes are linked together, so that using either the brake lever or pedal activates both (with the bias adjusted dynamically depending on wheel load distribution).  This sensation took a while to warm to, and given our twisty route there were times I wished for an actual independent rear brake.  The system ultimately fades into the background, though, and I grew accustomed to the behavior and feel by the end of our morning’s ride session.

One personal irritation was the position of the shift lever.  Between the floor boards below and the cylinder heads in front, I was never able to find a truly comfortable position for my boot to access the shifter.  According to BMW this is an adjustable setting, so I imagine a bit of garage tuning would alleviate this annoyance, but I did miss several shifts while my left foot searched for the lever.  Aside from this minor ergonomic annoyance, gear changes were silky and precise, with a nicely weighted and predictable clutch pull and feel.

Of the three riding modes (Rain, Roll, and Rock), I left the bikes in the middle Roll mode generally.  The throttle mapping gap between Roll and Rock mode is surprisingly wide, and while Rock mode was useful and enjoyable while racing around bends in the canyons, it was a tad abrupt for city riding.  Rain mode was as somnambulistic as you’d predict, but since the expected precipitation on the ride didn’t appear, I didn’t have an opportunity to really sample it as designed.

At a stopover at the iconic Stanley Hotel in Estes Park, several admirers approached and responded enthusiastically to the bike’s design.  Of the available paint finishes, a particular favorite of onlookers was the “Option 719 Galaxy Dust Metallic / Titanium Silver”; think iridescent purple and silver, which shimmers from violet to turquoise blue in the sunlight.  It is easily the most striking factory paint finish on any motorcycle I’ve seen, and justifies the $2400 upcharge for owners looking for something unique.

Both bikes feature comfortable, supportive saddles designed for the long haul and my backside never once complained.  All told, I put about 185 miles on the R18 B and Transcontinental (split evenly between the two bikes) and found them to be more than agreeable riding companions.

Modest Compromises for Maximum Gain

A criticism of the earlier R18 bikes was that the seating position was a bit low for shorter riders, and that geometry overall could be uncomfortable for folks shorter than 6’.  The flat foot position on all R18 variations, necessitated by the size of the cylinder heads, also tends to exacerbate the R18’s somewhat compromised rider comfort on the more stretched-out model version.

On these new bikes, BMW has taken heed of that earlier criticism.  The steering head rake has been slightly steepened, and the seat height raised slightly (from 27” on the standard R18 to 28.3”/29.1” on the B and Transcontinental models respectively).  These subtle changes make a great deal of difference.  (I’m 6’ tall with an average inseam and arm length, and I found both bike versions to be an excellent fit.)  That said, the windshield height on the Transcontinental hit me right at eye level, so I felt like I was viewing the world through bifocals for much of the time.  The B’s windshield is a tad lower, yet still managed to keep the wind in check and had less obtrusive sight lines.

One other likely unintended byproduct of the new fairing on the Transcontinental is heat abatement.  Underway, the bigger bike’s extended wind-deflectors block out pretty much all air flow, thus allowing less air to pass over the cylinder head cooling fins; all that extra heat swirls around the rider’s legs rather than getting blown away.  There are two smaller adjustable flaps mounted on the lower-sides of the fairing that help, but on our hot riding day, it got a little soupy.  The B version has enough additional airflow that this phenomena isn’t as pronounced.

Admittedly, these new R18s are heavy bikes; as mentioned, the Transcontinental, fully loaded with liquids, tips the scales at 941-lbs; the B weighs in at 877-lbs.  In comparison to the Harley and Indian competition (both of which are in the 900-lb range), the heft of these bikes is within bounds.  But a Honda Goldwing, a reasonable comparison for the Transcontinental model, tips the scales at 787-lbs, so there’s room for some slimming should BMW decide to do a nipping and tucking.

Could these R18 models use a tad more power?  Of course!  (Rhetorical question alert.)  Twenty percent more grunt would place the R18 right in line with Indian’s bagger models, though in fairness the R18’s horsepower and torque specs are a pretty much a mirror-image to that of a Harley-Davidson Electra Glide.  Considering this new boxer is essentially a new design, I imagine there’s more to be had with some tweaking; Roland Sands has already coaxed a rumored 110-hp out of his R18-based drag bike with only some gentle tuning (though he also added a nitrous system, natch).

But really, more power is almost beside the point.  These particular BMW bikes are about style, solidity, and comfort, traits they deliver in abundance.

Make Mine a Bagger

Both the R18 B and Transcontinental are both well-executed, compelling motorcycles, though time and sales figures will tell whether the R18 B and Transcontinental make a dent with the motorcycle cruising crowd. Given their overall style, competence, quality, and copious features, I won’t be surprised to see these new BMW models turning up at rallies where Harleys typically reign supreme. And if I’m asked to join in a ride, please make mine an R18 B. As one of my fellow launch riders said, “Why would anyone buy a Harley over this?”

I like to imagine a scene.  Sometime earlier this year, near the town of Affalterbach, Baden-Württemberg, Germany, near Stuttgart, a man named Alexander Kasarez readied himself for work, poured a cup of coffee to gird against the late-Winter chill, kissed his wife and tousled his children’s hair, and made his way to work at the Mercedes-AMG factory.  Alexander spent this day like other days, meticulously assembling by hand an AMG motor, in this instance a 4.0-liter, twin-turbo V8, engine code number M177, his specific skills honed over many years of delicate craftsmanship in the name of mechanical precIsion and accuracy.  At the end of the day, the motor, having been measured and tested and validated against Alexander’s exacting standards (and the quality control processes of Mercedes-AMG), was placed in a crate and labeled for shipment.  But before that, just at the end of the process, Alexander placed a silver badge engraved with his signature on the engine cover, proudly marking that the engine had been handcrafted by him: One engine, one man, assembled by hand.  At the end of his workday, Alexander perhaps stopped off for a stein of the local brew with his mates, before making his way home through the chilly German evening.  It was a good day.

While the details of my imagined scene are likely way off, what I do know to be absolutely true is that the engine Alexander assembled made its way from Affalterbach all the way to Vance, Alabama, USA, where it was installed in the car you see here:  A 2017 Mercedes-AMG C63 S Sedan.

(Many thanks to the fine folks at Mercedes of Kansas City for the extended test drive.)

AMG has always been the most organic of the German high-performance shops, the So-Cal Speed Shop of the Black Forest.  Started in 1967 as a racing engine builder by former Mercedes engineers Hans-Werner Aufrecht and Erhard Melcher in an old mill in Burgstall an der Murr, Germany, AMG ultimately began building racing versions of Mercedes roadcars and eventually became the de facto “factory” tuner.  In 2005, the relationship was made complete when Mercedes-Benz acquired AMG entirely, morphing them into the corporate brand structure.  Unlike their brethren at BMW M and Audi Sport, however, AMG’s ambitions were always to build their own bespoke automobiles, and in 2010 they released their first official ground-up car, the gull-winged SLS, followed soon after by the slightly more accessible (though equally orgasmically appealing) AMG GT.

AMG's foundational recipe was simple:  Take one refined and otherwise substantial and adult Mercedes-Benz sedan, bolt in the biggest, honkin’ist motor they could conjure, slap on some gussied-up suspension parts, add some subtle but aggressive visual  accoutrements, and fire that sucker up.  Tires?  Hell, man, those are disposable parts of a car!  And thus it has been, even after the corporate overlords moved into the AMG lunchroom, with even the dowdy G-wagon receiving the steroidal AMG treatment.

The C-class Sedan on which this particular AMG is based is an otherwise lovely, aspirational “mid-luxury” sedan, Mercedes’ answer to the BMW 3-Series, Audi A4, Lexus IS, Infiniti Q50, and Cadillac CTS.  It’s a crowded segment, astoundingly competitive, with the perennial class-leading BMW setting the long-time benchmark for the others.  Competition has improved the breed across the board, with each of these series of cars having qualities, performance, and technology unimaginable just ten years ago.  The current-generation C-class (the W205 in the vernacular) arrived on the scene in 2014 and has spawned Sedan, Coupe, and Cabriolet (aka Convertible) versions in the US (with the Wagon sadly unavailable domestically).

The top-shelf C63 S has a base price of $72,800, but the car you see here was loaded up with all manner of goodies, some essential, some perhaps not so, and will set the greedy buyer back $93,290.  It's a lot of cheese but such is the cost for competing at the high-end of this class.  Contributing to the cost inflation are the AMG Performance Exhaust System, Panorama Roof, AMG Performance Seats, delicious black cross-spoke forged wheels, and several other electronic and visual packages.  The seats are a bargain at $2500 (more on those later), and $975 for the luscious designo™ Cardinal Red Metallic paint, the color of Vatican sin, is worth every penny.  (This may be my favorite red hue on the market today.)

The C63 S Sedan exemplifies the brutalist approach to performance long expounded by AMG. While the design of the non-AMG C-class versions is elegant and mature, if perhaps a tad conservative, the C63 S has beefed up just enough to make a passerby notice:  Hey, there’s something different about THAT one.  AMG broadened the car's stance front and rear, installed a menacing front fascia to slurp air into the intercoolers, and tweaked other surfaces just enough to give the car a vaguely menacing air. It’s a subtle sort of violent intent, the Ray Donovan of performance sedans.

As with all things AMG, the car's personality starts with the motor.  Mr. Kasarez’s engine is a 4.0-liter V8 Biturbo, which makes 503-hp at 6250 RPM and 516-lb/ft of torque at a loafing 1750 RPM.  Turn the key and fire it up; it’s not subtle.  The exhaust note begins as sonorous and burbling, almost reserved, but then utterly explodes under acceleration.  The note is organic and raw, like walking in a prairie outside of Bozeman and accidentally stepping on a sleeping bison’s tail.  You won’t forget the sound. When the final chapter is written on the internal combustion engine in fewer number of years than most of us thought possible (I’m guessing ten to fifteen), it’s the sound of engines like these that will be most missed.  (And massive kudos to Mercedes-AMG for resisting the piped-in sound nonsense found in the M-cars from BMW).  All that grunt propels the C63 S from 0 to 60mph in 3.9 seconds, bettering its arch rival from down Munich way (the BMW M3 DCT Competition Pack) by a tenth of a second.  So bragging rights go to the Merc.  I doubt that’s coincidental.

Power is transmitted to the rear wheels through a 7-speed, dual-clutch automatic with a manual shifting mode, which comes standard with launch-control for those brave enough to give it a try (and for those who could care less about the long-term maintenance prospects of this key piece of the drivetrain).  The transmission architecture is as unique as the hand-built motor, with the automatic gearbox forgoing the traditional torque converter for a multi-clutch pack, the idea being to combine the best attributes of a torque-converter automatic and a dual-clutch manual.  Shifts are crisp and quick and set a standard for autoboxes that others in the field (such as the Cadillac CTS-V) should emulate.  But the C63 S still doesn’t rip off upshifts and downshifts as quickly and cleanly as the true double-clutch transmission in the BMW M3/M4.  Mercedes could remedy that performance gap easily since they have a dynamite double-clutch 7-speed in their own parts box, which they install in the AMG GT.  But their choice to go this route doesn’t disappoint; shifts are flawless and smooth, gentle and seamless when loafing around town in typical driving and equally aggressive when you want them to be.  It’s the best automatic transmission I’ve ever driven, full stop.

All of the engine’s power makes its way through an electronically controlled limited-slip differential to the rear wheels of the car.   The C63 S (and it’s slightly tamer sibling, the C63) forgoes the AWD system in most AMG models for good ol' rear-wheel drive.  AMG’s decision to put this much power and torque through only the rear wheels means that the careless (or carefree) driver is never far from having the back tires break away, the rear of the car swaying hither and yon in the most amusing manner.  And thus, it requires some thought and careful throttle application to get the most out of the C63 S, and for that I stand up and give Mercedes-AMG a hearty and heartfelt… <slow clap>.  All that power is channeled through fetching AMG-specific 19” wheels shod in Michelin Pilot Super Sport tires, which generate a true cacophony of tire noise on pretty much any pavement.  It’s a small blemish on the otherwise pitch-perfect suspension tuning, but it does serve to constantly remind the driver of the forces flowing through the contact patches.

Handling is largely neutral and predictable, the aforementioned ease of breaking the rear-end loose notwithstanding, and it’s a simple task to get the car up on its toes to sample it’s moves.  For such a heavy car (pushing 4000 lbs), the C63 S handles its mass with ease, with gobs of front-end grip and little body roll to ruin the tippytoes-feel of the car dancing under speed.  AMG’s three-mode electronically-controlled suspension allows the driver to choose damping levels ranging from firm to track-harsh, but even the “softest” firm setting (oxymoron alert!) is pleasant and comfy for around town daily driving.  The steering itself is nicely weighted and gently talkative, with no dead-spots in feel even when the wheel is centered.

Inside, Mercedes has clearly decided to overcompensate for its stodgy interiors of yore. The C63 S builds on Mercedes’ modern nautical design motif, with a wide and high center console trimmed with elegant brushed aluminum for all vents and knobs and switches.  It’s a cozy cockpit that provides a sense of intimacy and isolation while also exuding absolute quality. Every material surface is first-rate, and the tactile quality of switchgear matches anything from industry-leader Audi.  The central screen for the COMAND vehicle control system is bright, easy to navigate, and straightforward.  I still find the BMW iDrive system the industry leader in terms of vehicle interfaces, but Mercedes has closed the gap significantly.

Another glorious old-school detail for those who have had to listen to me rant about modern cars with no specific place to store the key fob:  In this car, and indeed all C-class cars, you can actually stick the fob into a dashboard receptacle and twist your wrist to start the car.  Nostalgia!  Sometimes, it’s the little things…

One small nit:  The gear shifter is a simple, plastic stalk on the right side of the steering column, which demands all the delicacy of chopsticks to manipulate.  This unremarkable little appendage is entirely at odds with the Sword of Damocles power summoned when you put the car in gear.  Hey, Mercedes, how about giving your friendly hooligan a friggin’ proper gear lever on the console or something?

One other small nit:  The rear-view mirrors are too small in the car, so you’ll quickly learn to lean on the electronic blind-spot indicators built into the mirror frames.  No matter, though, since you’ll typically be coming up on cars from behind anyway, given the intended use-case of this animal.

But the seats! The optional AMG Performance Seats are absolutely magical, my new favorite seats in any car I’ve driven in the past two years.  Not only do they look fabulous and have a Chinese menu’s worth of adjustments, but they’re bolstered and cushioned in Goldilocks fashion, allowing no gluteal sliding while remaining comfortable over longer distances.  If you order a C63 S, get these seats.  Just trust me on this.

The downside of a car with this much power, and a platform that encourages using it, is fuel economy.  While the EPA figures on the Monroney claim 18mpg City and 24 highway for a combined average of 20mpg, let me just stress that, well, your mileage may vary.  The C63 S drinks gas like a like a drunk on a bender, like a parched cactus during monsoon season, like a greyhound after a long night at the track, like…you get the idea.  How this car escaped a “gas guzzler” tax from the regulators can only be explained by graft and backroom deals.  I swear I actually saw the gas gauge needle move towards E under hard acceleration.  You’ve been warned.

The C63 S makes the best argument yet for NOT plunking down your ninety grand on a fully-loaded BMW M3. In fact, I’m happy to admit I’m rather smitten by the car, it’s sharp-edged combination of brutal strength, cosseting luxury, and subtle aesthetics making an appealing and convincing case for being the best 4-door sports sedan on the market.

All of Mercedes-AMG should be rightly proud of this car.  And to Alexander Kasarez especially, I say:  Job well-done.

Hero worship is a funny thing.  As I write this, I’m sitting in my office, sipping a beer, wearing a t-shirt emblazoned with a red, white, and blue #1 flanked with two words:  Evel Knievel.  Understand, I’m a 51-year old man who’s not overly prone to nostalgia, but one of the few items I miss from my childhood is my beloved Evel Knievel lunch box, which burned up in a house fire when I was ten.  My Rosebud if you will.  When I found this t-shirt in a shop in New Orleans a few years back, I snapped it up over the bemused chuckle of my wife, and as it's faded over the years, I feel like it’s catching up in wear-and-tear to me.  When I wear it to the grocery store or Costco or some tony shop, inevitably I get knowing thumbs-up from other men of a certain age.  Boys will never stop being boys.  (LATE BREAKING NEWS:  The Evel Knievel Museum opened last weekend!)

But heroes come and heroes go, and since the turn of the century, the motorcycle hero I’ve followed is one Nicholas Patrick “Nicky” Hayden, aka “The Kentucky Kid,” who blew onto the scene after winning the AMA title in 2002 and then transitioned to MotoGP with the Repsol Honda team the following year.  In 2006, Hayden won the MotoGP title outright, beating out Valentino Rossi for the title at the final race.  (For an astounding recount of that season, I highly recommend Rick Broadbent’s “Ring of Fire.”)  Nicky jumped to the Ducati factory team in 2009, spent five seasons there, then moved back to a Honda team before leaving MotoGP for the production-based World Superbike Championship in 2016.

And then this past May, while on a bicycle training ride nearly Rimini, Italy, with other members of his team, Hayden was hit by a car and suffered severe injuries.  He succumbed five days later.  Hayden rode a motorcycle, any motorcycle, from dirt bikes to flat-trackers to road racing machines to MotoGP two-wheeled spaceships, with verve and flair and joy, and by all accounts, he was one of the true gentlemen in the racing paddock.  The Kentucky Kid also happened to be the most successful American motorcycle racer of his era.  He was, as they say, hero material.

And that brings me to this review, of the Ducati 1199 Panigale R, a bike for heroes if there ever was one.

I suppose I should be brutally honest up front.  The Ducati 1199 Panigale R is a dreadful street bike.  It bucks at low speeds, which means it bucks at pretty much anything even remotely legal.  It barks and snorts and makes noise like an Al Pacino outtake reel.  At stop signs and lights, or anywhere that demands civilized behavior, it handles in a tremulous manner.  You sit tippy-toe high.  It’s hot.  It will not flatter you with niceties.

I love everything about it.

The Panigale R arrived in 2013 (the bike tested here is of that generation), and as with virtually all of Ducati’s R-bikes, it was intended as a homologation special to conform to World Superbike rules.  Ducati has released a number of R-bikes over the years, with some notables being the 888SP2, 996R, 999R, and 1098R, all of which went on to significant use and success in the racing world.  The “R” moniker isn’t used exclusively for homologation machines, as you can walk into your Ducati dealer and buy a lovely Monster R at this very moment, but the Superbikes that wear the badge have always tended toward the extreme.

The bike's motor begins life as the standard two-cylinder 1199S lump, but since this bike has racing intentions, Ducati equipped the R with titanium connecting rods and a lighter flywheel, which lets the bike build revs in a manner more closely associated with 4-cylinder bikes (a twin has massive pistons to turn over, remember) with the rev limiter raised from 11,500 to 12,000 rpm.  The engine makes 195-hp at 10,750 rpm and 97.3 lb/ft of torque at 9000 rpm.  At any speed, the bike never wants for power, the low-end torque between 3000 to 7000 rpm providing a visceral grunt virtually unknown to the V4s with which the R competes.

Ducati also equipped the Panigale R with numerous chassis upgrades to facilitate fine-tuning in a race paddock, including an adjustable swingarm pivot that allows for several millimeters tunable movement up and down, allowing racers to tune for squat and increased agility (which helps to manage tire wear over a race distance).  This is not a feature with which riders who stick to the roads will ever likely experiment, but it speaks to the racing intentions of the machine.  The bike also gets all manner of carbon fiber goodies, which not only look wonderful (the Italians do matte-finished CF better than anyone) but also save some weight.

To that point, the R tips the scales at 417-pounds wet (meaning full of fluids), which makes it one of the lightest liter-bikes on the market.  The ultra-lightweight forged and machined three-spoke Marchesini wheels and Brembo M50 calipers also add to the significant weight reduction.

The Panigale R also happens to be achingly beautiful, the rolling embodiment of Italian design, powerful and taught and nipped and tucked, an expensive bike that looks expensive.  And did I mention it’s red?  I read an interview once with Flavio Manzoni, Ferrari’s Chief Designer, who happens to collect Ducati motorcycles.  When asked why he collected Ducati bikes rather than Ferrari cars, he replied to the effect of, “Ducatis are Ferraris for people who can’t afford Ferraris.”  I entirely get it (though I'm suspect of Flavio’s veracity about his financial capabilities).  The Panigale R looks exotic sitting still, every component and weld and brake-line fastener lovely and purposeful and exotic.  As a garage queen, it is nonpareil. 

On startup, the Panigale R whines its high-tension starter whine then erupts with a bark.  Ducati ships the R with a stock Panigale exhaust, but also includes a full Termignini race systems with a dedicated ECU mapping (the bike you see here was thus equipped).  (Note:  The current year's R bikes ship with an Akropovic race exhaust rather than the Termi.)  To say that it’s loud does an injustice to decibel sensors; this bike will wound a rider not wearing appropriate hearing protection.  But oh, what a sound!  Hikers who have the misfortune to be hiking in Yellowstone at the moment the supervolcano erupts will hear a similar sound as their lives come to an end, a howling, barking, gravely gargle that ebbs and flows with rage and tension; Sam Elliot has likely already signed a retainer to voice the Panigale R in an upcoming Pixar “Cars” movie.  It’s unlike any motorcycle I’ve ever heard.

The electronics are everything you'd expect from a top-spec superbike these days, and Ducati's LCD screen is bright and readable in all manner of light.  (The way the background flexes from black to white depending on ambient light is both cool and useful.) The Panigale R comes with the latest gizmos that Ducati and its OEM partners can conjure, all with the express intent of both making you feel comfortable going faster but also preserving the rider and the bike.  For fun, I opened the throttle more fully than prudent at one mid-corner and the DTC EVO system (think really fancy traction control) lit up the dashboard with all manner of blinky lights while it modulated traction and wheelspin to save me from myself.  The bike never slowed, never jerked, just slid the rear Pirelli Diablo Supercorsa SP tire enough for me to feel it in my ass, then rocketed out of the corner with massive speed.

As mentioned, it’s not a particularly pleasant motorcycle to ride slow.  (Ed: The next sentence was originally “So don’t ride slow!” but our lawyers made us take that out.)  Even in Sport mode (rather than the type-A Race mode), the R’s fueling at lower revolutions is unhappy and bitchy, and low-speed handling is ponderous at best.  Plan your rides accordingly, because this bike wants a track or at the very least a winding country road, where it comes alive.  Once there, the race-tuning begins to make sense, the bike becoming flickable through transitions, aided not only by the low curb-weight but by the Öhlins suspension front and back, which provides immense feedback and progressive damping.  The wide, clip-on handlebars aid turn-in and the rider geometry makes steering with your knees on the tank almost telepathic.  The windscreen even does an admirable job of directing the wind at speeds north of 120 mph (or so, um, I guess, cough, cough).  While the Panigale R isn’t as comfortable as, say, the Aprilia RSV4 Factory or BMW S1000RR, it’s not at all an uncomfortable perch (with the proviso that comfort is absolutely relative on superbikes in general).

The Panigale R isn’t for the faint of heart when it comes to pulling out your checkbook.  At a list price of $35,000, the R is almost ten grand more expensive than the 1299S model it sits above in the lineup.  That extra dough gets a bunch of extras, though, and perhaps even more importantly a whole lot of exclusivity.  And since the 1199/1299 line is the end to the era of Ducati twin-cylinder bikes, with the inevitable four-cylinder superbikes arriving soon, collectability is certainly an element with the R.  It’s special, in the way that taming any lightly-broken beast is special.

The Ducati Panigale R rewards commitment and skill; it’s the diametric opposite of the bike for beginners, and maybe most importantly it’s the kind of motorcycle that allows you to scratch your inner Nicky Hayden fantasies.  And I would be massively fibbing if I didn't admit to that being one of the reasons I still wrap my middle-aged self around these kinds of rocketships.  Get one while you can.

I am a fan of high-test station wagons.  ("I deem thee:  Superwagon!")  I am also a fan of performance cars.  (Duh.)  The coolest car I’ve ever owned, or likely ever will own, was an Audi S4 Avant (aka Wagon), with a 340-hp, high-revving 4.2-liter V8 under the hood and a 6-speed manual transmission linked to the Quattro AWD system.  It was a beast, with an exhaust burble that set off car alarms within a block as it rolled along with a generally pissed off demeanor.  I loved that car.

Flash forward to today, when the future car I'm looking forward to perhaps the most is the new Porsche Panamera Sport Turismo (aka Wagon), a classic shooting brake which may actually have more appeal to me than the new GT3 (did I actually just type that?).  Here in America, because we’re upstart heathens and thus can’t be trusted with the super-cool toys (and also because we’re dumb and don’t buy them in enough volume), the tally of hot wagons has dwindled, leaving one lonely King on the throne:  The Mercedes-AMG E63 S, a luxurious grocery getter propelled by a 603-hp 4-liter twin-turbo V8 that spins its 627 lb/ft of torque to all four wheels via a 9-speed transmission.  It does the 0-60 show in 3.4 seconds, and retails for north of $100k when you load it up with the inevitable options.  None other than the legendary Bobby Rahal picked the AMG Wagon as his “If I could only have one car” choice in this very blog last year, and I firmly believe it’s the ne plus ultra of cool cars available in the New World at the moment.  Sadly, Mrs. KanonOnCars begs to differ.

You see, like the clear majority of Americans (just look at the sales figures, not to mention your office parking lot), my wife has been seduced by the lure of elevation, so the SUV form factor is now firmly established in her blood stream.  Thus, we’ve had all manner of SUVs parked in our garage over the years, from an Infiniti QX5 to a Volkswagen Touareg to a couple of successive BMW X5 diesels.  They’ve all been delightful in their own way (except for the Touareg, whose air-suspension was engineered by the Gods of Chaos themselves).  Our last BMW X5 was an absolute winner, but when the time came to replace it, my not-so-subtle lobbying for the AMG wagon was shut down with a glance.  So, we tip-toed up to the precipice of a BMW X6 M, a vehicle she’d driven and adored but which, if we’re both being honest, is a tad in-your-face (not to mention seriously expensive).  What’s a family of two (plus pooches) to do?

Allow me to introduce the BMW X4 M40i.

(I’d normally give a shout-out to some fine BMW establishment for the extended test drive, but since we bought this thing, I suppose I should really thank BMW Financial Services.  Hi, guys!)

The hottest version of the newly conceived BMW X4 line, the M40i is nothing if not controversial in car circles, as polarizing as the sour beer fad.  Certain writers view the X4 as the embodiment of all that’s wrong with BMW, with its incessant market slicing and dicing and niche filling.  Others chose to not laden the X4 with an entire brand’s baggage and view it of a piece, working to determine if it’s any damn good at what it is, whatever it is.  Is it a funky and fun sport coupe for a modern couple who wants some driving emotion with their utility?  Or is it simply a shrunken version of Exhibit A in the purist's long list of beefs with modern BMW:  The X6 and the ultimate offensive blight, the aforementioned X6 M.

Ironically, to think of the X4 M40i as a “Baby X6 M” is not just hyperbole.  When Car & Driver snarkily subtitled their review of the M40i with, “For when you're not quite baller enough to rock an X6 M,” I think they inadvertently hit upon a truth (and likely accidentally; enough with the clichéd “Bro” references, fellas).  While my love for the brutish X6 M is well-known, it’s also quite the handful.  For the day-to-day run to the office or Home Depot, there are times when treating every piece of road like you’re white-knuckling the turn-in to the “Exit to Salinas” at Laguna Seca gets, well, a bit tiresome.

This vehicle left BMW’s factory in Spartanburg, South Carolina, loaded to the relative gills.  With a base price of $58,100, it came loaded with $11,395 worth of options, for an as-driven price of $69,495.  (For comparison, it’s big brother X6 M starts at $104,100.  And no one buys a base-model X6 M.) Painted in a lustrous Dark Graphite Metallic, with the interior in Mocha Nevada leather (amd lovely contrasting “Fineline Light High-Gloss Wood”), momma’s M40i was outfitted with pretty much all the configurator boxes ticked (including the sexy 20” M light alloy wheels).

The X4 M40i is one of BMW’s M-Performance series of cars, designed to slot in between typical models and full-on, zoot-suit M-cars.  Under the hood is a 3-liter, turbocharged and intercooled DOHC version of BMW’s inline-6, with direct fuel injection, 24-valves, and an aluminum block and head.  The motor makes 355-hp (which feels like even more), with maximum torque of 343 lb/ft arriving at a lazy 1350rpm.  It’s a potent engine without a hint of turbo lag, incredibly responsive and entirely usable, and propels the 4272-lb X4 from 0-60 mph in 4.4 seconds (quicker than a Porsche Macan S, one of the M40i’s obvious design bogies).  As my wife said after driving the X4 for a few days, “When I'm doing battle with big trucks on the Interstate, all I have to do is get in the other lane, step on the pedal, and I’m golden.  Goodbye, slowpokes.”  MPG according to the EPA is an adequate 19/29 city/highway, but as these things go, your real-world results may vary.

This gem of an engine delivers power to a silky 8-speed automatic transmission with a manual shifting mode and tactile, perfectly placed shift paddles on the steering column.  The M-Performance kit also outfits the M40i with the M-sport steering wheel, essentially the same unit as on the M4 and as good a steering wheel as exist in all of automobiledom.  As a massive fan of twin-clutch manual tranny’s, I’m always suspect of true automatics, but this one is absolutely brilliant; quick, precise, and responsive, with the shifts in the Sport or Sport+ setting being virtually as fast as a twin-clutch unit while also being smoother.  If this portends the future of automatic boxes, we’re in good hands indeed.

Power is put down to the road through BMW’s xDrive AWD system, in this instance tuned for more rear-wheel bias.  It’s sure footed and transparent, and is still my favorite of all the AWD systems on the market today.

Some folks find the elevated fast-back profile of this class of SUVs/SAVs awkward or inelegant but I’m not one of them.  Racy is as racy does.  And compared to the first-generation of BMW’s “GT” offerings (which I found to be entirely ungainly, one of the few outright misses coming out of BMW’s design studios in recent years), the X4 is practically lithe and svelte in comparison.  The flat-roofed lines of the X3 on which the X4 is based can be a bit bland from certain angles, but the sloped roof profile of the X4 flows well to the duck-tail trailing edge and never looks ungainly.  It’s feline almost, like a cat sitting on its haunches, leaning forward while focusing on that one brave bird on a ledge.  I’m a fan.

One of the perpetual negatives about hatchbacks (and SUVs in general) has to do with the immutable laws of acoustics.  With no rear bulkhead to divide up the passenger space from the cargo space, anything with such an undivided expanse can fall prey to boomy, annoying resonance.  The M40i manages this phenomenon well, with ample noise-abatement in the floorboards and roof, along with a composite, removable “privacy” partition that snaps in to cover the void behind the rear seats from the cargo area.  (Of course, once you fold down the rear seats, all bets are off.)  Thankfully, BMW’s acoustic engineers have been careful not to over-dampen the fun; the personality of the playful exhaust is always ready to arrive with a right-foot stab.

The rest of the interior is largely garden-variety 3-Series, with quality materials and simple design and sturdy switchgear throughout.  The iDrive system had matured up to version 5.0, a major version upgrade with a new visual metaphor for organizing information on the central screen.  BMW has resolutely avoided the trend towards touch-screens with the iDrive system, and while my personal jury is still out on their high-end “gesture control” system found on top-shelf cars like the 7-series, I like the precision and repeatability of the hand-controller over the “stab and hope for the best, and sorry about the fingerprints” flailing of even the best car touch-screens. One small usability nit:  The Heads-Up Display, while bright and full of useful information, sits in the middle of the windshield in an obtrusive way (at least for how I like to adjust the seat), and thus I generally disable it.  (And I’ve not had this same positioning irritation in other current BMWs.)

The point of a vehicle like this is at least some modicum of utility and in this regard, the M40i actually surprises.  While the slope-back necessarily limits the height of what can be carried, the load floor provides more than ample hauling space.  The rear seats fold almost flat, and with an overall cargo area length of 69” long and 43” wide, the X4 passes the Costco test with ease.  To really validate that point, I loaded the vehicle up with the largest rectangular box I thought might reasonably fit, that of a 65” Samsung LCD TV, which filled the cargo area with inches to spare.  (And since it was already in the X4, I went ahead and bought the thing.  Thanks, Babe!  The sacrifices I make for this blog are endless.)

On the road, the X4 M40i really earns merit.  It starts up with a playful and aggressive bark, then settles into a low burble that makes an M4 seem flatulent and unsettled by comparison.  The electro-mechanical variable steering (“Servotronic” in BMW parlance, which sounds like something Marvin the Martian might conjure up) is easily weighted at slow speeds and firms up as speeds increase, providing just the right amount of feedback on what’s going on at all four corners of the vehicle.  The engine is driveable in the way that the best normally-aspirated cars are, with lots of low end torque at the ready and scads of top-end power able to be explored.

The suspension tuning on the M40i is the real star.  It’s firm to be sure, but not jarring or punishing, with oodles of grip at all corners and only imperceptible body roll in tight corners.  You’re always aware of the xDrive system’s brain shifting power from wheel to wheel, with the alphabet soup of DSC and DDC keeping the physics of the X4’s higher center-of-gravity in check.  The M40i is unflappable, planted really, and engenders all the confidence of an M2 or M3 when you’re throwing it into tight corners or high-speed sweepers.   In this way, it’s immediately reminiscent of its big brother, the X6 M.  Isaac Newton be damned; the harder you drive it, the more planted it feels.  Just wonderful.

Which is why the dynamics of an odd-duck like the X4 M40i are all the more surprising and delightful than those of the M2.  After all, BMW is supposed to be able to make brilliant sports coupes (“the brand DNA” and all that).  But to produce something as relatively ungainly as an X4 and make it not only faster than an e46 M3 but also handle better than practically any car in the BMW lineup is an extraordinary feat.

And what’s wrong with micro-niches?  Automobile Magazine’s long-standing tag-line (and editorial guidepost) was a simple phrase: “No Boring Cars.”  The X4 M40i certainly occupies one such micro-niche, and it’s also absolutely not boring.  It’s a great drive, full of verve and liveliness on the road, with great moves and dynamite sound, all in a useful and flexible package.  It’s fun.  It’s spunky.  A hoot.  It’s a grow-up little hooligan, but looks the part of a proper Q-ship. The local gendarmerie won’t look twice at this modest people mover as they race past, lights blaring, after the bright red Camaro that just punched it through the yellow light, never suspecting the schmo in the Camero had just gotten his lunch eaten by the X4 at the previous stoplight.

I’m still working on my wife to let me bring home an AMG wagon.  But in the meantime, the X4 M40i fills the bill just fine.

The trope of the Black Sheep is a common one in popular culture, the idiomatic notion of a family member who just doesn’t fit in.  This refusal to conform can be natural or the reflection of an outright rejection of convention; it can also reflect an active rebellion of not only a familiar norm but a societal one.  Inevitably the black sheep is the one you most really want to party with.

Automobile manufacturers inevitably breed their own black sheep.  For Chevy, it might be the raucous Corvette; for Ford, the zany Raptor or hooligan Focus RS.  But the Japanese seem to take the notion to the extreme.  For every bland-as-tapioca Nissan Altima, there’s Godzilla’s own GT-R spewing fire out of its tailpipes.  For every appliance-like Toyota Camry, there’s an FJ Cruiser crawling up the side of boulder mountains.  And for every Honda Accord destined for the parking garage of some mid-level manager’s office, there’s an NSX or Civic Type-R gracing the fever-dreams of the sports car obsessed.

Which brings me to the Subaru WRX STi.  Because for every utilitarian, sensible-shoes Subaru Outback that pulls into the faculty lot of a liberal arts college, there’s a WRX STi pulling up to a skate park, thinking about its plain-vanilla stablemates: “How lame.”

The WRX STi is built in Ōta, Japan, in a plant that once housed the Nakajima Aircraft Company (the ancestor of today’s Fuji Heavy Industries).  In the late-1980’s, Subaru partnered with the British firm Prodrive to begin its factory rally program and began an extraordinary period where its team won the constructor’s and driver’s championship three times each over the next two decades.  The WRC WRX is legendary in rally racing circles as the car Scottish legend Colin McRae drove to the WRC Championships in 1995, his legacy sealed as one of the all-time greats (before he was tragically killed in a helicopter crash in 2007).  Subaru wound down its factory team in 2008, but in car circles the WRX STi is still entirely synonymous with WRC.

The WRC spawned many objects of road-going desire but because we’re Americans and thus rarely get the coolest of cars, the US-market WRX STi only really ever had one competitive evil-twin to terrorize backroads and suburban parking lots alike:  The Mitsubishi Lancer Evolution.  And when the Evo left the playing field, the WRX STi was left to soldier on alone, its nemesis retired and gone home. 

The car tested here had a base price of $35,192, with an as-tested price of $40,104, and was painted Dark Gray Metallic with a lovely black-and-red interior scheme.  It was loaded up with an electronics package that included a surprisingly muddy Harmon/Kardon stereo (more on that later) and all manner of entry-level electronic gizmos (keyless access, lane departure warning, SirusXM and HD radio, Homelink).  The one box that was happily checked was the STi short-throw shifter.  (Of note on the Monroney sticker: “Full Tank of Gas: INCLD.”  Gee, thanks, Subaru!)

(Thanks to fine folks at Van Subaru for the extended test drive.)

The WRX STi is powered by a 2.5-liter, turbocharged and intercooled DOHC flat-4, with aluminum blocks and heads, and port fuel injection.  It makes 305-hp at 6000rpm and 290 lb/ft of torque at 4000rpm.  It’s an old-school turbocharged car, where general lack-of-refinement is overcome by massive amounts of boost, in this case up to 21psi in overboost.  This is turbo-lag like they used to do it: nothing, nothing, nothing, then…everything!  The engine bay itself is largely taken over by a massive intercooler fed by an equally massive hood scoop.  Faux it’s most certainly not, a great scalloped wound on the hood that greedily slurps in atmosphere to feed the intercooler directly underneath.  No fancy cooling plumbing needed; it’s a straight shot from outside air to scoop to intercooler.  Old school.

It’s clearly a powerplant that tries hard, and works hard, and the results are competent and entertaining.  But it’s an old engine, almost ancient compared to its peers, in fact.  Specs like the WRX STi’s were once world-leading, but in the current era direct competitors like the Ford Focus RS make 350-hp (and 350 lb/ft of torque) and the Volkswagen Golf R matches the WRX STi’s numbers with even less displacement (and about 50% more refinement).  The Subbie’s motor feels more than a bit long in the tooth, though it still moves the car with verve.  0-60mph comes by at roughly 4.8 seconds, plenty quick by any standard, though MPG is a little old-school (and not in a good way this time) at 17/23 mpg in city/highway according to the EPA.  Given the exuberance with which this car will likely be driven by its intended audience, I could see a city average of 12/13 mpg being common.

Power is routed through twin differentials by a snappy 6-speed manual transmission whose clutch-pack feels like it’s about the size of a reasonably-sized orange.  The clutch throw itself is about as long as the space between the wall and the wallpaper; smooth takeoffs require some practice.  The shifter itself has a level of precision that says, “well, yeah buddy, the gears are all in here somewhere and good luck figuring them out.”  Which is to say it’s not exactly Honda-esque in the precision of the shift gate. The shifter itself is a thing of beauty, a perfectly sized golf-ball with fetching red enamel poured onto the top that feels just right in your hand.  Which is a good thing because given the gearing and the relatively high rev-range at which the car really starts to make big power, you’ll be doing a lot of shifting.  The differentials certainly let you know they’re working, with transmission whine drowned out only by the sound of the turbochargers spinning and spooling and dumping excess pressure through the turbo’s wastegate.

The interior is all glammed-up Imprezza, but the materials by and large are of reasonable quality with the controls in logical spots.  There’s a lot of design elements and gizmos that seem to be trying really hard, but overall, it’s a pleasant place to live.  As you’d expect in a WRC homage car, the parking break is perfectly positioned for you to practice your Scandinavian flick on snowy Home Depot parking lot chicanes.  The seats are a distinct letdown.  While they’re well positioned and adjustable, they’ve got all the cushioning of a mid-century modern fiberglass chair and have basically no lateral bolsters for support.  Given the intended sideways nature of this car, it’s a miss.

On the outside, the styling of the WRX STi is so chunky and clunky as to be irresistibly charming.  Take one garden-variety, humble road car as a base, weld on a bunch of boxy wide fenders, attack the hood with the Jaws of Life to create the aforementioned-scoop, and slap on some fetching anthracite rally wheels.  Voila!

And about that wing…

The WRX STi’s wing is unavoidable, obtrusive, rather obnoxious, and as much a part of the character of the car as the gap between Lauren Hutton’s front teeth.  Essential.  The wing is an entire Aerodrome of faux-downforce.  It’s the backward baseball cap of automobile affectations.  The Mother of All Wings.  Porsche GT3’s and BMW M4 GTS’s blush in humble modesty when a WRX STi arrives on the scene.  You get my point.  (And please no flames from the fanboys.  Yes, it looks rad.  Yes, it’s part of the WRX STi’s charm.  Yes, if you’re above the age of 25 it makes you look like a douche.  No, you’re not Petter Solberg at the Acropolis Rally.)

Fire up the engine and the noise that fills the cabin is initially modest and tepid, with little hint of the mechanical fury that’s just under the surface.  Stab the throttle and the mood changes immediately. The exhaust booms and shudders, drowning out the optional Harmon/Kardon stereo at anything about 2500rpm.  The cabin turns into the inner bowl of a timpani drum mid-performance by some exceptionally exuberant percussionist.  Stereo clarity just ain’t gonna happen, nor is conversation at anything close to normal speaking levels.

The WRX STi is not a particularly sophisticated or refined car, but I don’t necessarily mean that in a bad way.  It has a distinctly agricultural vibe, with the ever-present sound and feel of metal bits rubbing together in varying states of tension and lubrication.  This car is all about visceral experience.   

But for all the WRX STi’s rough edges, the chassis tuning and exuberant handling is such that all else is forgiven.  This car is about grip, neutral, tunable grip.  The turbo lag of the engine makes progressive power delivery a challenge, and when the big juice kicks in the car tends to understeer, but a little lift of the throttle rotates the rear end in predictable and controllable fashion.  The torque vectoring diffs shift power from wheel to wheel in an altogether noticeable way; you can always feel them doing their thing, and it’s almost a game to see how you can momentarily upset the car just to see how the diffs will react.  Which they do, always at the right time, with just enough stick and grab.  If you get a WRX STi out of shape, you’ve really done something (likely either really good or really bad, but I won’t judge).  The steering is precise, well-weighted, and direct.  And the Brembos at all four corners are fabulous and trick, able to adjust brake pressure at the rear wheels while cornering, a kind of off-throttle torque vectoring without the fancy eDiff of, say, BMW M-cars.

That said, the ride quality is harsh in the extreme.  All that grip is transferred into the cabin with little-to-no delicacy, which is great for a driver playing hooligan but not so much for anyone riding along.  As my wife, she of trenchant powers of observation, said after a short ride: "This seems like one of those cars that might be really fun to drive but isn't any fun at all to ride in."  Nailed it.

I have no doubt that the next generation WRX STi will be a much more modern car.  Subaru is on a massive roll and turns out quality, interesting products in great volumes and with great affection from their loyal owners.  So R&D budget is not a worry.  This current version is a throw-back car in that it’s frankly in need of updating.  But all those rough edges translate to actual personality, and it’s wonderful when a car so honestly and obviously embraces its own anachronisms.  It’s not subtle; it’s not casual.  It’s proudly in-your-face.  For the skate punk in all of us.

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]]>Kanon CozadSun, 26 Feb 2017 18:49:47 +0000https://www.kanononcars.com/blog/2017/2/26/zip-a-dee-doo-dah-ing-on-a-ducati-scrambler-full-throttle574c2743f85082d3b6c3aff2:5754ded2b09f959f4db8a56c:58b31e316b8f5b2e7cc49061

Late last Fall, on one of those stunningly, crisp days we live for here in the Midwest, I was blasting down one of my favorite serpentine country roads on the back of a Ducati Panigale R, the Bologna companies thinly-veiled race bike, the red of its fairings the color of impure thoughts, its exhaust note the sound of guilty pleasures.  As I came up over a small ridge, I spied a 35-mph left-hander about a hundred yards down the road.  I’ve ridden this road a lot and know that while it’s intimidating on lean-in, it opens visually almost immediately.  Gravel and grit are rarely an issue due to the road’s camber, and it had rained the night before so the pavement was perfectly clean.  I was confident that as long as I stayed just to the left of a small asphalt repair patch about two-thirds of the way through the corner, there was plenty of runout to really open the throttle.  This is easily a 75-mph corner on a bike with this much grip.  So I braked, went down a gear, shifted my weight, committed to my lean, looked through the corner to pick my line, began to open the throttle, and…

…just then noticed a dead raccoon splayed right on the riding line mid-way through the turn.

The Panigale R is lots of things but what it most certainly isn’t is a bike that tolerates indecision.  It rewards commitment; it is not a fan of half-assed measures.  There was only one thing to do:  I goosed it, shifted my lean even further, tightened the line as much as I could, let the multi-processor traction control system do some serious ciphering, and aimed improbably for the inside of the unfortunate animal’s squished entrails.  My knee came as close to grazing the pavement as is responsible on public roads.  I swear I felt the bike’s rear tire twitch a little on the slick bits as I went zooming by and over. 

All this happened it about three seconds.

The big superbike handled all of this with barely a deep breath, of course, the limits of the Panigale R being so far above my relatively meager own as to always be humbling (I’m certainly no Casey Stoner).  One of the appealing things about riding sportbikes is the way that any road can challenge a rider’s reactions; it’s those electric moments that make motorcycling so invigorating, so engaging.  But you know, sometimes it’s just nice to exhale.  At the risk of bruising (if not losing) my motorcycle man card, high-test sportbikes just aren’t that comfortable to ride, nor are they…here it comes…really that much fun on the street.  Rewarding, yes; exhilarating, certainly.  But fun?  Not so much.

Which brings me to the Ducati Scrambler, a motorcycle with an entirely different design brief from the snarling, hair-raising Panigale lineup.  It’s a motorcycle designed to do nothing so much as induce grins, a low-maintenance and low-effort machine over which to toss a leg and head off down the street or to the coffee shop or across the field or wherever whimsey compels you.  And did I mention it has a high hipster quotient?  More on that later.

(The bike tested here has an as-ridden price of $10,495.  Thanks to Reno’s Powersports in Kansas City, Missouri, for the extended test ride.)

Ducati first released the Scrambler model back in 1962, a 250cc single sold primarily in the American market.  The bike was an immediate hit and over the next number of years grew into a 450cc machine (sold as the Ducati Jupiter) that ultimately included Ducati’s iconic desmodromic cylinder head.  It was Ducati’s first “lifestyle” machine, an adjective I fairly-well loathe but which well describes the notional idea of a motorcycle as cultural touchstone. Of its many key features, it’s excellent frame was so well engineered that it was used, stock, for flat-track racing in the States.  That’s a clear testament to build-quality right there, folks. And then, as these things happen, the original Scrambler was summarily killed off in 1974.

In 2014, attempting to again tap into the generational zeitgeist, Ducati rolled out a reimagined Scrambler at the INTERMOT show in Cologne, Germany.  Rather than being entirely retro, Ducati sought to capture what the Scrambler might have become if the line had never paused.  Now a few model years on, the Scrambler platform has spawned six differentiated variations, including a bobbed-tail café racer model complete with clip-ons and a recently introduced Enduro model, the “Desert Sled,” that’s equipped with rally rubber and greater suspension travel (and which I find the most desirable of the entire line).

The bike you see here is the “Full Throttle” model, a bike “inspired” by the flat trackers of old (and not to be confused with the Scrambler “Flat Track Pro” model).  It comes equipped with a burbling Termignoni twin-can muffler, Pirelli dual-sport tires mounted on 10-spoke alloy wheels, a truncated seat, a slightly lowered handlebar, and other visual affectations to differentiate it from its cousins.  It’s flat-black paint and yellow highlights inevitably draw comparisons to a bumblebee, but it’s a purposeful look, simple and not overworked, appealing in a minimal and functional way.  It’s an easy bike to look at, the stylishly-packaged mechanicals supported by a simplified version or Ducati’s classic trellis frame.

Controls are simple, legible, and easy to use.  The simple, circular LCD gauge holds up in even bright sunlight, and the round LED headlight manages the delicate balance of being both retro and modern.    

All Scramblers come equipped with the same engine, a slightly detuned version of the one used in Ducati's 796 Monster.  It’s an 803cc, SOHC V-twin (which Ducati calls an L-twin because Italian), which is air- and oil-cooled and delivers 75hp at 8250rpm and 50-lb/ft or torque at 5750rpm.  The engine is as juicy as a ripe peach, the arrival of maximum torque with so many revs left in the range providing immense flexibility and responsiveness, and it’s easy to ride with both verve and predictable control.  And while 75-hp seems paltry in this age of bruising power, in practice it’s more than enough power to motivate a combined bike-and-rider weight of around 600-pounds.

The Scrambler stops as well as it goes, it’s semi-knobby Pirelli tires (110/80-18 front, 180/55-17 rear) hauled into check by a capable Brembo, two-channel ABS-equipped system, four-pistons in the front and a single in the rear.  The ABS system is about as simple as they come, either on or off, but provides protection against overbraking on a wide variety of road types (asphalt, grass, gravel, dirt, free-range farm pastures).

Riding the Scrambler is one of motorcycling’s simple little joys.  Straddling the bike is easy for my 6’ frame, neither too tall nor too wide. At slow speeds, it’s 57-inch wheelbase and general compactness make it nimble as a caffeinated house cat, and riding the bike while standing on the foot pegs feels natural and inevitable.  Every roadside field is an invitation to do the silly thing, jump over the berm and tear off across the grass and dirt with a rooster tail of happiness spraying behind you.  It’s a hoot.

Now, back to that hipster thing.  Ducati has gone close to overboard with marketing the Scrambler to a specific demographic, and if the abundance of “pre-customized” models don’t make that point, the vast catalog of factory accessories does.  And not just for the bike; for the rider, there’s an entire virtual department store of clothing (flat-brimmed caps included), helmets, trinkets, gizmos, gadgets, and frippery available to “curate” (to use the verb of the moment) an individual owner’s experience.  But to criticize the Scrambler as a simple lifestyle embellishment misses the point.  It’s a bike that's just about perfect to introduce new riders to motorcycling; never underestimate the power of “cool” to attract interest, and interest often morphs into commitment and long-lasting passion.  The Scrambler is also unintimidating enough for both men and women to enjoy, and effortless enough for experienced riders to jump on and go, leaving their more bruising bikes in the garage, for a jaunt down to the coffee shop or through the trees or on a trail.  If that makes me a hipster rider, then so be it.

The Scrambler exists in a crowded field, with virtually every manufacturer having jumped onto the retro-modern or “neo-classic” trend in some way.  (My current favorites are the Moto Guzzi V7 II Stornello, the Triumph Thruxton, the BMW R nineT URBAN G/S, and the Yamaha XSR900.)  The shear variety of styles and sizes currently available speak to the diversity of the marketplace, and of course the hunt for a truly vintage Honda CB750 occupies the fever-dreams of many an enthusiast.  In my book, all of that is a good thing.

As much as the original Scrambler was in vogue in the Sixties, Ducati has clearly ginned up another winner with their renewed and reimagined lineup.  It’s no surprise that the Scrambler outsells all other Ducati models by a large factor, and in fact the Scrambler became Ducati’s first bike to slip into the global top-10 of bikes sold for the first time ever in 2015; it continues to lead the way in sales for the company today. And before any purists poo-poo the mass-market appeal of the Scrambler as somehow diluting Ducati’s upscale image, I’ll remind them that the massive influx of cash ultimately results in drool-worthy new bikes such as the XDiavel and revised Monster line-up, to say nothing of the exciting new Supersport.

The Ducati Scrambler is everything fun about motorcycles in one small package.  It’s a simple good time.  Well done, Ducati.

(Special thanks to BMWBlog for featuring this piece as well.)

There's a lipstick sunset
Smeared across the August sky
There's a bitter sweet perfume
Hanging in the fields
The creek is running high
-- John Hiatt

To support the lavish lifestyle of a part-time car blogger, I spend more time than I care to admit traveling by air, hither and yon, as part of my day gig.  Thus, the annual car trip my wife and I take over the Christmas holiday is one to which I look forward with abject delight, an opportunity to commune with the landscape and the country with the level of detail and intimacy that automobile travel offers in a unique way.  Plus, road-food.

Last year, our trip to Santa Fe, New Mexico, began by air and ended up, unplanned, in a return drive home behind the wheel of a rented Hyundai. This year, we planned our trip to The Land of Enchantment a little better and decided to outfit ourselves with a little more style, performance, and comfort: A BMW X5 xDrive35d.

The third-generation of BMW’s largest SUV (until the X7 arrives sometime soon) debuted in 2014 and received a subtle mid-cycle refresh for the 2017 model year.  (For the record, this particular vehicle is a 2014 model, but the changes from then to now are minimal enough for any conclusion to still be valid about the X5 you can currently buy.  Why a 2014 version rather than a current-year model?  Simple.  This is my wife’s personal trooper and it was parked in the garage.  So there.)

The lower-case “d” in the xDrive35d’s name (which looks to me like a string of letters and numbers a person should consider using for excellent computer password discipline) means “diesel” and that one little letter makes all the difference.  In this version of the X5, BMW installs their excellent 3-liter direct-injection diesel inline-6 engine, both turbocharged and intercooled, which makes a modest sounding 255-hp and a stump-pulling 413-lb of torque.  The single turbocharger is prone to modest turbo-lag when pulling away, but it’s a smoother engine overall and entirely loses the vaguely agricultural feel and sound of the outgoing twin-turbo model. With abundant torque, the X5 performs passes on the highway and around town with alacrity, which more than makes up for the relatively languid 0-60 time of 7.3 seconds.  This is one of those “real world” vehicles that drives and feels much quicker than it is, which in a 5000-pound SUV is a delightful trait.

Diesel vehicles have always been a study in contrasts.  Parsimonious yet brutal.  Green yet butch.  Coveted yet utilitarian.  Ubiquitous yet exotic. (I’m speaking about diesel vehicles in America, of course, where the percentage compared to gasoline is minuscule.  In Europe, where diesels have been the preferred form of locomotion for decades, none of the applies; diesels just are.)  My wife has had two successive versions of diesel-powered BMW X5s, and I remember clearly when we had our first test drive in the earlier model.  She was standing next to the vehicle when I started it up, and as its barely-perceptible ticking sound echoed from the engine bay, she paused, smiled, and said, "It sounds like being in Europe."  It surely is an evocative truck.

(And to that point:  Is the X5 a truck or a car?  It all depends on your definition of "truck" I suppose.  I'm old-school in the sense that I still tend to equate a truck with a vehicle whose body is bolted to an underbody frame; it has nothing to do with the presence of a cargo bed.  Thus, anything with a unibody construction shouldn't qualify.  To wit:  A Toyota FJ Cruiser or 4-Runner is a truck; a Toyota RAV4 or Highlander isn't.  But here's where it gets sticky.  I also tend to think about it in terms of weight, and anything like the X5 that weighs north of 5000 pounds and has ground clearance enough not to bog down in snowy or muddy ruts should, in my mind, qualify.  So, while the X5 is as unibody as they come and all gussied up to boot, this version is also a diesel, and, well, truck.  If that makes no sense to anyone, well, it’s my “it doesn’t make sense” and I’m going to own it.  So there.)

The drive took us not on the romantic (and crumbling) Route 66 of lore (which we can reach from our home with little fuss), but mostly on state highways and byways nonetheless (which often mirror, or even incorporate, parts of the historic route.  It’s a route that reinforces the notion that Jesus Saves (a message that seems to support a great number of billboard owners).  And it’s a route that makes the point that every small town in America considers their own downtown historic.

(An aside:  If you want to know the difference adequate state road funding for road maintenance makes, drive west on Hwy 56 from Elkhart, Kansas, into the Oklahoma panhandle. The road goes from billiard table smooth, with an ample shoulder and creamy asphalt, to a pockmarked surface of craters and peeling layers of patchwork, as if the roadway developed a terrible case of adolescent acne; all of that in a quarter-mile of state DOT transition. Well done, Kansas. WTF, Oklahoma?)

The X5 surely must qualify as one of the best road tripping vehicles available, starting with the seats, which are supportive, massively adjustable, and comfortable in the extreme. We started the day with an uninterrupted 300-mile blast before nature intervened, and my lower back and hips (two typical problem areas for me thanks to an old motorcycle crash) didn't make so much as a peep. The heaters are well modulated and evenly distributed, and the Nappa leather is soft, supple, and pliant.  Can we even remember hot spots in once-decadent seat heaters?  And don’t even get me going on the magical wonder that is the heated steering wheel.  Gloves are so passé.   (My only complaint has to do with this vehicle's oyster colored interior, which offsets its general loveliness by being nearly impossible to keep looking fresh. Since every piece of clothing my wife and I own seem to be either blue or black, the light oyster likely wasn't the best choice. Alas, sometimes we must suffer for beauty.)

The diesel's torque makes short work of highway passing. At one point while my wife was driving, I felt a surge of acceleration and glanced up. She was passing a Toyota Highlander with verve; I saw 107 on the speedo before she backed it off (a bit; my wife is a charter member of the alacrity club), but amazingly, the diesel was turning over at a languorous 2400 rpm. Pressure combustion is fun. 

The undulations of the landscape transform from gentle rolling in the Kansas Flinthills, to bone-flat in Southwestern Kansas and the Oklahoma Panhandle, with the scrub brush growing ever thornier the further west you go.  New Mexico announces itself with a massive lump on baby-mountain as soon as you cross the border at Clayton, NM, (elevation 5056’) making a clear statement that the Plains are finished and the Rockies are about to dominate.  The air takes on an ever-more translucent sheen, as the altitude grows and the volume decreases and the light radiates all the more warmly in the thinning air.

The X5 is a startlingly isolated highway performer as well.  Even at speed, on small state highways with their inconsistency of pavement, the noise that enters the cabin is a minimal, dull groan, just enough to let you know that movement is taking place.  It might not be quite at the level of an Audi A8 or the big BMW 750 I spent time with earlier in the year, but for a vehicle with as much internal volume (and potential acoustic resonance), the isolation of the X5 is impressive.  Nice touches like the insulated (and massive) moonroof slider and retractable cover for the cargo area tamp down random sound waves even further.  At Springer, New Mexico, we turned south onto I25 and immediately enjoyed a fresh blacktop job courtesy of NMDOT.  The cabin got early quiet, and as I set the cruise on 85 and turned up the volume on the new Radiohead album, the only encroaching sound was a dull whoosh.  The big AWD Bimmer readily gobbles up distances.

And those distances will inevitably outlast the biological stamina of the driver and passengers.  Even at a rather rapid pace, the X5's computer showed that we'd pull over 550 miles on a single tank of diesel, and that's without really trying to stretch the distance.  This thing will go all day, drive all night, and well into the morning.  The beef jerky and Red Bull inevitably runs out before the fuel.

The styling of the F15-chassis X5 is to my eyes at the top of the heap for contemporary luxury SUVs.  It’s a large vehicle, to be sure, but parked next to its marketplace compatriots, it’s amazing how the thing shrinks in comparison.  While the Range Rover may win the prize for ultimately being the stateliest, the X5 manages to be at once sporty yet substantial, taut yet subdued, the roofline athletic and gently swooping, especially noticeable when parked next to more bloated truck-like creatures such as Tahoes and Escalades or the torqued-box creations from Mercedes-Benz and Infiniti.  Some of the midsized competitors, like the Jaguar F-Pace and upcoming Alfa Romeo Stelvio, as absolutely dialed in in the styling department, but the X5 still stands out against its larger brethren.

I've written about BMW's xDrive all-wheel-drive system before, but in the X5 it serves as the perfect accompaniment to the Continental ExtremeContact DWS all-season rubber.  I'm of the belief that "all season" generally means the tire doesn’t do anything particularly well, and with most of my own vehicles I insist on separate sets of tires and wheels for the two seasons, but in the X5 the xDrive system conspires with the versatile rubber to perform superhuman feats of traction with minimal fuss.  Two inches of snow with a thin layer of ice underneath?  No worries.  A flat stretch of pavement in the Summer's heat and a triple-digit speed possible courtesy of a trusty Valentine One?  Gotcha covered.  I suppose I can see getting V- or ZR-rated Summer performance tires for your X6M for those silly SUV days at the track, but for the 99.8% of the rest of us, an xDrive-equipped car with all-season shoes is pretty much always going to get the job done.

We stopped in Las Vegas, NM, to top off the tank and stretch our legs before the final pull into Santa Fe, and as we stepped out of the truck, the sun dipped below the horizon line and the vista exploded into one of those quintessential Southwestern lipstick sunsets, both giddily and lonely at the same instant.  Trees and shrubs lost their definition and became black silhouettes, while a joyous explosion of color was pushed down by graduated blues and blacks, wisps of clouds swirling and dissolving into the colorful morass.  I remember a science teacher in junior high school, I think it was, teaching us about the colors of the visible light spectrum (“ROYGBIV”), and every single one of those was illuminated in the strata above the horizon while I pumped diesel into the X5's tank.  The air immediately turned 5-degrees colder as the last vestiges of light faded to blue-black.  It was still and stunning; this is why we journey by car.

Now for the pachyderm in the room:  Is the X5 xDrive35d the swansong for big diesel SUVs in the US?  Maybe not, but the diesel circus tent is winding down just as surely as Ringling Brothers’ recently did.  The causes are manifest but can be distilled down to primarily two:  Electricity and Volkswagen.  The benefits and attractions of diesel engines largely distil down to fuel economy and massive torque.  Electric motors (and hybrid powertrains) essentially mimic both of those traits and do so without the added (and significant) penalty of relying directly on fossil fuels.  Which brings me to…

Volkswagen, whose shenanigans with their software-based “cheat” system, which spoofed clean diesel engines while spewing nasties out of the tailpipe for years, has tarnished the entire diesel engine industry.  While Volkswagen shareholders shell out unprecedented fines here in the US and in the rest of the world, and while the FBI rounds up Volkswagen execs for very public perp walks, Mercedes has already dropped diesels from their lineups and BMW has slowed production (and availability) of those powertrains for the American market.  Audi, Porsche, and their sugar daddy VW have, of course, followed suit.  Dear Volkswagen:  Thanks for screwing it up for everyone.

So, where does that ultimately leave the X5 xDrive35d?  It’s powerful, elegant, sure-footed, and useful.  It’s also a miserly, luxurious, jack-of-all-trades treat.  But it’s one I fear may also be at the apex of a diesel-burning era.  If inclined, get one while you can.

Let me get this out of the way first:  Short of Harley-Davidson, there is no brand on the American vehicular landscape that carries as much image baggage as Corvette.  Everyone who has even read this far knows immediately what I’m talking about:  Mid-life crisis after selling your plumbing company; gold from the mall rather than platinum from the boutique; a certain blue-collar gaucheness that causes similarly-aged drivers of German sports cars to turn up their lips in arrogant sneers.  But let me be absolutely clear: After spending some quality time with a 2017 Corvette Stingray, I could frankly care less.  As a friend of mine put it, “If you are a guy around a certain age driving a Corvette, just lean into it. If someone starts giving you trouble, step on the 'loud' pedal and drown them out with the sound of freedom.”

I’ll get back to that sound of freedom in a bit, but first some background.  The Corvette you see here is a seventh-generation model (or “C7” in Corvette Intelligentsia lingo), first introduced by Chevrolet in 2014, and is the most current in an American sports car lineage that dates to 1953.  Volumes have been penned about Corvette’s history (I absolutely guarantee there have been Ph.D. dissertations written), but suffice it to say that the C1, a convertible, arrived after making a splashy entrance at the Motorama display at the New York Auto Show in ’53, and the legendary “Stingray” moniker arrived with the C2 (as the first coupe in the lineage) in 1963.  The "Cx"-line continues unbroken to the present day.  Originally built in St. Louis Missouri, Corvette production was moved to Bowling Green, Kentucky, in 1981, and many enthusiasts make the pilgrimage to the factory for tours, to take delivery of their new cars, or even participate in the "Corvette Engine Build Experience," where purchasers of the high-end Z06 model can actually work with engine technicians to assemble the motors of their cars.  (Full stop:  That's darn cool.)    In addition to the manufacturing plant, Bowling Green is also home to the National Corvette Museum, featuring not only a superb collection of classic Vettes and an overall repository of the car's history but also ground zero for the most famous sinkhole in the entire automobile world.

This particular 2017 Stingray lists at $55,450, and came with the 2LT Package, the sublime and essential Magnetic Selective Ride Control suspension, the 8-speed automatic transmission, and several other largely cosmetic options, for an as-tested price of $70,200.  Take it from me when I tell you this qualifies as the performance (and quality) value of the century.

(Thanks to the fine folks at Van Chevrolet in Kansas City, Missouri, for the extended test drive.)

My tester was finished in a vivid shade of yellow the Chevrolet folks call Corvette Racing Yellow, the color a nod to the world-beating Corvette C7.R’s that have been winning races and championships for years (including 2016) in various incarnations of the IMSA series in North America and at the Le Mans 24-hours race itself.  What wasn’t painted yellow (including the massive brake calipers) was finished in black, with the interior swathed in supple Jet Black Nappa leather.  (For a mere $994, you can buy a car cover that clothes your C7 in a stretch-fabric likeness of the racecar itself.  This is likely the greatest automotive accessory in the history of the world.)  The look was certainly not modest, but brilliant and vibrant in a preening peacock way; go big or go home.  If a buyer opts for this combo, I might suggest an install mount for a Valentine One as well, as the local gendarmerie will likely have a betting pool on how many of these they can ticket on an average Sunday afternoon.

The Wall Street Journal’s Dan Neil referred to the C7’s styling as “wrathful-dragonfly” and that pretty well captures it.  There’s nothing remotely voluptuous about the Stingray’s design language, with none of the curvaceousness of an Aston Martin DB11 or sculpted muscularity of a Jaguar F-Type.  With 21 body panel assemblies formed from a material GM calls “TCA Ultra Light,” the Corvette’s angles are all bent and twisted flat-planes, origami made from advanced composites, hard creases and subtle curves that appear and dissolve with sharp, defined edges: The Stingray cuts with a glance.   It doesn’t look remotely like any other sports car on the market today and the design works from all angles.  Lexus tries with a variation of this design language and generally falls flat.  Chevrolet nailed it.

The interior if the Stingray has sloughed off virtually any hint of the previous-generation car’s corporate parts-bin assembly.  From the supple Napa leather with contrasting stitching; to the quality-of-feel plastics, padding, and brushed aluminum; to the supportive, multi-adjustable bucket seats; the Corvette’s interior outshines other cars in much higher priced stratospheres.  The digital instrument cluster, a bright LCD screen with three configurable “themes,” is superb.  And the Chevrolet MyLink touchscreen system, which controls all other interior and multimedia functions, is intuitive and handsome, responds quickly to finger touches, and includes a row of analog buttons underneath the touchscreen to simplify common tasks.  (It also beats the pants off the system found in one of GM's other jewels, the Cadillac CTS-V.)  Of note is a nifty little switch that raises and lowers the entire screen unit, revealing a storage cubby (with USB port) for small items.  The only negative is the occasional low-rent part sullying the overall quality of the party; what’s up with that flimsy turn-signal stalk that clicks into place with the same precision as that on a three-year-old rental car?  I guess the GM accountants insisted.  But it's easy to forgive given the overall content and quality of the interior.

On the road, the car’s pillbox seating position offers surprisingly good vision, with the vestigial windows behind the B-pillars letting in just the right amount of light and visibility to offset the fun-slit minimalism of the rear-view mirror.  And even usable shopping space!

Now, back to that sound of freedom.  More specifically, the sound of 6.2-liters of normally-aspirated V8 freedom.  There are lots of big, powerful engines in the car world but few with the storied history and dogged commitment to tradition of the Corvette’s push-rod motor.  The pushrod engine architecture in the Corvette is a long-held, though increasingly anachronistic, engineering philosophy, sort of an American version of the Porsche 911’s engine hanging out over the rear axle.  While essentially all other makers of powerful sports car engines have fled to the safety of dual-overhead-cam engine designs (with forced induction, natch), Chevrolet has doggedly continued to develop the relatively ancient push-rod design to the delight (if not demand) of enthusiasts and no doubt amusement of competitors, but they’ve also ended up with a hugely capable engine that’s both lighter and physically smaller than those from pretty much anyone else.

And what an engine it is.  The 6.2-liter, direct-injection V8 makes 455-hp at 6000 RPM, with maximum torque of 460-ft/lbs available at 4600 RPM, and propels the 3300-pound car from 0-60mph in 3.7 seconds.  In practice, the car propels the driver forward like one of those classic NASA rocket sled test from the 1950’s, a sledgehammer in the small of the back that goes and goes and goes and builds and builds and builds until…well, if you’re like me, until you back off (I wasn't on a track), but if you keep your foot in it, the Stingray will electronically top out at 181 mph and I imagine some owners have put that to the test out in the wilds of West Texas or Eastern Montana.  It’s a visceral engine, alright, an old-fashioned bruiser, and it’s pretty much everything a Corvette engine should be.

When cold, the huge engine wakes with a prodded snore and immediately settles into an idle that sounds like so much dull boredom.  The exhaust tuning doesn’t call much attention to itself; on startup, it’s not the wailing-from-the-hills screaming of a Jaguar F-Type R or the look-at-me-look-at-me turbo flatulence of a BMW M4, but a more mellow, reserved rumble, one befitting such a massive displacement powerplant.  But when the big beast spins up, look out.  An untidy stab at the throttle before the Michelin Pilot Super Sport tires (merely huge P245/40ZR18 in the front, gargantuan P285/35ZR19 in the rear) are warmed up will see the rear end of the car slewing hither and yon, the dashboard traction control light blinking wildly while the onboard systems go to full self-preservation mode.  Though the front tires tend to scrub at parking-lot speeds due to sheer width, when tire temps get to operating levels the grip is everything you’d hope, with this car’s optional Magnetic Suspension Ride Control delivering almost 1-G of lateral grip on a skidpad (which amounts to crazy levels of road grip in the real world).  Step on it and the exhaust bellows with a roar akin to what I imagine the imperiled hikers on Mount St. Helens must have heard; the car plants, grips, and vanishes into whatever horizon you’ve got it pointed.

Fortunately, Chevrolet’s vehicle dynamics programmers were also on the job with the C7, because the five selectable driving modes (weather, eco, tour, sport, and track) all do a bumper job of tuning the car’s various systems to behave well in virtually all driving conditions.  Of special note is Eco mode (admittedly incongruous in a car of this class), which deactivates four of the eight cylinders when the car is loping along, allowing the Stingray to return a 30-MPG-Highway rating (take that, Prius!).  And the magnetic suspension, found on such down-market econoboxes as the Ferrari 599 (yes, really), soaks up pavement imperfections imperceptibly and without drama, the Corvette’s brain sending electrical currents through the fluid-filled, iron-particle rich shocks, essentially providing unlimited viscosities for the dynamic fluid contained within; the fluid reacts multiple times a second.

Corvettes are one of the few super-sports cars still available with a manual transmission (in this instance a 7-speed, rev-matching unit), and to the credit of buyers almost 25% still choose this option.  My tester was not so equipped, but rather came with the optional 8-speed paddle-shifted automatic, which was fast and precise and intuitive and (heresy alert!) seemed to suit the personality of the car quite well.  I’ll never fault a buyer these days from choosing one of the few remaining manuals, as rowing your own is clearly a glorious (though increasingly anachronistic) choice that’s quickly going the way of the carburetor, but the Corvette’s 8-speed auto unit shifts as quickly as Porsche’s hallowed PDK transmission and is an excellent choice all around.

In the end, the Chevrolet Corvette Stingray overcomes all preconceptions I’ve ever had about these American bruisers.  At racing circuits all over North America, one guarantee is that the Corvette Corral will inevitably turn out a number of proud and committed participants whose sheer numbers make the Porsche, BMW, Audi, and sundry other clubs blush with embarrassment.  After having spent a few days with a current example of this American icon, I can resoundingly say their zeal is well deserved.  In terms of performance value, the Stingray is laughably ahead of everything else on the market.  Taken as a whole, the quality, aesthetics, sound, finish, and general presence of the car is extraordinary.  And in the newly released Grand Sport trim level, this car qualifies as one of the most lust-worthy on the market.  Well done, Chevrolet.  I'll take mine in Black Rose Metallic.

(Special thanks to BMWBLOG for featuring this piece as well.)

A friend of mine once tried to calculate the psychic benefit of a day spent driving a convertible with the top down versus a day spent driving a conventional tin-top.  He based his conclusion on a conflation of intersecting and rather nebulous factors and ultimately, after much contemplation and cyphering and more than a few bourbon cocktails, came up with a ratio of 6.4:1; to wit:  The joy derived from a day spent driving with the top down is equal to 6.4 days driving around with a top welded on.  Seems legit.

The challenge of writing about convertible cars is fundamental; it’s difficult to write anything overly critical about a convertible car, any convertible car, by dint of the fact that’s it’s a convertible and thus, by definition, it’s a machine conceived by its designers to encourage joy and liveliness in its owner; and really, what kind of a sour puss really, truly, criticizes that goal?

Well, me for one.  Because the goal of providing open air driving pleasure in no way obviates a designer or manufacturer from actually, you know, designing a good car.  And for every example of a brilliant success (hello, Jaguar F-Type Convertible! Hello Mazda MX-5 Miata!), there’s an equally egregious example of it all going wrong (I’m talking to you, Nissan Murano Crosscabriolet and Toyota Camry Solara).

It’s no easy feat to chop the top off a car and have it still work in all the myriad of ways, both mechanical and visual, that a car needs to work.  For one, a top mechanism adds weight and complexity.  For another, it also takes away rigidity from a vehicle’s structure, which can play havoc with all kinds of virtuous goals, from handling to stability to noise management (what engineers call NVH, for “Noise, Vibration, and Harshness”).  And then there’s the subject of design, as removing the rigid top while also needing to store the folding top mechanism introduces all sorts of challenges that simply bending metal into an elegant form doesn’t have.

In short, it’s easy for a manufacturer to screw it all up…

Which BMW most assuredly has not done with the M235i xDrive Convertible.

(Thanks to the fine folks at Baron BMW in Merriam, KS, for the extended test drive.)

The coupe version of the M235i is easily one of the most elemental and enjoyable cars in the entire BMW lineup, and replacing the fixed top with a folding fabric roof has done nothing to diminish the fun.  Nor have the aesthetics of the 2-series taken a hit by cutting off the roof.  The angular, fluid rectangles that make up the profile of the M235i Coupe survive well with the roof removed, and the multi-layered fabric roof imparts a delicate and successful visual line that’s rarely present in folding hard-top convertibles.  It’s a great looking car.

My particular test model came finished in Black Sapphire Metallic paint and a Black Dakota Leather interior and was equipped with BMW’s Cold Weather Package, Driver Assistance Package, and Technology Package.  It also was outfitted with some lovely cosmetic appointments from the M-Performance catalog, along with the dynamite M-Performance Exhaust.  All of which inflated the car’s base price of $50,750 to an as-tested price of $61,980.    

The power plant deserves much of the credit for maintaining the M235i’s general goodness.  The 3-liter, turbocharged inline-6 cranks out 320-hp at 6000 rpm, with 330-lb/ft of torque available at a lulling 1300rpm, which propels the car to 60mph in a touch less than 5 seconds.  The engine note, especially with the optional M-Sport exhaust, has personality to spare, with a lovely overrun burble, and joyously flatulent bursts and cackles to amuse occupants and bystanders alike.  The motor is smooth and tractable at all points of the range, with little perceptible turbo lag down in the very lowest revolutions giving way to steady power as revs build.  While the Convertible carries an extra NFL lineman’s worth of girth over the Coupe, the engine is more than up to the task of hiding that extra weight, and the performance of the car suffers only modestly.  With all that, the car manages to return EPA mileage of 20mpg in city driving and 30mpg on the highway.  It’s an efficient little powerplant.

While the M235i is available with a 6-speed transmission, the xDrive version I drove here is only available equipped with the 8-speed automatic with paddles.  It’s a shame BMW didn’t fit one of its trick double-clutch units to this car (Mission Numero Uno:  Don’t cannibalize the M2), though this ZF model does an admirable job of fooling the user to that fact.  The transmission is smooth, quick shifting, and responsive, and in manual mode it rips off shifts almost as quickly as a double-clutch unit.  This is a great automatic transmission.  In Sport and Sport+ modes, the car holds gears to higher RPMs, downshifts with abandoned, and is almost telepathic.  In fact, I generally found myself letting the car shift itself rather than using the paddles, as it seemed to sense what I was about to do before I did it.  And the transmission responds almost immediately to paddle commands when in manual shifting mode, with little attendant lag.  Contrast this shift programming with that of the Cadillac ATS-V, an otherwise brilliant car hamstrung only by a transmission that was lazy and impertinent to manual input commands.

On the road and unrushed, the M235i motors along in a pleasant, almost genteel experience.  The two-layered folding top is remarkably quiet, with very little wind noise noticeable below 80MPH.  There’s a touch of wind harmonics around the rear-view mirror above 70mph, but I remember this from the Coupe I drove as well and is likely more about the shape of the mirror than anything else.

The gold-standard litmus test of any coupe-to-convertible conversion is how well the rigidity of the structure is maintained, and on this I tip my hat to the engineers at BMW.  Only the smallest amount of cowl shake is perceptible, most noticeable when the cornering angle sharpens over suddenly uneven pavement (or railroad tracks), but it's really only noticeable if you're trying to notice it.  And what’s absolutely maintained is the intrinsic goodness of how the M235i handles.  The car corners nearly flat and is hugely balanced; neutral in the extreme, with a pivot point somewhere directly under the driver’s derriere.

But the greatest trait of the car is its relative lack of grip compared to other contemporary full-on M-cars.  Wait, what?  Lack of grip compared to a full-blown M-car?  How can that be in any way good?  Part of the joy of driving is getting a car to dance on its tip-toes, sliding ever so perceptibly at the limit and transmitting its intentions through the chassis and up through the steering wheel and seat-of-the-driver’s-pants.  And the fact is, modern BMW M-cars have so bloody much grip as to make this interplay virtually impossible at anything other than extra-legal speeds preferably on a racetrack.  My current daily driver is an M4 Coupe that has grip limits so high they can’t reasonably be exploited on normal roads, and when I do give it a go, I’m always aware I’m frankly being pretty damn irresponsible.  (That doesn’t always stop me; hey, I’m a little boy, so sue me.)  Enter the M235i, with massive but not overblown grip that can be explored on virtually any back road on any given day (especially when it’s damp!  Woo-hoo!); it’s a hoot.

Now, about that xDrive moniker in the M235i xDrive Convertible’s name.  “xDrive” is BMW’s permanent all-wheel drive system, which under normal driving conditions distributes power between the front and rear axles in a 40:60 split.  But when the system detects slip, up to 100% of power can be sent to either axle in a tenth of a second via an electronically controlled multi-plate clutch, a much speedier system than those using slower-to-react hydraulic fluid systems.  It’s a drama-free system and works seamlessly in all conditions, and it’s easy to see why BMWs so equipped have begun outselling their more traditional rear-wheel drive companions.  In this application, it serves to plant to car even more tenaciously.  And while the M235i is available in rear-wheel-drive as well, I'd happily live with the xDrive system, especially if the car were a daily or year-round driver in a climate where wet or slick roads were seasonal possibilities.    

The interior appointments are pure contemporary BMW, rather austere and purposeful but with high-quality materials and surfaces and build-quality that’s absolutely top-notch.  One typical issue unique to convertibles is wind encroachment at speed, and BMW handles this here with a nifty removable baffle that fits behind the front seats and folds flat when not manually deployed. While it’s a bit ungainly in appearance, it works incredibly well and quiets the airflow in the cabin (especially above 60mph) like flipping a switch.  Unless you're using the rear seats for actual passengers, I recommend leaving the baffle installed and deployed whenever the top is stowed in its cubby.

The M2 may be the apex predator in the 2-series line (and some argue it’s the best driving car BMW makes at the moment), but the M235i Convertible (in xDrive guise or not) is as enjoyable a performance car as I've driven in years.  I can't imagine the M2 Convertible (if there ever is such a thing) being any better of a car on actual roads. I certainly don't remember the last time I had so much fun just going for a drive.  The M235i xDrive Convertible might not be the ultimate “Ultimate Driving Machine” in the BMW lineup but it surely gets my vote for Most Joyous Driving Experience.

Postscript:  Shortly after I spent a day with the M235i xDrive Convertible, BMW released the spec’s for the 2017 model and, alas, the car has morphed into the M240i in various trims.  The primary difference is the motor, which BMW lifts from the all-new 340i sedan.  The new 3-liter inline-6 motor now makes 340-hp and 369-lb/ft of torque and will undoubtedly motivate the little convertible in an even more delightful manner than before.  

In the Midwest where I live, the heat and humidity of Summer can make motorcycling at any time other than early morning hours an exercise in stamina, as waves of heat roll off the pavement and creeping dehydration takes an insidious toll on even the fittest rider.  With Fall, though, comes blue skies and mild temperatures and colors changing from brownish and dusty to more vibrant hues, as the leaves explore the kaleidoscope and daily highs in the 60’s become common.  It’s my favorite time of the year to ride, the urban bustle giving way to rolling country roads that gently implore:  "Relax."

And while my personal taste in bikes tends to the more extreme end of the performance spectrum, there is something just so right, on these types of leisurely rides, about a bike that isn’t intent on making you work, one that rewards sitting up and rolling on a modest amount of power and smelling the pleasant scents of the changing seasons.  Recently, I spent an afternoon with just such a bike:  The Moto Guzzi V9 Bobber.

(Thanks to the fine folks at Reno's Powersports in Kansas City, Missouri, for the extended test ride.)

Is there a more evocative motorcycle name in all of motorcycledom than Moto Guzzi?  Sure, the Harley-Davidson and Triumph folks can likely make a strong argument, but for my money nothing brings to mind the notional ethos of the motorcycle (freedom-of-the-road, wind-in-the-hair, go-anywhere-anytime, effortless momentum on a blue sky day) than the brand started in in 1921 in Mandello del Lario, Italy, near Lake Como.  (Maybe it has something to do with the sing-song nature of the Italian language itself, where a brand like Maserati can call its big sedan the mellifluous “Quattroporte” when they’re really just calling it “Four Door.”)

Currently part of the Piaggio corporate family, Moto Guzzi (or just “Guzzi” to its fans) has the distinction of being the oldest European manufacturer in continuous production.  During World War I, three friends from the Italian Air Force envisioned a post-war motorcycle company to leverage the unique skills of each.  Carlo Guzzi (a mechanic) was the mechanical mind behind the company, Giovanni Parodi (a pilot, and son of wealthy Genovese ship owners) would provide the capital, and Giorgio Ravelli (also a pilot, and already a famous motorcycle racer) would promote the machines by continuing his racing career.  Sadly, Ravelli was killed just after the war’s end in an airplane crash, and the legendary “flying eagle” logo for the company was adopted from the Italian Air Corp’s symbol in tribute.

(Of interest is that the company’s original name was GP, for “Guzzi-Parodi,” but was changed to Moto Guzzi to shelter the Parodi family’s shipping fortune from that of the upstart motorcycle company.)

Carlo Guzzi’s first engine design was a horizontal single-cylinder that in various configurations dominated the company’s history for 45 years.  And as planned they torture tested those engine configurations on the racing circuits of the world.  In 1935, Irish racer Stanley Woods won both the Lightweight TT (250cc) and Senior TT (500cc) races at the Isle of Man TT, then (and still) the ultimate test for rider and machine.  Moto Guzzi continued to experience huge success in many forms of racing for several decades, but by the early-1960’s the company’s fortunes had changed and financial considerations saw them shift towards higher-volume products and thus de-emphasize their racing programs.

Early in the 1960's Guzzi engineered the now-iconic air-cooled 90-degree V-twin, with the engine’s transverse cylinder heads projecting prominently and proudly from either side of the bike as if someone dropped an equally iconic BMW boxer-twin engine from a great height only to see the cylinder heads bend upwards.  (The effect is almost wing-like, an unintentional visual nod to Guzzi’s aviation heritage.)  That basic engine configuration continues to today, and a version is found in the new V9 Bobber.

The Bobber's motor is tuned for torque rather than horsepower, the 853cc engine making a leisurely 55-hp at 6250rpm with maximum torque of 46-lb/ft available at 3000rpm.  It’s a lovely, tractable engine, the transverse mounting gently shimmying side-to-side at idle like a happy dog wagging its tail, and in the real world it has more than enough juice to make for a spirited ride.  Power is delivered to the rear wheel through a drive shaft, and Guzzi’s six-speed dry clutch rattles pleasantly (though not as demonstrably as the wonderful older dry clutch Ducati bikes).  It also shifts accurately, much more so than the lovely Guzzi V7 Racer I owned last year, which had a gearbox filled with what felt like Limoncello-flavored Jell-O and random nuts and bolts.

The design of the V9 Bobber is classic, easy-going Moto Guzzi.  While Guzzi has released some stunning performance bikes over the years (the current Griso 8V power-cruiser shares honors with the Ducati XDiavel as most impressive in its class, and the 2004 MGS-01 Corsa gets my vote for one of the most beautiful bikes ever designed), they’re best known for more laid-back fair.  The V9 Bobber continues in that vein, with a deceptively simple design that includes just enough retro touches to keep the heritage alive without being over-styled in the least.  The exposed bits (including the exhaust pipe) are done up in anodized matte black, except for the fuel tank and fenders which are finished in matte silvery grey (it’s also available in black) with racy red highlights, and the lightly-padded (but comfy) seat is a tapered, flat slab highlighted with contrasting white stitching.  Nice.  The instrument gauge is a single, simple retro-modern analog speedo with a small LCD screen to register various information and allow basic configurations of the onboard systems.  There’s absolutely nothing to detract from the riding experience, and the electronic nannies (including two-stage ABS) are both simple and completely non-intrusive.

Straddling the bike is easy, as it’s light weight (439-lbs) and low profile make it easy to maneuver at low speed.  (I’m 6’0” and could stand over the bike flat-footed.)  The Bobber’s flat handlebar falls to hand with little forward lean and, at least for my build, was positioned at a comfortable and relaxed angle; it immediately feels like an “all afternoon” fit.  On turn-over, the twin shimmies in its delightful way and the exhaust barks happily with a charming rumble.  Put the bike in gear and clutch take-up is progressive and forgiving.

The bike accelerates progressively and with verve, though this isn’t an engine that will toss you off the back with a liberal throttle application like so many naked and super-naked these days.  The side-to-side shimmy smooths out immediately and forward progress, even with a serious twist of the right wrist, is measured and pleasant.  This is a comfy bike to ride, telegraphing its every move to eliminate surprises, but one that still rewards giving it the bones.  It handles like a featherweight, which isn’t surprising given that the relaxed riding position positions most of the rider’s weight over the middle-rear of the bike rather than the front wheels.  The handling isn’t telepathic exactly, but the bike bobs and weaves with ease and little effort.  It’s forgiving in a way that makes it an ideal beginner’s bike, or a bike for someone who wanted to commute a bit and not stress over popping wheelies at every stop light.  Of equal importance is the bikes plentiful stopping power, which was progressive, fade-resistant, and more than adequate for the relaxed nature of the bike. 

The motorcycles to which I’m typically drawn are generally high-strung and loud and knife-edged and, if I'm honest, sometimes not all that fun.  Yes, my Panigale R or Tuono 1100 V4 Factory can make me feel like Captain America riding a nuclear missile but they’re also, well…work.  The V9 Bobber is the opposite of that, a bike that rewards small amounts of effort with massive smiles, one that practically demands a rider look around and take in the world as it zooms by, and one that generally discourages doing so at the extra-legal speeds of so many of today’s two-wheeled conquerers.  There are other stand-outs in this diverse class of bike, including the excellent Ducati Scrambler, the moody Triumph Thruxton, and sublime BMW rNineT (and one of my new favorites, the Yamaha SCR950), but few have the Guzzi’s sense of effortless and simple cool.

While I have no way of knowing, I wouldn't be surprised if the V9 Bobber’s formal design brief was a single word on a piece of paper: ”Divertimento!” (“Fun!”).  If so, Moto Guzzi has wildly achieved that goal with this bike.  

Sometimes life rains happy little flowers. Take the other day, for example. There I was, having an otherwise normal day working out of my firm's office in lovely Columbus, Ohio, and suddenly I wasn't. Alien abduction can be the only explanation because there can't be any logical reason I suddenly found myself in the race shop of Rahal Letterman Lanigan Racing in Hilliard, Ohio, standing next to one of the most iconic race cars of all time: The BMW-powered McLaren F1 GTR.

In the pantheon of sports cars, the Gordon Murray-designed McLaren F1 sits at the highest step of any possible pedestal; it's so iconic, it's virtually mythic. And the race car that was born from the road car project (and begrudgingly by Murray at that) still exists as some sort of almost unbelievable footnote, a seemingly effortless tilting of the race world's axis that hasn't really been replicated since.  It was a car so extraordinary that it won the overall victory at Le Mans on its first try, when it did so in 1995. 

The BMW S70/2 V12 engine was the beating heart of the F1 GTR and was used by BMW in the F1, the V12 LM and LMR Le Mans prototypes (and rather humorously in the one-off X5 Le Mans built to celebrate BMW's overall victory at Le Sarth in 2000).  The 6-liter motor made 618-hp and 480 lb-ft of torque and redlined at 7500rpm.  Ironically, Le Mans GT1 class rules limited the amount of horsepower the race motors could make, so courtesy of an air restrictor, the F1 GTR's engine actually made slightly less power (closer to 600-hp) than the road car.  This slight limitation was more than compensated by the dramatically more aggressive aero package and lower overall weight on the race car, as evidenced by it achieving 236.7 mph on the Mulsanne Straight when it arrived at Le Mans in 1995.

This particular car, chassis #17R, was campaigned at Le Mans in 1996 by BMW Motorsports (in conjunction with their Italian partner, Bigazzi Team SRL) and finished 8th overall (and 6th in the GT1 class). Nelson Piquet, Johnny Cecotto, and Danny Sullivan shared driving duties. It's now part of BMW North America's BMW Classics collection and is maintained in pristine running condition by the mechanical wizards of BMW Team RLLR. And it's most assuredly no museum queen; it last bared its teeth at this year's Rolex Monterey Motorsports Reunion at Laguna Seca under the hot shoe of BMW factory driver Bill Auberlen.  (To get an idea of what this beast sounds like from the cockput, check out this clip on Axis of Oversteer.)

The F1 GTR shares the iconic scissor doors and majority of internal mechanicals with the road car but in race car trim is about as raw and purposeful as you’d imagine.  The F1 GTR also shares the road car’s central seating position, with two vestigial jump seats positioned on either side and slightly rearward.  Getting in through the lattice of roll cage and into the central seat takes more than a few acrobatics, but once I pretzeled thusly, the fit of the cockpit and vista over the car’s snout feels perfect; the physical presence of the giant BMW V12 behind my head is palpable, and the aluminum shifter is perfectly at hand.  Come on guys, let me fire this monster up!  I think I may have blinded someone with my grin.  And since a sister car, chassis #21, sold at a Gooding & Co. auction in 2014 for $5.28MM, I was really glad I didn't ding it getting in or out.

As all wonderful things must be, my time in the car was all too short (though I think I was a bit more graceful folding myself out).  But what an amazing experience with an absolutely astounding piece of automotive and racing history.  One I’ll never forget.

(Extra special thanks to Steve Dickson and Brian Marks from RLLR for making the alien abduction possible.)

(Special thanks to BMWBLOG for featuring this piece as well.)

“Benchmark” is an overused word in the automotive world, but few cars have earned the title as honestly as the BMW M3.  It’s a car that’s universally hailed as one of the most successful and notable of the past three decades and practically spawned the entire genre of performance sedans.  It’s also the car that virtually every manufacturer guns for with their own efforts, from brands as disparate as Chevrolet to Lexus to Alfa Romeo to Mercedes; everyone wants to knock the M3 off its pedestal to claim the mantle of “Best Sports Sedan in The World.”

There have been four generations of M3 prior to the latest and each has had its own unique recipe to bake the performance cake.  In 1985, the first generation M3, the E30 (car guys love to talk in chassis codes), was a homologation special from BMW, built from a standard 3-series car to allow racing in the Group A Touring Car racing series.  (“Homologation” in motorsports roughly states that a racing car must be generally based off a production car.  As you might guess, manufacturers go to astounding lengths to game this system.)  Its 2.3-liter Inline-4 engine produced 192hp (though later special versions made up to 235hp), and featured revised suspension bits, brakes, driveline, and body panels from the more mundane 3-series.  It was an immediate hit.

The second generation car, the E36, arrived to the market in 1992 with a 240-hp I6 engine, while the third generation car, the E46, arrived in 2000 and upped the ante to 340-hp from its I6 engine.  And then in 2007, BMW released the E92 version of the M3, with an amazingly high-revving 414-hp V8.  It was the apogee of normally-aspirated BMW engine goodness.

(Please note that I’m listing only the “base” versions of each generation of M3.  BMW has produced coupe, convertible, and sedan versions of all but the E30 cars, and each version has spawned several special versions as well.  The chassis codes I list are all related to the coupe versions of the car)

The current model, the F82, arrived in 2014.  With this release, BMW also unhelpfully split the car’s nomenclature in two, with the sedan version retaining the M3 moniker and the coupe and convertible adopting a new numbering system.  Thus was born the M4.  (Don’t try to understand.)

When the M-division released the specs for the F82 M4, you could almost hear the wailing and gnashing of teeth from the purists over the scream of the outgoing car’s stratospherically-revving engine note.  It was, a legion of fanboys cried, a proverbial bridge too far:  BMW had plumbed the Inline-6 with not one but two turbochargers.  As the French would put it:  C’est pas possible!  (As BMW responded: “Ben si, Monsieur. C’est possible.”)  The fact the new car not only made more horsepower than the outgoing V8 but did so with a nearly flat torque curve (instead of the massively peaky torque curve of the E92) made no difference.  The mere presence of turbochargers was viewed in some quarters as the ultimate sell-out, a dilution of the normally-aspirated virtuousness the M-Division had always delivered.  Car guys are fragile souls and rarely take to such tectonic changes lightly.  As an offset to enthusiasts for the forced-induction slight, BMW reduced the weight of the M4 by 138-lbs over the previous M3 (3389-lbs vs. 3527-lbs.), since "adding lightness" is one of the ultimate virtues in the performance car canon.

The car you see on this page arrived off the Wallenius Line’s “Tugela” car-carrier at the Port of Baltimore in mid-May of this year, had some special bits installed by technicians at BMW’s port facility, then made its way via truck to Baron BMW in Merriam, Kansas.  And from Baron, this particular car made its way to my garage in Kansas City, Missouri.  Yes, this is my new personal car.

I’m no stranger to BMWs and I’m also no stranger to M-Division cars.  Prior to this car, I’ve had two successive E92 M3s, the first of which I picked up via BMW’s fabulous European Delivery Program at BMW Welt in Munich; the second of which I’ve written about before (as has another writer).  I am also an unabashed and unapologetic fan of both the brand and the BMW Team RLL racing squad, and Dreamy Wife has driven two generations of X5 diesels in succession (and also had a BMW-family Mini Cooper S at one point).

This particular car is finished is lustrous Mineral White Metallic, while the interior is swathed top-to-bottom in what BMW calls Sakhir Orange/Black Merino leather (but you can call Campbell’s Tomato Soup Red).  Pretty well all available package options were selected (including the sublime DCT M Double-clutch transmission), but most notable is the Competition Package (more on that later).  One option I declined were the M Carbon Ceramic Brakes.  Not only did this save over $8000 but I find these brakes to be annoying to use around town (squeaks!) and overkill for virtually all types of daily (even spirited) driving.  Unless you’re planning frequent track days with your M4, I suggest sticking with the already-potent standard M Brakes (denoted visually by their vibrant blue calipers versus the gold versions on the carbon clampers).

The “standard” M4 is well-equipped and loaded with overt performance goodies out of the box, but the aforementioned “ZCP” Competition Package adds an extraordinary amount to the equation.  For an extra $5500, the car receives a power bump to 444-hp (up from 425); gets new springs, dampers, and anti-roll bars, in addition to the Adaptive M Suspension; reconfigured driving modes, a retuned electronic differential, and revised DSC (Dynamic Stability Control); striking 20-inch M alloy wheels (previously seen only on the limited M4 GTS); a throaty M-sport exhaust with black tailpipes; and also swaps out the M4’s standard seats with lovely lightweight sport buckets (again seen prior only on the GTS; they’re dreamy).  BMW also adds in seatbelts with woven-in M stripes for good measure, and some nifty blacked out trim bits (including the rear M4 badge itself).  In my book it’s the mother of all option bargains, and the changes to the driving complexion and personality of the car are anything but superficial.

The M4’s aesthetic reflects that of the rest of BMW’s current lineup, developed first under the design auspices of Adrian van Hooydonk and now under Karim Habib, and it’s arguably the most muscular and aggressive design of the bunch (though the steroidal haunches of the new M2 make a strong argument as well).  To my eyes, the M4 appears quite a bit larger than the outgoing M3, though in actuality the dimensional differences are slight; the new car gains two inches in both length and width, while losing an inch in height.  It’s an optical illusion of increased size I attribute largely to the lengthening of the rear roofline and C-pillar into a more fluid tapering than that of the previous car, as well as a visual reduction in rear overhang that results from the subtle duck-billed trunk lid. Happily the trademark “Hoffmeister Kink” that makes up the trailing edge of the rear side windows looks as fetching as ever.  It’s a stunning car in the flesh, elegant and lithe, whose design is more fully realized and integrated than the previous M3.  Of note is the expanded use of CFRP (Carbon Fiber Reinforced Plastic), a high-strength yet lightweight material used to form the car's hood, roof, trunk lid, and driveshaft.  (Yes, the car's driveshaft is made of CFRP.  It's strong stuff.)

Many column-inches have been written about the M4’s loss of sonic purity necessitated by the switch to forced induction, and let me tell you, the car is sick of hearing about this shit.  Stab the Start/Stop button on the dash and it starts with a pronounced, irritable bark.  Do this when the engine is cold and post-bark it grumbles and rumbles with all the delicacy of a Vitamix filled with river rocks, a proverbial poking-of-the-sleeping-bear that seems specifically engineered for dramatic unhappiness.  The sound is also, I’m sorry to say, rather flatulent-sounding.  (Turbochargers require their forced airflow, after all.)  After 30 seconds of so, circulatory fluids warm and do their things and the engine calms into a neutral (though still generally unhappy) attitude of “go get me some coffee and let’s get on with this” readiness.  And how.

The noise itself is generated from a word-salad of engine technology.  The M4’s powerplant is a 3-liter marvel, a twin-turbocharged and intercooled 24-valve inline-6, with an aluminum block and head and direct-fuel injection.  It’s both lighter and more powerful than the outgoing V8, and while it’s certainly no Prius (thank God), it manages to return respectable gas mileage for a car with this performance capacity (EPA city/highway of 17/26mpg).

Press the accelerator and the M4 scoots with alacrity.  The E92 M3 was an indoor-outdoor housecat, docile, purring, and playful when calm, but ready to pounce when prompted or aroused.  It was content to putter around town like a garden-variety 3-series (lulling in fact, as mellow as gin buzz) until you romped it.  The M4 is a different animal entirely, a Malibu Hills mountain lion always on the lookout for a random jogger, never letting its guard down, almost entirely unamused.  The abundant torque from the motor (406-lb/ft at 1850 rpm all the way to the redline at 7500rpm) means even the slightest pressure to the right pedal provides an urgent and immediate shove in the back, while a heavy prod provides a sudden thunderstorm of sound and movement, a startling and intimidating display of forward propulsion.  The M4 equipped with DSG gets from nil to 60mph in an instrumented 3.7 seconds; the feeling the car delivers at full thrust is one of progressive and extreme progress, a rheostat that transports you from here to there.   These modern turbocharged engines are fun.

The out-of-the-box M4’s suspension can be firm to the point of punishment in almost all selectable modes (Comfort, Sport, and Sport+), and I expected the Competition Pack-equipped car to be even more so.  Surprisingly, the changes made to the setup, including the wonderful Adaptive M suspension, smooth out much of the general harshness of the car’s normal tune.  Even with the larger wheels and attendant smaller tire sidewalls, the higher-spec M4 rides well on all pavement surfaces, absorbing rough patches and funky frequencies with aplomb.  Sport Mode is now your friend even around town (though Sport+ is still best summoned only when you mean it).

The suspension tuning also delivers amazingly neutral handling, with understeer being pretty well nonexistent and oversteer being available on demand but not arriving with any surprises (though given the amount of broad-range torque the engine makes, I hope the stability-control light on the dash is lit with a long-life LED for fear of it burning out before the rest of the dash).  If you want to see the tail swinging wildly in your rear-view mirror, feel free to switch off the electronic nannies and the M4 will happily comply.  (Lawyers:  I did NOT suggest this behavior to any reader.)  And while the previous M3 undoubtedly delivered greater feel from its sublime hydraulic steering, the M4’s electric rack does a fabulous job at approximation (though it does so in certain situations with a bit too much weighting).

The 7-speed DCT twin-clutch transmission is a thing of elegance and substance, ripping off seamless shifts without hesitation with just a gentle pull of one of the nicely-weighted paddle shifters.  And unlike today's hyper-fluid true automatics, which abstract much of what the gearbox is doing, BMW's DCT still feels, well, mechanical; you're always aware of the computer-driven movement of ultra-refined gear bits rotating and sliding and clutching and releasing, and doing so with the closest of tolerances.  It's an amazing sensation, the pull of a paddle followed by an immediate response; quickness that's almost telepathic, a sense of great forces somewhere at work underneath the car.  I love this transmission so much.

Which makes it all the more ironic that my biggest criticism with the M4 is with that very transmission’s controller, the vaguely organic-looking and feeling stub that feels great and works precisely (if somewhat oddly) save for the absence of one specific feature:  A Park detent.  Nope, there is no way to actually put the M4 in Park by using the DCT controller.  Instead, there’s a multi-step process involving various combinations of the parking brake, a double push of the Start/Stop button, whether you leave the car in Reverse or Drive or Neutral when you come to a stop, and your local forecast for sunspot emanations.  Okay, I made that last bit up, but you’d hardly know it from reading the Owner’s Manual to…let me pause for emphasis…put the damn car in Park!  Yes, I actually read the Owner’s Manual to learn the suggested method for…let me again pause for emphasis…putting the damn car in Park!

There isn’t even consistency across the BMW lineup either, as their torque-converting automatic transmissions are all outfitted with a Park button.  Audi, Mercedes, and Porsche all manage to include a Park setting on their fine twin-clutch systems.  It’s as if BMW carefully, logically, and specifically engineered a system to confuse drivers of their DCT-equipped cars as much as possible.  Mission accomplished.  This is my third BMW DCT and I still have to double check that the car is in Park when I shut it off and open the door.  I've got to believe more than one lawsuit has been filed due to an otherwise attentive owner's M4 rolling away when he or she thought it was fine.  To BMW I say:  Just silly.

In terms of serious complaints about the M4, that’s about it, though the car is not entirely without quirks.  Take the artificial soundtrack piped into the cabin, for example, whereby a recording of the outside engine note is rev-matched and amplified through the sound system to compensate for the car’s overall abundant sound dampening.  Is it noticeable?  Yes.  Is it bothersome?  No, though I wish there was a switch to disable the system on demand.  And if you'll allow me to nitpick: There’s no receptacle for the key fob, a design quirk that’s endemic to most all current automobiles.  (Hey auto manufacturers, not all of us want to carry stuff in our pockets all the time.)  But as I said:  Minor annoyances.

The M3 has traditionally been about as close to a true sports car as BMW gets.  These days, that honor realistically falls to the M2, a smaller, simpler, and less fussy driving machine to be sure.  The M4 has grown to be an even more immensely capable GT car, with the ability to cover great distances in massive comfort while swaddling the driver in style and technological sophistication, but also one that will hustle the owner around a track or country lane with astounding speed and stability and hooligan presence if desired.  It’s a refined car, but one with sharp teeth; a serious car that will very much bite if provoked.  And for my money (literally) it’s still at the top of the sports sedan class pyramid.  The M3 Coupe is dead; long live the M4.

I promised myself I would not begin any review of a contemporary Cadillac by ladling out the tired tropes around the brand, the ones about funeral directors and suspensions tuned by Serta and a demographic defined by actuaries and the all-you-can-eat-buffet coupons that come with every vehicle purchase.  So I won’t.

I also promised myself that when I inevitably got around to writing about a vehicle from the company named for the French explorer who founded Detroit in 1701, Antoine Laumet de La Mothe, sieur de Cadillac, I would work in my list of the five greatest songs ever written with “Cadillac” in their titles: “Cadillac Ranch” by Bruce Springsteen; “Cadillac Assembly Line” by Albert King; “Voodoo Cadillac” by Southern Culture on the Skids; “Long White Cadillac” by The Blasters; and my personal favorite, “Brand New Cadillac” by The Clash.  Your playlist can thank me later.

What I didn’t promise myself was to fully set aside my bias towards high-horsepower German cars, because bias is a funny thing.  You see, I’m the proud owner of a long string of Audi and BMW burners and subconsciously wear the subtle smirk of arrogance admittedly (and sadly) endemic to drivers of those brands.  I'm not proud of this, you understand, but it is what it is.  I've been known to raise an eyebrow and chuckle when I see an Infiniti.  When I talk to Lexus drivers, I generally say stuff like “Man, really nice car.  No, really.”  But Cadillacs?  Um, no.

But it’s impossible to ignore what GM has been doing with the brand over the last decade, to not only bring it back to respectability but make it a legit competitor to the Teutonic marques, and the thundering sound of the racing CTS-V.R racecars ripping up the pavement (and claiming victory after victory) over the past few years in the Pirelli World Challenge series certainly got my notice.  Cadillac seems to have cooked up some sort of secret sauce.

My personal history with Cadillac did not begin auspiciously.  To wit:  The first Cadillac I ever drove was a Cimarron. Let that sink in for a moment. A Cimarron.  This did not endear me to Cadillacs.  (Contrast this with how my personal history began with BMWs, when my oldest brother picked me up from high school one day in his new 1980 318i, blasting Van Halen’s “Running with The Devil” on the Blaupunkt.  I was smitten.)

The second Cadillac I ever drove was the 2016 ATS-V you see here.  It’s about as different and far removed from the Cimarron as Screaming Eagle is from brown-bag malt liquor.

(Thanks to the fine folks at Van Cadillac in Kansas City, Missouri, for the extended test drive.)

Cadillac’s new design direction first rolled out to the world with the CLR in 2003, a low-volume and expensive roadster based on the Chevrolet Corvette’s platform that arrived on the scene with a power-folding aluminum hardtop, Cadillac’s 4.6-liter Northstar engine tuned for 320-hp, and enough sharp design angles to open an Office Depot’s worth of envelopes.  It was a looker, and most importantly looked like no other prior Cadillac.  A line in the sand if you will.  The XLR ushered in what I call Cadillac’s “metallic origami” design vocabulary and to its credit they’ve stuck with and refined that design language over the past decade-plus.

The ATS-V is the latest model to embrace the look, and the current generation of Cadillacs all feature sharp creases and angles in a way that imparts an unmistakable familial resemblance: From the hulking Escalade hip-hop bus; to the regal CT6 full-sized sedan; to the insane CTS-V rocketship (and big brother to the ATS-V); to the butch XT5 and SRX crossovers found at Target shopping centers everywhere. I’m a big fan of the overall family of designs.  The vocabulary is all sharp edges and points and lines, which nicely plays off the updated Cadillac brand emblem.  Dreamy Wife, always a harsh critic, was a little less convinced at the ATS-V’s front-end design.  “Whoa, it’s pretty grilly.”   Thus beauty proves itself again to be in the eye of the beholder.

 The ATS-V is the hopped-up version of the ATS, and like it’s less potent sibling is available in both sedan and coupe form.  (The latter model is the format on which the Pratt & Miller-prepared ATS-V.R race car is based.)  The car I drove was painted a deep Black Raven finish, with the interior done up in Jet Black.  It was a serious and austere combination, intermixed with carbon fiber bits and black Alcantara complimenting the beautifully finished leather and quality-touch plastics.  One interior knock are the various small but noticeable strips of chrome adornment that harken back to a cheesier time in Cadillac’s history.  Why all American cars still insist on random bits of chrome escapes me, and if there was some sort of “black out” package available for this car I’d jump on it quickly.  No, I'm not a huge fan of chrome on modern cars.

The quality of the materials and assembly will be a surprise to anyone who hasn’t sampled GM’s finest in a few years.  Fit-and-finish were superb, leather surfaces were beautifully stitched, and plastic surfaces were springy (and expensive-feeling) to the touch.  I’d go so far as to call the quality virtually Japanese; this Caddy was every bit as lovely as the last Lexus I was in.  Nice stuff, and absolutely worthy of a car in this price-point (as tested: $70,965).

My car was also outfitted with the optional RECARO performance seats and for $2300 I can’t recommend them enough.  They managed the difficult balance of being both supportive and comfortable, with electric adjustability that let me easily find a perfect fit.  They’re stunners to boot, gripped well under all my hooligan maneuvers, and had none of the overly rigid aspects of similar seats installed in German competitors.  They may be the best seats of any car I’ve been in ages.  Goldilocks seats:  They’re just right.

I can’t say the same about Cadillac’s CUE (“Cadillac User Experience") system and its touch-screen display.  To the good, the display is bright and brilliant and attractive, and the user interface is fairly intuitive and responsive.  To the bad, I’m just not a fan of the button-less control systems found in several manufacturers' products of late.  Regardless of responsiveness, stabbing at a screen while on the move is never as intuitive or fluid as turning a knob, and having to slide your finger along a slider bar to adjust the volume of the stereo while underway is always an exercise in frustration.  (And don’t get me started on the inevitable and ubiquitous fingerprints.)  Like all user interfaces, I’m sure competence comes with repetition, but in my time with the car I didn’t get comfortable interacting with either CUE or the HVAC system, which also relies on sliding and pressing small spots of shiny black plastic located above shiny chrome (more chrome!) separators on the plastic (and plastic-looking) piano-black main panel (which was the only quality letdown in the entire interior).  CUE looks and works better than the system on modern Jaguars (like the F-Type R with which I recently spent a week) but it’s still not as useful as the wrist-and-finger twist controllers found on other cars in this segment.  For what it’s worth, the Bose audio system sounded spectacular.

Another spectacular sound arrived when I pressed the Start/Stop button.  The ATS-V starts with a bark, then immediately settles down into a purposeful rumble.  Thankfully, Cadillac’s engineers decided to omit most of the “hey, look at me!” startup theatrics currently in vogue with so many performance GTs and sedans (I’m talking to you, BMW), which are fun for the first few times then become a source of awkwardness and social embarrassment thereafter.

Exhaust tuning is no mean feat in a car with this much juice.  The ATS-V has muscle-sedan power in spades, with its 3.6-liter, twin-turbo V6 that makes 464-hp and 445-lb/ft of torque.  It’s sledgehammer fast, exceedingly linear, with little perceptible forced-induction lag below 2000rpm and none above.  Off the line, the car plants and just goes and goes, those lovely RECAROs gripping and supporting while the car does it’s best to push you into the rear seats, a great roaring, ripping sound pulsing while the tachometer in the Heads-Up Display spins easily towards the 7000rpm redline. Maximum power is made at 5850rpm so anything north of that is just making noise, but what a glorious noise it is, with none of the piped-in falseness so annoyingly favored by German engineers.  The ATS-V makes it to 60mph in only 3.8 seconds; it’s quick.  But it doesn’t feel that quick

I attribute that to the car’s Achilles' Heel, it’s transmission.   True auto-boxes rarely have the same sense of immediacy and snap as the best of current-generation dual-clutch transmissions, but some (like the aforementioned Jaguar) do a yeoman’s job of tuning responsiveness and aggression into a reasonable facsimile.  Not so the ATS-V’s 8-speed automatic, which always felt a step behind the eager powerplant, regardless of which set-up program the car was in.  Even Track mode, which firmed up all other dampers nicely, delivered muted, behind-the-curve shifts.  At one point, I got frustrated enough at my paddle-commands being lazily executed that I put the car in Drive, thinking the Sport- or Track programs would hold revs and downshift aggressively.  Not so.  It’s almost like Cadillac is begging buyers in this segment to choose the optional 6-speed manual while Caddy works on cutting a deal with ZF for the latest dual-clutch model to install.  The 8-speed automatic is not this car’s friend.

The suspension, though, is more than up to the challenge of reigning in the motor’s grunt.  With struts in the front and a lovely multi-link setup in the rear, the car’s handling is great, with reasonable feedback in all three program settings. Sport is the mode to leave it in, as there’s not much difference in tactile feel between Sport and Track, and Track is more heavily weighted all around than is comfy on anything but perfect roads.  The car is beautifully balanced and weighted and turns in and bites with confidence, the electrical nannies allowing a fair amount of rear-wheel slip before asserting themselves (and this car has more than enough juice to light up its rear tires at virtually any point if you can convince the transmission to help a brother out).  While this is certainly no Lotus, the trick magnetic dampers nicely mask the car's rather chunky 3812-lb curb weight.

And the brakes are more than up to the job, the red Brembo’s ratcheting the car down from, er, extra-legal speeds with ease and balance and utter confidence.  They’re great.  Overall the ATS-V’s suspension is tuned to true GT-car standards, and doesn’t feel the need to assert itself as a pure teeth-jarring track weapon like some of its German competitors.  It's a performance car that's both easy to live with and enjoy every day.

So how to sum up the ATS-V?  I’ll admit to wanting to like this car; the Germans badly need some new competition, and the marketplace needs some additional variety.  Plus I'm the sentimental sort and who doesn't love the thought of a Cadillac?  On the plus side, the ATS-V has a superb engine, great suspension tuning, distinctive looks, and fabulous seats.  It’s even priced as somewhat of a bargain in this class.  On the negative side, it’s a car let down by an overmatched transmission and a frustrating suite of on-board electronics, as well as some reminders of parts-bin cost-cutting (if those turn signal stalks aren’t shared with a Chevy Cruze, they could be).

In the end, the ATS-V is a really good car; full stop.  It's not quite yet a C43 Coupe or M4 but that's okay.  All due credit to Cadillac for building a legitimate competitor to the field of BMW M, Mercedes AMG, Lexus F, Audi S and RS, and Jaguar R cars.  (And let’s welcome Alfa Romeo to the party with its upcoming Giulia Quadrifoglio.)  Those marques’ performance reputations have been built over years and generations of vehicles, proving themselves in the marketplace and racetracks of the world with decades of engineering experimentation and brand-building behind them.  Cadillac comes to the party with a shallower pool of performance history, and it’ll take several generations of development to gain both true credibility and market share.  I applaud the effort and commend them on the obvious quality steps they’ve taken with the ATS-V.  For anyone wanting to sample the pinnacle of refined American GT-car engineering, your Cadillac dealer is the place to start.  I can’t wait to see what the future holds for the ATS-V.  Now, about those chrome strips and touch-screen fingerprint smudges…