e39 M5 the best allround car in the world!
Discussion
After tonights epic jaunt. If Carlsberg made cars then it'd be the e39 M5
I can't think of a more complete car just absolutly awesome.
I'm sure that Der' will be along at some stage to wax lyrical about this car.
What a car
Discuss
Regards Gandalf.......................................................
I can't think of a more complete car just absolutly awesome.
I'm sure that Der' will be along at some stage to wax lyrical about this car.
What a car
Discuss
Regards Gandalf.......................................................
A jaunt which took place in an environemnt and in a spirit of appropriate legal rectitude...
I was in the X50 support vehicle and Gandalf Kacher was tasked with the sub light duties.
Now, the 996 interior is a work of true sadism; plastics not good enough to have graced my 1981 Fiat 127 and assembly quality that would render the Mirafiori as but the Lexus.
Trundling along is not an option since the associated trim racket is so appalling (I mean the worst it has ever been my misfortune to endure) that deliverance lies only in full and wholesome levelling of the anvil so that induction in association with the accompanying external road and wind roars may combine to drown things out.
So it was that as autobahnic splendour bade us hither, I slowly eased into a firm 160lph cruise.
Here, the 996 Turbo shows it's mettle, the combination of trick electronic supervision allied to supreme mechanicals, clawing into the tundra as all four paws clawed indominatably through the sweepers.
Emboldened by this harnessed solidity (the car, like it's 993 forbear, feeling quite revolting at lesser velocities) I squeezed some more.
Stunningly, the 'squatular nuggetation,' to borrow from the Dunk 76 Alamanc of Favoured EVOisms, was mesmerising and as I cantered into a perfectly acceptable 175lph, began to forget the car's awfulness in departments governed by men in suits and relish the underpinnings of true, engineering genius. It was, to quote the Reevian Keanuc, "f@cking amazing."
Except for one thing: the blue blob of a TIE Fighter, curiously maintaining a tractor beam busting yardage some way ahead.
It's four canons were just about perceivable and the rear valance seemed devoid of bobble. This was a car from the planet Tron. It was a seven year old, 100k M5.
It was also a complete slight to the known hegemony of The Order of The Holy Roman Teuton and I would not have it. [H Grant]Or so I thought...[/H Grant]
The M5 proceeded to pull away. No, I couldn't believe it, either but it did.
As the roads natural camber and corner ebbed and flowed, this was in many ways GT hooning in it's classical, most rarified form. No other traffic, autobahn-a-calling and man unt machine.
It was also very much a topography bereft of sustained, pure straight and so scphincteromics were a factor, it's true but even so, raw grunt - something the Porker could rarely be accused of lacking - was always going to be a telling injector of decisiveness.
Except it wasn't and it didn't. Instead, the sensible family saloon loped harder, faster and stronger. At 180lph, I removed the towel from my fevered brow and threw it into the passenger footwell and informed Mr Sulu to cool down the dilithium. Only David Grohl screaming on the CD remained to keep me safe from the return of s
ttus cabina maximum as I gave up and made my way to our prearranged coffee stop.
Here, as I parked next to the ticking splendour of a French registered 4200GT, the custodian of some exceedingly questionable facial hair awaited, standing proudly next to the conveyance in which he had so brutally served up my undoing.
As we considered the sensation of that which had transpired, Captain Middle Earth proceeded to reveal the full extent of the sublime thraper. Let's just say that the guage which measures lph had been breached...it was still gunning but I'm sure it was his sense of magnanimity which brought things back a tad...
Now, let's get something clear. I'm not for one moment suggesting the old bus is faster than an X50 nor as accelerative (certainly from the off/lower speeds) but what I am rejoicing in, is the blatent reality that once up and rolling and once you've thrown in the sorts of 'real world' curves and esses that define continental routiering of the finest order, the significance of that last percentile of uber grunt evaporates and power differentials suddenly seem a lot tighter as chassis balance, damping, handling feel, poise and solidity all rear their head like some Gorgonic light of automotive judgement.
Even then, the ability of the old master to say 'bks' and simply cog drop so as to 'haul ass' out of the more tightening radii, perhaps in 3rd, had me scrabbling for sufficient lyric wax.
Now I know why every single saloon - if not road car - I drive, feels wanting.
I know of nothing else, no other road car with a repertoire so wide yet honed.
My Lord Daz of The West Country, a fellow who has tweaked the nose of hoonstriction here and there, chuckled the knowing chuckle of the man who knows, for about the eight millionth time, last night. "I think they hit the bullseye with that one, mate," is our perennial conclusion and this experience convinced me that in fact, the arrow head did not just pierce the cork in the board's centre, it may indeed have forced it through.
I do not apologise for this perpetual championing: it is my mission to encourage as many PHers as can feasibly afford to stop mincing around and dive on in.
Trust me, it's free fitting...
I was in the X50 support vehicle and Gandalf Kacher was tasked with the sub light duties.
Now, the 996 interior is a work of true sadism; plastics not good enough to have graced my 1981 Fiat 127 and assembly quality that would render the Mirafiori as but the Lexus.
Trundling along is not an option since the associated trim racket is so appalling (I mean the worst it has ever been my misfortune to endure) that deliverance lies only in full and wholesome levelling of the anvil so that induction in association with the accompanying external road and wind roars may combine to drown things out.
So it was that as autobahnic splendour bade us hither, I slowly eased into a firm 160lph cruise.
Here, the 996 Turbo shows it's mettle, the combination of trick electronic supervision allied to supreme mechanicals, clawing into the tundra as all four paws clawed indominatably through the sweepers.
Emboldened by this harnessed solidity (the car, like it's 993 forbear, feeling quite revolting at lesser velocities) I squeezed some more.
Stunningly, the 'squatular nuggetation,' to borrow from the Dunk 76 Alamanc of Favoured EVOisms, was mesmerising and as I cantered into a perfectly acceptable 175lph, began to forget the car's awfulness in departments governed by men in suits and relish the underpinnings of true, engineering genius. It was, to quote the Reevian Keanuc, "f@cking amazing."
Except for one thing: the blue blob of a TIE Fighter, curiously maintaining a tractor beam busting yardage some way ahead.
It's four canons were just about perceivable and the rear valance seemed devoid of bobble. This was a car from the planet Tron. It was a seven year old, 100k M5.
It was also a complete slight to the known hegemony of The Order of The Holy Roman Teuton and I would not have it. [H Grant]Or so I thought...[/H Grant]
The M5 proceeded to pull away. No, I couldn't believe it, either but it did.
As the roads natural camber and corner ebbed and flowed, this was in many ways GT hooning in it's classical, most rarified form. No other traffic, autobahn-a-calling and man unt machine.
It was also very much a topography bereft of sustained, pure straight and so scphincteromics were a factor, it's true but even so, raw grunt - something the Porker could rarely be accused of lacking - was always going to be a telling injector of decisiveness.
Except it wasn't and it didn't. Instead, the sensible family saloon loped harder, faster and stronger. At 180lph, I removed the towel from my fevered brow and threw it into the passenger footwell and informed Mr Sulu to cool down the dilithium. Only David Grohl screaming on the CD remained to keep me safe from the return of s
ttus cabina maximum as I gave up and made my way to our prearranged coffee stop.Here, as I parked next to the ticking splendour of a French registered 4200GT, the custodian of some exceedingly questionable facial hair awaited, standing proudly next to the conveyance in which he had so brutally served up my undoing.
As we considered the sensation of that which had transpired, Captain Middle Earth proceeded to reveal the full extent of the sublime thraper. Let's just say that the guage which measures lph had been breached...it was still gunning but I'm sure it was his sense of magnanimity which brought things back a tad...
Now, let's get something clear. I'm not for one moment suggesting the old bus is faster than an X50 nor as accelerative (certainly from the off/lower speeds) but what I am rejoicing in, is the blatent reality that once up and rolling and once you've thrown in the sorts of 'real world' curves and esses that define continental routiering of the finest order, the significance of that last percentile of uber grunt evaporates and power differentials suddenly seem a lot tighter as chassis balance, damping, handling feel, poise and solidity all rear their head like some Gorgonic light of automotive judgement.
Even then, the ability of the old master to say 'b
ks' and simply cog drop so as to 'haul ass' out of the more tightening radii, perhaps in 3rd, had me scrabbling for sufficient lyric wax.Now I know why every single saloon - if not road car - I drive, feels wanting.
I know of nothing else, no other road car with a repertoire so wide yet honed.
My Lord Daz of The West Country, a fellow who has tweaked the nose of hoonstriction here and there, chuckled the knowing chuckle of the man who knows, for about the eight millionth time, last night. "I think they hit the bullseye with that one, mate," is our perennial conclusion and this experience convinced me that in fact, the arrow head did not just pierce the cork in the board's centre, it may indeed have forced it through.
I do not apologise for this perpetual championing: it is my mission to encourage as many PHers as can feasibly afford to stop mincing around and dive on in.
Trust me, it's free fitting...
Where do I sign?Its one of a few cars that the chassis works better the faster you go,it gains composure at high speed-stiffer cars are having to think about backing off when you have it nailed...
Even at 150+ everything is really precise when the road/track turns nasty.
The old timer is still quite fast ,a Ducati 916 met its match.
Even at 150+ everything is really precise when the road/track turns nasty.
The old timer is still quite fast ,a Ducati 916 met its match.
Great to hear the beasty is back on form, following geo and brake fettling at Fearnsport.
Grimston Barr said:
Will said beast be attending the forthcoming Brunters schnellfest? 
Having spoke to his lordship last night, it's my understanding the full compliment of Team VMX will be in attendance. Looking forward to having a go in his E39, following the binning of the unwanted secondary handbrake by DMS.......CarbonM5 said:
Its one of a few cars that the chassis works better the faster you go,it gains composure at high speed-stiffer cars are having to think about backing off when you have it nailed...
Even at 150+ everything is really precise when the road/track turns nasty.
The old timer is still quite fast ,a Ducati 916 met its match.
Couldnt agree more. I ran a 2000 E39 M5 around 2003 and couldnt put my finger on why (being a mechanical imbecile probably doesnt help) but the car seemed to 'squat' once you hit 90-100 (kph) and would just sit lovely at around that speed. Tremendous car and probably the best all ronder I've owned.Even at 150+ everything is really precise when the road/track turns nasty.
The old timer is still quite fast ,a Ducati 916 met its match.
ASBO said:
derin100 said:
Drat! Drat! And Triple Drat!...I wish I hadn't read this!
Now, I want one....
Get in line...Now, I want one....
"Now where did I leave that £14-Grand lying around....."
http://www.pistonheads.com/sales/414526.htm
Mikey_W said:
Bit of a thread hijack, but that E34 525i you have for sale looks stunning derin 
Thanks Mikey - just put it up for sale on Friday night so my wife's still sorting out the webpage so that it links properly into the "For Sale" bit on my website...should be done in the next few mins.I'm supposed to be REDUCING the fleet (eight BMW is bordering on pathological?) but reading this M5 thread really isn't helping me!AAAAARGHHH!
derin100 said:
Mikey_W said:
Bit of a thread hijack, but that E34 525i you have for sale looks stunning derin
Thanks Mikey - just put it up for sale on Friday night so my wife's still sorting out the webpage so that it links properly into the "For Sale" bit on my website...should be done in the next few mins.I'm supposed to be REDUCING the fleet (eight BMW is bordering on pathological?) but reading this M5 thread really isn't helping me!AAAAARGHHH!
Just looking through your gallery of previously sold BMW's, they are all stunning! That E30 M3
derestrictor said:
A jaunt which took place in an environemnt and in a spirit of appropriate legal rectitude...
I was in the X50 support vehicle and Gandalf Kacher was tasked with the sub light duties.
Now, the 996 interior is a work of true sadism; plastics not good enough to have graced my 1981 Fiat 127 and assembly quality that would render the Mirafiori as but the Lexus.
Trundling along is not an option since the associated trim racket is so appalling (I mean the worst it has ever been my misfortune to endure) that deliverance lies only in full and wholesome levelling of the anvil so that induction in association with the accompanying external road and wind roars may combine to drown things out.
So it was that as autobahnic splendour bade us hither, I slowly eased into a firm 160lph cruise.
Here, the 996 Turbo shows it's mettle, the combination of trick electronic supervision allied to supreme mechanicals, clawing into the tundra as all four paws clawed indominatably through the sweepers.
Emboldened by this harnessed solidity (the car, like it's 993 forbear, feeling quite revolting at lesser velocities) I squeezed some more.
Stunningly, the 'squatular nuggetation,' to borrow from the Dunk 76 Alamanc of Favoured EVOisms, was mesmerising and as I cantered into a perfectly acceptable 175lph, began to forget the car's awfulness in departments governed by men in suits and relish the underpinnings of true, engineering genius. It was, to quote the Reevian Keanuc, "f@cking amazing."
Except for one thing: the blue blob of a TIE Fighter, curiously maintaining a tractor beam busting yardage some way ahead.
It's four canons were just about perceivable and the rear valance seemed devoid of bobble. This was a car from the planet Tron. It was a seven year old, 100k M5.
It was also a complete slight to the known hegemony of The Order of The Holy Roman Teuton and I would not have it. [H Grant]Or so I thought...[/H Grant]
The M5 proceeded to pull away. No, I couldn't believe it, either but it did.
As the roads natural camber and corner ebbed and flowed, this was in many ways GT hooning in it's classical, most rarified form. No other traffic, autobahn-a-calling and man unt machine.
It was also very much a topography bereft of sustained, pure straight and so scphincteromics were a factor, it's true but even so, raw grunt - something the Porker could rarely be accused of lacking - was always going to be a telling injector of decisiveness.
Except it wasn't and it didn't. Instead, the sensible family saloon loped harder, faster and stronger. At 180lph, I removed the towel from my fevered brow and threw it into the passenger footwell and informed Mr Sulu to cool down the dilithium. Only David Grohl screaming on the CD remained to keep me safe from the return of sttus cabina maximum as I gave up and made my way to our prearranged coffee stop.
Here, as I parked next to the ticking splendour of a French registered 4200GT, the custodian of some exceedingly questionable facial hair awaited, standing proudly next to the conveyance in which he had so brutally served up my undoing.
As we considered the sensation of that which had transpired, Captain Middle Earth proceeded to reveal the full extent of the sublime thraper. Let's just say that the guage which measures lph had been breached...it was still gunning but I'm sure it was his sense of magnanimity which brought things back a tad...
Now, let's get something clear. I'm not for one moment suggesting the old bus is faster than an X50 nor as accelerative (certainly from the off/lower speeds) but what I am rejoicing in, is the blatent reality that once up and rolling and once you've thrown in the sorts of 'real world' curves and esses that define continental routiering of the finest order, the significance of that last percentile of uber grunt evaporates and power differentials suddenly seem a lot tighter as chassis balance, damping, handling feel, poise and solidity all rear their head like some Gorgonic light of automotive judgement.
Even then, the ability of the old master to say 'bks' and simply cog drop so as to 'haul ass' out of the more tightening radii, perhaps in 3rd, had me scrabbling for sufficient lyric wax.
Now I know why every single saloon - if not road car - I drive, feels wanting.
I know of nothing else, no other road car with a repertoire so wide yet honed.
My Lord Daz of The West Country, a fellow who has tweaked the nose of hoonstriction here and there, chuckled the knowing chuckle of the man who knows, for about the eight millionth time, last night. "I think they hit the bullseye with that one, mate," is our perennial conclusion and this experience convinced me that in fact, the arrow head did not just pierce the cork in the board's centre, it may indeed have forced it through.
I do not apologise for this perpetual championing: it is my mission to encourage as many PHers as can feasibly afford to stop mincing around and dive on in.
Trust me, it's free fitting...
I don't think I've ever read anything so eloquent. are you on drugs, or is your talent sorely wasted?I was in the X50 support vehicle and Gandalf Kacher was tasked with the sub light duties.
Now, the 996 interior is a work of true sadism; plastics not good enough to have graced my 1981 Fiat 127 and assembly quality that would render the Mirafiori as but the Lexus.
Trundling along is not an option since the associated trim racket is so appalling (I mean the worst it has ever been my misfortune to endure) that deliverance lies only in full and wholesome levelling of the anvil so that induction in association with the accompanying external road and wind roars may combine to drown things out.
So it was that as autobahnic splendour bade us hither, I slowly eased into a firm 160lph cruise.
Here, the 996 Turbo shows it's mettle, the combination of trick electronic supervision allied to supreme mechanicals, clawing into the tundra as all four paws clawed indominatably through the sweepers.
Emboldened by this harnessed solidity (the car, like it's 993 forbear, feeling quite revolting at lesser velocities) I squeezed some more.
Stunningly, the 'squatular nuggetation,' to borrow from the Dunk 76 Alamanc of Favoured EVOisms, was mesmerising and as I cantered into a perfectly acceptable 175lph, began to forget the car's awfulness in departments governed by men in suits and relish the underpinnings of true, engineering genius. It was, to quote the Reevian Keanuc, "f@cking amazing."
Except for one thing: the blue blob of a TIE Fighter, curiously maintaining a tractor beam busting yardage some way ahead.
It's four canons were just about perceivable and the rear valance seemed devoid of bobble. This was a car from the planet Tron. It was a seven year old, 100k M5.
It was also a complete slight to the known hegemony of The Order of The Holy Roman Teuton and I would not have it. [H Grant]Or so I thought...[/H Grant]
The M5 proceeded to pull away. No, I couldn't believe it, either but it did.
As the roads natural camber and corner ebbed and flowed, this was in many ways GT hooning in it's classical, most rarified form. No other traffic, autobahn-a-calling and man unt machine.
It was also very much a topography bereft of sustained, pure straight and so scphincteromics were a factor, it's true but even so, raw grunt - something the Porker could rarely be accused of lacking - was always going to be a telling injector of decisiveness.
Except it wasn't and it didn't. Instead, the sensible family saloon loped harder, faster and stronger. At 180lph, I removed the towel from my fevered brow and threw it into the passenger footwell and informed Mr Sulu to cool down the dilithium. Only David Grohl screaming on the CD remained to keep me safe from the return of s
ttus cabina maximum as I gave up and made my way to our prearranged coffee stop.Here, as I parked next to the ticking splendour of a French registered 4200GT, the custodian of some exceedingly questionable facial hair awaited, standing proudly next to the conveyance in which he had so brutally served up my undoing.
As we considered the sensation of that which had transpired, Captain Middle Earth proceeded to reveal the full extent of the sublime thraper. Let's just say that the guage which measures lph had been breached...it was still gunning but I'm sure it was his sense of magnanimity which brought things back a tad...
Now, let's get something clear. I'm not for one moment suggesting the old bus is faster than an X50 nor as accelerative (certainly from the off/lower speeds) but what I am rejoicing in, is the blatent reality that once up and rolling and once you've thrown in the sorts of 'real world' curves and esses that define continental routiering of the finest order, the significance of that last percentile of uber grunt evaporates and power differentials suddenly seem a lot tighter as chassis balance, damping, handling feel, poise and solidity all rear their head like some Gorgonic light of automotive judgement.
Even then, the ability of the old master to say 'b
ks' and simply cog drop so as to 'haul ass' out of the more tightening radii, perhaps in 3rd, had me scrabbling for sufficient lyric wax.Now I know why every single saloon - if not road car - I drive, feels wanting.
I know of nothing else, no other road car with a repertoire so wide yet honed.
My Lord Daz of The West Country, a fellow who has tweaked the nose of hoonstriction here and there, chuckled the knowing chuckle of the man who knows, for about the eight millionth time, last night. "I think they hit the bullseye with that one, mate," is our perennial conclusion and this experience convinced me that in fact, the arrow head did not just pierce the cork in the board's centre, it may indeed have forced it through.
I do not apologise for this perpetual championing: it is my mission to encourage as many PHers as can feasibly afford to stop mincing around and dive on in.
Trust me, it's free fitting...
derestrictor said:
A jaunt which took place in an environemnt and in a spirit of appropriate legal rectitude...
I was in the X50 support vehicle and Gandalf Kacher was tasked with the sub light duties.
Now, the 996 interior is a work of true sadism; plastics not good enough to have graced my 1981 Fiat 127 and assembly quality that would render the Mirafiori as but the Lexus.
Trundling along is not an option since the associated trim racket is so appalling (I mean the worst it has ever been my misfortune to endure) that deliverance lies only in full and wholesome levelling of the anvil so that induction in association with the accompanying external road and wind roars may combine to drown things out.
So it was that as autobahnic splendour bade us hither, I slowly eased into a firm 160lph cruise.
Here, the 996 Turbo shows it's mettle, the combination of trick electronic supervision allied to supreme mechanicals, clawing into the tundra as all four paws clawed indominatably through the sweepers.
Emboldened by this harnessed solidity (the car, like it's 993 forbear, feeling quite revolting at lesser velocities) I squeezed some more.
Stunningly, the 'squatular nuggetation,' to borrow from the Dunk 76 Alamanc of Favoured EVOisms, was mesmerising and as I cantered into a perfectly acceptable 175lph, began to forget the car's awfulness in departments governed by men in suits and relish the underpinnings of true, engineering genius. It was, to quote the Reevian Keanuc, "f@cking amazing."
Except for one thing: the blue blob of a TIE Fighter, curiously maintaining a tractor beam busting yardage some way ahead.
It's four canons were just about perceivable and the rear valance seemed devoid of bobble. This was a car from the planet Tron. It was a seven year old, 100k M5.
It was also a complete slight to the known hegemony of The Order of The Holy Roman Teuton and I would not have it. [H Grant]Or so I thought...[/H Grant]
The M5 proceeded to pull away. No, I couldn't believe it, either but it did.
As the roads natural camber and corner ebbed and flowed, this was in many ways GT hooning in it's classical, most rarified form. No other traffic, autobahn-a-calling and man unt machine.
It was also very much a topography bereft of sustained, pure straight and so scphincteromics were a factor, it's true but even so, raw grunt - something the Porker could rarely be accused of lacking - was always going to be a telling injector of decisiveness.
Except it wasn't and it didn't. Instead, the sensible family saloon loped harder, faster and stronger. At 180lph, I removed the towel from my fevered brow and threw it into the passenger footwell and informed Mr Sulu to cool down the dilithium. Only David Grohl screaming on the CD remained to keep me safe from the return of sttus cabina maximum as I gave up and made my way to our prearranged coffee stop.
Here, as I parked next to the ticking splendour of a French registered 4200GT, the custodian of some exceedingly questionable facial hair awaited, standing proudly next to the conveyance in which he had so brutally served up my undoing.
As we considered the sensation of that which had transpired, Captain Middle Earth proceeded to reveal the full extent of the sublime thraper. Let's just say that the guage which measures lph had been breached...it was still gunning but I'm sure it was his sense of magnanimity which brought things back a tad...
Now, let's get something clear. I'm not for one moment suggesting the old bus is faster than an X50 nor as accelerative (certainly from the off/lower speeds) but what I am rejoicing in, is the blatent reality that once up and rolling and once you've thrown in the sorts of 'real world' curves and esses that define continental routiering of the finest order, the significance of that last percentile of uber grunt evaporates and power differentials suddenly seem a lot tighter as chassis balance, damping, handling feel, poise and solidity all rear their head like some Gorgonic light of automotive judgement.
Even then, the ability of the old master to say 'bks' and simply cog drop so as to 'haul ass' out of the more tightening radii, perhaps in 3rd, had me scrabbling for sufficient lyric wax.
Now I know why every single saloon - if not road car - I drive, feels wanting.
I know of nothing else, no other road car with a repertoire so wide yet honed.
My Lord Daz of The West Country, a fellow who has tweaked the nose of hoonstriction here and there, chuckled the knowing chuckle of the man who knows, for about the eight millionth time, last night. "I think they hit the bullseye with that one, mate," is our perennial conclusion and this experience convinced me that in fact, the arrow head did not just pierce the cork in the board's centre, it may indeed have forced it through.
I do not apologise for this perpetual championing: it is my mission to encourage as many PHers as can feasibly afford to stop mincing around and dive on in.
Trust me, it's free fitting...
if Carlsberg did car reviews...I was in the X50 support vehicle and Gandalf Kacher was tasked with the sub light duties.
Now, the 996 interior is a work of true sadism; plastics not good enough to have graced my 1981 Fiat 127 and assembly quality that would render the Mirafiori as but the Lexus.
Trundling along is not an option since the associated trim racket is so appalling (I mean the worst it has ever been my misfortune to endure) that deliverance lies only in full and wholesome levelling of the anvil so that induction in association with the accompanying external road and wind roars may combine to drown things out.
So it was that as autobahnic splendour bade us hither, I slowly eased into a firm 160lph cruise.
Here, the 996 Turbo shows it's mettle, the combination of trick electronic supervision allied to supreme mechanicals, clawing into the tundra as all four paws clawed indominatably through the sweepers.
Emboldened by this harnessed solidity (the car, like it's 993 forbear, feeling quite revolting at lesser velocities) I squeezed some more.
Stunningly, the 'squatular nuggetation,' to borrow from the Dunk 76 Alamanc of Favoured EVOisms, was mesmerising and as I cantered into a perfectly acceptable 175lph, began to forget the car's awfulness in departments governed by men in suits and relish the underpinnings of true, engineering genius. It was, to quote the Reevian Keanuc, "f@cking amazing."
Except for one thing: the blue blob of a TIE Fighter, curiously maintaining a tractor beam busting yardage some way ahead.
It's four canons were just about perceivable and the rear valance seemed devoid of bobble. This was a car from the planet Tron. It was a seven year old, 100k M5.
It was also a complete slight to the known hegemony of The Order of The Holy Roman Teuton and I would not have it. [H Grant]Or so I thought...[/H Grant]
The M5 proceeded to pull away. No, I couldn't believe it, either but it did.
As the roads natural camber and corner ebbed and flowed, this was in many ways GT hooning in it's classical, most rarified form. No other traffic, autobahn-a-calling and man unt machine.
It was also very much a topography bereft of sustained, pure straight and so scphincteromics were a factor, it's true but even so, raw grunt - something the Porker could rarely be accused of lacking - was always going to be a telling injector of decisiveness.
Except it wasn't and it didn't. Instead, the sensible family saloon loped harder, faster and stronger. At 180lph, I removed the towel from my fevered brow and threw it into the passenger footwell and informed Mr Sulu to cool down the dilithium. Only David Grohl screaming on the CD remained to keep me safe from the return of s
ttus cabina maximum as I gave up and made my way to our prearranged coffee stop.Here, as I parked next to the ticking splendour of a French registered 4200GT, the custodian of some exceedingly questionable facial hair awaited, standing proudly next to the conveyance in which he had so brutally served up my undoing.
As we considered the sensation of that which had transpired, Captain Middle Earth proceeded to reveal the full extent of the sublime thraper. Let's just say that the guage which measures lph had been breached...it was still gunning but I'm sure it was his sense of magnanimity which brought things back a tad...
Now, let's get something clear. I'm not for one moment suggesting the old bus is faster than an X50 nor as accelerative (certainly from the off/lower speeds) but what I am rejoicing in, is the blatent reality that once up and rolling and once you've thrown in the sorts of 'real world' curves and esses that define continental routiering of the finest order, the significance of that last percentile of uber grunt evaporates and power differentials suddenly seem a lot tighter as chassis balance, damping, handling feel, poise and solidity all rear their head like some Gorgonic light of automotive judgement.
Even then, the ability of the old master to say 'b
ks' and simply cog drop so as to 'haul ass' out of the more tightening radii, perhaps in 3rd, had me scrabbling for sufficient lyric wax.Now I know why every single saloon - if not road car - I drive, feels wanting.
I know of nothing else, no other road car with a repertoire so wide yet honed.
My Lord Daz of The West Country, a fellow who has tweaked the nose of hoonstriction here and there, chuckled the knowing chuckle of the man who knows, for about the eight millionth time, last night. "I think they hit the bullseye with that one, mate," is our perennial conclusion and this experience convinced me that in fact, the arrow head did not just pierce the cork in the board's centre, it may indeed have forced it through.
I do not apologise for this perpetual championing: it is my mission to encourage as many PHers as can feasibly afford to stop mincing around and dive on in.
Trust me, it's free fitting...
Sums up why I cannot part with my ///M
Recently returned to the Scottish Highlands after a 3500 miles round trip to N.Italy in my E39 M5. A mix of fast autobahn work combined with some alpine passes and two weeks of general driving in Italy.
Driver + 2 passengers and fully loaded with luggage. 120mph cruising (with ease) on de-restricted sections of autobahns and elsewhere a steady 85mph.
The car simply wanted to headbutt the horizon. Massive urge tempered by civilised and relaxed cruising at other times.
Hampered a little by the family payload on the Alpine passes but nimble enough in the circumstances and with power to spare.
15yr old car drove without fault. 19 to 26mpg depending on the road and load. Car consumed just over half a litre of 10W60 Shell Helix Ultra 'Racing' engine oil in 3500 miles.
Many admiring glances and comments for the car in Italy. (Friendly headlight flash of acknowledgement from a passing GB plated Ferrari 458 on the autostrada nr Modena, who then left me for dust!)
Awesome car, just awesome...
Driver + 2 passengers and fully loaded with luggage. 120mph cruising (with ease) on de-restricted sections of autobahns and elsewhere a steady 85mph.
The car simply wanted to headbutt the horizon. Massive urge tempered by civilised and relaxed cruising at other times.
Hampered a little by the family payload on the Alpine passes but nimble enough in the circumstances and with power to spare.
15yr old car drove without fault. 19 to 26mpg depending on the road and load. Car consumed just over half a litre of 10W60 Shell Helix Ultra 'Racing' engine oil in 3500 miles.
Many admiring glances and comments for the car in Italy. (Friendly headlight flash of acknowledgement from a passing GB plated Ferrari 458 on the autostrada nr Modena, who then left me for dust!)
Awesome car, just awesome...
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