I’d considered buying a BMW years ago, until the insurance prices quickly persuaded me to get a diesel Mercedes instead. After that, I nearly bought a 525i before I convinced myself to buy a Saab instead. Perhaps it was inevitable, then, that the BMW call would one day come at the right time.
I knew this car already, having written a feature in another magazine about how ex-Formula One engineer John Barnard had ordered what is pretty much the dream-specification BMW E30 this side of an M3: a four-door 325i with M-tech suspension, limited-slip differential, sports seats, cruise control and air conditioning. I had begged the owner to let me know if he ever wanted to part with it. Then, just as my years-long plan to buy a Porsche Boxster was at the cash-in-hand stage, the call came. I bought the BMW instead.
Still with some financial courage left, I also bought an Opel Monza (more of which in a future issue) – a deal that was wrapped up before the BMW’s arrival. However, during preparations to get that car ready for our Le Mans Classic run, it was quickly obvious that the BMW would be coming off the bench as substitute for road-trip duty. Apart from a frustrating ticking sound caused by an errant plastic distributor guard clipping the radiator fan, it ran faultlessly and was a joy, particularly when I convinced features ed Charlie we needed to blast ahead to take some photos of the others on the road.
Next was a trip up to Scotland, initially with my dad to recreate a run we’d made more than 10 years earlier in my first car – a little 1987 Fiat Panda 4x4 – to his home town of Portpatrick, then on through Galloway Forest Park. An engineer who doesn’t issue easy praise, he described the BMW as “a bit of a hooligan’s car”, but conceded it clearly had a “proper engine” and was “very smooth” – despite my thrashing along the New Galloway Road. I wasn’t going quite as hard as the Scottish borders normally inspire me to, but I nonetheless revelled in the howling engine, tactile controls and finely tied-down chassis. I often push my cars, but taking extra care with this one was more enjoyable. I suppose that’s the way with the finer things.
The long weekend then turned over into a week-long lads’ trip, as my dad departed and I met up with friends who’d travelled up from Hertfordshire in a Peugeot 205 GT. The two ’80s sporting heroes then snaked their way around Loch Lomond, across to Oban
