To celebrate 40 years of its
legendary M Division, BMW took its greatest performance cars to the Nürburgring
and threw us the keys
Oh dear lord, it looks good parked there,
even against the concrete walls of Tribune 13, the grandstand overlooking the
old pit lane at the Nordschleife, and even in monochrome, its Polaris Silver
paint bleeding into the fog of a typically cold, bleak November day in the
Eifel mountains. Green Hell? Grey would be more accurate for nine months of the
year. But still the lines of the standard BMW CS coupe are just lovely, even in
this flat light; the perfect three-box proportions, the fine pillars, the
pillar less side glass, and the proper, original, elongated, Daliesque BMW
kidney grille and double headlamps, exaggerated by the undershot chin.
M
Division at 40
But then you add the slightly mad addenda
that make this car special, in that uniquely automotive, rare-groove,
low-volume, instantly covetable sense of ‘special’: the socking great chin
spoiler, the little rubber fins that run the length of the front wings (what do
they do, exactly?) and the two great rear spoilers that so busted Germany’s
road car regulations at the time that they had to be delivered in the boot for
the first owner (fine choice, sir) to fit himself. And for the BMW 3.0CSL
‘Batmobile’, it was definitely himself.
And what make it look even better are the
keys in the door lock, and the way its nose is pointing so temptingly at the
open pit exit. So you get in, and from the instant first gear engages you know
you’re not going to be disappointed. This 1164kg lightweight homologation special
with its aluminum panels, rubbish plastic rear bumper and absence of fripperies
(like sound deadening or underseal) bolts forward with a zeal that belies its
near-40 years. It’s like sleeping with your best friend’s sexy mum: first
digging the vintage looks, and then, when you slip the negligee off, finding
the athletic body of her 20-year-old daughter under there.
There’s danger here, too, though. And not
just in the fact that BMW’s M Division has chosen to celebrate its 40th
anniversary by bringing a selection of its finest road and race cars, mostly
bereft of any kind of traction control, to the Nürburgring in winter and
letting a bunch of journalists drive them, including the motoring correspondent
of Jay-Z’s new YouTube channel who I don’t think has driven ‘stick’ before.
Honestly: the world’s most difficult, dangerous racetrack on a cold, wet day;
some edgy rear-drive cars on decades-old rubber, and some Muppets. What could
possibly go wrong? By the first lunch of this two-day birthday party, two cars
have already been lunched by guests. Fortunately both were relatively
replaceable E36 M3s, but given they were M Divison’s own E36 M3s, they were
probably the best on the planet. One was a write-off.
1973
CSL Batmobile with full homologation aero kit leads ’78 M1 around the
Karussell. Batmobiles now worth well into six figures if you can find one. More
importantly, they’re irreplaceable. But stuffing one is easy on a foggy, greasy
Nordschleife
You have to admire M’s bravery. But the
real danger is in the comparisons this kind of exercise invites. Since 2009,
when the Division busted a bunch of its own rules with the X5M and X6M,
M-obsessives, of whom there are many, have been bemoaning a loss of engineering
principle. Maybe with hindsight M might not have broken so many of its own
rules all at once, or with such bad cars. In one launch it abandoned a 30-year
history of rear-drive, naturally aspirated road cars, almost all ecstatically
received, with a pair of gross-out turbo charged SUVs.
Since then it has put that turbo engine
into ‘proper’ M-cars – the M5 and M6, and soon the M6 Gran Coupe. It has also redeemed
itself with the (turbocharged) 1 Series M Coupe, one of the most exciting road
cars it has ever made. And of course it has a famous history of turbocharging
in motorsport. But the simple reality of modern, state-regulated car design
means Turbos, direct- injection and downsizing are the only way to meet
environmental targets. Then there are the Safety Regs and customer kit demands
that mean the new M6 weighs nearly 800kg more than its CSL forebear. M alone
takes the responsibility for the SUVs, and for putting its badge on diesels
now, with its triple-turbo straight-six.
V12
LMR gave BMW its only win at Le Mans in 1999. Chassis by Williams, engine by M:
the 433kw s70/3 was derived from the V12 that powered the McLaren F1. Pierluigi
Martini, bearer of one of the coolest ever racing driver names, drove it then
and here too
But we’re not talking about a century of
heritage here: it’s only been building M-badged road cars depending on definitions
since 1978. Brands need to change. They usually broaden. So I haven’t come to
its birthday bash to beat M about the head for no longer building atmo
straight-six exec saloon Q-cars that weight less than a modern hatch. It can’t
any more. I just want to follow the story; to see and feel how it made its way
from the lithe, urgent CSL to the M-cars of today. And not crash.
The CSL was the first car that BMW Motor
sport GmbH went racing with after its formation in May 1972 under ex-Porsche
works driver Jochen Neerpasch. The idea of an in-house motorsport division had
come, like many good car ideas, from ‘Maximum Bob’ Lutz, at the time
transforming BMW’s sales and marketing under boss Eberhard von Kuenheim. This
was when modern BMW was forged: the core three-model line-up was emerging, the
‘Four-Cylinder’ HQ was built and Lutz (or his ad agency) came up with the
Ultimate Driving Machine tag.
They didn’t come up with the CSL: the
mass-reduction was done by Alpina, and production by Karmann from
’71.ButtheybecamethefirstracecarsthatMcampaigned, winning their class at Le
Mans and the Touring Car Grand Prix here at the ’Ring in their first season,
later being driven by Lauda and Ickx and Peterson and somehow making as much
power as a modern F1 car in their final, turbocharged, scoops and balloon slicks
iteration.
How must that have felt? Probably just as
extraordinary as the sight of a road-going one in Taiga Green in the early
’70s. What sort of person bought and drove one of these back then? Full-house
Batmobiles were rare, though there were plenty more ‘standard’ CSLs with the
‘city package’ that put most of the weight back in. But this early left-hooker
is the real deal. The view past the big, thin wheel with its three drilled
spokes and down past those rubber fins is almost more than I can cope with. The
Scheel bucket seats don’t sag, the original four-speed ’box slots first cleanly
and the Batmobile moves off with an alacrity that belies its size and the mere
154kW from its 3153cc straight-six. In fact all the gears go in smoothly; there
are few old cars you can drive fast immediately without embarrassment but this
is one, the perfect pedal placing and weight letting me heel-and-toe into the
Hatzenbach after a hundred meters’ experience.
The brakes grab instantly, the car turns in
smartly and the acceleration, while only warm-hatch standard now, is
accompanied by a terrific noise that goes from sub-aural drone (no sound
insulation, remember) to a glorious mechanical thrash. Not often you drive a
car you’ve dreamed of driving for years and find it better than expected, but
here it is. And there is some discernible M-car DNA here: in the front-engined,
rear-drive balance that a 911 of the era lacks, and in the usability and
consistent weight of the controls.
1984
was kind of a good year for M: the M635CSi and first-gen M5 both arrived, both
using the same 3453cc, 213kW straight-six from the M1
Unlike the M1. BMW’s unhappy experiences with
this car explain why everything else in the old pitlane is an M take on a
standard production car. Built to homologate a mid-engined Group Five racer
that could beat911susingtheenginefromthelastCSLs, brilliantly chose to leave
the engineering and build to Lamborghini just as it was going through yet
another of its financial crises. The Italian influence is plain in the
long-arm, short-leg driving position, the madly offset pedals and the fact that
at under six feet my noggin is hard against the roof, even without a lid. Italy
did the styling, two Modena suppliers provided the chassis and glass fiber
body, but with Lambo on life support the cars were shipped back to Baur in
Stuttgart for final assembly, and it’s little wonder that BMW took a serious
bath on every one of the 457 examples made.
Of which this white one must be about the
finest remaining, like every car I’ll drive today. The cabin might be pure
period Italian supercar nonsense but the mechanicals are all M, with the same
firm, consistent control weights and lusty, utterly linear straight-six lump.
It’s still a pleasure and a privilege to drive it, and after a couple of laps
you slump a little lower in the seat, get used to the pedals and enjoy it.
The engine, as with so many M cars,
dominates the experience, and it went into the first M5 of 1984, though the
163kW M535i of 1980 was the second official M-car. I skipped the early Fives
and got into an E30 M3 next, which like the CSL and the M1 was conceived as a
homologation special, for Group A touring cars, and the last car from the
Motorsport division designed primarily with motorsport in mind. Pains me to
dismiss it in a few words, but while it felt agile and right-sized and the
powertrain as linear and tractable as ever, the lauded steering didn’t feel
anywhere near as sweet as I’d read; at least not in this early car, at this
circuit.
And I was keen to get into an E34 M5, built
from 1988 and the car I thought would be the missing link between the edgy,
race-derived or race-engined low-volume specials of M’s early years, and the omni-capable
but purely road-focused cars we have now. That’s exactly how it felt: big,
serious and heavy, but with the brawn to overcome its mass easily and a
cultured, colorful engine note like every deeper instrument in the orchestra
playing the same note at once. I hadn’t driven one before, but again had always
wanted to, and again it didn’t disappoint. There’s nothing Racey About it, but
as a tool for destroying the thousand kilometers from Munich to the south of France
it had no equal.
Marc
Surer would get reacquainted with his ’77, 224kW two-liter turbo racer, if the
M-geeks would just get out of the way
This later 3.8-litre car far felt more like
the next, V8- powered E39 M5 with which I started my working acquaintance with
M cars in 1999 than I’d expected, given the cylinder deficit. Indeed the step
from the first M5 to this car feels like at least as big a change as M made
with the switch to Turbos: it’s still a rear-drive, manual, atmo straight-six
saloon, but the intent feels completely different. No less compelling, though;
an E34 M5 estate is just one of the coolest cars you could own. This one made
the point that perhaps BMW had been wanting to make all along at this party:
times change, and the cars change too.
The Engineer
Paul Rosche – Genius At Work
‘I ONLY NEEDED about 450bhp (336kW),’ says
Gordon Murray of his brief to BMW for the engine for the McLaren F1. ‘It was
the genius of Paul Rosche that gave us 630 (470kW).’ Rosche was head of BMW’s
racing engines division from 1969, transferred to Motorsport GmbH in ’72 and
became its technical director from 1980 at the start of its F1 program. Long
retired, one of the world’s greatest engine-builders has come back to the ’Ring
to see some of his finest in action. But two aren’t running: the S70/2 V12 he
created for the McLaren, and the blown 1.5-liter F1 engine that first raced in
’82 and gave Nelson Piquet the title the next year. ‘We think it made 1400bhp
(1044kW) in qualifying,’ he says. ‘But we don’t know, because the Dyno broke at
1280bhp (955kW).’ He recalls with humor and honesty M’s early experiments with
turbos: surprisingly half-assed for an outfit now known for unerringly
competent engineering. ‘I had no idea about turbocharged engines,’ he says of
his first attempts in 1969. ‘We had no idea how much power we could produce. So
we ran an engine on the dyno and just turned the power up step by step until
the exhausts were glowing white. Then it exploded.’
Paul
Rosche – Genius at work
The Racers
Track Legends Join The Party
While our focus was naturally on driving
the best examples of some of the best road cars ever made on a rare excursion
from the museum, M also brought some of its racers out for demo laps on the GP
circuit, to make the (fair) point that, until 1995, the road and race cars were
developed in the same place, often by the same people, and often using
fundamentally the same engines. Favorites? The M1 ProCar and the E30 M3 touring
car that won the German, European and World Touring Car championships, not
least for the blue, violet and red M stripes, and the Group Five 320 for its
nutcase ’70s aero. Least favorite? The Le Mans-engined X5: we should have
guessed what they were up to then. Some notable names turned up too, including
Brit Andy Priaulx, who won three WTCC titles from ’05-’07 in a 320, and ex-F1
driver Marc Surer. But none compared to Paralympic gold medalist Alex Zanardi,
who first returned to racing with BMW touring cars after the accident in which
he lost his legs; BMW also adapted a Sauber F1 car with hand controls for him
to test in 2006. Here he drove the sensational-looking current M3 DTM car,
painted an appropriate gold.
