Remembering the E39 BMW M5

The other day, I saw a silver BMW M5 parked on the curb, probably a 2001 or 2002 model. I couldn’t take my eyes off it. It looks like any other old BMW with the only except for the M-spec widemouth front bumper, some gunmetal-colored 18-inch wheels and four exhaust pipes. But that car, that visceral instrument of executive-class speed — I was smitten with its presence…mein Gott!

As I approached it, attempting to peer through its tinted windows without looking like I was some punk in search of a good carjack, I could feel my super-ego melting in my head. Replacing it, my id quietly chuckled with giddy amusement. And then drowning out that laughter, all I could hear was  the screaming “Woo hoo!” from Blur’s only hit song in the U.S.: “Song 2.”

The song largely found popularity in the late-1990s in college and sports arenas and again after BMW released a series of high-dollar short films starring Clive Owen and a fleet of BMWs with manual transmissions. In the film that featured “Song 2,” Star,  Owen’s character chauffeurs an over-the-top diva played by Madonna. Owen’s character takes “the star” in his BMW M5 instead of a limo to escort her to a film premier, tossing the boisterous broad around at high rates of speed all the while. Coincidentally as an aside, the short movie is directed by ex-Madge sex toy, Guy Ritchie. I’m sure Ritchie watched the film a few hundred times after he had finalized his divorce papers.

In any case, there’s something wholesomely invigorating about that reverberating low-fi melody coupled with images of a guy flicking a two-ton, 400-horsepower sedan sideways. Not like I’ve ever had fun in a car like that quite to the degree demonstrated in the movie, but when I had my chance to drive a 2002 M5 a few years ago, I made the most I could with as little time as I had with that ultimate driving machine.

The opportunity came about when I worked at a BMW dealership. There, I had to make sure all of the clean cars made it up to our main lot by the end of the day. Everyone else who worked in the wash bays had left for the day, so I had easy access to those M5 keys.

The lower lot where the car was out a good two miles from the dealership. I remember looking at the car, trying to think of it as just another 5 Series, just another task to do for my pay. But it wasn’t. It was a $75,000 sports sedan that I had only ever piloted in my dreams. It was the epitome of one of the last clean, simple designs BMW produced before “flame surfacing” and “Bangle Butts.” Simply, it was understated, awe-strkingly elegant — except for that gaping air duct that stretched across the front bumper, designed to shotgun as much air into its hand-built 4.9 liter V8 as possible. It was imposing. Looking at it from 50 feet away, I knew I’d have to drive it in a short while, and I was a little intimidated to be honest.

When I got into it, I calmed down a little. The  interior was basically the same as any other 540i’s. I had driven plenty of those at work. It didn’t feel like some coach-built hyper exotic. Phew. The only big differences were a suede headliner and a thick-rimmed steering wheel, cross-stitched in BMW’s blue, purple, and red racing colors — and the gauges. Okay, who cares about interior accouterments? This was an M5. For crying out loud, the only real interior difference that did matter were those gauges — the 180 mph speedometer and the 8,000 RPM tachometer.

Upon startup, the soundtrack that came with the car wasn’t Brit rock; it was German thunder that quickly settled into a low burble. I pulled it out of the lot slowly. It felt like any other E39 5 Series: taut, nimble and fairly smooth. Just because I could, I then took it around a quick bend with a little bit more vigor. “Ooh, this is addicting,” I thought. I took the next few bends in the road with a little more spirit each time. If there’s any truth to the cliché about BMWs having telepathic steering, this car proved it. I never had reason to panic in any tight turns on the unmarked Pittsburgh backroads, not even so much a correction in steering mid-corner.

When I got to the 3/4-mile straightaway before upper lot, I had built up enough confidence that I wanted to see what the car could really do. It was all warmed up and ready to go; I played it as safely as anyone could in an M5 that didn’t belong to them. But as Ferris Bueller said, “If you had access to a car like this, would you take it back right away? Neither would I.”

The only problem was that I happened to be following a Buick with a stereotypical Buick driver behind the wheel of it. I trailed him, going maybe 20 in a 25 zone, wasting what could have been the last shot I’d ever have to drive one of these cars. I imagine that’s what hell is like.

Fortunately, as the light went green, I stayed where I was to build some distance between our cars. I waited. And I waited some more.

As the light was about to turn red, I made the left onto the straight, getting into third gear quickly at about 25 mph. The coast was clear. I dropped the car down into second and planted my right foot to the floor. The car ripped through the tachometer sounding like a baritone banshee, screaming to redline. The shifter might as well have been BMW’s take on a ’60s Hurst Olds, crisp and accurate but with relatively long throws that begged me to muscle through each gear with furious anger. Before I knew it, I was going over 80 mph in a 25 zone without much effort or forethought. Oops.

And just a few minutes later, the ride was over. The car turned back into a perfect gentleman, and I turned back into a lot attendant that worked for an abusive boss and with hoodlum co-workers. For the few minutes I let it idle down at the lower lot, looking on in awe at this sinister car through the time I got to spend driving it, I felt like I was in control something really special. I could’ve been anywhere but the place that had been the home of the most unpleasant job I had ever had. I didn’t care; I got to drive a car that redefined the term sports sedan.

Likewise, when I drove that E39 M5, I didn’t see myself caring about Nurburgring times or comparing it to the newer E60 M5 to see what electronic niceties that now came in that $90,000 that weren’t even offered in the old car. Nor did I really wish for the older car to have the hundreds of suspension, throttle mapping or the transmission settings that available in the new car.

No, this car was just right, a perfect escape from the crap we’re force-fed in our daily lives. This M5 stood as a medical cure for any ailment, replacing boredom or depression with smiles, laughter, joy. This was the only time I ever had to unleash an E39 M5, but in driving a few others at more recommended speeds, the car always gave the same sensations, unwavering in both its confidence-building abilities and simple, natural mechanical feel.

It’s a car designed to give the driver absolute control directly — not to some active servo motors and yaw sensors for you. It has six rowable gears and three pedals on the floor — a combination BMW has mastered in recent years just to abandon for sequential this and dual clutch that. The E39 has little in the way of electronic distractions or loud beeps and bongs from sensors, leaving the only  sounds in the car to be its engine or hopefully a CD of Blur’s Greatest Hits. This is because it was designed at a time when BMW didn’t strive to build the most technologically advanced cars in the world. It was designed and built at a time when BMW strived to make the best driver’s cars in the world.

Full disclosure: Yes, I worked at a BMW dealership at one point, too. But that’s a story unto itself. That said, I am glad I am done with that job, as I have been for more than two years now, but there were just some cars I drove worth mentioning. For reference, the last car I drove at the place — a $117,000 M6 convertible — was done under the speed limit the whole time. Yes, really. Most of my stints in cars were not like this one at all, but then again, most of the cars I drove weren’t M cars. Just for reference, remember that speeding is illegal — don’t do it. And always let the car you’re driving warm up for some minutes if you’re planning on driving it like a bat out of hell. Lastly, just because Car and Driver does it doesn’t mean clutch-dumping is cool. It’s a waste of a good $3,000 clutch, as well as abusive to the car.