A transalpine tour de force in a BMW M3 Sport Evolution – Automobile
In early spring or late autumn, one could do these twenty-four Alpine passes in twenty-four hours and throw in a detour to Switzerland for good measure. But at midsummer, the Alps are one big picturesque parking lot. To make things worse, 1990 saw the collapse of the autobahn bridge in the Inn Valley. which is one of the main arteries to and from northern Italy. As a result, the alternative routes were busier than usual, and even the secret paths were infested with hidden radar traps and aimless Dutch tourists.
We left Munich at six a.m., raced southwest to Garmisch, averaging a cool 127 mph, and felt like Messrs, Berger and Senna on their way to a business meeting. At the foot of the Fernpass, however, fast forward suddenly changed to slow motion. Although it was not yet even breakfast time, the mountain road was packed like the Brooklyn Bridge on a Friday evening. We jumped queue for a little while but gave up as the gaps became more and more marginal.
Other road users tend to treat the BMW M3 with due respect, but their eyes tell you that deep within they dislike the shirt-sleeved bat-mobile. Why did we pick the M3, mere months before the car will be replaced by a more modern and less conspicuous model? Because it is a fantastic driving machine, a fun car tailor-made for this sick-bag slalom across three countries. Its body sports flared wheel arches that can accommodate the gumballs of a track racing car, its suspension was redesigned for better handling and road holding, and its four-cylinder engine is a relic of the a glorious past when, in 1983, an M-Powered Brabham won the Formula 1 World Championship.
The base-line M3 engine delivers a healthy 215 bhp, which used to be enough to drive circles around a 170-bhp 325i. But now that the new 325i is out, with 192 bhp on tap and a top speed of 144 mph, the power train magicians of the Motorsport division had to reach deep into their special effects pockets to create and even stronger range topper. Badged Sport Evolution, this highly tuned M3 is equipped with a new 2.5-liter, sixteen-valve four that develops 238 bhp. Although the production was limited to a mere 500 units (all sold within a few weeks, none in America), chances are that a similar-perhaps even more powerful-version will appear in the 1991 racing season.
To escape from the frustrating route bristling with buses, caravans, campers, and other transit lemming, we decided to make a detour to the Kühtai Valley. Instead of taking the direct route to the Ötztal, photographer Newton suggested a loop via the Silzer Sattel. A splendid idea-there was absolutely zero traffic, the panorama looked as if it had been installed by Eastman Kodak, and the perfect road was obviously designed by the Lord Himself for occasional interludes of very worldly oversteer. The M3 flew up paradise trail like a four-wheeled mountain guide who knew every step blindfolded. Performing one stem turn after the other, the black blitz indulged in drift angles that were modest only where the soft shoulder fell straight into the echo forest.
The following drive to the Timmelsjoch summit turned out to be a handicap run with international participation. Once again, the Dutch excelled by steadfastly refusing to use the rear-view mirrors or turn indicators. At the border crossing to Italy, the metal centipede was temporarily halted by a cycle race. It was grand casino from bottom to top: lots of single-track sections, lots of ambitious cyclists, and lots of brain-dead stopping in the middle of hairpin bends for this year’s scenic portrait of papa, mama, and the bambini in the Fiat. A kingdom for the Italian version of the encyclopedia of foul language!
A noon, we stopped for lunch and ordered a round of unleaded for the chariot and its charioteers. The car drank 14.5 gallons, which indicated an average consumption of 18 mpg. The M3 was a fit as a fiddle. The water temperature gauge had not moved, the oil level was right up on the mark, and the crackling brakes were hot but by no means fuming. The driver, on the other hand, showed the first gins of battle scars. My back was embossed with the tread pattern of the 225/45ZR-17 Michelin MMX tires, my buttocks had been remolded by the rather narrow bucket seats, and my palms were burning because the M3 Sport Evolution’s steering wheel is trimmed in sandpaper suede.
But a true enthusiast knows no pain, so we headed straight for the Jaufenpass, which links San Leonardo and Sterzing (Vipiteno, in Italian). From there it’s only a stone’s throw down to Bozen- or Balzano, as the Italians prefer to call it. Since the autostrada was chockablock with southbound sun worshippers, the M3 had no chance to display its 155-mph top speed. We left the tin melange at Bolzano Nord, seeking and eventually finding the incredible Rosengartenstrasse. It consists of no fewer than fifty-eight tarmac garlands that rise from the Eiscak Valley. The deserted spiral staircase was an ideal playground for the M3: first gear, second gear, brake, change down, turn in, change up. This is the stuff ashen-faced passengers are made of.
Next on our checklist was the Dolomites, which harbor about three dozen spectacular passes. One of the less attractive climbs is the Karepass, which would be well suited as a natural stage for the sequel of The Planet of the Apes. A few miles up the road, we said auf Wiedersehen to south Tyrol and buon giorno to the truly Italian province of Belluno. Spaghetti land welcomed us with two tough arm twisters names Passo di Valles and Passo di San Pellegrino. The latter is the source of the San Pellegrino water that enjoys enormous popularity among Europeans trendies who are not that Perrier crazy anymore.
Up here, it’s bitter cold even in summer. Because of the prevailing strong winds, the chamois never leave home without crampons, and the trout in the crystal-clear mountain lakes are half-frozen even before the fishmongers arrive with the coolers. We enjoyed the change of temperature because the all-black M3 was a sauna on wheels-despite the noisy sunroof and the ventilation system that works adequately in other 3-series models. For a car costing $57,000, the Sport Evolution is rather poorly equipped. Anti-lock brakes, power steering, and central locking are standard, but a sunroof costs extra and so do electric windows, music, and the desirable air conditioning, which was only fitted to a handful of vehicles. Purists apparently prefer to sweat.
By five p.m., my hands hurt, my arms hurt, my legs hurt, and my bum hurt most of all. To relieve the pain, we bunkered an overdose of Gelato Motta ice cream followed by a bottle of San Pellegrino from the pond around the corner. After the calorie shock, we were fit for the final five passed of the day: Rolle, Cereda, Aurine, Duran, and Cibiana. believe it or not, these hills provide more entertainment than a season ticket for the Magic Mountain. The menu prepared by the Italian road architects contains countless crests and hairpins, jumps and dives, ess-bends and dogleg bends, changing surfaces and changing radii, and bottlenecks that act like rapids when they disgorge the dammed-up traffic.
The corners add up to an intoxicating rhythm. Hard driving becomes a concert impromptu: You know how to play the instrument but never see more than two or three notes ahead. After a while, everything you do is routine; beyond that, the routine turns into a trance. The movement becomes more and more automated, and you go faster, but without losing the quintessential smoothness.
By now, the brakes are red-hot. Whenever you tough the pedal, discs and pads instantly lock jaws. Glorified by the pervading euphoria, even the gnarled, necrotic five-speed gearbox suddenly feels as elastic as a young tree. The accurate power steering is a jack-of-all-trades that coordinates action, reaction and Providence. And the tires, when pushed to the limit of adhesion, just keep juggling all the forces to resolve the crucial rule of three that determines grip. slip angle, and directional stability.
But the heart of the M3 is of course that raucous sixteen-valve four-cylinder engine. The displacement of the Sport Evolution variant was increased from 2302 to 2467 cc. As a result, the power output went up from 215 to 238 bhp at 7000 rpm, and the maximum torque climbed to 174 pounds-feet, available at a high 4750 rpm. Among the supporting measures are bigger inlet valves, a hotter camshaft profile, sodium-filled exhaust valves, and an improved oil cooling system for the pistons. The 2640-pound winged warrior from Munich can accelerate in 6.5 seconds from 0 to 62 mph, thus beating the new 192-bhp 325i by a comfortable 1.4 seconds.
We rejoined civilization in the Pieve Valley, which serves as a convenient diretissimo to go from eat Tyrol to the Adriatic Sea. To unwind, the M team resorted to an unfailing recipe that included vitello tonnato, capretto al forno, and vino rosso. Although the cheapo roadside hotel was haunted by thundering trucks and a merry wedding party, we had no trouble going to sleep. After 7536 bends, the body will listen only to the noses it really wants to hear.
The alarm went off at 7:30 a.m., just in time for fresh croissants and a large bowl of white coffee. the proprietor watched us from behind the counter, and he even came running after us as we were about to enter the M3. A car fanatic like most Italian men, he would not let us go until we had explained all the details that distinguish the Sport Evolution from an off-the peg M3. Among them, he was told, are the lowered suspension, the cross-spoke allow wheels, the contrasting stripes on the bumpers, the bigger front wheel-arch cutouts, the additional cooling ducts to the radiator and reinforced brakes, the thinner and thus lighter glass, a more adequate 17.1-gallon fuel tank, and the body-hugging sport seats draped with silly red safety belts. But most obvious alteration concerns the much more substantial, fully adjustable wing work, which reduces front axel lift to zero while increasing rear axle downforce. Although the stuff hates curbs and automatic car washes, it does add to high-speed straight-line stability.
We left Pieve a little before nine a.m., heading for the Passo del Zovo, which looked from a distance like a stairway to heaven. From here it’s only a few miles to the famous Passo Tre Croci and to the Col San Angelo where Reinhold Messner, that mountaineer and adventurer par excellence, learned to climb. The breathtaking panorama has since become a main tourist attraction. Once the domain of eagles, marmots, and ibexes, the Dolomites are nowadays strangled by droves of sightseeing buses and a motorized string of pearls that stretches from Cortina d’Ampezzo to Bruneck.
Monuments like the passes named Staulanza. Falzarego, Giau, Prdoi, Campolongo, Sella, and San Antonio are crumbling away as cars send their carbon dioxide messages into the increasingly polluted alpine air. Even up here, humans have taken over from nature. Above us, we had difficulty counting the hang gliders; around us, the cliffs and rock faces were dotted with climbing addicts; below us, we an endless trickle of hikers, mushroom pickers, and mountain bikers. Past the Grodnerjoch (Passo di Gardena), this open-air zoo ended as abruptly as it began. One the way to the Brennerpass, the trucks started to take over again, and up the Zirlerbert it was business as usual, with one slow moving Trabant paralyzing its entire wake.
We arrived in Munich slightly ahead of schedule, feeling tired and proud as we as somewhat guilty and disillusioned. The M3 lived up to our every expectation, but we would love it even more without the fender flares and without the massive fuselage that requires the clearance of air traffic control before you’re allowed to turn the ignition key. It does not come as a surprise that BMW is already working on a less ostentatious follow-up to the M3 that should be out in early 1992. As soon as the new model hits the road, we’ll be there to queue for another marathon ride. How about entering the 1993 Beaujolais Primeur wine run?
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October 6, 2008
1990 - 1999, Articles