The german bulldog
Tribute to my first inline six: A Playful friend that won’t be forgotten
There's something that makes the sound of a petrol inline-six instantly likeable. Maybe it's the silky smoothness, or the delicious way the exhaust starts to crack at mid range... Or the high-pitched metallic orchestra that comes with the redline. I never knew what it was exactly, but it became addictive the very first minute I tasted it.
When I was looking to buy a car, I saw an ad of a cheap E34. It had the smallest of BMW's inline sixes, a 2-litre engine that would make about 150 HP when in top shape.
With the weight of the E34, the engine felt insufficient. It definitely wasn't sporty, but its sound and smoothness conquered me. So I set about finding that engine in a different car. That's the story of how I got my E36. I was looking for an engine, and everything that came with it was just a bonus.
However, when I bought my E36, I felt awfully unsure about it. It was my first car, and I was just a student with a measly income. I wondered if I should have bought a small diesel beater instead, which would have been applauded and considered "the sensible choice" by my relatives and friends, while simultaneously dragging me to boredom every single day.
But of course, the inevitable happened: I befriended the little inline six. The 320i seemed to loved me, and it showed it every day with its rich, deep exhaust note that made it sound like it had a bigger engine than it did.
It had no faults, no squeaks nor rattles. It was in an unbelievable shape for a 22 year old car, and would always start without question and idle peacefully at 600 rpm, yearning for the throttle to be smashed.
I took it on the twisty roads on the green mountains of the north of Spain, sliding happily around the hairpins. We would drive to a remote beach, just to take a couple of pictures in the sand. There was always an excuse. The road would call us, and my friendly German bulldog would start wagging its tail and beg me to drive faster.
I remember thinking: "Even if it breaks down tomorrow, it was well worth it".
But the day I had most fun was one cold morning of January, just seven months after I had bought it. I took the lil' bimmer to the university campus, where I was meeting with some friends to work on a project of ours. But before I finished my work, it started hailing so hard that I wouldn't dare going out.
After the storm passed, I got inside the car, ready for the boring city drive back home. But what we called "the university racetrack" (an assorment of small roads built on the campus to accomodate a local summer carnival that led nowhere, had nothing built on them, and ended up unused) was covered in ice and water. Slidey, smooth, beautifully white ice powder from the hailstorm that had finished minutes before. As I passed by it, I felt as if the E36 was urging me to go, and push it as hard as I could.
So, obviously, I did. I couldn't resist. The next 30 minutes were the most fun I've had in god knows how many years. The 320i danced gracefully, always telling me what to expect a fraction of second before starting to slide in an ever-so-noble way. As I was going home, I remember thinking: "Even if it breaks down tomorrow, it was well worth it".
It's funny how cars can turn into an emotional support sometimes. When I moved to Madrid, I thought it was going to stay back home, since I wouldn't need it... And then I came back for it a couple of weeks later. After all, it was a friend.
For two years it played with me without ever letting me down. It was a faithful buddy, a stress relief. It kept going as my daily driver, racing playfully at least once a day to 6.000 rpm.
And that's why it was so painful to watch it go.
One saturday I had left it parked on the street, I came back to it to find that somebody had crashed into it at night, while going fast enough to push it into the car in front of it. I stood there, taking glances at the car and then the license plate, thinking it couldn't possibly be my german bulldog. I called my insurance company, but the minute I counted mentally the cost of the parts that had to be replaced, I knew it was over.
When the tow truck took it to a workshop to evaluate the damages, I also noticed that the chassis had been bent from the impact. The bimmer wasn't getting out of this.
That was one of the strangest moments in my life, as I realised with a lump in my throat that you really can get attached to material things... because cars are not just that. Cars can be companions, friends...
And when days later, another tow truck took it from the workshop to the scrapyard, the little inline six started as playfully as ever, and got onto the flatbed without the help of any winch or cable.
Now every time I hear the exhaust of a 320i, I recognise immediately the roar of an exhaust more widely open than in a 325i/328i to compensate for the lack of displacement, pretending it is a bigger engine than it is, begging its driver to mash the throttle and play... and I miss mine. Your license plate was right, mate. You were a BFF.
Join In
Comments (3)
To most people, cars are just a means of transportation.
I'm glad there's a few of us out there who like to think differently, even if we are the minority.
Sorry to read this but very beautiful goodbye indeed
Thanks! I don't really like starting this tribe with something sad but I felt it was something I had to write. :)