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What kind of car can you get for $617,000?

Let’s see… The incomparable Lexus LFA, a few Merc SLS AMGs, a gently used Porsche Carrera GT, perhaps a beat-on secondhand McLaren F1, a nice Ferrari 599, or…

A Bertone Spicup, which looks like a refugee from a mashup of A Clockwork Orange and Mad Max. After languishing in the styling house’s vaults for years and undergoing a complete restoration, the concept car recently sold at auction for the princely sum of £400,000, or $617 grand at the current exchange rate.

Built on a BMW 2000 CS chassis, the one-off Spicup seems to have been essentially an attempt to prove to Bertone’s designers that a car featuring a retractable metal roof panel could be made and driven. To that end, instead of building the car as a static car show sculpture, the Spicup retained all the BMW running gear and can be flung into the corners if not quite as vigorously as the car it’s based on, then certainly more than most of its brethren at the ’69 Geneva car show, where it was unveiled.

The styling, needless to say, is impossibly campy, sporting a variety of vents, bumps and surfaces textures. If a tornado ripped through the BMW parts warehouse and the scattered wreckage reassembled itself on its own, the result could hardly look more haphazard. The interior, by contrast, is actually fairly forward-looking and coherent, except for the day-glo green color, and in spite of the fact that it features possibly the most uncomfortable-looking seats ever fitted to a car. The whole project is probably one that BMW and perhaps even Bertone would rather forget, and judging by the fact that I’d never heard of the car until today, I’d say they did a good job in letting the Spicup slide into oblivion. $617 large has a way of shining a spotlight on dark corners of automotive history and proves, perhaps, that obscurity itself can be a lucrative quality.

Reviews of the new F10 BMW M5 are starting to trickle in, and the plaudits and detractions are completely predictable. Top Gear, for instance, notes the car’s ability to

…pulverize supercars while carrying four in massive comfort

but also laments:

Despite the acceleration it delivers and the speed it carries, this is not a raw, animalistic car, even with all the buttons turned up to 11.

Expect to read a variation on that theme from just about every outlet that publishes a road test. “Awesomely fast and capable, but less visceral than the previous M5” will be the refrain. But really, what other path was there for BMW to take? New EU emissions regulations have been signing the death warrant for high-revving, naturally-aspirated powerplants across the continent (including the previous M5’s banshee V10), and with their demise goes their corresponding feel and character; namely, the endless revs, the linear powerband, the spine-tingling wail of an engine spinning into oblivion. Turbo’d engines may be more efficient and offer more low-down grunt, but they feel muffled, clipped, tamed… And such is the state of the M5, in spite of the increased power and speed. It’s a prime example of a larger trend in the industry, the way cars are simultaneously growing more capable and less involving. As evidenced by this F10 M5, we’re losing our connection to our cars’ mechanical “roots.”

That said, there are certainly some things to admire about BMW M’s latest offering. My favorite is the (mostly) unadorned engine bay. Instead of a giant M-badged engine cover, the automaker peels back the plastic to grant us a beautifully unrestricted view of the intake piping to the pair of turbos nestled in the engine’s “V,” as well as the air-to-water intercoolers and other assorted mechanical bits. It’s ironic that the car itself feels less raw than the previous iteration at the same time the engine view is more “unplugged”—not that I’m complaining about the latter.

Another pleasing feature concerns a major coup by US BMW enthusiasts. Irate at the idea of an M car offered without a proper three-pedal manual—BMW’s only transmission for the new M5 was to be their 7-speed dual-clutch semi-automatic—enthusiasts on this side of the Atlantic succeeded in pressuring the automaker to make a conventional 6-speed manual available as an option. Score one for the purists. It seems M5 customers who opt to use their right hand and left foot will at least be able to experience feedback from the car that way, if nowhere else.

It’s no secret I’m not a fan of front-wheel-drive. What’s also well-known to any of my car friends is that I reserve an almost equal amount of animosity toward the automatic transmission—I’m a full-on stickshift proselytizer. I just don’t think there’s any place for the slushbox, even in family vehicles like minivans. Travel to Europe and rent a larger non-luxury car, and chances are it’ll be equipped with a stickshift. If Europeans seem to recognize the value of the added car control a manual provides, as well as the greater reliability and cheaper repair cost, why can’t we Americans? Oh—that’s right; we’re lazy slugs. Forgot.

All that said, there are a handful of automatic-equipped cars I would consider acquiring for daily driver use. Topping the list is the car shown above, the one and only BMW with a slushbox I’m a fan of: The ’99-’01 740i Sport. Note that it’s a very specific example of the type: A facelifted ’99-’01, non-L short-wheelbase car with staggered 18″ M-Parallel wheels and the Sport option package (which included uprated suspension, a higher diff ratio and the wheels, among other things). It’s the sportiest, and arguably the best-looking 7-series ever made, a car many have lauded as a prime example of a big car that “drives small,” an elegant yet athletic linebacker of a car, immensely capable.

Finally, I should be clear about my preferences with respect to automatic transmissions: There are other cars I’d buy with a slushbox installed, but a manual swap would always be in the long-term plans. The E38 740i Sport, on the other hand, I’d happily drive without any scheme to switch out the transmission. And just in case I decided to change my mind, the 6-speed from the 540i fits. I do like to hedge my bets, after all.

Motor Trend relays a bit of sleuthing by Bimmerfest involving recent patent filings by BMW. As it turns out, the Bavarian automaker has just applied for patents on a pair of upcoming engines: Two turbocharged V8s and, more significantly, a couple of twin-turbo V6s.

If you know anything about BMW’s relationship with the inline-6 engine configuration, you’ll know the adoption of a V6 would represent a fairly significant lurch away from their legacy. Virtually every other automaker has abandoned the I6 in favor of the more compact V layout for their 6-cylindered powerplants. Mercedes, Nissan, Toyota—you name it; they’ve ditched the I6. Why, then, has BMW persisted with the configuration for so long? In contrast to the more common V6, arranging the cylinders in a row does have some important advantages: Intake and exhaust plumbing is more simple, the valvetrain is much less complex, and perhaps most significantly: The engine is capable of achieving perfect harmonic balance, meaning it runs very smoothly. This puts less stress on its internals and gives the inline-6 a refined feel, an important quality for the engine of a luxury performance car.

And now BMW may be, at long last, introducing a V6. Somehow I doubt it will entirely replace their iconic I6 across the model range, as it did with the other automakers, but it muddies the waters; it dilutes what was previously an uncompromising devotion to the inherent qualities of a technically elegant engine configuration. That said, as with the introduction of FWD cars branded as BMWs, I don’t know if I can blame this entirely on some cynical quest for profit at the expense of the automaker’s legacy. The new EU regulations for cars include rather draconian specifications for pedestrian safety, regulations the European auto industry is striving to adhere to mainly by integrating larger crumple zones into the noses of their designs. The additional “give” needed by the bodywork means the “hard” engine must be pushed back farther in the chassis, putting the comparatively long inline-6 at a major disadvantage. So an attempt to conform to some arbitrary set of top-down restrictions may bear at least some of the blame for the shift. Whatever the reasons, it’ll be a sad day for classic Bimmer-philes when the first V6-engined BMW rolls off the assembly line.

We see these terms batted around car magazine articles from time to time. Let’s clear ’em up, focusing today on named and/or brand-specific design features.

BMW’s Hofmeister Kink. Bowing on the ’61 BMW 1500 sedan and named for the former design director responsible for the feature, every BMW since (except for the ragtop convertibles and certain wagons) has sported the turn-back at the forward base of the C-pillar. Allegedly, it gives the rear of the car a more planted, established look, and highlights the equal contribution of the rear wheels (read: RWD) to the car’s motion. Of course, other manufacturers have styled cars with this feature, before and after its initial appearance on the 1500, but the Bavarian automaker has such a prolific relationship with the detail that it bears their designer’s name.

Saab’s hockey stick. I’m unsure if this styling feature is so-named because of the popularity of the sport in Saab’s native Sweden, but form-wise, the moniker certainly fits. More built-in to the car’s contours than BMW’s Hofmeister Kink, the Saab hockey stick is a bit harder to pull off, demanding more from the rest of the car’s design in order to accommodate it. Nevertheless, the automaker has been faithful in attempting to integrate at least a suggestion of the feature into each of their cars since the Saab 96, introduced all the way back in 1960.

The Kamm tail. A bit more functional than the preceding two, the Kamm tail still probably wouldn’t have been as widely adopted had there not been some sort of aesthetic justification. After all, there are a myriad of even more functionally-beneficial design elements that don’t see the light of day because they would render the car in question butt-ugly. In any case, the abruptly truncated tail of the car supposedly creates turbulence and airflow vortices that reduce aerodynamic drag and can even push the car forward, so to speak. So there’s some use to it.

This one’s a bit dissimilar. In the case of the ’94-’99 BMW 840Ci range-topping GT, it’s not one, but two decisions I wish the automaker had made differently: They should have made the 6-speed manual transmission available with the V8 engine option in the US, and they should have trimmed at least 500 lbs from the car’s curb weight. Actually, the last wish really should have been something built into the car from its inception—4350 lbs (an even 4 grand for the V8 car) is ridiculously overweight for anything short of a Bentley with pretenses of sporty capability.

I’m well aware the market for big coupes was incredibly soft in the mid-late ’90s. Unlike the previous installment in the What Might Have Been series, where the alternate course of action I laid out made a certain degree of business sense, my desire to see a lighter, 6-speed 840Ci make it to our shores isn’t really driven by a regard for BMW’s bottom line. Rather, it’s borne out of a longing for a true E24 6-series successor—something the E31 intentionally was not. Even though it would have likely flopped in much the same way as the actual car did, a more downscale BMW E31 variant would provide an additional buffer of sorts between the much-missed E24 and its “official” successor, the perilously hideous E63. In other words, the E31 had the styling chops to follow the E24 (and how!); it just didn’t have the moves, a deficiency a manual tranny and a diet would have handsomely rectified.

For what it’s worth, the E34 and E39 540i shared the 840Ci’s M60/M62 V8, and could be had with 6-speeds in the US, so in theory, a manual swap is very possible (if pricey). Also, the early V12-powered 850i was offered with a manual on our side of the pond, but the extra 4 cylinders added even more weight, the extra poundage being more than enough of an issue to excise for its lesser stablemate.

Again, I know full well the desires of enthusiasts frequently make little sense from a financial perspective, especially when the entire E31 program was a dubious investment in the first place. And truth be told, BMW actually did briefly consider a further downmarket expansion of the 8-series with the 830i, before having second thoughts and scrapping all but a single prototype. Still, the idea of a lighter, more driver-oriented BMW in the jaw-droppingly gorgeous E31 shape is an appealing one.

Editor’s note: This post is part of an ongoing series highlighting key decisions I wish automakers had made differently, for divers reasons. Read the other installments here:

• 1992-1995 Pontiac Bonneville
• Infiniti Q45
• Honda S2000
• Eunos (Mazda) JC Cosmo

I don’t get this one.

I want to give the designers the benefit of the doubt, but it just doesn’t pass the “obvious test;” in other words, when all’s said and done, what does the object in question most obviously resemble? And the answer in the 328 Homage’s case: An angry beaver. Once that comparison is stuck in your mind, there’s no getting around it.

The larger question is, how exactly is it an homage? Here’s the original ’36-’40 car, for reference:

So there’s a superficial resemblance in some of the details, like the wheels, hood straps, split windshield and long-nose / short-deck proportions. But otherwise… There’s little, if anything, in the homage that unambiguously recalls the original. I don’t think the homage needs to slavishly ape the original, either, but there’s a way to honor a legend stylistically without having to resort to campy details and the beat-me-over-the-head-with-it title of “BMW 328 Homage.” If I can’t draw the connections myself and be impressed with the coherence of the effort, the designers haven’t done their job. And with the Homage, they most certainly phoned it in. Thumbs down.

Two Aprils ago, I sold my white ’86 BMW 635CSi. It wasn’t a bad car; far from it—I enjoyed it greatly and miss it very much, even now.

Why did I sell it? A number of reasons, some having to do with the state of the car as it was:

• Cramped rear seat access impractical for our growing family.
• Marginal rustproofing made me a nervous owner driving in the winter slush.

And some reasons related to where I wanted it to go, so to speak:

• The car was my daily driver, and as such I would never be able to give it the attention it needed, since everything had to be buttoned back up for the next morning’s commute.
• My wife hated the white color, and I wasn’t its biggest fan either, mainly because of…
• The US-spec “diving board” bumpers. They murdered the lines of the car and their black expanses of rubber contrasted with the white to make the car look very much like a Star Wars Stormtrooper.

Before I sold it, I made a last attempt to “save” it by selling it in favor of another E24 6-series “Shark” that addressed at least a couple of the issues noted above. My hope was that my car’s new owner would live in an area of the country where salty roads in winter weren’t an issue, or at least perhaps the car wouldn’t be a daily driver, saving some wear and tear and allowing the new owner to take the time to dig into it and rectify its flaws. Meanwhile, I would “leapfrog” a few of my car’s issues by acquiring a car without them, and in the future get my hands on an econobox for daily duty, finally giving the E24 the repose and chance for “big fixes” it needed.

So during the fading months of ’09 and the early part of ’10, I continually had my feelers out for a non-white, Euro-spec-bumpered E24 to replace my example. During the early part of December, the car shown at top appeared on an online classifieds site.

It was non-white, obviously, and a gray-market Euro-spec E24 with the lovely, thin bumpers. The engine in the car was interesting as well: A 2.8l version of my car’s 3.4l engine. You’d think it would be a step down in power, but actually, the lack of emissions controls and higher compression of the Euro-spec engine meant power levels were actually very similar. And that particular engine displacement was never offered by the factory in the US, either. It was an ’82 628CSi 5-speed in Henna Red, to this day one of my favorite colors for an E24.

There were a few issues: A bit of rust here and there, the interior was trashed and the engine ran rough. That said, the seller was motivated by his need for a fully operational car (mine was) and just wanted to get rid of it. He was amenable to a straight-up trade, and even willing to deliver the car and let me swap my car’s decent interior over. How could I refuse?

I didn’t refuse; indeed, I tried for a good month to make the deal work out. The seller, however, was in and out of the hospital with health issues and generally unresponsive, whether through e-mail or by phone. It took me three weeks just to get him to send me the picture at top, the only one I have of the car. The seller’s “camera was broken,” apparently, and resisted all attempts at being fixed for quite some time.

I was disappointed it didn’t work out. I held on for a time, and had visions of restoring it to the glorious state shown above. But after two months of back-and-forth, asking the same questions over and over again and getting nowhere, it was clear it wasn’t going to happen, and I had to cut my time losses and back out. The seller did contact me a couple of months later, asking if I was still interested, but by that time my head had cleared and I realized it probably wasn’t the best move for our family at that time anyway.

I still have a desire for a Euro-spec E24. It’s just a shame it wasn’t the Henna Shark.

Editor’s note: This post is part of an ongoing series relating stories of cars I almost acquired, whether though purchase or trade. Read the other installments here:

• 1991 Audi 200 20v Turbo quattro Avant
• 1984 Mazda RX-7 GSL-SE
• 1990 Mercedes-Benz 420SEL
• 1991 Volvo 780 Bertone
• 1969 Plymouth Sport Fury
• 1990 Audi 200 Turbo quattro
• 1975 Opel Manta

At least, so far, it’s a sub-brand.

That is, the BMW formula enthusiasts know and love hasn’t been completely revamped by integrating alternative propulsion seamlessly into the automaker’s lineup.

Following the recent unveiling of the BMW i3 Concept all-electric city car and the i8 Concept hybrid performance coupe (pictured at top), Left Lane News reports a model range-filling i4 and i5 may be in the works (emphasis added):

The i4 is said to be largely based on the i3, but will take the form of a mini sports car. It remains to be seen if the car will arrive as a coupe or roadster, but the two-seater is intended to act as an entry-level model for those that can’t afford the up-market i8. The i4 could borrow the electric drivetrain from the i3, but a version of the i8’s diesel-hybrid system isn’t completely off the table.

The i5 is rumored to be a mid-size sedan model with coupe-like design features. The i5 will reportedly borrow the i8’s drivetrain, which should translate into some decent performance figures. It remains to be seen how BMW plans to market the i5 – given it will be about the same size as the 3-Series – but the German automaker has plenty of time to iron out all the kinks – if given the green light, the i5 and i4 aren’t expected to launch until the end of the decade.

It’s no secret I don’t think terribly much of BMW’s latest foray into eco-correctness, but I should clarify the grounds on which I take exception to their direction: Branding. As with the FWD issue, I’ve no problem whatsoever with BMW making the best hybrid or pure electric cars in the world—just don’t stick a BMW roundel on the hood. Call me territorial, call me inflexible; there are some equations in this world that deserve to be left alone—they’ve earned the right to be. Fortunately, in this case, it seems BMW is at least attempting to distance the sub-brand somewhat from the “conventional” model range. I just wish they’d go farther and cloister the new cars altogether into a completely separate brand. But that’s obviously not going to happen.