Rick's Picks: Test-driving BMW M5--and the CEO
"Now watch this," grins Tom Purves, chief executive of BMW North America–who is doubling as my driver for the next 30 minutes. Purves is demonstrating BMW's latest mechanical marvel, the 500-horsepower M5 sedan, on the winding back roads of northern New Jersey, near BMW's U.S. headquarters. And he's in an impish mood.
"I'm not going to tell you what I'm about to do," he warns. Then, on a clear straightaway, he abruptly swerves left, then right. "Feel it?" he asks, laughing. Indeed I do. The M5's "multifunction" seat, sensing the car's lateral movement, has reached up to secure first my right flank, and then my left, so I am not tossed about by Purves's abrupt driving. I giggle back. Never has a seat been so accommodating.
Driving the $82,000 M5, a luxury liner that happens to be faster than a Porsche 911, is one of those experiences that can only leave one gushing. And having such an expert guide aboard is not your ordinary option. As we zoom beneath the autumn trees, Purves explains a suite of features that could bamboozle an engineer. For ordinary driving, you can dial back the engine to a modest 400 horsepower. Need to outrun a missile, just bump it back up to 500. And if you're bringing the car to Indy, select 500 with sport settings that, among other things, turn off the traction control so that no computer interferes with the driver's intentions.
There are many other high-octane choices. The "sequential manual gearbox," a sophisticated clutchless transmission that can be shifted like a manual, can be operated either through the shift lever or through Formula One-style paddles on the steering wheel. Either way, popping it into automatic mode yields better performance, since BMW's computers shift faster than humans can. In automatic mode, the SMG even double-clutches, a racing technique for maximizing smoothness and power when downshifting. Then there are several suspension settings, from soft and pliant to firm and grabby.
All those features mean that BMW's iDrive computerized control system–controversial among purists–is clearly here to stay.
"With all the new electronics, it's not possible to give the customer a switch for everything," Purves insists. "We're learning that the only way we're going to be capable of doing this is with computers."
Isn't this automotive overload for some drivers–especially the more mature consumers who can afford one of the priciest sedans on the market? Well, yes.
"We've learned that our customers who are younger have no difficulty with the computer," Purves says. "Older customers have some difficulty. But what people need to know is they don't need to use iDrive." On the M5, for instance, the driver can store engine, shifting, and suspension preferences (or have his kids do it for him), then push an "M" button on the steering wheel that recalls the favored driving configuration. And there's always the option to simply let the M5 make all those decisions for you.
"You can play with it, but you don't have to," Purves says. "In a Ferrari, you have to work it all the time. In this car, you can make a phone call, you've got air conditioning . . . it's extremely comfortable."
Until, that is, the driving gets aggressive. Purves glides up to an intersection and cautions that "we've got to watch out around here–the police are around." This, it turns out, is the very place he got his one-and-only speeding ticket, while taking a new BMW motorcycle for a spin. Then we ease onto a bucolic country road with no traffic. Purves hits the afterburner button, engaging 500-horsepower mode, and in seconds we are traveling at a multiple of the speed limit. Purves, a natty Brit trimmed out in a gray double-breasted suit, cuff links, and a pink tie, looks as relaxed as if he's sitting in church. I glance at the speedometer and wince. The multifunction seats, sensing some serious g's, reach up to grab me at every quiver of the steering wheel.
Finally we pull over, and it's my turn. Through the whole demonstration it's been raining hard, and eager to stay on the hardtop, I scale back to 400 horsepower. Within moments I feel remarkably confident, even though I'm on curvy, unfamiliar roads slicked over like a ski pad, with enough power at my disposal to mow down half a forest if I get crosswise with the pavement. The M5 holds every curve with ease, and I push a little harder. Then we come upon a straightaway. Feeling cocky now, I stop, turn it back up to 500 horsepower, and gas it until I can feel my cheekbones being sucked into the back seat. Purves says nothing. But he looks proud.
One last test: the brakes, an area where serious cars completely outshine the flashy imitators. I tell my copilot what I want to do.
"Go ahead," he encourages me. So I race up to warp speed and jam the brakes to the floor. There's no skid, no squeal, no smoke. The M5 decelerates in a nearly straight line, and seems to stop just a few yards from where I initiated the procedure. I glance over to see if Purves is anxious about how I'm treating his car. He is unperturbed. In fact, he explains, that was a relatively soft stop compared with the track conditions the M5 is built for. Good, I say. Let's try it again.