So there we were, me and photographer Klaus Schnitzer, wandering around the north coast of Spain in a 428i Gran Coupé. Yes, that’s right—it’s the two-liter four-banger. And since the car is also available with the N55 six-cylinder three-liter turbo, you might get the same first impression: four cylinders? Eeeeew. And without a clutch pedal to boot.
Bite your tongue.
I have to say that the little barker won me over within ten miles. Of course, those ten miles were on twisty, sinuous pavement, looking more like a hillclimb than the road to our hotel. I am convinced that the route was chosen by the people who build the eight-speed automatic transmission, originally developed by ZF; this is, as everybody in the civilized automotive world knows by now, the most wonderful development in transmissions since the prewar electric pre-selector racing boxes of the 1930s. In fact, it almost convinces you that you are a brilliant driver, there has never been anyone better; grab the downshift paddle twice, brrRAPPa! BrrRAPPa! and the snarly little pouncer brings the revs up and hits the lower gears in sequential succession—seriously way faster than any clutchmeister could work his feet to blip the throttle and notch down.
What a marvelous noise.
That’s the difference between a six and a four; the six has a smoother, more powerful note. The four has a guttural, raspy bark, and the eight-speed autobox has all the gears spaced juuuust right for prodding the howler into another chorus.
And if it sounds great on the downshifts, it sings an exuberant note on full-pop acceleration, too. Thanks to the turbo, the 240-horsepower N20 makes its torque through a significant part of the rev band, so you can charge out of those corners—and the north coast of Spain has seemingly cornered the market on corners, I must say—and go howling down the road, upshifting maybe twice before it’s time to whoa things down and find those lower gears again, because we’re into a downhill corner HOLY GOD IT’S DECREASING RADIUS paddle paddle brrRAPPa! BrrRAPPa!
Cheated death again.
This is in Sport mode, of course, of the dynamic adjustable suspension that BMW seems to be sticking in every car these days. It is a rather pricy option, and you want it bad; you might even, just as an experiment, try driving in Eco Pro mode. (Don’t worry. You’ll be back out of it in no time.) Comfort mode is not exactly 1958 Buick La-Z-Boy suspension, and Sport is not so rock-hard that you’ll lose your fillings. In fact, if you’re like me, you will automatically select Sport every time you fire up the car.
Sport Plus is available, too, but in addition to firming up the suspension and steering and re-mapping the transmission codes and—who knows?—maybe shooting a few more weasels into the turbo, it also cancels those traction-control nannies that keep you from plunging to your OMYGOD! ANOTHER HAIRPIN! death.
Obviously, we made it through alive, although Schnitzer somehow seems to need another photo opportunity every ten minutes, that’s all right, just SLOW DOWN AND PULL OVER, I’ll be all right, just let me shoot a few passing shots and maybe I can get a ride with somebody else if you want to go on without me. But what kind of a friend would leave a fellow journalist standing on the side of the road? GET BACK IN THE CAR, CAMERA BOY!
We’ll switch drivers when we get down to the bottom. I promise.—Satch Carlson
