Yahoo Autos Tested: 1987 BMW M5
From the December 1987 issue of Car and Driver.
Charles Darwin died in 1882, four years too early to contribute anything to automobile engineering, but he was hell on wheels when it came to his theory of evolution. Almost single-handedly he threw a monkey wrench into by-the-Good Book, old-time religion. Roughly put, Darwin held that God didn't really pop packets of Instant Adam 'n' Eve into his celestial microwave; instead, the subhuman race took time to crawl before it could walk, and somewhere along the line we Homo sapiens all had apes swinging in our family trees. Now here we are, naturally selected simian descendants—smack in the age of manna, Vanna, and hot-car nirvana—and those of us who like to monkey around with cars have got the good life. For proof that automotive evolution can be nearly as miraculous as God's more basic monkey business, you have only to go out and strap on the new BMW M5.
Webster's definition of Darwinian theory concludes "that the forms which survive are those that are best adapted to the environment." As BMW knows, survival in today's auto environment calls for power, and lots of it—thanks largely to cheap gas, and lots of it.
Under the M5's hood rages a twin-cam, 24-valve, 3.5-liter, six-cylinder ghost of an engine. Resurrected from the fabulous mid-engined M1 coupe of the late seventies, it whirs with 256 horsepower in its new home. Hand-assembled by BMW's Motorsport branch, the big six hurls the meaty-tired, big-braked, tautly suspended M5 brickbat to almost 150 mph. As a prime example of the high-performance roadware thundering through our times, the M5 proves that, Darwin and your loan officer notwithstanding, now is the age to go ape.
So what if the M5 looks as if it were designed when Darwin was still living? Bimmer buyers have naturally selected this shape as one that strikes their fancy. BMW roughed in the profile of its second generation 5-series sedan back in the late seventies. In those days, the factory was determined not to digress from its familiar blocky styling, and the four-door's contours came out like almost a genetic duplicate of its predecessor's.
In 1982, BMW delivered its new box to America as the 528e. Its low-revving, 2.7-liter engine paid homage to fuel economy and low-end torque, undercutting BMW's reputation as a builder of "ultimate driving machines." While Europe continued to enjoy the output of BMW's horsepower department, American Bimmer loyalists were forced into the slow lane. BMW's U.S. sales continued to set records, however, as the company coasted on an image built on fifteen years of rave reviews.
Then, in 1983, a new evolutionary form emerged: Audi's slick 5000S blasted out of the wind tunnel and threatened to show the rest of the world's sedans just who was the fittest of all. Not only was the trimly rounded Audi the first modern sedan to manifest serious attention to aerodynamics, but its creators quickly backed up their threat with turbocharging and four-wheel drive.
BMW, faced with this triple whammy of technology, did what it always does, sooner or later, in the face of adversity: it dug deeper into its power bin. Much deeper. Along came the 533i and the 535i, the first "i" cars to suggest that BMW was here to play for keeps. This year came the hard cases from the Motorsport mob, finally bringing us the same good stuff that Europe has been taking for granted. The M6 coupe (C/D, July) lit the way with a top speed of 144 mph. The mini-motor M3 pocket rocket (C/D, November) ripped right up lo 141. And now comes the M5, denying its four-door demeanor by booming into battle at 147 mph.
The M5 and the M6 share the same engine: 3.5 liters of displacement, Bosch Motronic fuel injection, an aluminum crossflow head, four valves per cylinder, machined intake and exhaust ports, pentroof combustion chambers, a 9.8:l compression ratio, an oil cooler, a low-restriction catalyst, dual exhausts—and 256 hp from 211 cubic inches. BMW's biggest six displaces marginally more than its single-overhead-cam sister, and thanks in part to a larger bore and a shorter stroke, it revs higher. In any of the first four gears of the Getrag five-speed, the M motor flies past its 6500-rpm power peak to a 6900-rpm redline. Then a quick double snick of the gearbox: pumps the big six back into the heart of its broad power band, and the lusty vroom continues. (BMW offers no automatic to drag down the M5's output at the rear wheels.) Our fifth wheel translates the 3504-pounder's acceleration into a 0-to-60 time of 6.3 seconds. The M5 covers the quarter-mile in 14.6 seconds, crossing the line al 95 mph, with another 52 mph still to come. For a boxed-off, four-door folks-wagon, those are hot numbers. The only things that can cool them are a smallish gas tank and a 10-mpg EPA city fuel-economy rating. Happily, as hard as we hammered the M5, we averaged a more reasonable 15 mpg.
