The original BMW M3 equals more than the sum of its stats | Thank Frankel it’s Friday

So when a friend of my brother offered me a go in his track prepared E30 generation BMW M3, I’d have been glad at the opportunity but not exactly quivering with excitement. The friend was one Barney Halse who was there with his dad and, at the time, running Munich Legends (Barney now runs Classic Heroes and, then as now, dealing in only the very finest of historic BMWs).

I strapped myself in and headed out; and before I’d cleared the Hatzenbach complex of corners that start the old Nordschleife lap, I knew I’d seriously underestimated this car. Not that it was trying to kill me like the Tuscan, or pull my face off like the Ultima, or simply make me crash laughing as was the Caterham’s wont, it was just so wonderfully, effortlessly fluent.

I remember the clarity of the steering responses to this day, the way the chassis would soak up almost anything, enabling you to go a gear higher than you’d have imagined possible everywhere, an incredible howling race-bred motor, a gorgeous dogleg gearbox and, above all, the balance. Few cars indeed I’ve driven before or since spent more time in that strange and wonderful world that exists between oversteer and understeer, where the car adopts a stance or gorgeous neutrality then hands over to your right foot, allowing you to tuck the nose in or drift the tail out with not much more than a twitch of a toe. I’ve driven and raced some pretty wonderful things around that track over the years, but that little M3 with its bog standard 195PS (143 kW) motor was among the most memorable of all.

But it’s been a while, a period of time probably best measured in decades, since I last had an original M3 to myself. But earlier this week I spent a day in one on the road and the recognition was instant, right down to the moment I needed to turn on the lights and my hand not only went straight to appropriate knob on the dash, but somehow knew to pull rather than rotate it, the latter action I also somehow knew controlling the rheostat for the dashboard lights. Muscle memory is indeed a curious thing.

The car hadn’t changed at all, but times in which I now drove it had changed beyond recognition. A modern M3 has two and a half times the power of this one, twin turbochargers and an automatic transmission. There aren’t many places you can floor the throttle for any meaningful amount of time without seeing speeds seriously prejudicial to your licence or, indeed, liberty appear on the dash. You are aware at once of going uncomfortably and antisocially fast for the public road. In the old car it could scarcely be more different. You can be foot to the boards for ages, listening to that gorgeous motor going through its various phases before you need another gear. You can experience almost all this car has to offer without even annoying let alone endangering anyone else.

You could never sell a car like this today because most people brought up in this era of wham-bam instant gratification would look at its measly power output, pedestrian 0-62mph time and very modest top speed and simply turn the page. They have no idea how sweet and memorable an experience they are missing. 

One the other hand, those who know, clearly know. The last time I focussed on these cars was about three years ago when the going rate for a really clean, low-miles E30 M3 with a decent history was around £60,000. Looking around today I note first that very few are for sale and, second, the price of the kind of car you’d really want has risen to something near six figures which might strike the initiated as a lot to pay for a near 40-year old BMW 3 Series. Then again, they haven’t driven one. Me? There was a time when I thought these cars were seriously good value and I don’t any more. Then again if you drive a good one you, like me, might agree that it is worth every penny.