In France, I drove a VW Golf with a diesel engine. It was a fine car with lots of torque, but it didn’t quite measure up to the car I had before I moved out of the US, a 2000 BMW 328i with the sport package.

Since my return to the US, I’ve been driving different rental cars, first a Buick LeSabre which was worse than the same model car I drove in the 1970s, then a Chevy Malibu which while not as badly engineered as the Buick still lacked a lot in terms of driving enjoyment.

Friday I picked up my new car from the dealer. I had gotten so used to driving the Malibu with an automatic transmission that when I pulled out of the dealership and merged with traffic, I put my foot down about 3/4 of the way on the accelerator pedal.

The BMW 330i with the sport suspension and 6-speed manual transmission thinks this is an opportunity to show its stuff, so I was pushed back into the contoured seat hard and instead of the casual finger purchase used in the overly controlled American cars I had to grip the steering wheel to keep my hands from flying off. I was over the 45 mph speed limit long before I had even expected to be at a good speed to merge into the traffic, and once I got onto the freeway I had problems keeping the car down to the 65 mph speed limit on that elevated highway.

During my initial, unexpected acceleration out of the dealership driveway a grin formed on my face that stayed for a full 10 minutes, and those who know me also realize I never smile for that long. I’m sure everyone who saw me driving back to work from the dealership on Friday thought I was completely insane.

Damn, it’s nice to have a real car again.

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