1998 BMW 318i: owner review

Australia comes in at number 27 on the fattest countries in the world list, and you know what? I'd believe it.

Everywhere you go you find discount fast food items and cheap pastries from 7/11 and, of course, cheap as chips, well, chips. That being said, nowhere is that more prevalent than with my 1998 BMW 318i.

This 24-year-old, 400,000km beast has braved some of Australia's toughest highways, mountain passes and tight cities. The only thing it couldn't brave was my fat ass sitting in it for an extended period of time. This is evident when you look at the driver's side of the car compared to the passenger side, and you can visually point out the fact that the suspension has been pressed down so much from my five years of ownership, that it now slouches as if it were stating the obvious.

Hurtful mechanics aside, this silver shadow is exactly what you want in a car, if what you want in a car is electrical gremlins, radiators that blow hoses, and gearboxes that slap your backside as if you were wearing something skimpy.

The air-conditioning is constantly in need of re-gassing, the audio dial on the radio somehow was damaged by falling trim, and as a result it doesn't adjust the volume anymore, meaning you have to keep turning it off and on until you get just the right volume. I've dated women that make faster decisions than the central locking does in relation to its own purpose, and yet there is just that quality about the car that is simply... Unbeatable.

When a Mini decided that a red light was merely a suggestion, the front right of my car made mincemeat of it, and not only drove away from the accident completely functional, but then drove 100km up north to the repair shop to have its nose stitched up.

When I go around a corner a little bit too quickly in the wet, it doesn't step out from underneath me, it is simply overjoyed in a little bit of opposite lock, and graciously slides without a hint of fuss from its beautifully set up rear-wheel drive. When I lock this car and leave it in a car park, I am simply unable to walk away without looking back and smiling. And then promptly frowning, because the bastard won't unlock again.

The point is, the car dares you to hate it, and yet you simply can't. It's breathtaking around bends and is surprisingly forgiving when you attempt to mend it yourself. If you want total reliability, buy something manual and Japanese. But if you want a pal, a mate even, buy an old Beemer. It's totally worth it from an emotional standpoint.

Additionally, that passion and soul are lost in the electronic nonsense modern-day Beemers are drenched in. I drove a later-model 3 Series not too long ago and while, sure, it was a car, it wasn't a mate, and that's just not what I look for in a car. I'd trade total functionality and tech wizardry any day for a car I have to swear at to get started in the morning. Call me crazy, but trust me, if you truly love cars and what they mean as partners in your life, get an old Beemer.

Owner: Max Coultan

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