IT’S THE NIGHT’S DARKEST HOUR, BUT THIS IS
home territory. The same roads that are clogged in the day
become a playground at night. The entire city is dreaming,
and I, strapped into this snug seat inches off the ground,
find it hard to believe that I’m not. It’s deathly silent around
me. Not for long, though. I push in the brake pedal with my
left foot, and press the start/stop button. The straight-six
roars to life, the revs shattering the peace before setting in
to a rumbling idle. That was just a teaser, it was time for the
full symphony. I readjust my grip on the wheel, nudge my
backside in a little firmer in to the seat and pull the stubby
gear stick into D. Left foot holding the car still, I floor it. The
engine roars, the car strains at its leash — I can feel the tyres
spinning under me and I can smell the rubber burning. I
let go of the shackles and the tyres scramble to put down
all 500Nm, hurling me ahead with a combination of their
high-pitched shrieking and the engine’s unrestrained
bellow to the redline. The full symphony — it’s addicting.
The BMW Z4 isn’t like the Porsche Boxster. You won’t
find too many of them doubling up as track weapons,
being hammered around circuits chasing laptimes. It’s the
convertible you see gliding around piers with rich men with
gaudy gold jewellery behind the wheel. I wanted to do that
too — rent some jewellery, put on a floral shirt and drivethe Z4 down to the coast. Maybe sip a Mojito, get myself
some exotic seafood and do other things that stinking rich
people do. I wanted to pretend to be a high-roller out for
a spin in his Sunday toy and get the magazine to fund it
on the pretext of a photoshoot for the story. However,
Sundays during the peak of the Indian summer usually
involve skin-cancer inducing sun and enough heat for me
to fry an egg on my bald head. These convertibles, built for
the European summer, are bloody useless in the daytime
here. You spend most of your time with the roof up, putting
it down when you’re bored and want to see the gawking
faces of passersby only to put it back up immediately lest
you need intravenous rehydration.
Which is why I waited until the sun set and the city fell
asleep. I wanted to drive the Z4 with the roof down. I may
not be able to feel the wind in my hair, but I sure as hell
could feel it on my head. I had probably woken up the entire
neighbourhood with my antics as I pulled away, but I no
longer have to deal with them now. For now, I was focussed
on the road ahead of me. Empty, familiar and begging for
me to have at them. It was time to well and truly paint the
town red.
The Z4’s proportions make it pretty clear what sort of
car it is — the engine was up front underneath that long-Far left: BMW’s iDrive system is rather
intuitive. Left: No better feeling than the
wind in your... err... face
BMW Z4 M40I