THE ‘RATHER DULL’ GERMAN CAR THAT’S MADE A LASTING IMPRESSION

▶ BMW’s futuristic M1 had too little poke for racing but its design and engineering have many fans

It happens all too often: the minute you drive the car of your dreams, it loses the allure.

Often, it’s because of what is under the hood. The fast-looking flared fenders and outre edges of plenty of vintage Porsches and Ferraris can conceal an anaemic engine. Compared to the power and braking capabilities of modern cars, the classics end up feeling like tin cans to drive, rather than face-melting screamers.

The same critical glare has been applied to the 1981 BMW M1: in the sales report following a Gooding & Company auction last year, the German marque’s most expensive vintage sports car was described as “a rather dull driver-quality car”. It looked like a car from the future, but horsepower was less than 280 and the top speed barely touched 257 kilometres per hour. It would take nearly six seconds to reach about 95kph.

That is about the same as a 2019 Toyota Camry.

Not that anyone cared. That white, six-cylinder coupe – with paint chips on the nose, no less – sold for $467,500 (Dh1.7 million).

The BMW M1 holds a place in fans’ hearts because, though it was a short-lived experiment, it became the patriarch of an entire family of cars. It passed along mid-engine engineering (the first of its kind), lightweight components and aerodynamic developments to the popular and long-lasting M3 and M5. It was so effervescent at the time of its debut that Andy Warhol created an art car from one in 1979. And with only 455 built, ever, the M1 is rare enough to draw a crowd of even the most discerning car enthusiasts.

It was supposed to be for racing. Designed in 1977 by the Italian master Giorgetto Giugiaro and planned for production as part of a manufacturing deal with then-tiny Lamborghini, BMW built the M1 to compete against the less expensive, more powerful Porsche cars ruling a special European competition series called Group 4 and Group 5. (The now-infamous Group B cars, such as the visually polarising Lancia Delta, soon followed.)

But the deal to have Lamborghini build the cars fell through as Lambo struggled with financial problems and imminent bankruptcy; production delays ensued until BMW could recruit new partners such as Marchese, TIR, Ital Design, and Baur to help cobble the car together.

The first M1 rolled off the production line by 1978, priced at the then-exorbitant amount of 100,000 Deutsche marks. What is more, the racing dominance envisioned by the Bavarian overlords for their exotic wild child never came to pass: only 54 M1s were built to competition standards that would qualify for the racing series, and only a few of them even competed. In 1979, when Paul Newman drove a championship-winning Porsche 935 at the 24 Hours of Le Mans race, the M1 eked out third place in its class. No other M1 ever finished higher. By 1982, BMW had discontinued the line altogether.

Of course, as is so often the case in classic-car lore, the remnant became almost instantly collectible. It’s a funny thing: take a unique, unforgettable design, add extreme rarity, and you will get a legend – no matter how it drives.

Phil Toledano has owned an orange M1 for years. The British artist had gone to Florida to see a man about buying a DeTomaso Mangusta – but caught his eye on the sharp edge of an M1 parked next to it. Mr Toledano drove the car and loved it. Then he found a cheaper one to buy from another salesman in Georgia.

“I was totally mesmerised,” Mr Toledano recalls during a recent, autumnal drive around Brooklyn in New York. “It totally changed everything I thought about cars. After I bought this car, I sold all my ‘60s cars and started buying ‘80s cars.”

Mr Toledano likes how the car drives. With its “dogleg” five-speed manual gearbox, less-than-bone-shaking chassis composition, and dutiful in-line-six engine, it is easier to command than some of its era, if not quite as fast.

“It’s very civilised,” Mr Toledano says, easing through morning rush hour on the Brooklyn-Queens Expressway. With a quick, short shift, the M1 shot ahead of traffic. Its brakes and steering are direct and concise as Mr Toledano flits through traffic. A loud, barking exhaust note comes from an aftermarket update: The English man needed a little more engine noise to match the aesthetically loud car.

The style of the M1 was enough to warrant Mr Toledano’s attention. It looks unlike any BMW before or since – as often confused for a Lamborghini Countach or Lotus Esprit as recognised correctly.

Part of the confusion comes from the fact the M1 lacks such BMW signature touches as engorged kidney-bean grilles and athletically curved hoods, while including many elements that are decidedly not BMW: louvres on the rear, barely-there headlamps and air vents speckled everywhere across the hood and roof. Not to mention a body so wedgeshaped it could double as a doorstop. Thank the Italians for that: Giugiaro had designed the Lotus Esprit and Maserati Merak before he worked on the M1; a second

Italian, Gianpaolo Dallara, had designed its chassis.

That said, the interior of the M1 remains resolutely German, with a spartan black dashboard and minimal buttons. It is characterised most prominently by the cigarette lighter, its three-spoke “M” steering wheel, and seats from the old racing company, Recaro. Air conditioning, power windows, and a heated rear window came standard. Open the large trunk to reveal the entire engine, plus a glorious nest of hoses, tubes, and pipes, all laid bare to the naked eye such as a fresh-sheared lamb.

“Engineering is beautiful – let’s show it!” was the mentality then, according to BMW’s internal report regarding the car’s heritage. In no time, the interior components and mechanical developments of the M1 showed up in plenty of other BMWs, starting with the first generation of the M5 that enjoyed much more commercial success. There is a reason

It looked like a car from the future, but its horsepower was less than 280 and it had a top speed of barely 257kph