My father had a two-door 1985 BMW 318i while I was in middle school . It cemented itself as one of the cooler vehicles I rode around in as a child. In the final months of my Volvo ownership, I began lusting after an E30 (US Market 1984-92 3 Series) of my own. Instead of being a good boy and holding onto my tax return to hold me over between jobs, I went out and bought a clapped out pile of Germanity for less than most people’s insurance premiums. The silliness continued.
The timing belt had no history of having been changed, the car failed its smog test, the fan clutch was dead and a home depot switch had been wired to the aux fan, the driveshaft center support bearing did more hula-hooping than supporting, and the left front wheel bearing’s pastime of choice was pulling the car toward the median while doing its best vocal impersonation of a werewolf. Amenities were limited to a single sport seat on the driver’s side and a new CD player wired to the original, tired speakers.
Still, after the previously dubbed “Wangan Wagon,” the E30 was a revelation. Here, I learned how to heel-toe downshift, how to deal with a wayward back end in the rain, how to be patient with a worn out gearbox, and overall had my baptism of fire into the realm of sporty cars. The sound of the inline six was now my god, and the devotion would only get worse. Stupidity was still a theme, however. An off while entering an onramp, and the homicide of the shock absorbers in a post train-track landing are only two of the lessons learned the hard way during my short stewardship.
Eventually, my lack of funds and fear of the deathly noises from the drivetrain forced my sale of this one. I had driven it from San Francisco to Davis, to Carmel, and everywhere in between. I tried to teach a friend to drive clutch in it, during which he stalled it and attempted to start it (for several yards) with it still in gear. I loaned it to another friend who managed to boil the coolant (that damn fan), but it never again threw a hissy fit after I bled the cooling system. As if in protest to my relinquishment of the keys, it refused to start after the next owner got it home.