Motor vehicles serve many functions in our modern lives. At their most basic, they allow us to travel from points A to B with relative speed and maximum flexibility. Whether driving to the local Costco or from Omaha to Los Angeles, they convey us with efficiency and convenience; the personal physical manifestation of freedom and movement. But they also fulfill other complicated and varied aspects of our human condition. They delight, whether with design or performance or outright utility. They inform as to our value system, as their manifest variety consciously or subconsciously broadcast personal choice and values in a visible way. They serve as social statements, as vessels for ambition and class status. They engage all of the senses save taste, though I won’t judge if some fair reader includes this aspect in his or her own personal vehicular satisfaction canon. Cars tend to fit a mold, and we chose the mold that fits our particular psyches.

And then there are those vehicles that exist just because they can; what of these automotive unicorns or platypuses, these singular rarities? They exist because some crafty senior engineer or product planner in some far-away design headquarters convinced his colleagues and superiors that doing something just because they could is a worthwhile end to itself; who hasn’t wanted to sit down as her desk one day, regardless of profession, and asked: What if? And then, why the hell not?

I recently had the unexpected good fortune to spent three days with one such product, from the beautiful minds of gloriously demented engineers and designers at BMW: The X6M.

**Though it smacks a bit of Marie Antoinette, after driving it I want it in the most desperate way.**

First, the engine. Let me sum up by quoting NASCAR icon Daryl Waltrip: “My car is just all ate up with motor.” The X6M is motivated by a nonsensical 567-hp, 553 lb-ft of torque, 4.4-liter, twin-turbo V8 that spins from zero to eleven without a sniff of lag or hesitation. Nigel Tufnel would approve. It’s extraordinary, and feels fully capable of launching satellites or pulling tankers into dry-dock or making mincemeat out of impacted tree stumps. It drags the 5200-pound vehicle from 0-60 in a silly 3.7 seconds, which somehow feels even faster in a vehicle with this mass. It warps the mind…

…and is actually a little frightening because at some point you’re going to have to turn the lovely M-steering wheel, with its perfect thumb detents and tactile shift paddles controlling the silky 8-speed automatic transmission and elegant tri-toned colored stitching, and how on earth could this much mass at this much speed be in any way contained? Quite well as it turns out. Quite well indeed.

The only car I’ve ever driven that grips as viscerally as the X6M was a high-strung Subaru WRX STI, an analog little honey badger that clawed at the tarmac with silly and possessive abandon. It’s rally-tuned AWD system gave the impression of the steering wheel being connected to four giant cat paws, ripping and grasping the pavement with possessive dexterity. The X6M provided much the same sensation, only with a level of refinement and poise entirely absent from the rally car. Unflappable, and actually a little disconcerting, as anything this large shouldn’t be able to corner with the resilience, confidence, and tenacity of an M3 Coupe (my benchmark vehicle). But yet it does. It corners damn near flat, an amazing sensation especially when perched this high up, which tricks your inner-ear to sense a roll and then further tricks your inner ear by never rolling. Stereocilia be damned; this thing is planted.

I have a friend who was fortunate enough to drive an X6M at the BMW launch event at Circuit of the Americas in Austin, Texas, under the tutelage of no less a hotshoe than Bill Auberlen, whose day job is to race an M6 GTLM for BMW Team RLL. My pal gets slack-jawed when describing the handling of the beast at speed on an FIA-approved circuit; words seem to fail him that physics could be cheated so well and handily. As he bluntly put it: “If I was single, an X6M would be parked in my garage without question.” (And if you saw his garage you would understand the magnitude of this statement.) I only spent three days with the machine motivating around city and suburban streets, almost always in the wet, with little chance to really ring it out, but I can attest to it’s unimpeachable ability to stimulate the adrenal glad. The thing is a riot; a hoot; a schoolboy’s first kiss; Christmas morning with fresh-squeezed mimosas.

The question of design is never far from the discussion of this class of vehicles, and the X6M (and entire category of “lifestyle” SUVs) is nothing if not controversial. With it’s rakish fastback profile, the X6-series of BMWs trades in much of the “utility” aspect of an SUV for something more overtly sporty and aerodynamic. So why then not just drive a car? Well, because.

I’m fortunate that also parked in my garage is my wife’s current generation BMW X5, the diesel model, which is wonderfully smooth and powerful and refined and altogether useful, a luxury vehicle on stilts that will haul our dogs or swallow large artwork (my wife’s trade) with ease, all while covering vast distances with extraordinary comfort. I find the lines of the current X5 to be pleasing in the extreme, and parked side-by-side with the X6M I must say the fastback looks a little whimsical and truncated. But on the road, the streamlined rear end, with dramatic tumblehome and bulging haunches fairly well shouting “why yes, I do own this particular stretch of pavement,” starts to make sense. When it’s in motion I totally get it.

Of note is that my wife loved the thing. And when I say “loved,” this is a woman whose husband has driven her to more car dealers and races and events and occasions than most people would stomach in a lifetime, and she’s become a harsh critic of all things vehicular. (She once described a Nissan GT-R, née “Godzilla,” as “a tad gauche.” Cut right to it.) She played with the X6M like a puppy with a favorite toy, proclaimed it brilliant, and didn’t stop smiling for hours. A convert.

So what to make of a two-and-a-half-ton SUV with little utility, with arguably too large a motor and sports car handling? At $117k as driven, it’s certainly extravagant and luxurious and memorable in the cabin (I recommend the Mugello Red leather), with superb fit and finish and an aristocratic sense of occasion. But does the X6M make sense? Would I even want one?

The X6M is a rolling Id, automotive engineering without a social filter, a product of many creative minds with no value other than shear, unadulterated joy. I loved every minute of it. Yes, please; I’ll take mine in Long Beach Blue.

There may be a better driving road in the world that the stretch of the A87 from Invergarry to Kyle of Localsh onto the Isle of Skye in the Western Highlands of Scotland but I haven’t yet found it. Curves to make Betty Page blush; vistas to stun even the most jaded CGI devotee; tarmac of a quality rarely seen in the States. With one caveat: The road is about the width of an average American suburban bathroom. (And I won’t mention the caravans.) It’s a drive that begs for a spirited car, one at once nimble yet contained, sprightly yet composed, and…well, manageable for Americans, in the sense of that whole right-hand drive thing, you know. And while I look at the local fella blasting along in his Aston Martin Vanquish with both envy and amazement (envy because Aston and Bond and sound and beauty; amazement because the car is as wide as a school bus), for those of us not from around these parts something a bit more compact is in order. And before you wisenheimers go shouting “Lotus Lotus Lotus!,” I hasten to point out the conveyance needed to swallow 12-days’ worth of luggage for both me and Dreamy Wife, as well as the inevitable spoils of commerce a vacation collects. What to drive?

Fortunately, Avis in Glasgow had just the ticket: A brand-new petrol-powered BMW 118i, which had the attractions of being quick (enough), handling brilliantly, practical to swallow our stuff, familiar in a familial way (we’re BMW fans), with the added benefit of being forbidden fruit to those of us from the Colonies (and thus novelty). It is, to be sure, what BMW classifies as “basic transportation,” but it’s basic transportation in the entry-level-luxury-aspirational sense, with the genes of the folks who make the M3 Coupe parked in my garage (and my soon-to-be M4 Coupe currently on a ship somewhere in the Atlantic). As one of the last lightweight, rear-wheel-drive BMW 1-series cars (they’re soon to go front-wheel-drive) , the 118i seemed the perfect companion for the trip. Thanks, Avis, I’ll take it!

A hard and fast rule I attempt to follow when I’m renting a car outside the US is to pick one that’s not available at home, either a brand (like Citroen or Peugeot or Seat) or a model (like the little BMW here). The BMW 1-series is one such “forbidden fruit” for us in the States. While the market for small, premium cars holds its own (thanks, Mini!), BMW and others haven’t allowed us SUV-loving Americans to have many of the cool little hatchbacks common in Europe. Thus, the 1-series, Audi A3 hatchback, and their kin have been off limits aside from in the pages of car enthusiast magazines. The opportunity to sample one of these little devils was golden.

**The 188i parked at Invergarry, home of the divine Loch Fyne Whiskies.**

I’m not entirely sure that the 1-series is the best looking for cars. From certain angles it looks a bit squished, without the muscular haunches of an Audi A3 or even a Volkswagen GTI. But the BMW manages to be a tad more elegant than others, and the bluish silver hue added to the liquid ripples of the body’s surface design elements. The rear view is probably the best for the car as a whole, but it’s a fully realized design and shares all modern BMWs traits of being angular and also fluid. The design largely works.

To be sure, the 118i is no rocket ship, especially in non-diesel form. The car uses a 134hp version of BMW’s 1.6-liter, 4-cylinder turbocharged engine and does the 0-60 run if a bit more than 8 seconds. Maximum torque of 184 lb-ft is made at 4400rpm, and I can attest the sweet spot of the engine is north of 3000rpm. The 6-speed transmission was accurate and forgiving, though the throw from 4th to 5th was one I missed constantly. Whether this was due to the inaccuracy of the shifter or my relative lack of practice shifting gears with my left hand is debatable. But the little jackrabbit was always willing to play in the upper rev ranges, and passed slower traffic with comfort (if not outright authority) whenever asked.

We hopped in and my wife, a navigator par excellence, immediately grabbed the iDrive controller and conjured up our destination in the Nav systems. She was positively gleeful with familiarity, as the system was a skinnied-down version of that in her stately X5 at home. (As an aside, she’s a master of the BMW iDrive Navigation System and routinely outperforms me in every possible navigation test. If there is ever a BMW-sponsored user contest, put your money down on my wife.)

The car is at once large enough to be useful but small enough to be manageable on the aforementioned skinny UK roads. It swallowed two medium sized bags, two stuffed soft-shell bags, and a hard shell case I brought to pack home the bottles of precious whisky I planned to collect upon the way (mission accomplished); all of this in the “boot” without having to recline the rear seats. Getting in was a different story. No matter how high I set the steering wheel, my knees always banged on the bottom of the dash sill and at 6” I’m not exactly an NBA player. No matter; once behind the wheel, the 118i felt like pretty much every other BMW I’ve been in, and quite similar to the M235i I drove a few weeks back. Fit and finish were superb.

Our two-weeks with the car were a joy. With just a little coxing, the 118i passed slower traffic with abandon. It’s Comfort setting smoothed over questionable tarmac with pillow-like absorption, and the Sport and Sport+ modes tightened up everything from throttle response to suspension compliance. Power delivery was a bit old-school turbo. I’ve driven a bunch of modern BMWs with turbocharged engines, and this little guy probably suffered from as much turbo-lag as I’ve experienced with a contemporary BMW engine. No matter; the manual transmission encouraged not letting the revs drop below 3000, which seemed to be where boost was at its best. It had been awhile since I’d had to concentrate on driving a turbocharged car like, well, a turbocharged car from ten or fifteen years ago, but at least for a vacation car it was fun.

Handling was neutral, if a little prone to understeer, but easily controlled with some aggressive, er, creative braking. The car drives like a little BMW, and the joys of RWD should never be underestimated. And with the roads wet most of the time, a little playful oversteer was easily conjured up, much to my wife’s chagrin.

After roughly 800 miles in 12 days, the 118i was a delightful companion. (Aside from at the fuel station, where the cost of petrol compared to diesel took a painful bite.) I’m convinced BMW would sell a ton of these things in the US if only they’d give us a chance, and I’d easily drive a 1-series (especially in M135i guise) over a similarly process X1. Alas it seems not to be. But as a vacation companion, I’m pleased to have added the 1-series to my lexicon of modern BMWs. Fun stuff. I highly recommend the choice for your European visits.