Dear Diary: How I almost made myself yack in a new BMW M

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I’ve long considered my driving to be entirely okay — not terrible, but not particularly polished either. I learned to drive stick on the computer, practiced lines on Race 07 , and have studied up on vehicle dynamics as part of learning to diagnose my own vehicles.

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Still: the more I learn, the farther I realize I’ve yet to go.

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Dear Diary: How I almost made myself yack in a new BMW M Back to video

BMW had brought a handful of their performance models to Canadian Tire Motorsport Park ( née Mosport) for press drives and instruction around the Driver Development Track. Our veteran racer David Booth couldn’t make it, so he sent me in his place with instructions not to embarrass myself.

The session started with a bang: the M2 CS. This extra-focused version of the M2 sports coupe is arguably BMW’s purest driver’s car, offering daily comfort, tight maneuverability, and abundant power channeled through a proper gearbox. It may not be as monstrous as the M4, but this car is joyously capable and scratches a purist itch that few other manufacturers cater to.

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Pulling on to the track, first impressions were promising. Easing between the walls of the pit lane, it sounds bigger than it looks.

“Keep it in third,” I’m told. My right hand and opposing foot are disappointed, but it’s a logical way of minimizing distraction. We start with a warm-up lap, then the pace picks up.

The second curve is a wide, banked right-hander. I ride a little wide, initially underestimating the M2’s traction at speed. How does this hold as it does?

Drawing tighter as we pick up speed, the tires squeal and smell. I know I’m nowhere near this car’s threshold, but I’m beaming. I start tightening my lines around the course — too much, in fact.

“You’re cutting too straight. Loosen up and use the whole track,” comes the direction.

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I can do wide — unfortunately, I haven’t yet figured out the limits of wide. Though I’m comfortable with the treatment of individual corners, I grow so fixated on individual apexes that I lose sight of the importance of stitching all of those together.

And though my form gradually improves through some of the isolated turns, I just can’t thread the gentle chicane of 7, 8, and 9 quite right. Turn 7 is fast, so I want to use all of that width on the exit to keep my speed up into 8. Going so wide pinches the equally fast, gentle 8 into a slow, awkward bend, however — and then 9 isn’t even worth a mention. So where’s the balance?

A tight exit, with a whiff of wide in a brief arc toward the center. It doesn’t feel as fast in the moment, but the moderate approach sustains a quicker pass through 8 and cleaner turn-in at 9. Slow is fast, and all that.

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Eventually we switched things up, and I was presented with an M3, an M4 CS, and a short autocross course. The layout was simple: a sharp slalom, kinking right into a left-hand traction loop. The loop exercised sustained cornering speed before requiring a tap of the brakes for a sharp 90-degree left. From here you could floor it back toward and into the initial slalom, terminating in a hard stop in a set box.

My first run was nerve-wracking. I had no lead car, nor any sense of speed or scale. I circled back to request a demo lap, during which I noted the instructor’s average speed of roughly 60 km/h. Feeling much more comfortable with this reference in mind, I headed back out.

My first run was clean, but felt slow. On my next run, I pumped the toothy M3 with a bit more fluoride.

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“That felt sloppy.”

“If it feels like you’re having to work too hard, it means you’re coming too fast. It should feel easy and comfortable,” I’m told. 

I feel like I’m squandering this car’s enormous potential. 

As he explained it, if you go too fast, you go wide; this carries you even wider around the next one, and the errors compound. This is when you risk overcorrecting, either with excessive steering input or by unsettling the car with a hurried throttle release. I had done the former, and though I avoided knocking any pylons, I certainly couldn’t say I was proud of the run.

I mentioned that I’d been driving around the 60-km/h mark. “Oh, that’s your problem! You shouldn’t know how fast you’re going. Look ahead, not down.”

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Back out we go, this time in the M4 Competition. Dropping in, I note that the Comp buckets are magnificent. Cradled at the sides and between my legs by their ample bolsters, I feel safe, supported, and confident. I’ve got this.

Speed. I am speed .

I launch into the chicane. No, I am not speed. I am nauseous.

Where is the restroom? Great, here it is. Great , BMW’s Director of Communications is in here. No vomiting in front of Marc, Speed. You want to be invited back, Speed.

I did not vomit in front of BMW’s Director of Communications. I composed myself, returned to the paddock, and psyched myself up for the next on-track session in the X4 M.

It’s an SUV (“SAV” in marketing parlance), so it’s sure to be soft, smooth, and comfortable — right? Nope, not in Sport Plus it isn’t. The X4 M picks up quickly, rolling slightly through the opening curve but never wavering. It’s a heavy vehicle and I brake sooner, but those composite rotors rein in the mass. We get to my nemesis follow-through, and I hold a clean line through the center and into 9.

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The curve tightens, and so does my stomach. This isn’t going to work. It’s an empty track, but I hit my hazards and limp back to the pits. I get there, stop, crack the door, breathe, and wait.

Mercifully, the vomit never comes; graciously, a BMW rep with water and ginger ale does. Thanks for that, Barb.

After 20 minutes of pleasant chat, colour returns to my face. There’s one more autocross course for me to try, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to waste any more opportunities to develop my zooms.

I hop in the BMW 440 Cabrio — a limited-run rear-drive example, in fact — and make my way up and down. This may be the most pedestrian BMW here, but it’s comfortable, civilized, and exceeds my expectations through the course at hand. Switch the traction control off and it gets even more fun, though not overwhelming at these speeds. I swing the tail and bonk a few cones as I get more confident, but after a few more clean runs I’m feeling good about my day.

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Like target shooting, you needn’t be a pro to have a blast in these cars. Done safely, correctly, and under the eye of an experienced mentor, the process and its sensations are a thrill regardless of how close you are to your mark.

Having said that, cars like these are able to offer more intense sensations than my hands can hope to wring from their wheels. I want to be able to make the most of these experiences, and to be able to relay them with more authority.

I’ve weaknesses to unlearn and confidence to build. Like the milder setup through 7 for a spicier 8, I’ll admit to some dampened short-term spirits in the hopes of long-term improvements. The more I learn, the slower and sillier I’m going to feel. It’s worth it.

Getting out on track is a deeply vulnerable experience. I look forward to more.