BMW M5 Touring Coffee Machine Road Trip

I do not drink coffee. Some people may find that mildly peculiar, but it is true: I have never touched the stuff and never intend to. The flavour does nothing for me. So, when one of Top Gear’s slightly odd senior editors asked me to drive from London to northern Italy and pick up a coffee machine for the new office, I was delighted to accept.

That enthusiasm existed solely because the transport for the assignment was a new BMW M5 Touring. Ask me to cover a 3,200 km round trip in a Kia Carens to collect an appliance that makes a drink I dislike, and my resignation would be on the desk before anyone had finished saying the ‘C’ in ‘Carens’. This, however, was another matter entirely. The M5 Touring produces 400bhp before you press its ‘power’ button, which releases a further 107bhp. For a long, futile journey undertaken for reasons that have absolutely nothing to do with me, there could scarcely be a better vehicle. Indeed, the M5 Touring’s existence was enough for us to devise an excuse to travel a very long way. It is savagely quick, yet usefully practical.

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• Images: Tom Salt

This feature first appeared in Issue 172 of Top Gear magazine (2008)

BMW M5 Touring coffee-machine mission

After a brief call to BMW to confirm that our cargo would fit, we were set to create the world’s fastest coffee machine transported by land. The intention was to take the quickest possible route there – an espresso run, if you will – before returning via the mountains and throwing the coffee machine about a little, to whip things up.

With the arrangements made, I headed south on one of France’s excellent toll motorways towards Retorbido, a small Italian town that is home to the Brasilia factory, among Italy’s biggest producers of coffee machines. The majority of firms in this trade sit near Milan, in the country’s industrial north, for the decidedly unglamorous reason that coffee-machine production is an industrial business.

Brasilia’s premises are a plain, unremarkable factory building. Coffee is in the air once you enter, yet everything is modern, with no trace of anything old-fashioned or rustic. I had hoped for a pair of elderly chaps at work with screwdrivers, cigarettes burning, knocking back tiny espressos while expertly machining parts on a lathe. Naturally, Brasilia cannot be blamed for disappointing that fantasy: it produces 30,000 professional machines annually to satisfy the demands of giants such as Starbucks.

My appetite for cliché is partly satisfied by the relaxed Latin approach to procedure. Go into reception, talk to the charming woman behind the counter, wander around to the warehouse, trade animated hand signals and expressions with an outgoing chap on the factory floor, sign some paperwork, and the task is complete: a Brasilia Roma belongs to us. Caffe Society, our UK contact, also deserves credit for making the process so straightforward by introducing us to Brasilia.

BMW deserves the praise for the journey itself, thanks to the bigger, though no less splendid, machine in this tale. The M5 Touring is more guilty than most cars of concealing its abilities for far too long, largely because full hardcore mode demands the pressing of so many buttons. En route to Italy, for instance, I had already reached Dijon before remembering its ‘power’ button even existed. It is hardly lethargic in its standard 400bhp setting, but press the switch and the trees become a faster blur.

The semi-automatic gearbox is both irritating and brilliant. The M5 is the only car you should not leave in automatic for urban driving, as its shifts are too slow and clumsy. Another button can speed them up, although that makes the engine hang onto revs for an age. It is not the restful set-up I want. Worse, each time you start the car, it returns to that dreadful automatic mode. Selecting manual is easy enough – just move the gearlever to the right – but needing to repeat the process every time seems pointless.

Alpine roads in the BMW M5 Touring

On the subject of pointlessness, Switzerland enters the picture. Our original plan was to travel north through Switzerland, enjoy some magnificent Alpine roads – very M5 – and then continue to Germany for unrestricted autobahns – also very M5. Then the people at Brasilia explained a few realities of the European Common Market, specifically that Switzerland was not a member. We required official documentation, and there was not enough time to obtain it. Oops. Instead, we would return through northern Italy and the French Alps, via Val d’Isère and Mulhouse, before reaching Germany to sample both high-speed autobahns and the hairpins of an Alpine pass.

I had always considered Switzerland a small nation, but being forced to detour around it makes it feel like an enormous nuisance. Situations like this make the EU’s common-border arrangements seem rather sensible.

Once on an Alpine road, with the M5 Touring in manual and Sport, every concern about Switzerland melts away. Milan may rank among the world’s liveliest cities, but the land around it is rather flat and uninspiring. Climb into the Alps and the air turns colder while the roads become properly engaging. The D902 begins in woodland, which is fine, although visibility ahead is limited. Beyond the tree line, it improves dramatically. There are hordes of motorcyclists, some kind of UK Honda Civic Type R meet, a varied collection of 2CVs, and several strangely modified original Fiat 500s – all evidence that we have found a worthwhile destination.

An M5 creates more fellow feeling than other BMWs. These are enthusiasts, and the wheels beneath us make it clear that we are too. I allow a biker through; he thanks me and warns me about an obstacle ahead. Every 2CV driver gives a thumbs-up while passing. Being sincerely recognised by people who understand cars is wonderful – and unusual with this badge.

Selecting ‘M’ mode makes the M5 feel entirely right. Its settings can be tailored in the iDrive menu: ideally, maximum power, the fastest gearchange programme and sport support seats that punch you in the kidneys through every bend, while retaining comfort suspension. There is no need to make the coffee machine shake any more than it already does.

The M5 is astonishingly accomplished on roads like these. Conditions are dry at this stage, allowing us to press on properly. The coffee machine’s extra mass in the boot makes no discernible difference to either performance or handling, but the defining element of the M5 experience is the attack on your ears. The ‘M’ head-up display includes a colour-coded rev counter, yet above 3,000rpm the sharp-edged muscular soundtrack is so magnificent that it tells you all you need to know about engine speed. It genuinely feels like motorsport, because it does not sound as though you are in a road car. A V8 has its own appeal, but this V10 is harsher and more focussed. The gearchanges have a superbly mechanical sensation, the revs briefly cut before an upshift arrives from the paddle. Its automatic throttle blip on downshifts only heightens the M5’s relentless, pressing-on character. This is a car that demands hard driving. It is equally impressive that you can jump across as many gears as required: pull the paddle three times and it goes directly to that ratio, without needing one pull followed by a wait for the engine to catch up, as in a Ferrari 360 Challenge Stradale.

The bends unfold ahead and the speed that can be carried through them is extraordinary. Grip is seriously impressive, giving the driver complete confidence. Nothing catches you out; every input receives a predictable response.

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BMW M5 Touring at autobahn speed

This region’s only drawback is the pace at which the weather changes. One moment brings bright sunshine; crest a hill and there is mist and rain. As we climb ever higher – the pass eventually reaches 2,764 metres – the road tightens and our pace must fall. The surface is less impressive up here, although the scenery remains spectacular. Mountains tower on both sides, their summits buried beneath dense cloud, with strips of snow still clinging to patches of grass. An occasional marmot emerges to investigate, then promptly vanishes into its burrow as we pass.

The sheer drop beside the road also restores a sense of reality to our speed. On certain stretches, the French have pursued health and safety with remarkable vigour, installing a length of string as a formidable defence against a car – and its sizeable coffee machine – falling over the edge. In other places, they have candidly provided nothing whatsoever.

Perhaps the M5’s greatest surprise is its comfort. Admittedly, it spends much of the time in ‘comfort’, but even so there is less fidgeting over these roads than I expected. On Germany’s autobahns, it is certainly no issue at all.

You could say the autobahn is where the M5 truly finds its purpose, and it is undeniably formidable there. Its pace arrives effortlessly. In some cars, a maximum-speed run is hard work because reaching 250 km/h takes so long, whereas the M5 simply keeps pulling. It never seems likely to run out of breath or struggle towards the next increment. Spot a small gap in traffic, floor it and watch the speedometer climb cleanly and smoothly.

Maximum-speed attempts are never simple, particularly on a crowded autobahn in torrential rain. Yet the rate at which the M5 reaches velocities that would otherwise seem intimidating removes some of the anxiety. Even so, when accelerating, you focus on the road ahead, hunting for every possible threat and occasionally checking the head-up display speedometer. Beyond 240km/h (149mph), though, you stop looking at the speed. Safety takes over, and the surroundings demand such intense concentration. After all, you are covering a mile every 24 seconds. Your hands grip the wheel more tightly and your eyes scarcely blink, in case you miss something requiring a violent application of the brakes. It is thrilling and frightening, while a large coffee machine sits silently behind us as potentially deadly ballast.

With or without the machine, the car feels hugely stable at these velocities, leaving you completely connected to the road. There is no hint of it beginning to float. Approaching bends – which even the gentlest autobahn curve becomes at this pace – do not bring on a cold sweat.

After four demanding days across varied conditions, the M5 left me astonished. When the saloon first appeared, it did not particularly impress me. There was too much technology, much of it irrelevant to the UK because it only makes sense at silly speeds. I still believe that. But during a cross-continent charge combined with some deserted Alpine roads, it proved immensely capable. It is called a Touring, and it wears that name perfectly.

As for the Brasilia, it will be connected to the water supply once the new offices are complete. For now, it taunts Top Gear’s caffeine addicts from its idle, unusable position on a desk. Then again, anyone wanting an eye-opener should really take a BMW M5 Touring for a drive. You need no excuse to drive one – even a wholly pointless trip has a purpose. The car exists, and that is sufficient.