Despite its frustrations, the northbound journey was enough to get me hooked on the M5. I had already noticed a personality change. I'd developed a fully rationalized intolerance to slow drivers-they clearly have no right to exist and are a hazard to themselves and other road users. I also noticed a scornful sneer on my face whenever a young hopeful in some tarted-up Fiat decided to hang onto my tailpipe in heavy traffic. "Who are you kidding, pal! Eat my exhaust!"
But it was the homeward journey that would provide the real fun. A clear, sunny afternoon, with the added benefit of Sunday traffic laws forbidding trucks from taking to the streets before 10 p.m., it was foot-down magic, with no traffic jams and remarkably few construction sites. It was like the longest fairground ride you ever took. Miles and miles of sweeping curves, gentle hills and an empty outside lane-just watch out for those Eastern Europeans, who change lane for no apparent reason, and without indication.
For about 200 miles I slotted behind a customized E-Class. There was no trunk indication of what it was, but it had what it takes to make a perfect pace car. I followed it into curves at full whack, where my natural girly caution would have normally told me to back off. It blasted errant Eastern Europeans and hopeful Fiat drivers out of my path, and we cut a swathe through central Germany in perfect harmony. Even our speed limiters seemed to be in sync. I topped out at 264 km/h (165 mph), with a power cut-off that let me down gently, rather than the "Oh my God the engine's cut out" abyss offered by other manufacturers whose products presumably rarely make it that far.
The door-to-door time of 6 1/2 hours was a personal record, beating the Audi RS4 by a whisker. It did burn its way through four tanks of fuel-but hey, who's counting?
There is no doubt about it. The M5 is the heart and soul of the M marque. It's the first and best true sports saloon with an unashamed Teutonic tone. And these wide, sweeping unrestricted roads are what it was made for. I can't imaging the frustration of owning such a thing in a speed-restricted country. I could make a whole load of non-politically correct, yet highly appropriate comparisons. But I won't-I'll just leave it to your unrestricted imagination.