I bought a little red BMW. I had no idea it would lead to this. That BMW, a 1991 318is, should never have left my care. With the passage of time that car has become something of a legend to me, “The one that got away,” as they say.

Of late my pining became unbearable, and thanks to an incredibly fortunate series of events involving what amounts to an auto philanthropist from Arizona, a flatbed truck, and a handshake deal that harkens back to the days when a man’s word was his bond, I find myself in possession of the spiritual successor to my first BMW.

It’s Brilliantrot, it’s a 1991, and like the 318is of yore, it makes me smile every time I see it. It’s packing a little something extra though. Like two more doors, and two more cylinders. That adds up to a few more pounds of road-hugging weight, but after all these years, I too have packed on some extra doors and cylinders of my own, if you’ll pardon the stretched metaphor, and overlook the stretched pants.

And so the E30 has returned to me. Red and Brilliant.

If you can’t ever go home again, you can sure get damned close.