Well, the end of the 60s at least. The 1600 soldiered on with me long enough, surviving numerous autocrosses, countless mountain road blasts, and enough rain to rust through stainless steel. It was time to let it go.

So I passed it along to a friend. It has been a fun journey, but the M3 and the 328i need all my love right now.

It’s not you, it’s me.

Really. Well, it’s me and my desire for a big-ass van. Aw yeah.

It had to happen sometime. Every morning I looked out into the driveway to see two relatively late model BMWs, ready to whisk the Incredibly Understanding Wife or me to parts unknown with speed, poise and comfort. For a short time, I was pleased. I was proud. I was a responsible man, and it was good.

Slowly, over the course of at least three or four days, that responsibility transformed from a badge of pride to a yoke of obligation. I was teetering on the precipice edge: one tiny misstep, one missed oil change, and my once calm life would come crashing down. The wheels might very literally fall off, and I would be once again left with unreliable cars. The proverbial other shoe was hanging just out of sight, ready to drop at any moment.

I couldn’t wait for destiny. I had to intervene.

I killed it. I gutted the 328i while it was still warm. Out came the comfortable yet sporty springs and shocks, the resilient but quiet rubber bushings front and rear, the silent but powerful brakes, the economy-enhancing differential, the luxurious electronically adjustable leather seats, the selfless airbag and leather-wrapped steering wheel, all of it gone and spread on the floor of the workshop like wasted giblets from a fat holiday bird.

And there it sat, propped on the lift, parts all a-dangle. I shut off the torch, and inhaled a deep breath of burning bushings. I smeared the grease and dirt from my forehead with a sweaty forearm and surveyed the carnage.

The 328i, sport sedan. A car barely alive. Gentlemen, I would rebuild it. I had the technology. I had the capability to build my third ridiculously uncomfortable car. The 328i will be that car. More uncomfortable than it was before. More uncomfortable, stronger, faster.

In went the ground control “springs” (so stiff they could hardly be called springs) and Konis. In went plates to adjust camber and caster so as to wear my tires to the cords at least twice a day. In went bushings hewn apparently from pure diamond and marble. In went a new 3.15 limited slip differential. In went brakes loud and squeally enough to shame a train. In went a small, dished Momo steering wheel and torturous fixed-back lightweight Momo seats.

The car is incredible. The limits have been raised exponentially. As has road noise, vibration, harshness, and general crappiness. With one day’s work, I flung the yoke of obligation from my shoulders and once again roam free: a gearhead idiot on the prowl for more perfectly good cars to ruin in the name of speed.

Lock your garages. I am mad.

First and foremost, my photos are here. Pictures of Kevict are here. These are all from day one and the first half of day two, which mean that the pictures of me were taken before I actually learned how to get off the bike. Cool pics nonetheless.

Now the lengthy part. In an effort to bolster my confidence as a rider, and to learn what a motorycycle feels like as it approaches its limits (and therefore how to avoid doing just that on the street) I went to a two-day novice rider school at Thunderhill. My goals were met: I am both more comfortable and more confident on the bike after having attended this school. Of course, I now have new goals; one of which is to attend as many motorcycle track events as time and budget allow. You see, I have been back from the event for a week now, but I haven’t yet had a night that wasn’t spent dreaming of the track. I am hooked. Credit card company executives the world over are chest-bumping with glee.

I focused most of my efforts on proper riding techniques and body position. Having driven cars at Thunderhill a number of times, I figured I would pick up on lines and reference points quickly, and could then focus on the more physical aspects of riding a motorcycle. In two days I went from grinding footpegs through many of the turns, to drifting the bike comfortably, using the throttle to alter my lines, and confidently hanging off enough to keep the pegs in the air and my knees on the ground.

Though I didn’t rent a lap timer, I was able to measure my times based on the session countdown timer at the starter’s tower. My lap times improved from roughly three minutes at the beginning of day one to about 2:20 at the end of day two. That’s what happens after 177 miles on a track. (That’s a lot of laps.) If I could enter my SV650 in a spec Miata race, I would have a chance at a top ten finish. That’s something. Something sad, I guess. Further schools will surely bring me to at least the levels of faster cars. I am not so proud as to think I could actually get good motorcycle times. Not soon at least.

As far as the Keigwin school goes, I can’t say enough good things about the school. The instruction was top-drawer, and the instructors were seemingly all actual racers. There was none of the “track day junkie” instructor garbage that you often receive at car events, in which each instructor only knows “the line” and can offer you nothing once you too have learned that there is no such thing as a good early apex. The instructors at Kegwin were happy to discuss alternate lines, and encouraged all of us to ride everywhere on the track, to gain experience in a wide line, or on the outside edge of the apex. Their theory is that it is good to know what the surface is like everywhere, because someday, you will screw up, or get passed, or push yourself, and you will end up in an unexpected place. Better to be as prepared as possible! I fully agree.

If you have read this far, you are likely skimming, looking to see if I fell. Well, I didn’t. Of the two categories of rider, those who have been down and those who soon will go down, I am still in the latter camp. I hope to keep it that way for some time. I think this school went a long way to helping me meet that goal.

I now have to buy new knee and toe sliders. And higher rearsets. And clip-on style bars. Oh God. I have been here before. Anyone want to buy a 1600-2?

In preparation for a pending track school, and because prudence and responsibility demanded it, Kevict and I changed the oil, drained the coolant and replaced with water and water wetter, and had a set of Michelin Pilot Powers installed.

I had to cut the battery box away to install my new rear shock, and in so doing I moved what seemed to be a relay that was attached to the front of the battery box via a rubber mount. I zip-tied the offending electrical business to the frame.

Bad plan.

The electrical bit is actually a tip-over sensor consisting of a small circuit board held vertically with a pivoting magnet that moves as the bike leans. Seems when the bike falls on its side, the magnet moves, and the fuel injection system cuts fuel: killing the bike. No bueno. Especially when you, like me, orient the sensor longitudinally instead of laterally and the bike cuts out when you brake hard or go downhill. Heh.

I disabled the sensor with a little silicone to prevent the magnet from pivoting. The sensor can lie in any orientation now. The bike works properly, and I don’t have to worry that it will cut fuel in a tank-slapper, or any other unforeseen but recoverable track situation.

In an effort to firm up the bike for an upcoming novice track school at thunderhill I installed new suspension bits on the bike. Dave Adams helped me out.

I installed Racetech springs and gold valve emulators in the fork (as did this guy), and an SVraceshop-modified GSXR-1000 shock on the rear. The bike is way more composed, and while significantly stiffer, actually feels less harsh over hard-edged impacts.

I bought some cheap springs for the 1600-2. I attribute their cheapness to the fact that they are intended for circle track race cars, not to a lack of quality. I have no basis for this conclusion.

The springs only come in certain lengths, none of which are appropriate for ancient German sport sedans. I therefore bought an angle grinder and many cutting wheels so that I could cut them to length. This, of course, means that the cheap springs were no longer cheap, since they required over a hundred bucks worth of tools and will likely also cost me a finger and four or five pints of blood. (I have never before used an angle grinder with a cutting wheel.) It also ensures that the custom springs will be ill-fitting and mismatched in terms of rate.

I love being cheap.

I’ll post some pics and a write-up on the 1600-2 page when I have this project completed. Well, that’s assuming I can still type at that point.

No more offest! Hoo freakin ray. I am thoroughly impressed with myself. I fabbed up some brackets out of angle aluminum from home depot (6 feet for 11 bucks). Just some measuring, and drilling. Oh, and filing. Lots of filing. Apparently my measuring and drilling wasn’t so hot.

I made the new brackets to hold the seat about 11/8ths (I only had a tape measure… SAE sucks) over to the right - I am now VERY closely aligned with the center of the steering wheel. Major improvement. And the aluminum is so light! I am sure it will fatigue in 4 days in the middle of some switchbacks and I will be thrown from the car. Frankly, when it comes to this car, the further I am thrown, the safer I will be.

So, you know. Bonus.

SWEET SEATS! I ended up with two passenger seats, but hey, I am poor. Someday I will see if I can get a driver’s seat. For now, I am stoked. I have only installed the driver’s side, as I need to make my own brackets for the other seat (I only got one set of brackets).

I plan on making a bracket set that will allow the seat bottom to sit back at a slight angle (I like that feature of my e30 seats, and I have grown used to it) and I hope to remedy a little of the “offset” driving position attendant to all ’02s. The stock (flat) seats allow you to sit to the inside a bit, so you can line up with the wheel. The Recaros don’t let you skooch. I want the brackets to skooch for me. We will see. Check out the rust on the existing bracket. Krylon. It’s not just Superman’s home planet anymore.

Yeah, yeah. Krypton. Geek.

Got a new 32/36. Car idles. Incredible. Jetting was better on old Weber - I will be switching jets. I foresee lots of fiddling…

Done! I have replaced all the stuff listed in the heading right there. And you know what? The car is still old. But now I can REALLY drive it hard. In so doing I found that the car will lift the inside rear in turns. And I mean LIFT. Like Joan Rivers’ face. It is really that dramatic. And nearly that horrifying.

I need me some stiffer springs. And some shocks that aren’t Bilsteins. I just hate ‘em. The entire ‘02 community loves them, and I still think they suck. Too much compression damping, not enough rebound damping. If you don’t believe me - try this easy test.

Put on Bilsteins. Drive over some train tracks, or maybe frost heaves on the freeway. Pick your teeth up off the floorboards. Put them in a cup with some tea leaves, shake it all up, pour it out in front of you, and then KNOCK THAT CRAP OFF. Tea leaves. Come on. Ridiculous.

In any case, that part about the teeth falling out is real. The shocks are valved for maximum harshness over sharp impacts, and maximum floatiness over everything else. Isn’t that a little backwards?

Ah, forget it.

My Brembo “big brake kit” from a well-known parts house that I will call “Fighting Irish Engineering” has finally come together. But not without some serious interference issues. Check the pics - them be some tight tolerances. And that is AFTER I took a hand file to the calipers. They simply wouldn’t fit without some tweaking. Awesome.

My brake adjustment is equally great. The first wheel to lock up - passenger rear. Exciting. If I had teeth, hey would be all a-chatter with fear. (Stay with me. The Bilsteins, remember?)