Special Car, auto, cars, vehicles

Hold on. What about a Ferrari 599GTB? Or an Audi R8? Yes, I love them both, but I know I'll never be able to afford to own either. The M3 is different. Sure it's expensive -- the car I was driving this morning stickers at $72,795 -- but I like to dream that once the kids are through college in a couple of years, I might just be able to make that nut if I work hard enough.

I liked the new M3 from the moment I drove it in Spain last year. But the dual-clutch transmission takes the car to a whole new level, providing the perfect synthesis between the hair-trigger 4.0L V-8 under the hood and the preternaturally alert, agile chassis.

I ran close to 100 miles on deserted switchback roads this morning, and this car made me feel like Robert Kubica on a qualifying lap. I went deeper under brakes, punched harder out of corners, pinballed faster through switchbacks than I've ever done before, the transmission firing off shifts as fast and crisp as those in Kubica's BMW Sauber F1 racer as I fanned the paddles.

In full commando mode (a button on the center console allows you to choose from five different shift speeds), you get a touch of shift-shock as the transmission harnesses the rotational inertia of the engine as it sheds revs to ensure there's absolutely no delay in forward motion. Downshifts are accompanied by an instantaneous explosion of revs.

Default setting is midway between race fast and schmooze slow and delivers the same neat shifts as you get in the VW and Audi dual-clutch trannies. In schmooze mode, it's as seamless as a CVT, a million times better than the dull-witted SMG that blights the M5, and making the regular six-speed stick feel like you're wrestling a tire iron through a drum of molasses.

Would I take the dual-clutch M3 over the similarly priced Nissan GT-R? In a heartbeat. The GT-R is an awe-inspiring piece, a triumph of technology. But it's about as engaging to drive as a PlayStation console: a curiously soulless contraption that staggers you with its sheer performance, but leaves you wondering whether it actually needs you behind the wheel at all.

And the more you drive the big, heavy GT-R, the more you become aware an awful lot of computers are working awful hard to keep the whole thing on the road. You feel sheer mass working against the Nissan every time you change direction, and the gigabytes sweating to keep up. It works its front tires very hard, and all the on-board systems are designed to convince you otherwise.

The M3 is lighter, more agile, more truthfully tactile. There's more front-end grip and more clarity in the steering. You know exactly what every corner of the car is doing, all the time. Caught out by a vicious crest on the exit of a swooping turn, I felt the M3 get airborne, then felt it land, cat-like, the touchdown of each wheel clearly telegraphed. On this morning's roads -- sometimes smooth and sweeping, but more often lumpy and laden with tight curves and sudden heaves and crests -- I truly doubt the GT-R would have been much faster.

And when the fun finishes; when you have to schlep back down the freeway, or through stop-start traffic downtown, the M3's the far nicer car to live with. The ride, though still firm, is more compliant, and there's far less crashing and banging from the suspension. The BMW's transmission has none of the audible grumbling and clunking of the GT-R's dual clutch unit, either. The M3's rear seat is more useable, and so is its trunk.

The GT-R looks like it jumped off the pages of a manga comic. The M3 is as suave as George Clooney in a Brioni tux. It's at once a truly inspiring sport sedan and a genuinely relaxed, sophisticated daily driver. Now, where's that 401(k) paperwork?