The afternoon started innocently enough. A plan to visit a good mate, have a chat, find out how married life is working for him, make sure he’s treating his bride of one month properly. You know. That kind of thing.
And it would have ended innocently enough too if I hadn’t opened my stupid mouth and asked who the BMW X5 4.8iM belonged to.
It was lurking menacingly outside like a bouncer at one of those questionable night clubs. Even in broad daylight, it had that don’t-mess-with-me-boet-you’re-going-to-look-a-lot-uglier-when-I’ve-finished-with-you look about it. You can imagine what a post man might feel the moment he’s jumped over the fence, only to see a bull terrier silently sizing up his wedding area. Not being faint of heart, I accepted the invitation to be taken for a drive.
Now, I’m generally not a fan of BMW’s since so many of them are owned by utter pillocks (well, in Johannesburg anyway), who seem to like sticking so close to your rear bumper, that you feel they’d like to know you in the biblical sense. I’ve actually seen a woman in my rear-view mirror (at 120kmph) applying mascara. At that speed and proximity to my vehicle, she’d have less chance (BMW or not) of stopping in time, than Bafana have of winning the 2006 World Cup!! But I digress.
The ride to the highway gave me time to take in the sumptuous interior, luxury fittings and almost indecent level of driving comfort. Then we turned onto the highway.
I don’t know which I was concerned about most, a speeding fine, or the fact that I’d left an imprint of my face on the back seat. To say the acceleration was electrifying is like saying it’s quite a distance to Pluto. The return journey was just as bad/good. The scenery outside approached and disappeared at a blur as all four wheels sought and fought to get us to take-off speed. I even saw a guy in a Merc SLK500 get whiplash as he tried to see who or what had passed him.
I’m not going to tell you what speed we reached, in case it ever goes legal. What I will say, is that some aircraft become airborne at that speed. However, all too soon it was over and we had to apply some serious braking power to make sure we didn’t shoot past the turnoff, and end up somewhere unplanned, like Australia.
“Not bad for two and half tons,” said my mate quietly as I tried to loosen my grip on the seat. I daren’t disagree – just in case we went again.