Drive between two of the world’s best-known playgrounds of the rich and famous, Lake Como, Italy, and St. Moritz, Switzerland, and you will undoubtedly come across countless BMW 5-Series sedans. Ubiquitous icons of the upper and upper-middle classes, these four-doors boast a history of sophistication unknown to almost all of their owners.

While the last few generations of 5 have been fabulously equipped to traverse winding Alpine roads, let alone North American suburbia, most owners are unaware of these four-doors’ heritage. Hardly cognizant of the impact these sedans had on the market, I found myself behind the wheel of a 40-year-old BMW 2500 graciously loaned to me by BMW Classic tasked with navigating the tight confines of a scenic road wrapped around Italy’s Lake Como.

Though not especially valuable as a collector’s item, this 2500 had nonetheless been subject to a thorough, painstaking and high-budget restoration to show off the admirable capabilities of BMW Classic, the automaker’s heritage parts resource. It was with this thought in the back of my mind that I perilously fought off the onslaught of maddening, shifting back-and-forth halo-style headlamps – the sign of a late-model BMW – gracing my rearview mirror.

Have these speed demons no appreciation for their heritage?
Conceived as a move upmarket to compete with arch-rival Mercedes-Benz and to build on the global success of the two-door 1600 and 2002, the New Six, or E3, as these large, six-cylinder sedans were called in BMW-speak, moved the German automaker away from the realm of entertaining (but basic) transportation. By providing drivers with a dose of luxury and refinement mixed with the sporting pedigree, BMW introduced the notion upscale European sports sedan whose legacy continues to this day.

Just over 40 years ago, the first New Sixes found themselves in showrooms in the United States. Offered in 2.5-liter 2500 and 2.8-liter inline-six 2800 variants, both models eclipsed the Spartan 1600 and 2002’s luxury level and added a pair of family-friendly rear doors to increase their appeal.

These six-cylinder powertrains, created by master engineer and unsung father of the legendary 2002, Alex von Falkenhausen, were so advanced that they passed stringent U.S. emissions standards without even requiring the de rigueur air pump affixed to virtually every other vehicle.

In 1971, after toying with engine and equipment configruations, BMW’s U.S. importer, Max Hoffman, combined the 2800’s more-powerful six with the 2500’s lighter weight and cheaper specification to create the budget-friendly and aptly-named Bavaria, which later gained the 3.0-liter six from the shapely 3.0CS coupes. A small number of 3.3-liter versions emerged in the last couple of years of production, culminating the E3 and further cementing BMW as a builder of high-performance sedans.

The 2500 I’m in is a European-market model equipped with a tight-shifting four-speed manual and painted in a glimmering Tundra green metallic. Its sunroof, leather seats and alloy wheels would make it more akin, feature-wise, to the early 2800 sold in the U.S., though the 170-horsepower inline-six under the hood has proven itself more than capable of traversing the Italian and Swiss Alps at my comfortable, leisurely rate – too relaxed for those in my rearview mirror intent on just getting through this scenic drive.

Lago di Como, che bellisima!
Leaving Como, a charming – from afar – city steeped in the tradition of silk craftsmanship, one can appreciate why the movers and shakers of the world have long erected villas overlooking the waters of Lake Como, or Lago di Como. Though the city itself is not a spectacular example of Italy, thanks to unattractive 1970s architecture competing for space with a pretty Italian Renaissance and Gothic-mixed 550-year-old Duomo (cathedral), I depart the city on the winding and narrow Via Regina highway. Hugging the lake, the road and its surroundings has been used in countless films and ads due to its breathtaking beauty.

Though few of the massive villas that affront the lake itself are kept as private residences, curvy driveways climb the mountains to the homes of the rich and famous. George Clooney, the area’s best-known resident, is merely following in the footsteps of the list of haves that dates back to Pliny the Younger — who, unlike the actor, will probably still be in the 41st century’s history book equivalent.

Though it would be hard to pick the best-known villa, Villa d’Este in Cernobbio hosts one of the world’s most prestigious Concours d’Elegance events, where priceless antique automobiles vie for value-adding trophies on the historic estate’s grounds. The show, held annually in late April, opens to the public a day later on the more spacious grounds of the less-impressive nearby Villa Erbe.

Sponsored in part by BMW Classic, formerly known as BMW Mobile Tradition, the event also serves as a showcase for the world’s concept cars – like the Aston Martin One-77 and the Alfa Romeo 8C Competizione Spider.

Though BMW’s history dates back to the roaring 1920s, BMW Classic focuses primarily on the automaker’s postwar cars and does the bulk of its business supplying owners of iconic ’02s with spare parts, although as the 2500 I’m in accurately illustrates, the department carries almost any part to almost every BMW ever conceived.

BMW Classic rebuilt an Inka Orange 2002 a few years ago near the company’s Munich headquarters to illustrate how it can help enthusiasts acquire parts that meet original equipment standards, particularly in Europe, where junkyards are rare.

Any BMW dealership in the world can order the generally reasonably priced BMW Classic parts, ranging from sheet metal to valve covers to dashboards. This commitment to vintage products is simply unheard of from domestic and Japanese automakers who laugh at the notion of carrying parts for cars more than a few generations old.

Border-bound
The 2500 isn’t a huge car by modern standards, but it’s still within half a foot of the length of a brand new 5-Series, giving it a fairly large footprint – especially for winding roads where the locals seem entirely unaware of the tranquility that surrounds them as they careen towards me. Italian Vespa drivers are of an entirely different ilk than the rest of us.

We pass through Giulino di Mezzegra, a dot of a town most notable as the place where dictator Benito Mussolini and his mistress were summarily executed as they tried to escape to Switzerland. Our sojourn to Switzerland proves much less eventful.

The road widens as we continue to the border and the terrain changes from lush, soft greenery to jagged, snow-topped mountains dotted with thick evergreens, tiny villages and remains of structures dating back more than 400 years. We’re deep in the heart of the legendary Alps, where isolated villages fought with one another until the 19th century, when railroads, tunnels and ever-advancing railroads taught warring neighbors to become allies if they wanted to prosper. And then those newly allied towns became countries who fought one another until the middle of last century. History has a way of repeating itself.

Until recently, crossing the border into Switzerland would have required a long and arduous wait, but our German-registered BMW raises nary any eyebrow as we pass through an almost unmanned border crossing at Castasegna, Switzerland, in the Bergell Valley.

The highway continues its climb through the Alps before reaching a series of switchbacks just past the village of Roticcio, where Italian is spoken. Just beyond the switchbacks, the language of choice changes to Schweizerdeutsch, or Swiss German, with a little Romansch thrown in if you listen closely.

Beautifully maintained roads like this simply do not exist in North America, even in the Rocky Mountains that extend from New Mexico well into British Columbia. While winding American roads do beckon, their uneven paving makes them less-than-ideal for enthusiastic driving.

The 2500, with about 170-horsepower and 176 lb-ft. of torque, according to contemporary reviewers, loves to rev and emits an even, melodic rumble that sings a tune known only to a von Falkenhausen engine. We haven’t touched the top fourth gear in a while, instead choosing to savor the 3,500-4,000 rpm growl in third.

If fully independent suspensions and four-wheel disc brakes are still not the norm for every new car sold today, they were quite revolutionary 40 years ago when only the Germans and Italians were really working to master the art of handling. The stiff structure and composed ride of this 2500 come courtesy of meticulous engineering, not computer-aided design, automatically-adjusting magnetic shock absorbers or even sophisticated tire technology. Though a trickle more wind and road noise enters the cabin than in a modern car, the ride quality approaches that of many vehicles this writer has praised.

Top of the World
After what a seemingly endless number of tight left and right turns, each of which the numb but direct manual steering gladly handled, we find ourselves passing a pair of lakes before arriving in St. Moritz in the Engadine Valley.

Called the “top of the world” by its marketing mavens, St. Moritz is where the world’s wealthiest go to play. Neat and tidy in the Swiss tradition, St. Moritz makes both an ideal place to ski, hike and hobnob, as well as a starting point for adventures on Switzerland’s Glacier Express rail line, which goes as far as Zermatt, home of the Matterhorn. It marks an ideal end to the enjoyable drive, where we can sit down to enjoy a hearty bowl of the region’s famous barley soup and meat pie, followed up by an Engadiner Nusstorte, the famous nut-filled pastry.

Wedged between a pair of black, late-model 5-Series sedans in the parking lot, our restored 2500 has proven an admirable steed that could be appreciated as an advanced yet simple enough daily driver 40 years later – even, probably, by a buyer of a brand new 5-Series.

Words and photos by Andrew Ganz.

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