For years, I’ve navigated the world of automobiles, experiencing both the exhilarating highs and the frustrating lows that come with car ownership. Recently, I recounted the tale of my automotive nadir, a 1970 Triumph GT6+ that tested my patience at every turn. The response was remarkable, a chorus of shared experiences and passionate opinions about beloved and bemoaned vehicles alike. This got me thinking about the opposite end of the spectrum: the best car I’ve ever owned. But to make it a genuine comparison, I’m setting aside the cherished weekend cars and focusing squarely on the unsung heroes of our garages – the daily drivers.
As car enthusiasts, our criteria for a daily driver often diverge from the mainstream. We’re less inclined to settle for mundane, soulless transportation. We crave a daily companion that injects excitement into the everyday commute. Approaches vary widely. Some opt for a fresh, new car every couple of years, a path neither my wife nor I have ever taken. My personal history leans towards procuring slightly older, yet engaging vehicles. For years, a mere five-mile commute allowed me to indulge in higher-mileage BMWs, cars that were once beyond my reach when new. Now working from home, the possibilities for my daily driver have expanded even further, leading me down a path of well-loved, pre-owned German engineering.
My automotive journey has likely mirrored many of yours. Emerging from the trials of the Triumph, I gravitated towards BMW, drawn by their reputation for reliability and spaciousness. For a considerable time, a BMW 2002 served as my faithful daily. As family life began in the 1980s, the two-door 2002 became less practical for family duties. A Volkswagen Westfalia camper van entered the picture briefly, but succumbed to the relentless advance of rust. This led us to four-door BMWs: a 1973 Bavaria, followed by a 1979 528i, and then a 1983 533i.
The ’83 533i served its purpose admirably as a family daily driver until our needs outgrew its size.
With a growing family, we briefly considered the minivan route but resisted, opting instead for a used 1983 Volvo 245GLT wagon, complete with a third-row seat. While generally reliable, concerns about potential turbo failures and heated seat fires prompted a preemptive sale. A longer-than-planned foray into VW Vanagons (six in total) ensued before we eventually embraced the minivan reality for a decade, opting for Japanese models.
A turbo Volvo wagon similar to the one we owned for several years.
For approximately six years, a 1991 Toyota Previa with a manual transmission graced our driveway. Both my wife and I genuinely appreciated its quirky mid-engine, rear-wheel-drive, five-speed configuration, which appealed to my automotive sensibilities. However, it defied the stereotype of unwavering Toyota reliability, becoming surprisingly high-maintenance around the 90,000-mile mark, leading to its eventual sale. A 2000 Mazda MPV became its successor. Smaller than the Previa and lacking a manual transmission, it was nonetheless a pleasant vehicle to drive. However, it suffered from a persistent alternator issue. The MPV’s Ford Duratec V-6 engine positioned the alternator low enough to be vulnerable to water splash, causing premature failures. Replacing the alternator required either exhaust manifold or half-axle removal. After the third alternator failure, the MPV was also sold.
The Toyota Previa held a certain coolness factor, but like the Mazda MPV that followed, it didn’t quite live up to our expectations of bulletproof reliability.
Once our children left home and minivan duties subsided, my wife transitioned to Honda Fit four-door hatchbacks. She enjoyed both a first-generation 2008 and a second-generation 2013 model, both equipped with manual transmissions and sport packages. We were both impressed by their compact size, nimble handling, surprising quickness, and versatile seating and storage. However, these were her cars, not mine.
A series of Chevrolet Suburbans (six in total) also played a role, primarily for family vacations and hauling cargo. Neither of us ever used them as daily drivers. My experiences varied, with one Suburban standing out for its persistent brake line failures.
While minivans and Suburbans addressed family needs, my personal daily drivers remained BMW sedans. I cycled through various 3 and 5 Series models from the 80s and 90s, becoming intimately familiar with replacing window regulators. With the minivan era over, I shifted to BMW wagons, facilitating my ongoing acquisition of wheels, tires, and Recaro seats. My first wagon was a 1999 E39 528iT Sportwagon. It was a compelling vehicle – five-speed, sport package, black on black, subtly lowered, and equipped with a self-leveling rear suspension. Its handling defied its size. Unfortunately, it turned out to be a repair-a-week proposition. It suffered from issues I had never encountered in other BMWs. A frozen crankcase ventilation valve (CVV) incident led to oil in the intake manifold, nearly hydro-locking the engine. The pneumatic self-leveling rear suspension failed, leaving the car immobile. And in a display of metal fatigue reminiscent of my Triumph, a front spring broke and punctured a tire sidewall. Despite being my daily driver, its maintenance demands escalated to enthusiast car levels, signaling time to move on. While the GT6 might have been my worst car overall, the 528iT claimed the title of my worst daily driver in adulthood.
My 1999 BMW 528iT Sportwagon, a vehicle that seemed to come with a built-in “repair-of-the-week” plan.
Following the 528iT, I drove an E46 325Xi wagon, another manual, sport package car. Surprisingly, it proved significantly more reliable than the E39. The all-wheel-drive was beneficial in snowy conditions, but added a heavy feel to the steering in dry conditions. The complexity of replacing the front CV joints convinced me to avoid a repeat, leading to its sale.
This brings us to the unexpected star of this story. About three years ago, a Craigslist ad caught my eye – a 2003 BMW E39 530i, priced remarkably low. After my experience with the problematic 528iT wagon, I was hesitant. However, 2003 marked the final year of the E39 generation, with later models known for improved reliability. The ad stated the car had been parked for two years due to an “electrical problem.” Upon calling, I inquired about the specifics.
“When you try to jump-start it,” the seller explained, “it just makes a clicking sound.”
I identified this as the starter solenoid engaging and disengaging without starter motor rotation.
“I know what it is,” the seller insisted, “but it shouldn’t do that when I jump it. I think it’s a wiring issue.”
I explained that cold temperatures combined with resistance in corroded connections often necessitate battery removal, terminal cleaning, and installation of a fully charged battery for starting a car with a dead battery.
“I’m an electrician,” the seller stated. “I understand resistance.”
I refrained from mentioning my authorship of an automotive electrical book.
Driven more by curiosity than serious intent, I armed myself with a freshly charged battery and drove to Bellingham, Massachusetts. It was Presidents Day weekend, and the temperature hovered around 15 degrees Fahrenheit. The car was partially buried in a snowdrift. Aside from aftermarket wheels that were aesthetically displeasing, the car appeared to be in excellent condition. The silver paint shone for a vehicle with 180,000 miles. The black shadow-line trim hinted at the sport package. Opening the door revealed a black leather sport interior that belied its mileage, appearing closer to 80,000 miles.
Despite being partially snowbound, the 530i showed promise, if you could overlook the unfortunate aftermarket wheels.
I removed the old battery, installed the charged one, cleaned the terminals, turned the key, and the 530i E39 started almost instantly. The seller was astonished. He located a compressor in the garage, and we proceeded to shovel the car out of the snow and inflate the tires. A test drive revealed flat-spotted tires, brake chatter from rotor deposits, and an illuminated check engine light, but otherwise, the car seemed sound.
The black sport interior of the 530i was remarkably well-preserved for a car that had traveled 180,000 miles.
“All’s fair in love and Craigslist,” I quipped to the seller. “You now know a $150 battery from Autozone turns this into a running car. But it’s unregistered, uninsured, uninspected, and the check engine light is on. I’ll offer you twelve hundred dollars right now.”
“How about fifteen?” he countered.
“That,” I replied, “is exactly the right price for this car.” My wife retrieved me later that day, and I drove the 2003 BMW 530i home without incident. It has been my daily driver ever since.
When purchasing a car that has been sitting for two years, the question “why?” inevitably arises, and a sense of anticipation for future problems lingers. BMW E39s are generally excellent cars, but cooling system vulnerabilities, oil and power steering leaks, and front-end work are common concerns. And a check engine light could indicate anything. Code scanning revealed an evaporative leak. Using an inexpensive smoke tester, I located a cracked vacuum hose near the rear of the engine – a fault difficult to detect without smoke testing. Replacing the hose and resetting the light resolved the issue permanently.
Naturally, the brakes required rotor and pad replacement after sitting idle. I soon discovered a failing Final Stage Unit (FSU), the blower fan resistor. A faulty FSU can drain the battery quickly, which it did. I sourced a set of original BBS Style 42 wheels to replace the aftermarket ones. And, as previously mentioned, I recently replaced the front lower control arms. But beyond these repairs, the 530i has been remarkably trouble-free.
The BMW 530i, finally fitted with the correct and aesthetically pleasing wheels.
While I typically favor smaller, lighter, and more agile vehicles, I’ve developed a genuine appreciation for this 530i sport. The 228-horsepower M54 engine delivers ample power. While lacking the outright torque of the 540i’s V8, it avoids the premature timing chain guide wear associated with that engine.
I often jokingly describe it with “old man” adjectives: smooth, quiet, comfortable. It boasts a fantastic sound system and effective air conditioning. Long drives of hundreds of miles are effortless. And despite being a sedan, the fold-down rear seats offer surprising versatility. I even managed to transport a 2002 front subframe inside for welding.
BMW’s from the 1990s onwards often incorporate plastic components in the cooling system. The E39 is no exception, featuring a plastic expansion tank, thermostat housing, radiator tanks, plastic-necked hoses, and frequently a plastic water pump impeller. Over time, heat cycles and mileage cause this plastic to become brittle. Eventually, a bump can trigger a crack, leading to catastrophic coolant loss, engine overheating, and roadside breakdowns. Consequently, I usually preemptively replace these high-failure plastic cooling components when acquiring a car like this, investing around $500 in parts and a weekend of work. However, with my short local commute at the time of purchase, I decided to adopt a “wait and see” approach. Initially, I was hesitant to venture far, but eventually, I embraced a more carefree attitude. The 530i has since made numerous trips to Maine and back. Remarkably, I still haven’t touched the cooling system, though I monitor it closely for any signs of trouble.
So, there you have it. Against all odds, my 2003 BMW 530i manual sport is the best daily driver I’ve ever owned. I hope I haven’t jinxed it by declaring this. It may also be my last daily-driver BMW, as newer models present significantly greater complexity for DIY maintenance. I intend to enjoy it for as long as possible. And what comes next? Perhaps a second Honda Fit wouldn’t be such a bad idea.
