Against All Oddities: My Last Cheap E30?
Back in my day, the E30 BMW was the king of joyful motoring. Being almost 40 years old and a dad as of 8 weeks ago, I’m starting to feel like I can say those words with authority. It’s no mystery to me now why muscle cars were bringing such value. Nostalgia is a powerful drug; drivers intoxicated by the sights, sounds, and tactile feedback of these cars drive up their prices.
I was sure my E30 days were behind me, but when I saw a 318is sell for 20-large, I relapsed. Allow me to explain.
The E30 BMW coupe and sedan built from 1984 until 1991 was our drug of choice as late-stage teenagers and college students. We all had them and loved them dearly. As Rob can attest, they possess massive appeal. Mechanically, these cars are not particularly fickle. From a driver’s perspective, they’re like an analog virtual-reality headset, sensing your every move and driving sideways on feel and intuition alone. What’s not to love?
It’s not just good feelings of the past that drive the values of these cars. A small group of friends in North Raleigh, North Carolina, have destroyed a huge percentage of the local inventory. Allow me to introduce you to my brothers and sisters:
Me, I’ve had three at an average price of $266.67. I received one as a gift and traded it for a custom wrought iron fence. This was after it had thrown a rod onto the sidewalk, nearly taking out a jogger. Miraculously, the car was restored. The other two, both sourced from driveways—are MIA.
My friend Steve had a constant string of them. His red 325es coupe met its demise in a grove of trees at Summit Point Raceway. His white 318is was pummeled by rip-rap on its way to the bottom of a ravine on Nipper Road. I did his blue four-door in at the famous Oak Tree corner at Virginia International Raceway (I’m still sorry!). April tore up at least two that I can think of. My other buddy, Jon, had two sedans. One went taillights-first into an oak tree at 35 miles an hour, airborne. Max crashed his in a time trial, as I recall. That was just as well, since the aforementioned Steve did the cage and welded a ball bearing in the harness bar as a prank. Forrest ended a Delphin Grey diving-board-bumper 325is in a very hard way at Watkins Glen, I believe. I bet I’m leaving out a half dozen write-offs.
Adam, Nick, and Jordan are the only ones I can think of whose cars didn’t somehow end up with vertical A-pillars or completely compromised body structures. If you’ve had an E30 for more than two decades and enjoyed an increase in its value—a hearty “you’re welcome” from all of us.
Eleven years after my last E30 purchase, I was given the opportunity last year to go look at one with a friend who is in the market. I was happy to play the bad influence. My friend and coworker, also named Matt, found this car on Facebook Marketplace in Winston-Salem, which is not more than 45 minutes away. Piedmont, North Carolina, was the absolute epicenter—outside of Munich, of course—of BMW activity. Back in the day, it seemed like all of the cars in our area were formulaically modified with H&R springs, or an Eibach equivalent, Bilstein shocks, short shifter, Conforti or Turner chip to raise the rev limit, and tasteful wheel modifications. It was a formula broadly applied throughout the region (and likely the entire universe). This particular example had all of those mods completely intact. It also spent his life in central North Carolina under the care of BMW club magnate Pete McHenry. His daughter was the current custodian and seller of the vehicle. The nostalgia was too much. I had to advocate for its purchase, even if the car wouldn’t be for me.
Upon hopping into this particular four-door—oddly optioned with sport seats—I gripped the large yet precise steering wheel. This needs to be mine … No! I wasn’t out Christmas shopping for myself. The purpose of this mission was to initiate the Matt from California into the North Carolina E30 mafia. Noting the strong 2.7-liter (“Eta”) motor and plentiful remaining clutch life, I gave him the green light to buy it. I recused myself from the valuation and negotiation. After all, the last time I bought an E30, it was $300.
Fast forward one year. Other Matt is now packing his bags for a cross-country move back to California. In fact, he’ll be packing them into a brand-new Toyota GR86. With the long-distance travel and a deeply fun vehicle already at hand, it was pretty difficult for him to justify keeping the BMW. Enter me … again. Trying to avoid any emotional pangs that might promote bad decision-making, I informed the foundry crew that the car would be available. Talk to Matt about the price, I said.
No bites! How is it possible that a factory full of 21-year-olds has more impulse control than I do? Not wanting to seem like a jerk or lowball a friend of mine, I prepared a sensible pitch: “Look, Matt, I know how much you hate dealing with Facebook Marketplace. I know that guy you sold your Abarth to still texts you. If you don’t wanna deal with any of that, just tell me what your headache price would be and if it sounds good, I will Venmo you immediately.” Matt punted right back to me and demanded an offer. I countered $100 higher. Hmm, I had not planned on this at all …
I should add that I don’t buy cars in secrecy—not from you guys, and certainly not from my wife. I briefly explained the situation, er, … opportunity, and how cool these cars are. I supplemented that undoubtedly they will continue to skyrocket in value. If I didn’t act right this very moment, I would be forever locked out of my most precious memories! (Not to be dramatic or anything.) Remembering the $300 one I had when we were dating, she agreed—as long as the money came out of the foundry fund. Venmo released.
During lunch one day, other Matt and I drove to this apartment complex so that we could relocate the car to our office parking lot. On seeing it sitting in a tree with lots of bird and other critter matter matter all over it, I was actually relieved that it was worse than I remembered it. In reality, it probably was worse. We got really busy at work and Matt, after taking apart the door panels to fix the blocks and pulling the cluster to get the notorious SI board in order, had kind of left it disassembled. Good friends of mine know that I have a rule that I don’t buy cars with detached or missing door panels. It’s the canary in the coal mine for me. I decided would make an exception, just this once. A fair deal for both of us, I decried.
When it came time to get the car a few days later, I simply brought my long-term-borrowed-dolly-that-has-been-all-over-the-East-Coast to work. Of course, blinded by enthusiasm, I left the BMW’s keys at home. This complicated retrieval unnecessarily, but thankfully, busted door locks and missing door cards came to the rescue. I rounded up a few of my coworkers and shove the Bavarian up onto the trailer. Insisting that the front spoiler would clear after being warned of the clearance, I got the opportunity to humble myself in front of my friends as the front valance shattered into one million tiny shards—no hyperbole. I swear I’ve learned this lesson before.
Of course, the first thing I did once at the foundry was to hose off the biomatter. And my goodness, did the car look good. Even if it did cost more than seven times my average E30 purchase price. I moved it into its space in the foundry, right next to the old Studebaker Gran Turismo Hawk that I drove in high school. It was 2003 all over again, and this was the Leesville Road High School parking lot. I’m not sure if this one will hit the market ever again.
