AS I WRITE THIS, IT HAS BEEN precisely 47 days since I last drove an automobile. Translation: It's been 47 days in Hell. I was in Portugal for a BMW launch, and the afternoon test drive had gone swimmingly. That night, I enjoyed a long, enlightening, thoroughly entertaining dinner with BMW RD chief Klaus Frohlich. For brand purists fretting over the arrival of front-drive BMW models such as the XI, fear not: Frohlich is an avowed enthusiast and insists that though frontwheel drive will help "deliver a more diverse range of products," RWD will remain BMW's core architecture. All was grand - until it wasn't. On the way back to my room, I slipped while descending the hotel's dramatic staircase, the same stupid, not-paying-attention misstep we've all made harmlessly dozens of times. Except on this occasion, I somehow managed to perform a reverse two-and-a-half gainer in the pike position - degree of difficulty: 6.1. And there was no swimming pool to catch me.
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