Following up on my previous piece about the worst car I’ve ever owned, my infamous 1970 Triumph GT6+, it felt right to explore the opposite end of the spectrum: the best car I’ve ever had the pleasure of daily driving. It’s important to clarify, I’m not talking about those garage-queen, weekend cars that only see daylight under perfect conditions. I’m focusing on the unsung heroes, the dependable daily drivers that get you through thick and thin, rain or shine.
For many of us car enthusiasts, the idea of a daily driver is different. We often reject the mundane econoboxes that might satisfy the average person. We crave something more, even in our everyday vehicles. This pursuit of excitement in a daily driver takes many forms. Some opt for the constant rotation of new cars, leasing every couple of years. However, my wife and I have always leaned towards the pre-owned market. For her, I aim for relatively recent models. For myself, especially with a past short commute and now working from home, my daily driver choices have become broader, often leading me to high-mileage BMWs that were once beyond my reach when new.
My journey in car ownership, much like many enthusiasts, has been varied. After my tumultuous experience with the Triumph, I gravitated towards BMW, seeking more reliability and space. For years, a BMW 2002 served as my daily companion. As our family grew in the 80s, while the 2002 was initially in service, the challenges of maneuvering a toddler into a child seat in a two-door became apparent. We briefly relied on our 1969 Volkswagen Westfalia camper, but rust prompted a shift to four-door BMWs. This era included a BMW Bavaria, a 1979 BMW 528i, and then a 1983 BMW 533i.
A vintage BMW 533i, a reliable sedan from the 1980s, showcasing its classic design and spacious interior, a testament to BMW’s commitment to practical family vehicles.
As our family expanded, we resisted the minivan trend by acquiring a used 1983 Volvo 245GLT wagon, equipped with a third-row seat. While generally dependable, concerns about potential turbo failures and heated seat fires led us to sell it preemptively. Then came a phase with Volkswagen Vanagons, six in total, lasting longer than perhaps it should have, before we eventually conceded to the practicality of Japanese minivans for a decade.
A classic Volvo 240 Turbo wagon, known for its boxy yet functional design, highlighting the spaciousness and practicality that made it a popular family vehicle in its era.
For about six years, a 1991 Toyota Previa with a manual transmission served our family. Both my wife and I appreciated its unique mid-engine, rear-wheel-drive, five-speed configuration, which appealed to my car enthusiast sensibilities. However, it didn’t quite live up to the legendary Toyota reliability, becoming surprisingly maintenance-intensive around 90,000 miles, leading to its sale. It was succeeded by a 2000 Mazda MPV. Smaller than the Previa and lacking the manual transmission we preferred, it was still a decent vehicle to drive. However, it suffered from a persistent alternator issue. The MPV used a Ford 2.5-liter Duratec V-6, and the alternator’s low placement made it susceptible to water splash, causing premature failures. The replacement process was also cumbersome, requiring exhaust manifold or half-axle removal. After the third alternator failure, I decided to part ways with the MPV.
A Toyota Previa minivan, showcasing its distinctive egg-shaped design, a vehicle that offered unique features like a mid-engine layout but didn’t quite meet expectations for unwavering reliability.
Once our children left home and my wife no longer needed a minivan, she transitioned to Honda Fit four-door hatchbacks. She owned a 2008 first-generation and then a 2013 second-generation model, both equipped with manual transmissions and sport packages. We were both fond of them – compact, agile, sufficiently quick, fun to drive, and surprisingly versatile in seating and storage. But those were her cars, not mine.
There was also a series of Chevrolet Suburbans, six in total, primarily used for annual family beach vacations and occasional hauling tasks. Neither of us ever used them as daily drivers. I had varying levels of affection for them. The one with recurring brake line issues was particularly memorable for the wrong reasons.
While minivans and Suburbans served family duties, I continued my affinity for BMW sedans, owning various 3 and 5 Series models from the 80s and 90s, becoming well-acquainted with replacing their window regulators. Later, after the minivan era, I switched to BMW wagons, as they conveniently accommodated my penchant for acquiring wheels, tires, and Recaro seats. My first wagon was a 1999 E39 528iT Sportwagon. It was a very appealing vehicle – five-speed, sport package, black on black, with a subtly lowered stance, and a clever self-leveling rear suspension that compensated for heavy loads. Its handling defied its size. However, it turned out to be a vehicle that came with an unwritten “repair-of-the-week” subscription. It experienced a range of unusual issues. One cold day, the crankcase ventilation valve (CVV) froze, forcing oil into the intake manifold, almost hydro-locking the engine. The pneumatic self-leveling rear suspension failed, leaving the car sagging. And, in a moment reminiscent of my Triumph days, a front spring fractured and punctured a tire sidewall. Despite being my daily driver, its maintenance demands escalated to enthusiast car levels, signaling time to sell. While the GT6 might have been the worst car overall, the 528iT was my least favorite daily driver in adulthood.
A BMW 528iT Sportwagon, an E39 model, pictured with its sporty stance and practical wagon body, yet it proved to be unexpectedly high-maintenance despite its appealing features.
Following the 528iT, I drove an E46 325Xi wagon, another manual sport package vehicle. Surprisingly, it was less repair-prone than the E39. The all-wheel drive was beneficial in snowy conditions, but it added a heaviness to the steering in normal driving. Replacing the front CV joints proved to be quite laborious, convincing me to avoid repeating that task, and I eventually sold it.
Which brings me to the unexpected star of this story. About three years ago, I stumbled upon a Craigslist ad for a 2003 BMW E39 530i, priced very attractively. After my experience with the problematic E39 528iT wagon, I was initially hesitant. However, 2003 was the final year of the E39 generation, and these later models had a reputation for improved reliability. The ad mentioned the car had been parked for two years due to an “electrical problem.” I contacted the seller to inquire about the specifics.
“When you try to jump-start it,” he explained, “it just makes a clicking sound.”
I clarified that this was likely the starter solenoid engaging and disengaging without actually turning the starter motor.
“I know what it is,” the seller insisted, “but it shouldn’t do that when I jump it. I think it’s something in the wiring.”
I explained that cold temperatures combined with high resistance from corroded connections often necessitate removing the dead battery, installing a fully charged one, and cleaning the terminals to start a car with a dead battery.
“I’m an electrician,” the seller stated. “I understand high resistance.”
I resisted the urge to mention my authorship of an automotive electrical book.
Driven more by curiosity than serious intent, I took a freshly charged battery and drove to Bellingham, Massachusetts. I remember it clearly because it was Presidents Day Weekend, and the temperature was around 15 degrees Fahrenheit. Upon arrival, I found the car partially buried in a snowdrift. Aside from aftermarket wheels that were aesthetically questionable, the car appeared to be in remarkably good condition. The Polaris silver paint was excellent for a car with 180,000 miles. The black shadow-line trim indicated it was a sport package model. Opening the door revealed a black leather sport interior that looked like it belonged in a car with 80,000 miles, not 180,000.
A 2003 BMW 530i E39, partially covered in snow, showing its elegant lines and the promise of a well-maintained vehicle despite its age and mileage, albeit with aftermarket wheels that detract from its original styling.
I removed the old battery, installed the charged one, cleaned the terminals, turned the key, and the engine started almost instantly. The seller was astonished. He found a compressor in his garage, and we dug the car out of the snowdrift, inflated the tires, and took it for a test drive. Besides flat-spotted tires, brake chatter from rotor deposits, and an illuminated check engine light, the car seemed sound.
The interior of the BMW 530i, highlighting the black leather sport seats and trim, demonstrating the exceptional condition of the cabin, especially considering the car’s high mileage, suggesting meticulous care.
“All’s fair in love and Craigslist,” I told the seller. “Now you know you can go to Autozone, spend $150 on a battery, and sell this as a running car. But it’s unregistered, uninsured, uninspected, and the check engine light is on. I’ll offer you twelve hundred dollars for it right now.”
“How about fifteen?” the seller countered.
“That,” I replied, “is exactly the right price for this car.” My wife later drove me back, and I drove the 530i home without issue. It has been my daily driver ever since.
When buying a car that has been sitting for two years, you always wonder “why,” and anticipate potential hidden problems. BMW E39s are excellent cars, but they are known for cooling system vulnerabilities, oil and power steering fluid leaks, and front-end wear. And with any car, a check engine light can indicate anything. I retrieved the diagnostic codes, which pointed to an evaporative leak. Using an inexpensive smoke tester, I located a deteriorated vacuum hose near the back of the engine that was the culprit. Replacing the hose and resetting the light resolved the issue permanently.
The car needed new rotors and pads due to its extended inactivity. I soon discovered it also needed a Final Stage Unit (FSU), the blower fan resistor. A failing FSU can drain the battery quickly. I also sourced a set of original BBS Style 42 wheels to replace the aftermarket ones. As I mentioned recently, I also replaced the front lower control arms. But, in terms of repairs, that’s been the extent of it.
The BMW 530i E39, now fitted with the correct and stylish BBS Style 42 wheels, completing its transformation into a well-presented and appealing daily driver, enhancing its classic BMW aesthetic.
While I generally prefer smaller, lighter, and more agile cars, I’ve genuinely grown to appreciate this 530i sport. The 228-horsepower M54 engine provides ample power. It may not have the raw torque of the 540i’s V8, but it avoids the premature timing chain guide wear issues associated with that engine.
I often joke that I describe this car with “old man” adjectives. It’s smooth. It’s quiet. It’s comfortable. It has a fantastic sound system and excellent air conditioning. I can effortlessly cover hundreds of miles in it. And despite being a sedan, the fold-down rear seats offer surprising practicality. I even transported a 2002 front subframe in it for welding.
BMWs from the early 90s onwards commonly use plastic components in their cooling systems. In the E39, this includes the expansion tank, thermostat housing, radiator tanks, hose necks, and often the water pump impeller. Over time, heat cycles and mileage make this plastic brittle, leading to cracks and sudden coolant loss, potentially causing engine overheating. Typically, when I acquire a car like this, I proactively replace these vulnerable plastic parts, spending around $500 in parts and a weekend of work. However, with this 530i, initially used for a short commute, I decided to defer preventative maintenance, thinking, “Why fix what isn’t broken yet?” Initially hesitant to drive it far, I eventually became bolder. It has made numerous trips to Maine and back. 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 expectations, my 2003 BMW 530i manual sport is the best daily driver I’ve ever owned. I hope I haven’t jinxed it by saying so. It might also be my last daily-driver BMW, as newer models are significantly more complex for DIY maintenance. I’m enjoying it while it lasts. And what next? Perhaps a second Honda Fit in the driveway wouldn’t be such a bad idea.
Rob Siegel has been writing The Hack Mechanic™ column for BMW CCA Roundel magazine for three decades. His latest book, Just Needs a Recharge: The Hack Mechanic™ Guide to Vintage Air Conditioning, and his previous books are available on Amazon. You can also order signed copies here.
