When we pull into our driveways with various test cars every few days, our friends—the ones who know us well, not the acquaintances who assume we’re a lieutenant in a drug cartel—often pop over to ask about the latest. “What are we driving today?” asked one friend recently, pacing us into our parking spot. When the answer was a BMW 5-series, she followed us toward the Glacier Silver Metallic car.
“This one’s a diesel, and—” Before we’d said another word, the conversation was over.
“Oh, I don’t like diesel,” she said, before she turned and walked away. Just like that. As if the word “diesel” meant it was carrying the contagion that would zombify her family.
Had our pal hung around, she might have been in danger of catching a fever all right, but the one we have for the advantages of diesel engines. The challenges to her prejudice would have started with hearing—or rather, not hearing—the nearly racket-free startup of the new 3.0-liter inline-six turbo-diesel in this 2014 BMW 535d. Admittedly, you can detect mild clatter if you stick your ear or a microphone under the hood or close to the tailpipe. If she did the latter, our dismissive friend might have noticed that the exhaust didn’t declare its dieselness, either, and we could have assured her that Dr. Rudolf’s compression-ignition device has advanced into the 21st century with variable-vane turbocharging, common-rail direct injection, and urea-based exhaust scrubbing. (Of course, when proselytizing, we don’t delve too deeply into the ickier connotations of urea, and besides, the BMW dealer handles refills during oil changes, which are included free for four years or 50,000 miles.)
The 535d operates as smoothly and as cleanly as does any 5er, different only in that it doesn’t need many revs to generate thrust, delivering a big fat 413 lb-ft of torque from 1500 to 3000 rpm with a 255-hp peak at 4000 rpm. It’s even quiet at wide-open throttle (we measured 72 decibels, quieter than some cars at a steady 70-mph cruise). At the track, the diesel hit 60 mph in 5.6 seconds, a tick quicker than the gas-fueled 535i we had for a long-term test and as fleet as the gas-electric ActiveHybrid 5 model. You won’t want to run for ecofriendly pinks, though: The diesel did the quarter-mile in 14.3 seconds at 97 mph, 0.3 second and 5 mph behind its 335-hp, electric-assisted doppelgänger.
Outside that fact, though, anyone dropping 60 large on a status sedan while trying to avoid the carbon-emissions guilt trip will find the advantage tilts very strongly toward the oil burner. Our 32-mpg observed fuel economy beats the EPA’s combined rating by 2 mpg. The ActiveHybrid 5 returned 22 mpg in our hands, or four lower than its federal combined rating. On a purely financial basis, you might also consider the less expensive 528i with its turbo four-banger, which returned a hybrid-beating 23 mpg in our testing, but you’d have to wait an extra 0.3 second to get to 60 mph versus the 535d.
Diesel slappies that we are, we might not have been so quick to tell our friend that diesel fuel was priced a few cents more than premium gasoline at the last station we visited because, well, lots of BMWs want premium, anyway, including the hybrid. And we might not have said anything about how some drivers would want to wear a glove when refueling and be selective about locating filling stations—with a 550-mile range, you can be picky—where the pavement isn’t diesel-soaked by sloppy customers. It’s not the car’s fault that landscaping companies can’t find employees who can keep the nozzle inside a filler neck, is it?
Even though we’re wearing this soft heart for modern diesels right here on our sleeves, it happens that this one can’t do anything to assuage our lukewarm regard for the latest 5-series chassis. It’s simply not as engaging as those of its predecessors.
