My BMW 323 Ci — Time to Invoke the Nuclear Option

After turning my E39 BMW 540i back over to my aunt, I still had an itch for another modern BMW, but something smaller, with a stick shift. I turned my attention to the E46, which to my eye is the best-looking of the 3 Series line. The E36’s styling always seemed a little underdeveloped to me, as if BMW was still trying to figure out the transition from boxy to sleek. But the E46 is the perfect modern distillation of the 3-Series.

After test driving several 4-doors, my search ended with a silver 2000 323Ci (American-speak for a two-door coupe with the 2.5-L straight six, and not to be confused with a 323iC, which would be a convertible).

Ordinarily, the M52TÜB25 inline six was good for about 169 HP, but this particular car came with a bonus: an aftermarket supercharger and intercooler, which boosted output to the neighborhood of 300.

All seemed well during the test drive, except for the A/C, which didn’t blow cold. The car was quick and handled well. The rear subframe, which is known for being prone to cracking, especially on higher-powered cars, had been reinforced with an aftermarket kit. I felt safe making the deal, so I bought the car.

Typical E46 rear subframe damage. Photo credit: Rares Vasc

 

But this a BMW story, so you know there’s trouble ahead.

Under the hood, the car was a bit of a mess. The supercharger and intake plumbing consisted of those big silicone elbows that 20-somethings love to buy in bright colors. Then there was the air filter. With the blower installed, the OEM airbox was long gone. In its place was one of those K&N-type cone filters that you soak in oil. This one was jammed down low, behind the headlight, in the only spot where someone could get it to fit. Even then, they had to crush the filter to get it in there. So it partially crushed and absolutely black and disgusting with road dirt. It was also mounted low enough to ingest water if I were to drive through a deep puddle. I couldn’t find a part number on it so finding a new replacement was a trial-and-error affair.

Besides the stupid mounting location of the air filter, the problem with all this was that it was kludged together, with none of the structural support a stock intake would have. The silicone hoses just barely fit over the metal pipes and elbows and had a habit of working loose while driving. Tightening the worm clamps down tighter just caused the silicone hoses to squirm their way off the plumbing. I owned the car a few months before I finally figured out the correct sequence in which to reassemble the intake to ensure that the oversized worm clamps would bite and hold properly. This is the basic stuff OEM engineers are paid to get right; with the aftermarket, who knows?

Then I worked on getting the A/C working again. It was none of the usual suspects; I eventually traced the problem to a wonky sensor connection under the hood. It wasn’t expensive, but it was very time consuming to diagnose and eventually track down a replacement part.

But I’m just getting started, because then the real problems began. The car would display the EML (elektronische motorleistungsregelung) light, BMW’s version of the check engine light, at random intervals. Sometimes I could trace it to the intake plumbing coming loose, but as I got the hang of putting that back together, that was no longer the case. I performed all the usual maintenance: plugs, coil packs, oxygen sensors, intake seals. Nothing solved the EML light, and if anything, it got worse, to the point where it would come on during freeway drives and send the car into limp mode, when it would make probably less than 100 HP. I’d be in the left lane doing 70 MPH when the EML light would pop on and suddenly I couldn’t exceed 50. That was obviously dangerous, so I was forced to do my daily commute on surface streets, which could take over an hour. Then the EML light even started coming on while on surface streets. I had to fix this.

Photo credit: MotoIQ

 

But how to fix it? A BMW dealer obviously wouldn’t touch the car with all that aftermarket crap under the hood. I bought my own OBD-II to USB cable and some BMW-specific software so I could communicate with the ECU through my laptop. I commiserated with another guy on a BMW forum who had a similar problem. I rebuilt the VANOS unit, built my own smoke-testing rig to check for intake leaks, and everything else I could think of. I finally took the car to a local BMW indy mechanic who was highly regarded amongst tuners; even he was left scratching his head.

Assuming the root of the problem was the aftermarket mods, I considered returning the car to stock. But I’d need to source all the missing OEM intake parts and injectors and find someone to reflash the ECU back to stock. That would probably run close to a thousand bucks and it wasn’t guaranteed to fix the issue. I had already been spending close to $500 per month chasing this problem and was no closer to a solution. In all my life, I’ve never spent anywhere near that on a car payment; why the hell was I spending it on attempted repairs? The car had to go.

But how to get rid of it? I couldn’t in good conscience sell it to an individual without coming clean about its problems. It was time to invoke the nuclear option, that shining beacon of don’t ask, don’t tell car sales: a certain national chain that’s known for having retailified the car-shopping experience. I drove the BMW to their lot, crossing my fingers that it would behave during the tech’s test drive. Apparently it did, or at least it behaved well enough for them to make me an offer of $3500, which was half what I paid for the damned thing, not counting what I had put into repairs and attempted repairs. But I jumped at that offer like a bum on a bologna sandwich. When it was time to do the paperwork, the customer rep asked a few questions. It went something like this:

Rep: So, would you like to look at another car?

Me: No, I’m good.

Rep: Really? You don’t need another car to drive?

Me: No, I, uh, I bought one already.

Rep: You should have bought it here. What kind of car did you buy?

Me: What is this, an interrogation? Can I have my check?

Worried she’d change her mind and rescind the offer, I took my check and hightailed it out of there. I used the $3500 towards a ’99 Miata, which was every bit as reliable as the BMW was temperamental. They say the answer is always Miata. It sure was in this case.

My ’99 Miata. After the E46 debacle, I nicknamed it the Savior.

 

The tragic irony is that I didn’t even buy the BMW for the mods; I bought it for the chassis and its perfect size. I rarely even whomped on the throttle that hard. I could have been just as happy with a stock 323; the blower just seemed (at the time) like a free bonus. Stupid me.

The lesson, of course, is to stay away from modified cars, especially for a daily driver, double-especially if those mods don’t involve parts that can be easily swapped for original equipment. You can end up very much on your own when things go wrong. The other lesson is to avoid falling into the sunk cost trap and know when to cut your losses.

Sometimes I wonder if some unlucky soul out there ended up with that 323Ci. The best possible outcome is that the car couldn’t even get through a buyer’s test drive without misbehaving so that the dealer was forced to pull it from inventory and either fix it – if they could – or eventually unload it wholesale. In fact, given how poorly it performed, I think this was the most likely outcome. In cars as in politics, the nuclear option is never pretty.