WHAT A VIEW. To the left, at a blurry pace, endless rolling hills occupy my peripheral vision. Even from here the smell of grass and compost fills the leathery cabin. To the right, a sheer mountain face provides all the acoustics for the firecracker I am commandeering. Sandwiched between them is a familiar winding stretch of tarmac that carves its way through the Cape winelands. It’s here that I’m enjoying the latest iteration of BMW’s oldest saloon. A glance at the tall shadow it casts across the road reveals the slippery silhouette of a work of German automotive art. But what’s this, a second shadow? Insolent fool, I’ve been tailed all along.

With a stab of throttle the already sonorous six increases tempo, offering that familiar tinny cacophony inherent to Bavaria’s 3.0-litre in-liner. But this one has an added party piece: forced induction from a single turbo which ups the ante to 225kW and 400Nm. The resultant surge of boost means the 535i picks up its coat tails and blasts off properly. Whipping past trees, outcrops of rock and the occasional bewildered road worker means the crescendo of revs that accompany this new pace is constantly morphing, alive, electric.

Similarly communicative is the electronic power steering as my attempts to shake off the pursuers become ever more creative. Even after blitzing through plenty of kilometers with the nimble dexterity of a 3 Series, we’re still bumper to bumper. Whoever is in the chase car clearly has some serious metal under him. A quick glance in the rear view mirror proves it – it’s another Five. Disaster!

‘How is this possible, this car hasn’t even been released yet? F10 is still top secret.’ Before I have time for my mood to shift from mild annoyance to desperate panic I am interrupted. ‘In 400m, turn right…’ An eerily robotic female voice pierces the air as the GPS lady takes control (I’ve come to call her ‘M’ – not as in the Motorsport division, rather the foxy grey-haired boss lady of Mr Bond). When ‘M’ speaks, I listen. A clearly defined set of route markers have been set up for me by the gurus at BMW. So I turn right. It shouldn’t be far now to the rendezvous point and it was going to take every last bit of concentration to get there with anything resembling a lead.

With the outside of my palm I nudge the gear lever from D to S (for Sport) engaging a more aggressive setting on the automatic transmission’s eight cogs. To the right of the lever, a Comfort / Sport bias selector is patiently awaiting my inputs, and I oblige by engaging the lairiest of them all, ‘Sport +. This transforms the Teutonic tiger into something a bit more ‘MMMutant’. The suspension firms and flattens. The throttle response becomes razor-edged and traction control becomes less of a nanny and more like a role-playing school nurse. She’ll give you some slip, enough to have fun with, but not enough so you’ll hang yourself. The steering feels more direct too; some of the CEO-friendly softness at the centre feels dialled out and makes way for a racier helm. Immediately the engine and gearbox compensate for this new found electro-athleticism and two ratios are swapped – to the point that the turbo six is singing proudly, urging me on.