By naterisch
03/02/2015
I find it rather ironic that we spend our winter months dreaming of the days when we can finally get together with our BMW compadres and do something—instead of wondering when all this snow will melt so we can find our cars again, or anointing that garage queen with another coat of P21S. (“It’s pure carnauba, honey, it’s good for your skin!”)—and then find ourselves with too many choices of what to do.
By naterisch
03/02/2015
As I’ve mentioned, the ABS and DSC lights had been blazing in my 1999 Z3 ever since I bought the car about a year and a half ago. I’d inspected the ABS sensors at all four wheels for torn wires, and tested their resistance: All checked out, yet the lights remained on. Web forums were full of posts from people whose cars had similar symptoms, many reporting that the culprit was the ABS control module. 
By naterisch
02/23/2015
First things first: I am not the best writer in the Doersen household—far from it. My wife, Val, is better. And the way our son is progressing, I may be a distant third by the time he’s in fifth grade. But I like BMWs more, so when Satch was looking for racing coverage, he settled for me. All of this might change after my wife actually attends a real, live, bona fide race, though—especially if that race is, say, the Twelve Hours of Sebring.
By naterisch
02/23/2015
When you buy a used car and begin sorting it out, you’re in the “getting to know you, getting to know all about you” phase. Hopefully you remain captivated by your new purchase. More often, though, you start to run into things that make you think, “Huh… that’s weird. Maybe I won’t bring this one home to meet the family.”
By naterisch
02/16/2015
On the same day that I received a discount on my car insurance for dealing with a monitoring device that beeped incessantly in my 1 Series, I also had a long conversation on getting an upgrade to my old fuzz-buster (forgive me, I still have some old lingo stuck in me). I had gone an entire three months with a device in my car that was recording my every movement; every spirited on-ramp, every mountain fun run, every time a child with a basketball jumped out in front of me, it recorded that stuff. I was being tracked by Big Brother.

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