Arriving early in Munich for the event, BMW was kind enough to give a private tour around BMW Classic - a facility adjacent to the automaker's development center that houses a wide array of defining automobiles from BMW's past. Housed in a building dating to the 1930s, BMW Classic is not a museum in the conventional sense. The automaker does not open Classic's doors to the public (that's what the nearby BMW Museum is for) and the cars inside are not on display, as much as they are 'in storage.' The environment is stark, the ground floor containing a few motorcycles, race cars, and road cars with small plaques that identify their spot in the history books. Upstairs, on the third and fourth floors is where the real action is - the former housing roughly 50 road cars and the latter housing a similar number of significant race cars.

Following the tour, I was led out to the parking lot where two of BMW Classic's prized possessions - a 1972 BMW 2002tii and a 1962 BMW Isetta 300 -- were waiting, with keys in ignition switches.; After being warned of the Isetta's, well, let's say 'finicky' driving characteristics, I opted to warm up my jet-lagged driving abilities in the (much) more modern 2002.

A breakthrough model in America, and indeed, the world, the 02 series is credited by many automotive historians as saving Bavarian Motor Werks in the 1960s. Affordable, compact, practical, yet well-built and fun to drive, the 02 series was a hit in the U.S. and abroad, selling nearly 900,000 examples in both coupe and sedan form between its 1966 Geneva debut and its 1976 departure (to make way for the first E21 3 Series model). While offered initially in 1602 form, the later 2002 with its 2.0-liter engine was the bigger seller and the one enthusiasts clamor to add to their stables today. The ultimate incarnation of the 2002 in the U.S. had to be the version that sits in front of me - the 2002tii. With Kluglefischer mechanical fuel injection and a host of mechanical upgrades, including bigger brakes and larger-diameter wheels, the 2002 Touring International Injected appealed to those who drivers who knew their camshafts from their connecting rods, so to speak. The same holds true today.

After a quick walk around our 2002tii, it is clear that this car was about the closest thing to taking a new example straight off the showroom floor. With immaculate light-metallic blue paint and a faultless blue vinyl interior, the two-door coupe almost looks too good to drive - emphasis on 'almost.' Setting off, sunroof open, the 2002 feels light and airy inside, with spaciousness inside that betrays the car's small profile. The steering wheel is bus-like in diameter and feels almost pencil-thin. Even without power assist, the steering is light yet provides plenty of feel, leaving the impression that there isn't much separating the driver from the road surface.; Exercising the crisp, precise gear lever during a gap in traffic, the little four-banger emits a slight snarl and runs up towards its near 7000 rpm redline with eagerness, making its 130 horsepower feel entirely adequate. The 2002tii isn't fast - it would easily lose a drag race should a new Mazda MX-5 appear in the neighboring lane - but it instantly reminds me of the simple joys of driving a low-powered car quickly. There is no question that this 2002tii could be used, even today, as a capable, practical, and fun daily driver. Interesting then, that BMW used the car as inspiration for its contemporary 1 Series Coupe (whether or not it hit the mark, is another question).

I don't really want to climb out of the 2002, but after a bit of gentle persuasion BMW's Classic mechanics are able to pry my hands off the steering wheel and transfer me to the other car it has brought for the occasion, the Isetta 300. If the 2002 could be described as easily accessible, the Isetta (pronounced by my hosts as Izetta) could charitably be referred to as cranky and stubborn. Despite just 10 years separating the two cars, just a quick look proves how much difference a decade can make. Based on a licensed 1953 design by Italian motor scooter and three-wheeled truck maker, Iso (owner Renzo Rivolta would later build high-cost supercars in the late 1960s), BMW reengineered the Isetta significantly before slapping its badge on the front. Though the BMW Isetta looked quite similar to its Iso cousin, the reality is that few mechanical components were shared.

Produced from the mid-1950s until 1965, the Isetta was intended to provide cheap, short-distance transportation in post-war Germany - exactly what the majority of automotive consumers were looking for. As such, it was a sales success, with a small number arriving in the U.S. as well - many being brought over by Americans working abroad. The front suspension was revised heavily from the Iso design and BMW originally installed a version of its 250cc single-cylinder four-stroke R25 motorcycle engine with a four-speed gearbox sending power to the inset rear wheels. Our version was a later bored and stroked Isetta 300 with 298cc of displacement and a 1-hp increase to 13 total horsepower. Your riding lawnmower may have more.

The Isetta adventure starts even as I'm climbing into the driver's seat. The only door to the vehicle is essentially the entire front bodywork, including windshield and steering wheel. Turn the lever on the passenger side, and the whole section opens sideways like the hatch to a bomb shelter -- or the lid to a sardine can, for that matter. Sit down on the bench seat (it's plenty cozy with just two people), pull the 'door' back to close it, clutch-in, and turn the steering column-mounted ignition.; The Isetta stumbles and pops, then reluctantly starts with a touch of throttle and settles into a high-rpm idle that sounds more like a moped on race fuel than an automobile. Dieter from BMW Classic sees fit to ride along to show me the ropes of driving a vehicle that he describes with classic Teutonic understatement as 'difficult.'

Difficult is one way to describe it. There are many things that take a bit of getting used to, most related to the transmission. To start, the gearlever sprouts at an angle beside my left leg and features a reverse-H pattern with fourth gear down and to the left. Ok, not bad so far. Then I discover that the lever's detents are as well-defined as a chameleon sitting on a leaf (first gear? Nope, reverse again... or is that fourth?) and the useful travel of the clutch pedal is about a quarter of an inch, making the clutch more of an on/off switch than anything else. After a bit of parking lot practice, I hesitantly merge into Munich traffic and discover it's going to take a lot longer than a half-hour to feel comfortable behind the wheel.

Getting started from each stop light is an exercise in frustration and embarrassment with plenty of lurching, cog-grinding, and laughter from the passenger seat. BMW 7 Series and motor scooters alike, annoyed with my slow progress, speed past. Making matters worse, every time the rolling cocoon lurches forward my knee hits the horn button on the steering column, alerting bystanders of the spectacle I'm creating. When I actually get above 30 mph or so (acceleration can best be described as 'eventual') the diminutive Isetta wanders between the sides of the road, requiring total focus and steering correction just to keep it headed in an approximation of a straight line - an important thing when coach busses fly by in the opposite lane and the Isetta's frontal crash protection seems to consist of the thin-gauge door panel and the occupant's legs. Dieter and I finally arrive back at the parking lot, and he offers a subtle compliment, telling me the main reason he rode along is due to most drivers relinquishing their position after a hundred yards or so. I certainly feel like I've earned my Warsteiner tonight.