Convertibles get a bad rap from some diehard sports-car purists who dismiss them as semi-serious boulevard cruisers a notch down from where they should be with the rigidity of a hardtop. When the man from BMW said the M6 to be delivered for this evaluation would be a convertible, my sense of anticipation encountered a mild downdraft. Perhaps unfairly, what came to mind were rattles, body shake and the damp aroma that can blight drop-tops. The white leather interior didn’t help the car’s case when it was delivered.
The car had another strike against it: only two pedals on the floor, and a sequential manual gearbox controlled either by paddle shifters behind the steering wheel or by a vestigial stick atop the transmission tunnel. To me, driving a sports car is like playing a musical instrument, requiring no less finesse with the clutch, throttle and stick to be rewarding.
