1300 Miles In A BMW 335d

America and Europe might have this whole hybrid/diesel thing the wrong way round. You see, hybrids like Toyota’s Prius or Ford’s Fusion do the best work in stop-start city driving, where their gas engines shut down at traffic lights, and their electric motors ease them up to speed again. Diesels, on the other hand, like cruising at constant velocities, where their highly efficient combustion process allows them to extract the maximum energy out of every gallon of fuel. But Europe’s ancient cities are perpetually jammed with diesels idling at traffic lights, while here in America you regularly see hybrids being hustled along freeways at 70-80 mph, their electric motors virtually useless.

I’ve always thought America’s vast Interstate network, still one of the largest and least crowded freeway systems in the world, was made for diesels. Which is why I decided to take our BMW 335d long-termer for a roadtrip through the southwest via Phoenix, Tucson, and Yuma. I figured I would be testing the theory as much as the car.

It doesn’t matter which road you take out of L.A.: you have to climb up and over some fairly serious hills. The north-bound I-15 hits 4190 feet as it crests Cajon Pass en route to Barstow and the junction with I-40, which will take us west to Phoenix. With 425 lb-ft of torque on tap between 1750 and 2250 rpm, the 335d cruises effortlessly up the freeway as it sweeps across the face of the San Gabriel Mountains, the 3.0-liter diesel barely breaking a sweat as we pass laboring semis.

Once of the pass, we loaf through the high desert, the engine turning a relaxed 2000 rpm at 80 mph. The 335d takes on 12.7 gallons of diesel next morning in Scottsdale, which means we’ve averaged 31.8 mpg for the 404 miles from L.A.

We take the long way to Tucson, looping out and around the scenic Apache Trail. Winding two-lane blacktop takes us up into the Lost Dutchman State Park, named after a rich gold mine supposedly found by Prussian immigrant Jacob Waltz in the 1870s. Waltz apparently revealed the location of the mine — reportedly deep in the Superstition Mountains — on his deathbed, but it has never been found.

The road curls around rugged rock formations and loops between giant saguaro cacti. The 335d eats it up, the crisp steering and buttoned-down chassis making light work of the constant changes of direction. The blacktop ends just as the road begins a steep and winding descent into Fish Creek canyon, dropping 900 feet in a mile at one point. We take it easy, wary of damaging the 335d’s low profile tires on the occasional rocky outcrops.

We pass Roosevelt Dam, built in 1911 to ensure a water supply for Phoenix, and grab lunch on the old mining town of Globe before heading west along Route 60 to the junction with Route 79, where we turn south towards Tucson. The open two-lane is empty and diesel six growls quietly in the background as the blue BMW crosses the vast landscape. The point-and-squirt running on the Apache Trail takes its toll — our fuel consumption for today’s 226-mile leg has dropped to 29 mpg.

After a night in Tucson, we head south, stopping at the historic San Xavier del Bac, the oldest and best-preserved mission church in the southwest. The mission was founded in 1700, but the church, with its elaborately carved Baroque façade, was not completed until almost 100 years later. It’s Sunday, and the parking lot is filling up with pickup trucks. The haunting sound of the church organ mingles with jaunty mariachi music from a nearby building, while the delicious aroma of tortillas on hotplates fills the air. The southwest doesn’t get much more authentic than this.

We head along Route 86, which loops down towards the Mexican border and through the Tohono O’Odham Nation before turning north to join I-8 at Gila Bend. White and green Border Patrol SUVs lurk in the scrub, and we are stopped at a checkpoint. After a legally-resident German-born photo assistant working for one of our freelance photographers was held in a cell for almost two hours at a Border Patrol checkpoint near the Salton Sea a few years back because he didn’t have his passport on him, Mrs. MacKenzie (a Brit) and I (an Australian) never travel anywhere in the US without our Green Cards. The Border Patrol guards check them carefully, then wave us on our way.

Full review continued