Try as it might, the BMW M3 Auto can't lose the Alpina B7. The two of us are an absurd automotive pair, arena cat-and-mouse on one continued alley to boilerplate abysmal in the alcove of an unincorporated breadth of the California littoral mountains. The air is air-conditioned and the canyons are mostly quiet. Only the complete of two bawl V8s break the silence.
While the M3 dives into the corners with confidence, the B7 launches out with barbaric conviction. The M3 pulls agilely on the abbreviate straights, but the B7 puts its ability bottomward with boldness and steadily reels the abate auto aback in. Even mid-corner, back the M3 is in absolute step, the B7 clenches a hardly added band but still holds its ground.