It’s the last thing anyone wants to see in the rearview, especially in Texas. I’m on Highway 71 headed westbound out of Austin, happy as a Lone Star barbecue, when suddenly my entire rear glass is shrouded in blue and red flashing lights. The dread that overwhelms me is like a knee to the solar plexus from Daniel Cormier. Damn. How did I let this AMG seduce me? Because as we all know, speed infractions are always the vehicle’s fault—never the driver’s.
I pull over and start stammering sorrowful excuses. After a quick shuffling of paperwork, the officer admits he never quite got a fix on me, but was pretty sure I was speeding. With ruffled brow, he and his partner take a couple laps around the gorgeous matte-black Mercedes, eyeing me suspiciously, and then release me back into the wild. The pit in my stomach lifts, replaced with joy as soon as I ease on the throttle and hear the hand-built 4.0-liter V-8’s vibrations rumble through the quad exhausts. Even cruising the GT four-door brings a static sense of exhilaration; I had no idea I was doing north of 80 mph. That’s how natural the sedan feels at speed. I resolve to save the high jinks for my next destination: the Formula 1 coliseum known as the Circuit of the Americas (COTA).
A quick glance might fool you into confusing this AMG sedan with Mercedes’ other “four-door coupe,” the CLS. Fair enough. It’s safe to say the CLS single-handedly