Mercedes Benz SLK 350

In less time than it took to twist the steering wheel or even think about braking, the SLK 350 was hard upon the loose pack of cyclists, who were flinging themselves downslope, their brightly colored livery forming an image of giant tropical birds, tires hissing as though a hundred wings were slicing through the air.

The impending disaster wasn't entirely unexpected. The mountain roads of Mallorca were humming with biciclestas, and I'd already been spooked by their sudden appearances around blind corners. This time, to keep from tattooing the trailing cyclist's tail feathers with a three-pointed star, I thrust both legs forward, responding with muscle memory, no time for reasoning. I jammed the brake and clutch pedals to the floor, and the high-rev roar of the SLK's new V6 fell off like the echoed blast of a huge baritone sax. The car decelerated straight and true, and I escaped tagging the clueless cyclist-though I did come close enough to admire the intricate stitching of his uniform's logos (and an equally admirable set of haunches).

My co-pilot made another rude observation about these gaggles of two-wheelers, who would swing back and forth in front of us like flushed quail, just fast enough that we couldn't get a good shot off...I mean, make a safe passing move on the paved goat paths that passed for roads through the rugged mountains.

These disruptions in the SLK's flight path (think falcon's dive interrupted by a flock of sparrows) were particularly aggravating, because the rural byways on the Spanish island are wonderful, winding up and over knife-edged ridges that spill groves of olive trees off their steep flanks. Dozens of switchbacks, each with unique entry and exit points, dip in and out of forest shadow, and every time you expect a straight, it's instead been cleverly kinked, as though to give the locals extra slalom practice.

The roads are lined with miles of beautifully crafted stone walls, whose beauty reminds the driver to be respectful of the available asphalt, which is narrow and often falls off sharply into ditches designed to funnel water away from the road and, regrettably, to flip over the cars which blunder into them. The climate is mild, the pavement is smooth as vintage Mallorcan vino, and the consequences of an "off" are dire enough to test both a car's athleticism and a driver's confidence in his own skills.

The myriad threats to car and driver, however, just added spice to a delectable and not uncommon side effect of travel to the Mediterranean-falling in love, in this case with the new SLK 350.

I hadn't expected it. Early in day, as the redesigned roadster sat in the murk of a foggy morning, this newest silver arrow displayed stimulating styling, but I wondered if the promise would be an empty one, that the grilles, vanes and spoilers adorning the aggressively wedge-shaped profile would be more accessory than technical necessity.

I recalled the first SLK. It had a lot of promise, too, when it was born, but for me it never became more than a shallow personality in a family of overachievers, a clever but colorless aspirer to a club that considers having fun the prime requisite of membership.

That's not to say the first-generation SLK was a failure. To the contrary-since its introduction in the fall of 1996, over 308,000 of the two-seaters were sold worldwide, making it by far the number-one sales performer in its segment. The car just never made me want to find a deserted winding road. I would never have traded in the Porsche Boxster S for a car from the other company in Stuttgart. Now, I'm not so sure.

Once underway, and after the new SLK and I began our tactile relationship, it was clear there was considerable substance under the car's new bodywork. And then, after I'd attacked the drive's first set of corners, I realized that Mercedes-Benz had come up with a very special car. Later, after an extended blast along a black ribbon of pavement that seemed glued to a cliff that sank straight into the sea, I concluded that we could live together happily.

Its power and poise would have knocked me off my feet if I hadn't been sitting in the strikingly restyled cockpit. It was like dancing with someone who knows how to both lead and follow. My pleasure centers were jolted, and I felt the dawning of a new lust warming the soft air of that spring day in the Mediterranean.

Earlier, morning dew played a staccato beat with the pavement's coefficient of friction, making the traction control work hard, but the ESP electronics tamed potential "moments" into almost imperceptible adjustments of the chassis. It was as though my dancing partner were constantly improvising intricate steps to keep our balance intact, while all I had to do was keep from doing something stupid. Which I did just once, when I punched the traction control button off to see just how slippery...whoa, Nelly! It was like frying an eel in a non-stick pan and provided a startling glimpse of the new V6's personality. The 258 lb-ft of torque comes on quickly and strongly, beginning its wide plateau at 2400 rpm and extending to 5000 rpm. The 268 bhp, peaking at 6000 rpm, are willingly delivered by the free-revving 3498cc V6, and keeping the car's electronic handling aids fully operative does little to diminish the sporting nature of the handling.