In the early 1980s, after their Pontiac Phoenix disintegrated, my parents bought an Oldsmobile Cutlass diesel wagon — woodgrain, burnt orange paint and all. It rattled like a Peterbilt, stunk like a truckstop, was anything but sexy, but sparked my affection for both wagons and diesels. I’m weird. While nothing you’d take to the club, it was efficient, perfectly-sized, and practical. Race ahead 30 years through a few trips to the gym and you get something like the BMW 328d xDrive Sports Wagon.
[...]