1.

Check out Audi's target demo for the RS4: male, 45 years old, household income of $175,000. OK, so I don't really fit the model.

But I am in it. It feels good. Fast in a way that I'm not used to. The power is immediate, and it keeps going, past the point at which I'm used to shifting. That's in First gear, and Second is more of the same. I short-shift to Third, at 6,000 rpm, just for the exercise of it and sense the RS4 could go to 120 mph before hitting the 8,250 rpm redline. Not that I have room for that on this scraggle stretch of road.

Just north of Los Angeles is Angeles Crest Highway—a staple in the automotive junket world. If you've done 10 junkets, chances are you've been on it at least once. Stay in this business long enough, and you'll get to know Elva Lewis, who owns the Hidden Springs Café with her husband, Amos. It's 17 miles up in the canyons (or down, depending where you're starting from) and little more than an L-counter inside. On Sunday mornings, it's biker heaven. Hogs, vintage, crotch rockets, custom bikes and sidecars—they're all there. If you ask, Elva will be happy to show you pictures. She's got a small photo album with shots of the bikers, their bikes and their accidents. There's a series of photos documenting the day a biker slid along the turn and scraped his head up pretty good on the asphalt. Another series follows the rescue of a biker who flew over the guard rail, plummeting 50 feet into a ravine and had to be airlifted out. There are also photos of wandering bear cubs, winter snowstorms, mudslides and sinkholes, and Jay Leno.

On a Thursday morning, when I pull out of Hidden Springs to start my drive, Angeles Crest is deserted, the sun erumpent, and my mind still on the Mitsubishi Evo IX MR I drove 72 hours earlier. Not that they are comparable cars (the MR and the RS4). It's just that any MR driving experience is difficult to let go. It feels like you're doing more than just driving a car. Literally. The sensations reverberate—in a good way—through your limbs, joints and solar plexus and linger there for days.

It took less than a tap on the RS4 to make me forget the MR.

2.

Here are the important numbers: 420 hp @ 7,800 and 317 lb-ft @ 5,500. Zero-to-60: 4.8 seconds. Top speed: 155 mph (governed). They don't speak for themselves.

The RS4 was developed by Audi's performance division, called Quattro, that's headed by an affable German named Stephan Reil. He is with us during the entire junket, making sure we remember that the 4.2-liter V-8 and 6-speed transmission are the same as the RS4 that's made for the German market. And being a German engineer, he's all about the Nurburgring Nordschleife, where the RS4 ran a lap of 8:14—faster than the Porsche 911 Carrera 4 (8:23). Faster than the BMW M3 (8:22). But that number, too, doesn't quite capture the essence of its performance. Because at the heart of the RS4 is a deeply rooted paradox that's difficult to quantify.

Over the past few years, Audis (and VWs, for that matter) have been skewing toward luxury. In other words, they've gained weight. They look fatter and drive fatter than the cars of a decade ago. It's an industry-wide development—only Lotus hasn't gotten the memo. The Quattro division, on the other hand, is charged with pushing performance and technology to the top of the food chain. An easy job if you're in Korea. Not so much in Germany. So Reil and his team faced the problem of maintaining the mandate of his division and the ethos of the RS badge while also delivering an Audi that's not too far from the A4's baseline characteristics for comfort. Most manufacturers sacrifice one for the other. Mercedes chooses to be plush over nimble. BMW is the ultimate driving machine (though the company is seriously rethinking that position in favor of adding comfort). Reil needed to be both.

3.

Midday, the junketeers find ourselves at Willow Springs Raceway, which, we're told by the instructors brought along by Audi to make sure we don't kill ourselves, can be taken entirely in Fourth gear. He's right. Willow is a short road course made up of fast corners with one corner so linear and fast that it can be considered one of two straights. Another corner arcs a complete semi-circle, but its radius is so wide that it, too, can be taken flat out, though my manhood isn't sophisticated enough to take advantage of it.

I do, however, downshift—to Third at the first corner, a dogleg to the left that leads into a long decreasing radius right-hand loop. By the time I pull for Fourth, I'm already three-quarters of the way around it. The RS4 doesn't even hint at twitching as I squeeze the gas pedal, but I'm still learning the course. The next turn is a lefthander uphill, which plays right into the physics of the car. No problem. Around a looping right back down the hill, I grab for an early Fourth and floor it down the back "straight". After the final right hand sweeper, I'm back on the front straight for a more confident run in search of the limit.

OK, that last part sounds ridiculous. Of course, I'm not even close to the limit. But I am pushing the RS4, which never budges from its line. Nor does it tilt or lean. More startling than how the RS4 maintains its composure is how it stays cushy at the same time.

Dynamic Ride Control first appeared on the Audi RS6. A more compact version appears on the new RS4. Despite the sound of its name, DRC isn't electronic. Essentially, it's just a fancy trademark for a new damping system connected to the suspension geometry. The dampers are diagonally connected by a central valve unit, which controls the flow of oil to the corner most in need of damping. On the track, the system minimizes bodyroll to the point that its absence confuses the part of the brain that controls physical perception. It's a disconnect with a reality based on the standard paradox that performance and comfort can't mutually exist. It does in the RS4.

There's one other disconnect. It has to do with the engine. When you accelerate in the RS4, the engine is instant, seamless and smooth. Yet it's also understated and calm. It's another paradox remedied by Quattro's technical team. But the residual affect is this: As I accelerate—and it doesn't matter where on the speedo—I'm never really sure where I'm at in the rev range. The engine maintains its level vibrant drone. Sure, the exhaust picks up when you add gas. But the overall feedback of the RS4 engine is subdued enough that it's hard to correlate the car's speed with its sound.

4.

Less than a day later and I'm in a BMW M3, equipped with the Competition package: around $7,000 in larger brakes, tighter steering, 19-inch wheels with performance tires and a nice coat of Interlagos Blue. I feel like a 25-year-old agent's assistant.

I head toward Mulholland. The straight-six grunts until it finds a sweet spot higher up in the revs. Although it's down 85 hp and 55 lb-ft to the Audi RS4 powerplant, the M3's power-to-weight ratio is similar. It also matches the RS4's 0-to-60 time (4.8 seconds). The difference is the experience. The M3 is just more visceral, more grounded in my reality. When I shift into Second, it feels like Second gear. I can hear the car pushing toward Third, which comes when I expect it and feels like Third gear ought to feel. And here's the thing: There's no doubt that Audi has engineered a higher species of car, but I'm afraid I'm not quite ready for it.

Two days later, Jeremy Clarkson compares the RS4 and the M3 in his Sunday column for the Times of London. In the end, he goes with the RS4 on the basis of its engine. Me? I'm the other way around. I grew up with an A2 Golf. I don't mind the bumps and bruises. Maybe my idiosyncrasies will change when I'm 45 and making $175,000. Who knows? Actually, I just hope to be making $175,000 by the time I'm 45.

Fumes appears the first and third Tuesday of every month. Richard Chang can be emailed at rich@urbanracer.com.