Everything at your feet: Route 292, Shiga Kogen and Driving the BMW G99 M5 Touring

Leaving Karuizawa early the following morning felt like stepping into a completely different realm. The previous day’s adrenaline-drenched baptism down Usui Pass, that violent, claustrophobic sensory overload that left my brain buzzing and lips bone dry, was behind us. Realising the sheer amount of ground left to cover across the Nagano and Gunma border, another early wake-up call was mandatory. The destination for the day was non-negotiable: Route 292.

At dawn, as the air sat crisp and completely still, the G99 M5 Touring rolled quietly away from the hotel once again in silent electric mode. While much of the automotive press had been quick to dismiss the G99’s plug-in hybrid architecture as an overly complex concession to modern emissions regulations, rolling through a sleeping Japanese mountain village, you realise it serves a far higher purpose. There is something undeniably sophisticated about gliding past wooden houses without waking a soul, the 18.6 kWh battery delivering dead-silent, zero-emission propulsion while keeping the cabin isolated and serene. I set off pointing north toward the high-altitude pass, unaware that the route itself was about to deliver a quietly special stretch of road before even reaching the main event.

A Sublime Discovery: Onioshi Highway

To get towards 292, the navigation routed us along the Onioshi Highway, winding gently around the flanks of Mount Asama. What I expected to be a routine transit stage turned out to be an unexpected highlight of the morning. Where Usui demanded white-knuckle focus and rapid speed scrubs, this sweeping climb allowed you to actually drive with your elbow on the window sill and breathe.

The asphalt sweeps gracefully around the northern flank of the active volcano, offering long, rolling elevation changes that showcased the G99’s effortless composure as a grand tourer.

Pulling up near the volcano park for a brief breather, I stepped out into the crisp dawn air. The silence was absolute. Standing there at the foot of Mount Asama, surrounded by vast, jagged fields of pitch-black volcanic rock, the atmosphere felt almost surreal.

These contorted basalt monoliths, known as Onioshidashi, are the frozen scars of the mountain’s catastrophic 1783 Tenmei eruption. Local folklore once claimed the violent explosion was caused by demons pushing rocks out of the crater, a blast so fierce it reshaped the entire landscape and supposedly darkened skies across Japan for months.

Yet, in the stillness of six in the morning, there were no tour buses, no crowds, no noise. Just the cold alpine wind rustling through the pines, the scent of damp earth and lava rock, and the gentle ticking of the M5’s hot exhaust as it sat low against the dark volcanic backdrop. Experiencing a place of such immense geological violence in complete, unbroken solitude felt like a quiet wonder, a rare, intimate moment shared strictly between me, the mountain, and the car.

The Volcanic Ascent: Full Charge to Route 292

Leaving Mount Asama behind, the shift in scenery was immediate and dramatic. The lush pine forests gave way to rolling alpine ridges as we aligned the long bonnet with Route 292 past Kusatsu Onsen.

Also known as the Shiga-Kusatsu Kogen Route, this high-altitude arterial path carries centuries of rich alpine history. Long before asphalt was laid to turn it into a scenic toll road in the mid-20th century, these rugged mountain contours served as ancient trade routes. Miners painstakingly hauled raw sulfur down from the volatile fumaroles near Mount Shirane to regional markets, while pilgrims braved the freezing high-altitude winds to journey between Gunma’s sacred healing hot springs and Nagano’s ancient Buddhist sanctuaries.

Perhaps what made Route 292 so profoundly epic was the total absence of expectation. It was not the original catalyst for coming to Karuizawa; Old Usui was the historical itch we came to scratch. But the sheer, staggering scale of this climb caught me entirely off guard. Rising nearly 1,000 vertical meters over 30 kilometres through more than 80 sweeping turns, the road unfolds like an alpine theatre. As we climbed past Kusatsu, the green slopes completely dissolved into a stark, otherworldly moonscape of bleached volcanic rock, yellow sulfur crusts, and steam plumes rising off active geothermal vents. The sweet forest scent was replaced by the sharp, egg-like bite of volcanic sulfur seeping through the climate vents, a vivid, visceral reminder that we were traversing an active, breathing caldera. With every new corner, as the mountains peeled open to reveal endless alpine vistas stretching into the clouds, I found myself simply at a loss for words. The scenery was so extraordinarily, overwhelmingly sublime that I constantly caught myself easing off the throttle, slowing down just to process the sheer scale of the landscape.

Having already witnessed how brilliantly the M5 managed its mechanical grip on the tight hairpins of Usui, stepping onto Route 292 felt like picking up where we left off, only now, having gotten accustomed to the car’s immense capabilities earlier, I felt far braver diving deeper into each apex.

Where Usui forced me to work the carbon-ceramic brakes overtime in claustrophobic confines, Route 292 allowed the chassis to breathe with a far more natural, elegant momentum. Industry consensus often fixates on the G99’s near 2.5-tonne curb weight, but out here, the way BMW M’s engineers engineered that mass into the background borders on wizardry. The standard integral active steering and clever xDrive calibration work in sweeping harmony, turning the long-roof in with an eager immediacy that defies physics. It remained valiantly composed through the thick and thin of the mountain, eagerly encouraging me to carry more speed into every bend.

Squeezing into those massive torque reserves, a relentless 1,000 Nm wave, unlocked a small, delightfully playful measure of rear-biased slip in 4WD Sport mode. Yet at no point did the M5 feel uncomposed or unruly. It managed its weight so telepathically at times that you rarely thought about its size at all, while the massive M carbon-ceramic brakes shed speed relentlessly without a hint of pedal fade.

Shibu Pass & The Fuel Run

Climbing past the treeline without stopping, the world opened into a breathtaking panorama. Below us, a sea of white clouds blanketed the valleys, with dark volcanic peaks piercing through like islands in a sea of mist. Then came the milestone: the stone monument at Shibu Pass, marking the highest point on a Japanese National Highway at 2,172 meters.

I pulled the G99 over right beside the stone marker for a well-deserved breather, stepping out into the biting alpine air. Up here on the roof of Japan, the world was eerily yet peacefully quiet, save for the freezing mountain wind and the gentle, rhythmic metallic ticking of the M5’s hot exhaust as the twin-turbo V8 cooled down.

Standing there alone, taking in the magnificent panorama stretching across the border of Gunma and Nagano, a sudden wave of deja vu washed over me. The sweeping contours, the high-altitude clarity, and the broad, dramatic exposure of the peak felt strikingly reminiscent of Bavaria’s Oberjoch Pass. My mind flashed back five years to a press trip tackling that legendary German pass behind the wheels of the then brand-new M240i and M440i.

The resemblance was uncanny. Here on the other side of the world, Route 292 felt like a spiritual sibling to Oberjoch, a reminder of the very pedigree of roads the M5 was born and bred to conquer. It felt right, like bringing a Bavarian titan back home to its natural habitat.

Looking down at the ribbon of tarmac winding away into the clouds, a sudden reality check flashed on the digital dashboard: the fuel needle was resting uncomfortably low. Launching a 727-horsepower hybrid super-wagon up 1,000 vertical meters of mountain grade drinks high-octane petrol at a sobering rate, requiring a descent down the Nagano side toward the valley town of Yudanaka. Coasting down the northern slopes offered a relaxed breather while regenerative braking trickled energy back into the high-voltage battery.

After filling the tank with fresh high-octane fuel in Yudanaka, I turned the long-roof around and charged back up Route 292 toward the summit for a second pass. But as we neared the top, the mountain proved how quickly it can shift. A massive, impenetrable blanket of thick white fog had swallowed Shibu Pass whole, completely erasing the magnificent views I had stood admiring just an hour prior. Creeping through the dense whiteout, I couldn’t help but smile at how fleeting the mountains can be, feeling immensely lucky to have sampled that pristine, crystal-clear panorama earlier when we had the peak entirely to ourselves.

The Return Descent & The Manza Pit Stop

With the full drive conquered twice over, the journey back down south toward Kusatsu allowed me to take in the landscape at a far more leisurely pace. On the return descent, we took the branch onto the Manza Highway. Carved into high alpine ridges, this road leads directly to Manza Onsen, one of Japan’s most historic and extreme high-altitude hot spring settlements.

Perched at 1,800 meters above sea level, Manza’s thermal waters hold the highest sulfur concentration in all of Japan. Long before tarmac was laid, samurai, ascetics, and travellers traversed these treacherous ridges to soak in the mineral-rich waters. Driving the Manza Highway is a technical treat in its own right, diving and climbing across ridgelines with a vertical elevation shift of nearly 800 meters across over 50 sweeping curves.

It was only here, on the way back down after the entire drive was finished, that we pulled in for a pit stop at the Manza Nature Centre Observation Terrace. Standing on the wooden observation deck, looking out over the white sulfur steam billowing continuously from the valley floor and the raw, exposed earth, the parallel between the landscape and the car was striking.

Beneath the G99’s long bonnet sat a similar kind of latent, explosive power: an electrified V8 holding 727 horsepower in reserve, mirroring the very volcanic forces that carved these ancient mountains.

Epilogue: The Full Circle

By nightfall, the high-altitude chill and sulfuric air faded into the warm, wooden comfort of Kawakami-An Head Shop back in Karuizawa. Sitting by the window with a steaming bowl of coarse-ground buckwheat soba and fresh tempura, watching the quiet evening mist settle over the pine trees outside, the entire journey finally came full circle. Through the glass, the G99 sat parked in the dark, exhaust now cold, carbon brakes long rested, a silent titan after two days of extraordinary mountain punishment.

It felt poetic to end back here in town. The journey had begun under a gentle, rain-slicked dusk, nursing a quiet curiosity about how a heavy, electrified super-wagon from BMW Japan’s fleet would handle the sacred grounds of Japanese mountain driving. We had thrown it headfirst into the claustrophobic, mossy abyss of Old Usui Pass, a violent, white-knuckle pilgrimage through 184 tight hairpins, chasing the lingering ghosts of hashiriya on wet, narrow tarmac. Usui was an intimidating knife fight, a raw technical test that proved the machine’s sheer capability and front-end mechanical grip.

But if Usui was the historical score we came to settle, Route 292 was the unexpected revelation. Taking a sip of hot tea as the day’s fatigue set in, the personal touge verdict became undeniable: right alongside the high-speed majesty of the Hakone Turnpike and the technical drama of Irohazaka, Route 292 immediately cemented its place in my personal best of touge roads in all of Japan.

That said, hands-on experiences with a press car like this always carry a quiet heartbreak, knowing that after these few magical days on Nagano’s mountain passes, the keys eventually have to be returned, and that a machine of this calibre can never truly be unleashed on the caged, restricted streets of Singapore. Many critics have argued that the G99 is too isolated or too digital for a pure backroad thrash, but as a complete, long-distance super-tourer, the wagon silhouette makes far more emotional and practical sense than the sedan.

Out here, from the dark red brick arches of Meganebashi to the sulfur steam of Manza and the cloud-soaked peak of Shibu Pass, I felt a deep, overwhelming sense of gratitude for the M5 Touring as my companion. A truly great car does not just amplify the visceral sensations of steering weight, g-forces, and exhaust note; it elevates the entire journey itself. It bends the landscape to your pace, strips away the ambient noise of everyday life, and commands your absolute presence. Out here on the roof of Japan, with such an extraordinary machine beneath your right foot, a road stops being a simple stretch of tarmac. It becomes a transformative, truly epic experience, one that reminds you precisely why we drive, and what it means to feel ever so alive.

Thank you, BMW Japan, for once again giving me such an opportunity.