THE LEXUS LOOKS ANNOYED. Born in Toyota's Motomachi plant in Japan, the GS F has come nearly 6000 miles to prove itself on the German autobahn. But all I've done with it so far is crawl through Cologne's crowded streets, then park it overnight at a dreary business hotel overlooking the Rhine. It deserves better.

In the crisp fall air, I approach the GS F apologetically. Soon enough, I'll unleash its 467-hp V-8 on the autobahn's unrestricted-speed zones. The autobahn registers so powerfully in the enthusiast community that Lexus, which barely sells any cars in Germany, has designed the GS F to master these roads. It wants to hunt M5s, E63s, and RS7s in their natural habitat.

I have a different attitude: I'm nervous, almost insecure. Although I've driven on the autobahn before, it was a short spin in a small Volkswagen not designed for megaspeeds. This is my first time really putting down the throttle in Germany.

In America, you take your life into your hands merging onto the highway, whereas Germany's rigorously trained drivers practice excellent lane discipline.

Settling into the well-bolstered driver's seat, I press the start button. The car roars to life, its intricately baffled exhaust rumbling, an angry predator.

"Well, that's certainly loud, isn't it?" says my passenger.

That'd be the photographer, Tom Salt. A soft-spoken intellectual who has been photographing cars for nearly two decades, he's a bit jaded by performance and doesn't particularly enjoy the sensation of speed. Also, he lives in Germany. So for him, the autobahn isn't a fantasy adventure, the promised land for car geeks and speed freaks—it's a utilitarian slog from Hamburg to Bonn to see his in-laws at Christmas. "Ninety percent of it is Polish trucks, currywurst, and traffic jams," he reports.

Tom Salt

The Lexus certainly stands out in this milieu. Unlike the German automakers, which prefer their sport sedans sleek and nondescript, Lexus isn't going for subtlety here. The GS F, like the similarly flamboyant RC F coupe, has an aggressive, low stance and a low-profile grille that makes it resemble an angry wasp. With its swoops and cuts and sloping hood, the GS F is more showy sword-wielder than anonymous BMW Interpol assassin.

I inch onto the city streets, negotiate a few roundabouts, and then zoom onto the A3, destination somewhere. Within a couple kilometers, we reach our starting line: a circle with gray diagonal lines through it. The legendary symbol for unlimited speed appears on the dash, the head-up display, and the roadside sign. "Lexus ready to launch," I say.

"Yes, yes," says Salt. "Just don't get us killed."

I flick into the left lane, dial the center-console knob over to Sport S—the tachometer glowing red—then again, to Sport S+. The dashboard whitens as the GS F prepares to warp.

"Hold on tight," I say, though maybe I should be directing that advice to myself.

As I push the GS F toward 230 km/h (143 mph), my sweaty hands squeeze the wheel. Already, my brain has started to frizz. My guts feel like poached eggs.

But I don't have to endure this speed for long. A sign appears overhead, accompanied by what looks like a stick figure shoveling elephant dung, telling us to slow to 120 km/h (75 mph). Our first construction zone.

"This is really the ideal autobahn speed," Salt says. "You're driving fast enough to get where you need to go, but you're not necessarily putting your entire family's life in danger. That's what I prefer."

Tom Salt

He's not alone. Although the idea of unlimited speed remains central to Germany's highway system—and citizens actively thwart any bureaucratic attempts to restrict that freedom—driving the autobahn doesn't mean all throttle, all the time. On overpasses, various regional highway authorities post banners that encourage safe driving by making German attempts at humor: "I keep my distance on the road so I can cuddle at home." "I drive carefully so my hair stays in place."

Just over half of the 12,950 kilometers (8047 miles) of the autobahn are unrestricted, but even those sections often don't deliver on the promise. Most autobahns are only two lanes wide, with three- and four-lane stretches near cities, but they're usually in some sort of transitional state. The Germans love construction so much that sometimes it seems as though their construction is under construction. That means you often find yourself driving up against a concrete guardrail on one side and a phalanx of Romanian truckers on the other. It makes for stressful driving.

That said, the rules and the constant construction are precisely what makes the German autobahn feel safe at any speed. It's among the world's largest highway systems and is probably the best maintained: smoothly paved, lines clearly painted, no potholes, although the shoulders are sometimes narrower than a marathon runner's. And whereas in America you take your life into your hands merging onto the highway, Germany's rigorously trained drivers practice excellent lane discipline. If you're merging on, you stay to the right. If you're going faster than other drivers, you pass on the left. Otherwise, you cruise in the middle or stay to the right. Everyone seems to get that, and everyone gets along.

Tom Salt

We squeeze through the construction zone. The white circle with the diagonal gray lines appears again. I switch into Sport S mode and slam the gas pedal. The GS F whangs ahead.

At 210 km/h (130 mph)—a speed that would have gotten me arrested in Texas—my rearview mirror fills with the image of a high-powered Audi bearing down on my tail.

"Drängeln," Salt says.

"What?" I ask.

"Drängeln. It's a German word that means 'to follow closely.' They give tickets for it."

I increase my speed to 220, but the Audi stays glued to my bumper. The bastard is drängeln-ing the hell out of me.

But on the autobahn, if you can't keep pace in the left lane, get out. So I do. The Audi blurs past. I move back into the left lane a little defeated and regain my speed. After I cruise pleasantly for five minutes, that same Audi closes into view. Or maybe it's a different Audi. Regardless, I'm its daddy now. I press the gas.

"Drängeln this, you overblown Volkswagen!"

Tom Salt

The faster you go, the more the left lane belongs to you. Salt rolls his eyes. He's ridden shotgun with plenty of cussing car journalists hotdogging on the autobahn. And now I have the fever.

After a few hundred meters, the Audi gets the message and moves over. The GS F, with me at the helm, forges ahead, the best car in Germany at that moment. I exhale sharply. Salt laconically but efficiently takes snapshots of my macho achievement.

"You can slow down now," he says.

"Why?"

He points upward at the electronic signs.

Of course.

Construction.

Tom Salt

SALT IS RIGHT ABOUT ONE THING: The autobahn doesn't present a scene of impeccable glamour. Near some of the bigger cities, the roadside stops feature upscale coffeehouses with decent food. But mostly, our four days on the autobahn go like this: We spend $80 to $100 on a tank of gas ("You've got to pay to play," Salt says), then shell out another 70 cents to use the bathroom. Outside the stations, there's the unmistakable aroma of urine, as many of the long-haul truckers don't want to pay to pee.

No semblance of European boutique charm is on display at the tacky service marts, which offer a terrible assortment of goods: little windup music boxes that play "Für Elise" and "Yesterday," and German-language audiobooks, such as The Girl on the Train. Of presumably more interest are the wall-mounted sex-toy vending machines in every bathroom, offering a piquant variety of lubes, novelty condoms, and playthings. It's all very utilitarian, and it doesn't encourage you to linger.

Tom Salt

There's a saying that goes "never drop in on a German unannounced." Even the German hotel industry doesn't like sudden visitors. Compared with U.S. interstates, where there's usually a Holiday Inn Express within a few dozen miles of any given point, the pickings are slim for the average traveler. I suppose there's a scenario where one can speed from luxury resort to lakeside castle and back, but we don't have that kind of budget. One night, we end up in a nightmarish Euro-style pod overlooking a noisy urban bridge. Another, we pull off the road to a rural conference resort that hasn't been redecorated since the early Nineties. It appears that we're the only guests, but they put us in an outlying building anyway. I wake to find myself in a perfectly preserved, and seemingly unpopulated, 19th-century village.

Each morning, we return to the leather-swathed bucket seats of the GS F grateful that we have such a well-appointed cockpit to get us from point A to point wherever. Lexus has been doing easy-listening cabin comfort for decades, and the GS F has plenty of that creamy, high-end doctor's office styling, but carbon-fiber accents remind us that speed is always an option.

Tom Salt

For a break from the monotony of autobahn scenery and intermittent sound-barrier breaking, we take a brief side trip. Some guys at a beer hall had recommended the Schwarzwaldhochstrasse, the Black Forest High Road, which my map refers to as a landschaftlich schöne Strecke, a "route with beautiful scenery." It is pretty, but a dense fog shrouds the highway in an eerie mist, discouraging any attempt to exercise the Lexus's chassis.

The setting appeals to Salt's morose sensibilities, so he takes many shots. I set the GS F to Eco mode and meander down the Hochstrasse. We stop briefly for coffee and some Apfelkuchen mit Sahne (apple cake and cream) at a weird dog-themed ski resort that's absolutely clogged with elderly holiday hikers. In Germany, no one looks twice at a couple of middle-aged men in bad sweaters eating cake on the patio. We fit in fine.

Tom Salt

Tom Salt

After this tender interlude, it's back to unlimited speed. We have about 350 kilometers to go to return the car to Cologne. I'm feeling a little drained. Driving 100-plus-mph for five minutes is an unparalleled thrill; for a whole day, an exhausting but exhilarating kick. Four straight days tests your stamina.

Still, when the white circle with the gray lines flashes, I answer its call. How can I not? Though the Germans mostly designed the autobahn system for convenience and commerce, they also bred speed into the system's DNA. Grand-prix racing teams used the Frankfurt-Darmstadt section for high-speed runs until German driver Bernd Rosemeyer died in January 1938, attempting to set a land speed record. The least I can do to honor him is to flash by the Peugeots and Polos in the center lane.

"This is the way to live," I say.

The GS F agrees. Its exuberant styling probably seems silly to the owners of the blacked-out Audis and Mercedes accompanying me in the left lane, but the Lexus, too, is honoring and celebrating speed—speed these Germans take for granted. Plus, it backs up that design with real capability. Through endless traffic zones, its Brembo brakes never fade.

But, at last, I do. With just 20 kilometers left on our trip, my adrenals collapse. I have nothing left to give to this GS F, and it has nothing left to prove to me. I had planned to milk every last unrestricted section on our route, but I simply couldn't drive anymore.

We pull into the typical gas station, with the usual petty offerings and awful smell.

"Can you take the wheel?" I ask Salt.

Tom Salt

I fall into the passenger seat a lump of speed-exhausted goo. Salt takes the last stretch at 120 km/h or less, slowly and carefully, as he prefers.

"This is a very impressive vehicle," he says, high praise from someone who's ridden in a lot of souped-up nonsense cars.

"Plus," he adds, "you kept us out of the hospital."

On the gray, conservative autobahn, the Lexus looks like the guy who showed up to the business meeting wearing bermuda shorts. But the GS F proves it belongs in the fast lane.

2016 Lexus GS F

Price: $85,390

Engine: DOHC 32-valve 5.0-liter V-8, 467 HP @ 7100 RPM, 389 LB-FT @ 4800 RPM

Transmission: 8-speed automatic, RWD

LxWxH: 193.5 x 72.6 x 56.7 in

Weight: 4050 lb

0–60 mph: 4.5 sec

Top Speed: 168 mph

On Sale: Now

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