It doesn’t matter how many sheep I count. The anticipation of the days ahead wins out, and the phone next to me constantly buzzing confirms the insomnia is contagious. All went to bed hours ago, eager to be of fresh mind and body for the road. I had even invited the members of our Motley Crew over to my house under the false pretences of saving time, thus extra sleep, but they saw right through my snake oil - the pub would have come calling and this trip is far too important for that nonsense. Still, the WhatsApp group would not stop pinging its excited messages across the airwaves, even the Witching Hour passed without a ceasefire in transmission.

There’s a good reason for our enthusiasm. Ahead lies a road trip of epic proportions – fifteen hundred miles over four days and three nights in a mission to sniff out the best roads Scotland has to offer. This isn’t a road test, it's an adventure with the best possible company - bucket list stuff. The three cars we are taking certainly aren’t rivals, more like a progressive ownership curve. A finishing order isn’t the objective, but it doesn’t mean a few questions can’t be answered along the way. Copious amount of tea and biscuits were sacrificed refining the details of the plan, a route that pierces through the heart of the Trossachs before slingshotting around Ben Nevis and tracing the coastline to the Isle of Skye. The best of the NC500 follows, and then it’s an abrupt turn South at Kylesku, seeking out the Cairngorms and the challenging Old Military road.

The warm night air is making it even more difficult to settle, but it would be wrong to curse it. We are about to be blessed with the hottest spring on record, yet a week ago the trip was in jeopardy due to gloomy weather reports. A Nürburgring pilgrimage, the Isle of Man and even Ibiza were floated as alternatives. The cutting 4.15 am alarm call will be the least pleasant experience of the trip - whilst the urge to abuse the snooze button is strong, abuse from a late arrival would be stronger so I leap out of bed and hit the road. But already the night has claimed its first victim as I leave the house. Paul sits in the BMW M2 Competition, waiting for his co-pilot to rise. Soon a bleary-eyed Chris emerges, muttering something about a faulty alarm clock.

News relayed, I dial back the cruise control of the Mini JCW to 65mph and enjoy seeing the mpg counter climb north of fifty, impressive for a car loaded with the essentials of highland survival - sandwiches, snacks, water and fermented hops. Fifty to the gallon is certainly a number that won’t be seen again over the next four days.

Somewhere over the North Pennines meanwhile a third car is making progress, our meeting point and breakfast awaits. Only it’s heading in the wrong direction - the night has claimed a second victim as Marek, the man behind the lens, is on the phone apologising profusely for forgetting his cameras and having to turn around. A second round of sausage and egg butties is ordered. Thirty minutes later a sheepish-looking M135i pulls into the car park, its owner craving caffeine. Addictions and rumbling bellies satisfied, the convoy settles into an eco-pro cruise along the M6 for the long journey north…

The adventure proper begins at Aviemore. The tourists head for Loch Lomond, but we have an ulterior motive for coming to the Trossachs. The A809 & A81 have acted as the perfect palette cleansers after the motorway, but now our target is in sight – The Dukes Pass.

The innocuous turn-off Aberfoyle High Street didn’t show much promise, but immediately the forearms are given a workout as we’re pitched into a series of wide, sweeping hairpins, constantly climbing. Once scaled the road levels off but undulates with constant direction changes, never letting the cars settle. Any straights are short but sweet, the speedometer acquiring a quick thirty mph before the brakes are tasked with scrubbing it back off again. The corners keep coming, a kaleidoscope of turns of all shapes and angles.

Up front in the M2 Chris is using all his race craft but the hyper agility and low mass of the Mini are what count up here, and despite the difference in skill it’s easy to maintain touch. The Mini is aided by a couple of tricks up its sleeve – the car is both lower and wider to the tune of 30mm thanks to the fitment of the optional KW coilovers, 15mm spacers all-round and 17” wheels wrapped in performance-orientated Michelin Supersport tyres. The new suspension set-up and stickier footprint have combined beautifully to eradicate the standard cars’ floaty behaviour, locking down any pitch, dive and body roll.

Beforehand, the centre of gravity felt as if it gathered at a point around the driver's shoulder line, giving a distinctive and unpleasant top-heavy feeling to the handling balance. Now, however, the Dan Tien is significantly lower, the mass of the car pivoting into a turn from your hips, each axle sharing the load rather than rolling into submission.

The steering's glassy initial turn-in has been eradicated and the chassis now makes sense of the quick steering rack - command and the car responds to the exact degree and tempo, with an economy of movement the others simply cannot match.

This isn’t a complete transformation, however. For all its accuracy the finer details remain elusive. A change in surface? Seen and heard but not felt. The transition from grip to slip? Not well telegraphed. You end up searching for alternate answers, learning to extrapolate the limit of adhesion through the seat of your pants and the oration of the tyres, assuming you can hear them over the racket of the JCW’s sports exhaust. Another optional extra party piece, the carbon-tipped pipes emit a riot of pops and bangs that ricochet back off the rock face and chase you up the road. It's little wonder the Bluetooth fob to operate its valve comes with an anti-social behaviour warning.

As Loch Achray comes into view the exhaust valve is quietly closed to avoid disturbing the Lady of the Lake. Glencoe is the next port of call and I slip behind the paddles of the M2, but it’s an uneventful, if scenic, commute over to our first overnight stop of Fort William.

In this environment the M2 reigns supreme, picking off traffic with absolute authority, its companions no match for the rapid-fire gear change or top-end reach of the additional turbo. If only the voice generated in the process had more personality. All around us gentle slopes give way to towering jagged peaks and every side road shows promise - it takes considerable willpower to resist