Copyright (c) 2008 GoodMotorcycles.com
This is a story of fantasy come true. I'm one of those people who read test reports on bikes which I know I could never afford to buy (at least, not before they and I are too old to enjoy the experience), then forms his own opinion about what they're really like, without so much as even a ride round the block on one. You may sneer, but I know I'm not the only one.
To add offence to the above, I also harbour the dark suspicion that average bike journalist is hyper-critical, over-zealous and rides as if in pursuit of Carl Fogarty. It follows, then, that I sneakily believed I could ride a top class new bike and review it just as well - from a bloke in the street angle without the race track antics, wheelies and doughnut burn-outs so beloved of the press.
You won't be surprised then, if I tell you that to me the chance of a free go on one of these unobtainable objects (the bike, I mean) was definitely not to be sniffed at. Imagine my delight when our local BMW dealer staged a demonstration day and, as I had spent some time there in the recent past, contemplating his wares, invited me to go along for a test ride. The fantasy journalist in me was immediately summoned from his slumber.
March is hardly the best time for this sort of thing, but the day began with clear skies, and as far as I was concerned an air of optimism. The watery late winter sunshine assured me that yet again the ever pessimistic BBC (which let's face it, never quite got over the Hurricane Fish incident of 1987, did they?) had well overdone the morning's forecast which was for snow, sleet and gale-force winds.
I had arranged to take the afternoon off work and made an appointment for what I believed was 12.30 at the dealers. Having never experienced such an event before I expected to be loaned the BMW with a free-roaming brief. The prospect of releasing all that pent up journalistic pen-envy and proving to myself that my prejudice was in truth really justified, gradually built up in me a gently sanguine feeling.
By 12.15 things were less good. The rain had been lashing the side of my work's building on and off since about ten, but I consoled myself with the thought that these were sporadic showers with fine interludes. I reasoned that the demo ride would probably fit neatly into a slot between two of these, and all would be well.
By the time I arrived at the dealers, I was struggling with the RF600, against a near gale and sleet; the sky growing ever darker. On the main road I saw half a dozen BMW's coming the other way, which turned out to be the demonstration fleet on an organised, orchestrated tour on a planned route, accompanied by a sort of guide/instructor. I should've been part of that run, which I was informed, had left on time at 12.15 sharp. Oops, thought I, I'll never make a good German.
Thankfully, the appalling weather had caused numerous cancellations and the dealer was extremely helpful and friendly. I simply re-booked to go at 1.15. I waited, received free coffee and sales patter. The only other punter was a man I guessed to be in his mid fifties who quietly explained he owned an R80 combo and was considering a K75 solo (''now that the kids are off my hands'').
Presently, the early shift returned. They had wet, red faces and were laughing at how bad conditions had become. I wondered if the other chap would actually go when his time came. Gazing through the plateglass at the cold world outside, I began to even wonder if I would go myself. Seven other people had cancelled or chickened out.
As I mounted the R1100 it became apparent that the adjustable seat was set up for a giant - I, with a mere 28'' inside leg, could only get my toes on the floor. Furthermore, the indicator switches, one on each bar, with a reset requiring a right-handed up-and-under thumb action, were completely different to my own bike. I realised then that I was about to experience what trainers call a learning curve with no hope of mastering the switches right away.
Waiting in the shop's car park, with the bike in neutral, frantically practising the controls in an inept imitation of Ted Rogers, I idly blipped open the throttle and immediately felt the torsional reaction for which BMW's are justifiably famous. The motor sounded and felt lumpy, compared to my own and becoming accustomed to the 600, I used far too many revs to get away. Making what must've been a visually interesting kangaroo start across the dealer's flooded tarmac, left winker still on.
On the road we at once encountered heavy traffic. At slow speed I noticed immediately how well the bike steered and my confidence grew with each minute which passed. The other guy was having difficulties, particularly as he had not ridden any sort of solo bike in the last 20 years. Maintaining formation, we started, stopped, sped up and dawdled, out on to a wide, fast formerly three lane section, which had recently been remarked as a wide two track road.
A few miles along this, in very squally conditions the motorcade turned back, seemingly because the other guy was now severely struggling to master elements and bike. Frankly, this came as something of a pisser, because I was just getting to know the R1100 and realising why it's the hottest item on the BMW menu.
Returning through driving sleet, high crosswinds and spray from cars and trucks, sensing my go was soon to be over, I passed the others in fourth gear and almost instantly saw eighty on the clock before braking for traffic lights at a tee-junction. I clumsily overdid the rear brake, causing the ABS to cut in with a flicker of red lights in the corner of my field of view. The BMW maintained its composure in spite of my crude input and even the traffic lights seemed in tune, obliging us with a light change in time to round the left-hander and smoothly negotiate the subsequent roundabout as if on dry road.
On returning to the dealer, I complained loudly but, respecting the other guy's feelings, cheerfully about not having had long enough to evaluate the machine. In reward, I received coffee and snacks, was booked on to the 2.15 slot for another go. The 2.15 jaunt included a Kawa 900 pilot, an ex-DR, a CBR1000 rider/artic driver and sundry people who'd re-booked or were late for the earlier runs.
The weather continued to worsen, if that were possible, but I was by now in love with the Beemer's ability to stay vertical, stable and straight despite the conditions - the superb fairing made life in the saddle seem like a summers day compared to the RF.
The eight bike convoy left town, with myself in third place, behind an unfaired 1100RS and the guide. We did a circuit, taking in about 30 miles of mixed terrain. This was more like it. The 50mph sidewinds lifted vortexes of spray off the tops of trucks and buffeted the bikes mercilessly. The RS sat solidly on the road and pulled strongly to about 90mph, when I judged the leaders to be in more of a hurry than I was and let them go. The lump slugged away effortlessly, making gear changing a needless exercise for the most part.
The sports label's stretching belief a little against Jap bikes, and acceleration was poorer than on the Suzuki for the same effort with the throttle. Neverthelesss, the RS surged smoothly forward with a firm but somehow gentle rush reminiscent of my first ride on a fast electric train. The road holding, braking and comfort were absolutely superb. We covered a six mile country section on mainly single track roads, over mud, floods, loose gravel, hills, narrow lanes and sharp bends. The bike took it all in its stride and was becoming serious fun.
Back at the shop, I was most reluctant to get off and gushed stupidly about the bike to the beaming sales officials. After yet more coffee, and a dry out, I agreed to ride the K1100LT in the 4.15 session. By then, I was becoming intoxicated by the atmosphere with just that nagging doubt that you sometimes feel five pints after just ''nipping out for a swift half with Dave, won't be long, love.'' Locating the source of this feeling to be with my other half, I phoned the missus. Overhearing the call, the ever cheerful salesman beamed some more and plied me with soup, sympathy and some more sales patter.
For those of you who aren't familiar with the K1100LT SE, this bike's about eleven grand's worth on the road, with on-board computer, heated grips, hi-fi, LCD gear indicator, Goldwing style pillion back-rests and ABS. Some people standing in the showroom referred to it as the shed. Another leg-stretcher and the seat wasn't adjustable. The previous rider had left the radio on, and I spent a minute of so before take-off experimenting with the handlebar mounted volume and seek controls, but never actually found out how to switch it off.
As with the RS, the LT seat was too high, which intensified the top heavy feel at standstill. The bike had a very glam rock glitzy character which shone through the prevailing wet weather, and the enormous screen looked solid enough to hold off a hurricane. That glamour, though, faded a little when I began riding the beast. Moving off slowly, the LT gave a distant impression of the front end being cemented solidly into a builder's barrow full of concrete, with the protruding shafts serving as handlebars. Once moving at over 25mph, however, it felt stable and easy to ride, with an obvious long distance, soft but comfy seat.
We took the same route, this time at a slightly gentler pace. I wondered what happened when the throttle was abused on one of these. Coming off a roundabout, I revved the engine towards the redline in second gear, and it produced a sort of roaring, snarling, gurgling noise, reminiscent of a van engine, which peaked so audibly that the tacho wasn't really necessary. I changed up and repeated the exercise twice more with about 75% of max revs.
We were now belting along and I glanced at the speedo - 85mph. I notched the ultra-smooth gearchange into top (5th) and the revs subsided, finding a 65/75mph cruising speed on the cusp of the power band.
Over the exposed terrain, as with the R1100, wind buffeting was delightfully low and never a problem. Through the rural section, where the RS was manoeuvrable, and even at times agile, the wheelbarrow had to be lunged and leaned; at times seemed to be losing its grip on sharp, wet and uneven bends. By now there were some fairly deep floods and the combination of weight and ABS gave me added confidence as I sped through them, soaking my boots and everything within a 20 foot radius.
By 20 miles, though, I was suffering from boredom. This big, majestic bike seemed to resist being hurried and positively fought against being thrashed. I indicated left to allow the biking caravan to snake past me, then followed on in its spray, cruising lazily at sixty and turning up the radio volume so that it was easily audible above the engine, even through ear-plugs and helmet. In fact, it was so loud that startled bystanders were scattered, as if mistaking the Beemer for a run-away ice-cream van.
Back at the shop, I parked the LT, having never discovered the radio-off switch, and staggered in for a final coffee, somewhat damp but lastingly contented. My testing session had now spanned five hours and covered only two bikes. I had a deal more respect for bike journalists and immensely more for BMW's (but I still can't afford the one I want).
Facing the facts, and preparing myself for the squaw, I mounted my trusty RF which, so soon after riding the LT, obliged me by giving an impersonation of a nuclear powered moped. Well, as they say, every silver cloud has a lining. Ye-haw!
Adrian Leeds
Strange thing, life. There was no way I could've guessed I'd be left in charge of an R1100R. Hell of a weird, wacky heap any way you want to look at it, except from the saddle when it feels butch between the legs. For five minutes. Even an old rat R60 that I had a passing relationship with was remarkably comfortable in full cruiser mode. I couldn't believe that BMW had so cocked up the comfort. The seat looks like something off an old cruiser, although three-way adjustable it left me squirming around after about a 100 miles. A day's hard riding, maybe 600 miles, left me walking around like I'd dropped a load in me leather pants.
There was obviously something wrong with the riding position. On the old boxers you'd sit on one and it'd feel so right that you'd be scribbling a ridiculous sum into your cheque book before you knew what had happened. BMW got away with some odd engineering in the past because they got the ergonomics right, abandoning such correctness in their latest high tech work of art seems damn silly.
The lack of comfort was mitigated by the ease with which I could get the bike up on the back wheel - the back of the seat, towards which I slid, was much more comfortable. The relatively high bars, huge amount of grunt from the 1085cc boxer motor and interaction of Paralever back and Telelever front ends had the front wheel waggling around in a most ungentlemanly manner.
On the old boxers you had to thrash the hell out of them to replicate such madness, to the point where the clutch might explode. The R1100S still showed its roots, with its crankshaft causing a torque reaction that the shaft drive turned brutal, by waving around as the back end squirmed despite the Paralever working overtime, and nearly having me off when the back wheel hit a minor pothole. I almost broke my leg sorting the plot out.
Of course, yer average BMW owner wouldn't do that sort of thing. The owner of this machine is probably at this very moment looking for a shotgun to finish me off, but what the hell, it had 7000 miles on the clock, was fully run in and had a typical Teutonic build quality (only rivalled by the latest Triumphs). After wrecking my shoulders and legs a few times I gave up the wheelie game. It's something you have to do stone cold sober and a Vodka bottle's my permanent companion, these days. How else can one survive life in the UK?
Riding a naked bike in the middle of an English winter didn't exactly fill me full of joy and happiness. Cold and wet most of the time. Muck ground its way into the BMW's finish and my underwear. A two hour motorway blast resulted in 210 miles, a real death defying feat, the R impressing with its lack of vibes and roll-on acceleration; just left her dumped in top for most of the time.
What really impressed me most about the BMW was the way it reacted to trouble. Imagine the scene. Flat out, with 130mph on the clock, some bored cager edged his Beemer into the bit of fast lane that I was just about to occupy. Brakes, horn, swerve, scream with anger and joy at avoiding death. I just hit the levers with maximum force, left the ABS to work it out, avoided locked up wheels and skidding off the road. Most suspension would've ended up all over the place under such stress but both ends held as I hurled 550lbs around the back of the car. No thought needed, no time for that, and the bike responded as if it was just an extension of my limbs.
The Telelever front end looks strange, almost as bad as the GTS1000 Yam's odd suspension, but works well, giving a typical BMW ride without all of the dreadful dive that normally accompanies enough suspension travel to fight our woefully neglected road surfaces. The front tyre sometimes felt a little remote at times, but never so nasty as some of the old sixteen inch wheel Kawasaki's (they became the breaker's favourite for a while).
One thing I did notice was that during really heavy downpours the engine would stammer a little as if the spark plugs were breaking down or the fuel was running out. This was most apparent around 4500 and 5000rpm but knocking down the box, tearing along flat out for a while, then changing up again cleaned the engine out. The Krauts probably never realised just how f..king bad English weather could become...every time the engine went nuts it was so damp that my underpants were wringing wet. You wouldn't believe the smell (an excess of alcohol wrecking my internal organs, not to mention hair - I now do a passable impersonation of Kojack on a bad day).
Through a massive miscalculation, I ended up in the Pennines just before Christmas. You know how it goes, frozen feet and hands, an hour's ride to the hotel, just hobble over to the side of the road and take a quick swig out of the Vodka bottle...the plod in some pathetic cage take that exact moment to rear over the summit of a hill. It was so cold they just gave me an evil grin and got busy on their radio; no way they were going to get out of the car unless they really had to. I got out of there fast,
Speeding up and down hills, swinging around bends and generally riding the knackers off the bike, turned up the fact that, F650 apart, it's the best handling beemer so far. BMW got their design brief all cocked up, progress on the old 420lb boxer being a 350lb new 'un not a 550lbs monster, but most of this excessive mass was hidden once on the move, not turning up again until things went seriously wrong. The whole point of the boxer engine being to get the mass low so that it interferes less with the handling and boosts stability; also, of course, the perfect primary balance keeps the level of vibration down.
The only reason that no-one else hasn't bothered to copy the engine layout, those terrible Urinals apart, is because those cylinders sticking so far out make it bloody wide. It really does slow down town work unless you get seriously mad and don't mind tearing off the sides of cars. It also limits overtaking manoeuvres on country roads because it needs a barge-sized hole to hurl through. At least the horn was loud enough to wake up cagers to the impending moment of doom.
The time I nearly lost it all was caused by a tractor motoring out of a field just as I'd got the power on coming out of a sharp, tight corner. Every time I threw the bike through the bends I ended up in big grin time, the kind of high I usually experienced when mixing alcohol and amphetamines to excess.
Peasant Pete looked up from his country idyll in time to see yours truly whacking on the brakes whilst still leant over and wrestling with the handlebars. The fast accelerating bike, shaft and suspension wound up, floundered at the sudden reversal of power and application of brakes. Put this in perspective, three other times this happened to me, on old rats, I fell off; once heavily enough to write off the bike.
I had the bike upright and slowing down, bronco time, bars twitching from lock to lock. A fear inspired grip and twitch had me off the road, the Metzeler tyres sliding all over the shop, the back end of the tractor moving with deliberate slowness to let the front wheel squeeze between it and a bloody big hedge.
Unfortunately, the cylinder head whacked into the back of the tractor, spun the bike around into the hedge. The curiously shaped petrol tank got me in between the legs with the result that I spewed up a bottle of Vodka into my helmet. Both tractor and cylinder head were dented but still functioned. The yokel found it all hilarious until I shook my helmet in his direction, splattering him with vomit. I left him muttering obscenities to clean out the lid in a stream before it coalesced into a hard crud.
Ever put a vomit stained lid with a lining soggy with ice cold water on your head in the depths of winter? My screams could be heard from one side of the Pennines to t'other. I decided to ride bare-headed rather than turn into a rolling icicle. Doing the ton without a lid sent knife-like pains through my head and I was almost a basket-case by the time I made it back to base. The damage to the R seemed purely cosmetic but the owner later reported a cylinder head gasket leaking oil, which I told him to get fixed under guarantee...he hasn't spoken to me since.
Back in London, where I basked in an extra ten degrees worth of heat, I hustled with a couple of impoverished DR's who couldn't afford a holiday in the sun. I'd acquired a CB400N for such delinquency but it needed a quarter mile bump start which was rather naff compared to the luxurious rumble on the Beemer from a quick caress of the button. The Bosch fuel injection being light years ahead of the old Bing carbs. Another world.
The R was uncomfortable and too wide but otherwise easy to ride, with all that torque. The steering initially felt heavy but I soon became used to it and found the plot a whole lot less tiring than old relics like the Superdream. Compared to the later, or old boxers, the gearbox was a breeze but there was some harsh drive-line reactions if I forgot to match throttle with road speed. The box was much easier to adapt to than the old units, with the Paralever back end keeping everything nicely under control.
Undoubtedly, the R1100R is much improved over the older style boxers. The cheapest I've seen one on the used market's six grand and I don't think it's that good. Too ugly, heavy, wide and poor on fuel (35mpg) but it's fast, fun and is very well finished. All the grime came off with a jet-wash and it (from one side) looked as good as new.
Gavin Doyle
Big singles rarely work well. My last was an XBR500. With 25000 miles on the clock, it vibrated and stalled at low revs. The electric starter fell apart under the constant abuse. The riding position and suspension played havoc with my back. No fun. Big singles have to fit balancers to stop the vibes tearing them apart. The balancers absorb power, ruin economy. An old XBR is not a pleasant device. But a year in motorcycling is a long time. Memories fade and lust returns.
That's how I ended up testing a six month and 3500 mile old BMW F650. The owner was a Hooray Henry type who seemed amused at my leathers and denims. I certainly wouldn't have turned my back on him. As it happens, I'd owned an old Boxer in the distant past. Quite impressive except for the gearbox and handling. The F650 felt good between the legs, not too far off the ground. An excellent town riding position. The watercooled motor whirred into life straight off. No hesitation or nasty popping. Blipped the throttle, some thrumming through the chassis but better than an XBR.
First gear engaged with such a bang I nearly jumped out of the seat. Pulled off with just 2000 revs up. Plenty of torque, then. Short stroke singles like the BMW usually need loads of revs. Just took her up to four grand, the change incredibly smooth for a BMW. Up to the standards of Honda but not quite Suzuki slick.
There were only five gears. The power band stretching from 2000 to the 7500rpm red line made any more redundant. Not a highly tuned engine for the capacity. The four valve, DOHC unit put out 50 horses at a mere 6500rpm. Over 40ftlb of torque at 5000rpm. From 4000 revs it came in strongly, the front end going a little light in the first few ratios.
The handlebars were quite high and wide, certainly not natural for a BMW. The bike felt good for town work but I reckoned it would limit motorway cruising. Still, the bars would be easy to change. My rapid chug around the suburbs had impressed me but not fully convinced. I told the Henry that the gearbox felt like it was falling apart and the performance seemed a bit off. The half worn Pirellis were obviously due for replacement. And was the tiny scratch on the fairing evidence of a written off bike? I flexed my muscles, trying to intimidate the wimp. It seemed to work, the £3600 price falling to £2950. For hard cash, of course.
The F650 weighs under 400lbs, doesn't have the massive suspension travel of some trailies. The seat height is only 32 inches, most people able to get their boots firmly on the tarmac. It's dead easy to chuck through traffic without any of the falling into corners that afflict many trailies. I was soon having a ball hustling through London traffic. Even in fourth or fifth it'd still pull from 2000 revs. Like some ancient old English thumper. The torque would bang through the chassis, although I wouldn't really call it vibration. That came in from 6000 revs on, but it never approached XBR levels. In many ways, even thrashed, it was less intrusive than the secondary vibes from, say, a K100.
As the weeks rolled by I was more and more impressed by the engine running. It always started without hesitation and ran so cleanly that at times I could hardly believe it was a big thumper rather than a twin. The engine was fed by twin Mikuni carbs, had twin spark plugs and electronic ignition. It's a large lump of alloy that would look more attractive if the minimal half fairing was dumped.
The motor was developed by Rotax, with design input from both Aprilia and BMW. Each company went down its own route in certain areas. BMW chose four instead of five valves and a plain bearing crank rather than roller. The F650 is assembled by Aprilia but to BMW's high standards of engineering. There was no sign of crap Italian design. It's likely that all three companies gained useful experience out of the collaboration. All part of the new European world of cooperation.
After a couple of weeks hustling in town it was time to head for the open road. So far I had nothing but praise for the BMW. 50mpg was poor for an 100mph machine but expected. I soon found myself on some curvy back roads. Would it wobble at speeds like an old boxer? Would it bounce all over the place like many big trailies? No chance! The bike felt better the faster it went. The joys of a light, slim single.
The XBR had been too vague and slow steering. The BMW was both rock steady and dead easy to heel over. The square section steel frame wasn't exactly excessive but it showed no signs of weakness. The single rear shock had multi-adjustable damping and springing but I never bothered as it seemed always untroubled by road conditions. A sure sign of a good suspension unit.
I had to take a couple of corners faster than I'd expected. Leaning all the way over until I thought the rubber was gong to let loose as I went right to the edge of the tread. But it held. The reason for the excess entry speeds was the front disc brake. In town, I hadn't found much to complain about, used as I was to worn out pads, calipers and discs on old hacks. Losing speeds from 80mph or more, brought in some vagueness and a little bit of fade. It was difficult to know when the wheel was going to lock and I certainly didn't fancy going into corners with a howling front tyre!
The back disc was better. I felt quite happy giving the lever a sharp stab. Engine braking was also good. At milder paces I could just lope along on the throttle, with a bit of gearbox action thrown in for the more radical loss of speed. In the wet it was a little too easy to lock up the rear wheel on rapid downchanges. Not that it'd worry a boxer owner who'd find himself in seventh heaven. With all that single cylinder torque flooding through the transmission, chain adjustments were still only needed every 400 to 500 miles. With 8000 miles on the clock it's about two-thirds worn.
Comfort was limited by the lack of a decent fairing. Something intolerable from the company that produced the RS fairing, to my mind. But that's modern life for you. Anything greater than 80mph was intolerable due to arm and neck strain. In its way this was okay because the motor would start buzzing at higher speeds. Like the boxer range, the motor's beat is quite relaxing. I felt happy enough running along at 80mph for a couple of hours. Fuel was around 45mpg at such speeds, giving a range of about 150 miles. There wasn't a fuel gauge or even a clock and the instruments had little of the high tech flash of bigger boxers. Still, as with the controls, they did their job without sending me crazy.
Riding through the rain, an all too common occurrence, did get me mad. The usual lack of mudguarding meant the whole machine was quickly coated in crud. With lots of nooks and crannies it was a horror story to clean up. Finish, despite this assault, remained excellent.
BMW have made a good job out of making such a big thumper work well. In no way, though, is the engineering exceptional. Looked at logically, power and economy are pathetic for such an expensive bike. On the road it's a different experience. If you only rarely go above 80mph, then the F650's perfect. Huge gobs of torque, sweet running and handling plus that BMW special factor - quality; it shines through! BMW call it the Funduro, which is about right.
Dave Harris
Wave after wave of water was thrown up off the road and down from the sky. The London roads had turned more than usually treacherous and the drenched rat syndrome was setting in. The 128000 mile, B reg K100 was not half as perturbed by these conditions as myself. I was living in fear of some dumbo throwing his car into my path, thus causing me to trust my life to the tremendously powerful and totally lacking in feel twin Brembo discs out front.
Despatching in London was crazy enough at the best of times. Being forced into hurried purchase of a well run in Brick after the GT750 expired had left me struggling with the mammoth in the most atrocious conditions I had yet to experience in this fair isle. The gearbox was, of course, clunky and full of false neutrals, but this was no great problem as the bike could be left in third gear and powered around the city using its massive torque.
The direct action of the shaft drive had caught me out a few times on the greasy roads. Luckily, backing off the throttle snapped the wheel back into line. On one particular stretch of road, which seemed to be covered in oil, progress was a series of spine dislocating lurches. As far as I could tell, the suspension was original. The front forks clanged and the rear shock rumbled. Wheel deflections into and out of pot-holes were thus fed direct into my bum and back.
The necessity of speeding everywhere at ridiculous velocities meant that the 600lbs of BMW and panniers often threatened to go completely out of control. After a week or so of frightening myself to near death, I had become used to grappling with the thing. Although every ride turned up a near miss, I became convinced that the sheer momentum of the manic machine would overcome all obstacles.
The boss took pity on me, of a kind, by sending me up to Manchester with an urgent delivery. When I left it was actually sunny, by the time I hit the motorway the fiercest storm of the year had commenced. The K100 was in a basic state of dress, after 50 miles I was soaked through and starting to shiver. It was impossible to ride past the artics, the huge plumes of spray they threw up were impenetrable.
The BMW weaved only slightly, which was surprising as the tyres were as worn out as the suspension. With the ton on the clock, stability was almost miraculous, exhaust note reassuring and vibes tolerable. Between 75 and 90mph, though, the vibration had shook the whole machine in a most uncivilised manner. It was impossible to ride within that speed range for any length of time. Naturally, I went faster rather than slower. The other alternative was to drop the bike down a gear and scream the engine near the red line, but on such a high mileage motor I felt caution was the better part of valour.
75 miles into the trip I had had enough. I turned around and headed for home. The boss was enraged when I went into work with the package in my hand the next day. Our conversation was brief and resulted in my joining the ranks of the unemployable. I didn't really mind, after the machine and running costs were taken into account, I was making hardly any money.
I went out to the bike only to find it toppled over. The centrestand had snapped. Damage was limited to a dented tank, broken lever and cracked plastic. The sidestand was highly dangerous, as well, obviously designed just for the UK market by some Kraut still disgruntled at losing the war - impossible to use whilst sat on the machine it also flips up on its own account if the weight of the bike is taken off it. The machine was both heavy and top heavy, so it was dead easy at the end of a day's hard work for the sidestand to cause rider and bike to topple over into a heap in the gutter. On one occasion my leg was trapped and I had to beg some pedestrians to lever the teutonic wonderbike off my bruised limb.
After the centrestand incident, the fuel injection unit started to malfunction with an horrendous amount of misfiring below 2000rpm. Like the rest of the machine, it was covered by several layers of protective crud. I had long since given up washing motorcycles. In London it was most disheartening to find a gleaming machine reduced to the appearance of a twenty year old hack after a day's despatching. Even the famed quality of the BMW's alloy had given into the corrosive effects of twentieth century air pollution. The dreaded white rash had arrived with a frenzy.
After losing my DR job, the Brick was given a much easier life. Where it had been doing a punishing thousand or so miles a week it rarely managed half that in a month, as I floated around the capital trying to persuade various potential employers that I was willing to spend the rest of my life working for a pittance. Things became so desperate after two months that I started looking for another DR job.
The weather had improved and my memories of spending the day sitting in wet underwear were fading. I was soon back into the cut and thrust of London traffic, which appeared to have become ever more frenzied. I had tried to sell the BMW a few times but no-one wanted to hand over two grand, even after I'd cleaned it up a bit. It looked like we were wedded together until one of us gave up the ghost.
The BMW had accumulated over 150,000 miles, running smoothly enough between 35 and 70mph. At lower revs the misfiring was still chronic and at higher speeds the vibes flowed freely through the machine. Where before it had smoothed out after 95mph it now just became worse, hinting that somewhere deep in the engine components were wearing out. Nevertheless, in town the usable speed range was ideal even if the 35mpg fuel economy was a bit frightening.
It was cheap to service, though. Basically, engine oil was changed every 5000 miles and the gearbox and shaft oil every 10,000 miles. I never got around to checking the valves, although they were easily accessible thanks to the laid down nature of the straight four engine. The fuel injector bank was in need of either adjustment or replacement, but as long as the bike still started and ran I was not that bothered.
I found it strange how many characters defects my riding skills could absorb. The terrible low running could be revved around. The heavy feel of the bike appeared to fade into the background, I felt my muscles expand to meet the power needed to throw the mammoth through the gaps in the traffic. Idiot lights that flicked on and off erratically provided moments of amusement on otherwise dreary days. The gearbox became worse than that of an ancient boxer twin but I had got the hang of it after a while and lived for the production of a perfect clunk-click every trip.
Even the mad machinations of the brakes, which probably needed new fluid and seals, if not replacement of the calipers, were soon acclimatized - the Russian roulette effect of not knowing if the brakes were going to come crashing on or deign to work at all enabled me to leave the machine unlocked. I was sure that after 50 yards the machine would either be abandoned or the thief on his way to hospital.
In this vein, the machine did another 24000 miles with hardly any attention, other than consumables, needed. BMWs are notoriously fickle with regards to tyres so I stuck with Metzs, riding being dangerous enough without having to worry over tyre grip. The rear lasted 6000, the front 9000 miles, which for such a heavy bike I thought reasonable. The front pads did around 10,000 miles.
With just over 174000 miles on the clock, the engine refused to run over 5000rpm or below 2000rpm. When I took the machine into one famous BMW dealer for diagnosis, the boss almost had a coronary, abusing me as if I'd raped his daughter. The fuel injector bank was worn out, there was hardly any compression in the engine, the camshafts were wobbling about on what was left of their bearings. The clutch, gearbox and shaft drive bearings were all in need of replacement. His quote for fixing the engine was nearly two grand, so I went out and bought a slightly used K100 motor for £1200 from a nearby breaker, complete with injectors and shaft drive.
The new motor has transformed the machine completely. However, the new turn of speed - 140mph on the clock - has shown up the worn out state of the suspension and the finicky nature of the brakes in an entirely new light. More money has to be spent but I'm not giving up on the machine. The teutonic quality has converted me to the BMW marque for life!
Keith Garland
A three year old 1984 BMW K100 with only 8000 miles done had to be worth a look. One owner, the sort of enthusiast who kept his machine meticulously polished and never rode in the wet or cold. As much as I envied him his flash car and huge house I wasn't going to complain about the prime state of the BMW.
I listed the well known faults of early Ks - the discs cracking up, short-lived starter clutches and some electrical problems. Forgetting to mention that they would have been fixed under warranty. I soon convinced the yuppie that the characteristic engine whine was in fact the gearbox about to break up. Poor chap didn't know whether he was coming or going by the time I'd finished, admitting that he had always wondered why the box was so clunky.....gratefully accepting 1800 notes.
For a 1000cc DOHC four 90 horses at 8000 revs isn't much to write home about. Japanese 600s can better the top speed of the Beemer. What they can't do is match the gorgeous surge of torque from tickover right up to the 135mph top end.
Having had the gearbox fail twice this is just as well. Locked in top gear a traumatic amount of clutch slip was needed on take-offs and the shaft drive grumbled until 25mph or more was on the speedo. The first failure occurred at 74000 miles and the subsequent failure of the secondhand box 18000 miles later. Used boxes cost between £175 and £250. Takes one man about a day to do the swap.
The gearchange was never smooth but the aforementioned surplus of torque meant it was no great problem. Just sling it in a tall gear and use the throttle to roll on the power. After frenetic Jap fours the BMW is extraordinarily relaxed. That something so heavy, at 550lbs, can catapult up the road so rapidly always surprises me and brings a big grin to my face.
I wasn't so happy during the first few weeks. The tall seat, spongy suspension and jerky transmission meant I seemed to bounce from one point to the next in town. Appearing more like an accident looking for somewhere to happen than a smoothly ridden motorcycle. After about a month I had adapted to most of its strange ways - taking a perverse delight in letting friends have a spin. They usually came back grey-faced and all shook up.
The bike sat on motorways quite happily with anything up to 110mph on the clock. Beyond that, the slight weave goes wild, with the back end leaping all over the place and the bars trying to shake out of my hands. The latter was down to worn steering bearings - over the first 3000 miles they gradually became worse until the bike threatened to go into full-tilt speed wobble mode at a mere 30mph. An interesting if highly dangerous way to work-out. Replacement of the bearings and rear shock did a lot to make the Brick more stable. It would sit at 120mph without too much craziness on flat, smooth motorways but there were a lot of horrors that could be unleashed by a bumpy road at ton plus speeds.
What it couldn't cure was an excessive amount of muscle needed in the tight stuff. Try to ride it like a Yamaha stroker and the lump would literally end up tied in knots, threatening to bludgeon its way off the road. Not helped by the way the brakes worked - sometimes smooth and strong, others weak and jerky. The discs themselves started to crack up at 19000 miles, repeating this trick three times before breaching the 100,000 mile barrier. The calipers resisted seizing up even in the worst of the winter weather, lasted about 40,000 miles before needing a strip down. Pad life varied between 8000 and 12000 miles.
One quite amazing aspect of the engine is that with 110,000 miles done so far it has needed no serious attention. I started out checking the valves every 5000 miles - no change. So, I left them for 10,000 miles - no change. In fact, I haven't had to adjust them at all in all the miles I've done on the bike. With electronic fuel management and ignition there's not much to do to the motor save change the oil and filters. I'm overwhelmed by the toughness of the mill.
Even now I don't have any qualms about sticking my tent on the back and hustling off into the distance for a couple of weeks touring. The last such adventure saw me heading for France and ending up in Portugal. All I did was follow my nose....if a road looked interesting I took it. In Brick terms an exciting road is one that is wide, smooth and fast, of which France had a multitude (quite often deserted). In Spain the roads were narrower and rougher, which played havoc with the Beemer's suspension and nearly threw me off the side of a mountain when the tyre picked up a nail.
One thing to look out for is the way the Metz tyres will pick up punctures once down to about 3mm of tread. I've had about ten in all on the Brick, which is ten too many. Tyre life is impressive for such a heavy bike - 10,000 to 17,000 miles. TZR125 owners eat yer heart out.
Comfort is, as expected from a BMW, good, although the seat has of late gone a tad hard. The riding position is as good for sliding through heavy traffic as it is for a couple of hours on the motorway. Vibration was surprisingly heavy at 70mph in top but after 20,000 miles it either faded away into my subconscious or the motor wore into itself. There's still a slight buzz at most revs but it doesn't lead to any fatigue. Vibration levels seem to vary from bike to bike, perhaps a function of how the engine has been run in.
The fuel tank doesn't hold much more than four gallons of petrol which is good for about 130 miles before some frantic searching for a gas station is necessary. Fuel ranges from 35 to 50mpg, usually doing better than 40mpg. It takes 100mph plus cruising to get it down to 35mpg. I would've like a 200 mile range as the BMW is comfortable for that kind of mileage.
I haven't actually fallen off the BMW but once had to ride it across a roundabout when some jerk-off artist decided it was necessary to slam on his brakes for no apparent reason. Hitting the raised stonework of the roundabout, sickening tremors hit the chassis as each wheel made contact. On the grass I was soon convinced that the Brick had no hope of making a career as a trailster. Only stayed on board by controlling the slewing beast with both feet down, almost catching my foot in the earth, which would've broken my leg. Thumping back on to the tarmac, the car nowhere in sight, the Brick felt like the forks and frame were bent way out of line.
I pulled over before I threw up or fell off. Both cast wheels were badly mangled. As I only had third party insurance I had to buy a used set.....took about a month to track a pair down, they are apparently very fragile and therefore rare in breakers. The breaker persuaded me that a complete new front end would transform the feel of the BMW, which with 65000 miles done was becoming more and more like an out of control blancmange. The forks had stiffer springs which made it feel better through fast bends. It still wasn't an impressive bike to hustle through country roads at excessive speed. I had to potter along like an old codger, enjoying the quiet beat of the purring motor.
The paint still looks the business, although I've had to patch up the odd bit of frame. The wheel and engine finish is more problematic, needing lots of attention in the winter. I've got into the habit of doing a thorough clean and polish every month - the way the engine still whirrs away reliably it would be churlish to neglect the basics.
As I know Brick owners who have easily cracked the 200,000 mile mark, I suspect there is still plenty of life left in my machine. I don't see any reason to sell it for the next five years.
Adrian Thomas
My R60/7 had done 182,000 miles, just about everything was worn out and the engine rattled so noisily that it drowned out the stainless steel silencers' roar. Part of its demise was down to the ease of high speed cruising allowed by the excellent RS fairing I'd added some 50,000 miles previously. 100mph motorway saunters had become the norm.
I knew that whatever bike I bought it would have to accept the RS fairing. When I saw a 38000 mile K75 with a for sale sign in the town centre, I took the number down and made arrangements for a meeting that very night. The three cylinder Brick smoked heavily on start-up but soon cleared up, ticking over with a nice mechanical rustle and contented hum out of the oddly shaped silencer. Overall condition was very nice, befitting a mature one owner. The initial ride revealed a smooth engine and slick gearbox - well, I was used to a rumbustious old boxer on which correct engagement of gear had taken years of practice. Anyway, I was sufficiently impressed to hand over most of my life savings.
An interesting weekend followed in which the RS fairing was persuaded on to the front of the K. I knew it was possible because I'd seen pictures of such a bike in one of magazines. It was this knowledge that made me persevere, involving a fair bit of cutting, welding and clever bodging. I thought I'd finished, only to find that absolutely none of the wiring matched.
The K75 felt a bit top heavy compared with the boxer, but controls that worked several times smoother (it was like comparing an old coal fired steam train with a modern diesel) more than made up for that. The power characteristics were different, too, with the triple smoother at low revs where the old R60 tried to shake itself to bits, coming in with a liquid flow of torque between 3500 and 8000rpm. Cruising at 100mph on the K felt like 80mph on the boxer.
I rather missed the loud bark of the older bike, but the hum that turned into a wail at high revs on the triple, grew on me. The 120 degree crankshaft throw made for a soul stirring noise, even if it meant that a jackshaft with counterweights was needed to smooth out the vibes. Not the kind of purity of engineering design that ex-boxer owners like, and not entirely effective - as I grew used to the sophistication of the motor, and used more and more revs, it became apparent that there was quite a harsh buzz between 6500 and 8000rpm.
Unlike on the boxer, where engine vibes fade into the background after a while and don't result in bodily harm, on the triple sustained ton plus cruising would leave my hands all shook up. The shakes never got through to the alloy tank, but if I touched the motor with a foot it'd reveal the frenzy going down inside, but the vibes never did any damage, I never even had a bulb blow.
The RS fairing worked amazingly well with the K75. The only reason I can think that BMW don't offer it as an option is that it would mean a drastic reduction in boxer sales! I hadn't bothered with the lowers, but the upper half gave total body protection and with a higher screen sent even a 120mph breeze straight over my head. Pillions complained about turbulence but then that was their problem.
The fairing make slow speed steering very heavy, but the bike must've weighed well over 500lbs so that was expected. With the narrow bars there was a knack to producing the maximum leverage with the minimum of effort, but it was one I'd already perfected on the boxer; I'd also become used to the forward riding stance in town to the extent that I felt no twinges. As the fairing was cream white, with a few added flashes of red and blue, it also worked brilliantly as an imitator of a police bike, giving speeding cagers heart attacks in the fast lane. It was one way to get them to violently veer out of the way. Every time it rained I laughed my head off, such was the protection afforded.
I was a bit dubious about engine maintenance. The boxer had needed frequent doses but was as straightforward as an old sidevalve engine. The K75 had shims to change under its multitude of valves, a hugely complex fuel injection unit and electronic ignition, with its expensive black boxes and no way of bodging if it failed on the road. So far, some 9000 miles after buying the bike, I have yet to do anything more onerous than change the oil a few times and put in a new filter. At least the valves, like in the boxer, are readily accessible.
The K75 fitted me so well, that after a week I was all set for a quick blast over to Germany. Manoeuvring the BMW in the ferry proved the greatest hassle, as the slippery deck almost sent me sprawling. I was almost done for speeding in Belgium, as on a near deserted road it was ridiculously easy to cruise along at 110mph. I'd seen the police Porsche in my mirrors some way back and braked like a lunatic, most effective with the powerful twin discs out front. As the car roared past one of the Belgian plod shook his fist at me. Obviously all heart.
I ran the bike up to 135mph on the German autobahn, a record speed for me. The K's suspension had been upgraded by its first owner and the brick showed no signs of the tail wagging for which the boxer is all too famous. The down-draught effect of the fairing made the front end more secure the faster we went. Supreme comfort and speed, but almost ruined by a terrible thirst when the machine was run flat out, about 35mpg. The bike stuttered on to reserve and made it to the nearest service station with just vapour left in the tank. I was worried that the injectors might not self-bleed but after a bit of stuttering the motor cleared up okay.
The combination of UK plates on a German bike made the natives very friendly, with an excess of directions to the best in hotels and hostelries. I took a meandering route back home, the K revealing itself in the curves to be as every bit as susceptible to tying itself up in knots as the old boxer. They both needed to be set up on line in advance and gently accelerated out of corners, sharing a cantankerous shaft drive that would try to bounce the back tyre off the road if sudden changes in direction were required.
It was also very heavy going to flick it from side to side. At least the K75 didn't try to throw the chassis into terminal wobbles as did the boxer in its final days. It didn't take much effort to make the undercarriage take chunks of tarmac out of the road, having 500lbs of metal trying to twitch its way off the road was a bit of an eye-opener. Reminded me of the one time I'd got one of the R60's cylinder heads to touch down.
Despite the K75's faults, I can't say they detracted from the fun of riding, overcoming them was all part of the enjoyment, each ride leaving me with a sense of satisfaction. I could do a full eight hours worth of riding in a day without becoming too tired, the excellent riding position, firm but well shaped seat and full protection from the fairing all working to the machine's advantage. BMWs have a tireless nature that few other bikes are able to imitate.
The K was just as astute in the daily grind to work, the most significant quality being able to get away with wearing relatively lightweight clothing even in the depths of an English winter. My only real worry was when the Continental tyres were down to about 3mm, slides on damp roads waking me up quicker than a bucket of cold water thrown over my sleeping form. I much preferred the Metzelers I later fitted, which were about half worn after 6000 miles. Fuel in commuting mode was much nearer to 50 than 45mpg. I hadn't had to replace any other consumables.
In the depths of winter the K started as soon as I caressed the starter, ticked over reliably, although it always had its smoke haze for a few minutes. The old R60 used to take ages to come to life, threatening to flatten the battery, then taking about 15 minutes before it settled down into a reliable chuff-chuff. I've grown rather spoilt with the lack of hassle involved with running the K and have wads of spare time I used to expend maintaining the boxer, which is now rotting away at the back of the garage. For boxer owners the K75 is a serious bit of evolution and improvement that's well worth looking into.
A.F.W
There is a school of thought in motorcycle design that insists that some residue of the brutality of the combustion process should be retained in the machine. The Japanese tend to design their motorcycles so that all presence of the engine is removed, except for some annoying secondary vibration. Perhaps the greatest exponent of basic motorcycling is Harley Davidson, whose range of vee-twins so completely complement the motorcycle experience that they dominate sales in the States, despite a lack of sophistication and modern engineering.
BMW boxers have always had a similar rawness of action from their opposed piston engines. Despite having perfect primary balance, the slight out of line torque reaction gave them a mild animal nature that was at odds with their sophisticated image. The torque reaction through the shaft drive and the recalcitrant gearbox put off many a poseur, although to long term owners the challenge involved in mastering their spitefulness was nothing compared to the enjoyment of the machine's comfort, ride and lustful engine torque. Once bought, the bikes were unusually easy to maintain and quite capable of going around the clock several times.
I much preferred my R80 to later, larger boxers, which seemed to become heavier, more vibratory and less well built with time. BMW had so many adherents to the boxer way, though, that when they tried to replace them with the Bricks they quickly had to back-track. Undoubtedly, this produced the impetus for the design of the new R1100RS, which tries, and largely succeeds, in capturing the BMW's best points in a more modern idiom.
As my R80 had done 170,000 miles I felt it was time to add a more modern BMW to my garage. A 1500 mile R1100RS turned up as I came into a nice pile of money, so one thing led to another, as it tends to do when I'm overwhelmed by lust and enthusiasm. My spec for a modern boxer would've included low mass, about 400lbs being reasonable (something they managed in the seventies) rather than over 500lbs on the R1100RS. Like all boxers, though, the R carries most of its mass low and hides its excessive girth well.
BMW have used the massive bulk of the engine to hang off both the single sided rear swinging arm and Telelever front arm. As they still had to use some quite hefty bracing for the steering head and shock absorber mount, I'm not convinced that in engineering terms there's any great advantage over conventional forks. My initial impressions were that it was not dissimilar in effect from the old forks.
The engine rather than the chassis was the first thing to impress. It's still an OHV boxer design that relies on air for cooling but the cams are placed much nearer the heads, allowing short pushrods to operate four valves per cylinder. Just about every part of the engine is new, the whole working together much more effectively than the older boxer motor.
Despite displacing all of 1085cc, with bucket size pistons (90mm) running on a short stroke (70mm), the engine felt much more sophisticated than the earlier models without removing the sensation of having a motor that was working away beneath my knees. If vibration is defined as intrusive buzzing that breaks components or leads to dead hands or feet then the R had completely removed such sensations. But it was never remote, dead or unfeeling. There was hardly any need to watch the rev counter as the engine communicated its progress in an intimate manner that wasn't intrusive. It made you feel glad to be alive and out in the world on a motorcycle.
The R1100RS has an excess of torque and power that older boxer owners could only dream about. What's more, BMW seem to have gone out of their way to emphasize the charms of the boxer engine, with its concentration on midrange torque rather than any need to use excessive throttle. 90 horses at 7000 revs was brilliant on its own but there was also 75ftlb of torque at 5500rpm. Going up through the gears there was no need to push much beyond the point of maximum torque as it shot up the road faster by keeping the revs within 5-6000rpm. What a brilliant engine, though, it accelerated better than most 100hp fours yet never had to use more revs than a fifties thumper!
Strong hints of the old engine were still present in the gearbox, which varied between being surprisingly smooth and feeling like it was about to lock up solid. It became much better once more than 5000 miles were on the clock, when any half decent boxer owner will find a path through the gearbox without undue trauma. The gearchange is one of the areas where boxers have improved over the years, although I'd guess that someone coming from a modern Jap would be upset for a couple of weeks until they got the better of the change. Such is the torque of the motor that BMW could've got away with a two speed gearbox rather than five! I tended to dump the box in top whenever possible, good down to about 25mph if you have a sensitive right hand.
Shaft drive lurches were also present, as was a slight sideways movement of the bike due to the torque reaction running through the engine. The Paralever single sided swinging arm is inherited from the older bikes and does a good job of holding the machinations in check - the bike feels way ahead of my old twin shock R80, which was crude by comparison. As with the gearbox, it's better but not perfect.
Much more interesting was the Telelever front end. The old complaint with the front forks was not that they were weak or twisted but that with the long travel that BMW insisted was necessary to their grand tourer image, brake dive was liable to throw you off the road with a completely messed up front end. With the Telelever set-up, the braking forces are fed into the frame whilst the relatively direct connection between bars and front wheel is retained. Alternative front ends usually leave the front wheel rather remote, but no chance of that with the Telelever. There's even a slight amount of dive on braking, so there's a good chance of knowing when the tyre's going to squeal.
The effect is to have a bike that steers lighter than the R80 but is imbuned with better stability, improved comfort and superior braking. The latter is aided and abetted with ABS, both on the front and rear discs. I was a bit dubious about this high technology, never having much trouble pulling up the R80 but found that in a couple of instances it saved me from an expensive collision.
The first was on a wet road when I would normally be loath to use the brakes in anger. I didn't have much choice as the artic in front of me suddenly slewed off the road at about 50mph, which will give an idea of the treacherous nature of the road surface. The brakes have very good feedback, with a pulsing in the lever, not that it really mattered, as all I did was use max force and pray that it would not let loose. I was ready to put my feet down to steady the beast, but she pulled up in a perfectly straight line, several yards sooner than I had any right to expect.
The second time involved losing about 100mph as quickly as possible. I was flat out at the time, with 135mph on the clock, when some jerk in a Cavalier charged on to the motorway from the slip road, cutting right across the traffic into the fast lane.... followed by a couple of cop cars. The cars in front of me braked and skidded all over the place as I braked desperately and shuffled down through the box. The brakes lost speed so well that I was thrown up on to the tank. What was most impressive, was that even with the front brake working away frantically I was still able to steer the RS around the mass of crashed or skidding cars. On any other bike I would've been thrown into complete panic, if not dead. On the RS I ended up high from carving out a survival path through the wreckage. A job well done.
The BMW was typical of the breed, only more so, in that the more it was ridden, the deeper became the knowledge of its possibilities, the more was revealed of its nature and the greater the bond became between man and machine. This goes way beyond mere machine design on computer screens and has to come from the knowledge gained from riders thrashing machines on European roads. The Italians, the Germans and even the British companies all imbune their bikes with hard won character. Those who only ride Japanese machines don't know what they are missing!
BMW's have long perfected their bikes as touring tools. The R goes a stage further with adjustable bars, seat and screen that allow minor but significant changes to the riding position. I ended up with a slightly more sporting stance than is normal on faired BMWs but it didn't seem to cause any aches in towns and was firmly in the BMW tradition on long tours.
The fairing was better than most Japanese offerings but not up to the standard of the original RS which I'd fitted to my R80. It really needed a couple of extra inches in width and a bit more in screen height to be entirely protective. I would've been happier had the tank been narrower at the rear and I could've got my knees totally behind the fairing. As it was, rain seemed concentrated so heavily on my knees that heavy-duty waterproofs were necessary, although my upper body was to a large extent protected from the worst of the weather.
I found the shape of the BMW beautiful, so was willing to put up with slightly less protection in favour of its svelte lines. Finish was excellent, better than I've seen on any other Beemers, the fit of the panels good. That old BMW bogey, rusting exhausts has been removed with a stainless steel system but it's a massive piece of work that must weigh a good 50lbs and doesn't impress with its shape.
The exhaust note is never entirely subdued but it certainly wouldn't annoy anyone and might even be a bit too quiet in town, when a couple of peds almost had heart attacks when they stepped out into the road only to jump out of their skins when I hit the horn and brakes. It'll be interesting to see if anyone comes out with performance exhausts, although I wouldn't like to lose the easy torque of the stock engine.
Town riding was easier than old boxers, thanks to better transmission, smoother running and excessive torque, but the same limitations were imposed by the excessive engine width, although the cylinder head covers were hardly much wider than my knees. The easy steering made a mockery of the machine's mass and I found myself taking gaps that would've had me shaking in my boots on the R80. It was a much easier bike to ride for a novice boxer owner than the older stuff.
Comfort was fine in town and good for at least 600 miles in a day. The range hovered around 200 miles, but fuel could vary greatly. From a low of 35mpg to a high of 60mpg, with the average around the 55mpg mark. The tank took five gallons, I would've preferred a couple more gallons, as once on the pace with the R it was the kind of bike that was so enjoyable to ride you didn't want to relinquish the controls.
Servicing intervals are at 6000 miles, not that there's much to do, just change the oil and adjust the easily accessible valves. As I bought the bike privately I did the job myself without any worries. In the last six months I've put 12000 miles on the clock without any problems whatsover, just a new set of tyres at 8000 miles.
The R1100S is easily the best boxer ever. New ones at £8500 are too expensive to appeal to the hordes on the older boxers. That's probably the biggest failing with this one - it's too good! Used to be that a yuppie would be persuaded by the BMW advertising blitz, buy a new one only to find the gearbox agricultural and the shaft drive reaction traumatic. He'd then be quite happy to off-load the immaculate, low mileage machine for a more than reasonable price to someone who knew what they were doing. The R1100RS is so good he'll probably never want to sell it!
Mark Wold
There are two ways of looking at a five year old '83 K100 with 103,000 miles on the clock. The sensible one is to dismiss it as an old dog on its last legs and walk away in disgust. The other way is to see it as being just run in, having had time to sort out all the problems, upgrade the suspension and make manifold minor mods in line with its singular, mature owner. Reams have been written about BMWs being the quality option and going around the clock several times with nothing more than the odd service.
I was veering towards the latter theory until I had the test ride. In the lower gears the engine vibrated harshly and the steering was as vague as the well knackered step-thru on which I'd made my dignified arrival. 2000 notes for that? No way, mate. Unfortunately, he had my phone number and got hold of me two weeks later, demanding I make an offer for the four cylinder slug. Just to get rid of him I suggested £750. Silly boy, that was how I ended up with a Brick that I didn't really want.
I consoled myself with the thought that I could always bung in a newish motor if it blew up. I did an oil and filter change but had no intention of touching either the fuel injectors or the valves. The new oil did nothing to diminish the teeth churning vibration but helped with the gearbox which previously had more false neutrals than working gears.
BMW gearboxes have always been agricultural, more than 100,000 miles had left this one as devious as my step-thru, with the same kind of lurches, clanging noises and vindictive non-selection of gears. It always seemed to snick into a false neutral just as I was charging for a gap in traffic. I don't know who had the largest screaming fit, the engine strung out at max revs in a false neutral or myself full of visions of simultaneously having both legs amputated at a combined closing speed of 120mph! Ouch!
Somehow, desperate muscles worked magic on the reluctant 550lbs of metal and I levered it on to a more sane course. Normally, it was a slow steering carthorse which if it wasn't given advanced warning of a change in direction would try to throw you off its back, courtesy of wobbles redolent of a camel being humped by an elephant.
Well, the suspension, though uprated at each end, was tired out. It seemed outraged when I loaded it up with all my camping gear, the springs compressing so far that I lost a good three inches in seat height. A newish rear shock was hurriedly acquired from the breaker/thief and half the essential gear dumped. Ultra thick rubber on bars and pegs helped diminish the vibes to a tolerable level and age could not hide the basic excellence of the riding position.
90 to 100mph cruising was still possible, if you ignored the need for a whole lane to weave in and knocked off 30mph every time a hint of a corner appeared. The Brick just didn't like to lean over, mostly down to the 1mm of tread left on the Metzelers. By the time I reached Glasgow (from London, motorway most of the way) the carcass was showing at both ends and an enjoyable day was wasted swapping abuse with various breakers.
I ended up with a front Pirelli and rear Conti, a mismatch of tyres that was fine up to 90mph, but then allowed the chassis to tank-slap like a Vincent with loose front fork bushes. Put it this way, you experienced it once and made damn sure it didn't happen again. Tyre wear was rather good for such a huge monster, both ends doing over 10,000 miles even on slightly worn tyres.
New Metzelers are the answer to much of the Brick's handling problems, though it's never transformed into a light, precise device it does calm down much of the madness and thus shod I was able to push the worn out cycle to a creditable 140mph - my vision was blurred from the vibes and my stomach queasy from the bouncing about. Cruising at the ton was much more sensible, the K100 one of the few naked bikes that allows this in something approaching comfort.
Braking was terrible, totally out of place on such a heavy, vague but powerful beast. New, the twin front discs might've worked, but with 100,000 miles under their belt they had a violent on-off action, that in the wet made it astonishingly easy to make the worn out front rubber go into heart stopping, knee-cap breaking slides.
By the time the engine had pushed the BMW to 120,000 miles I was so fed up with the whole front end that I spent most mornings phoning around breakers (it was more interesting than working), eventually ending up with a complete '87 K100 front end. I could've bought quite a reasonable hack for the amount of dosh it cost, but it was money well spent as it completely transformed both the braking and the handling.
I kept ignoring the valves and injectors but did 2000 mile oil changes as if my life depended on it. Finish was still good, with only a bit of mottled alloy on the back wheel (the single drawback of not having gallons of oil thrown off a chain). The rear caliper had come seized up and I never got around to freeing it, knowing a dodgy MOT tester.
The only real expense was fuel at 40mpg, which was expected and understandable given the mileage and the probability that the injectors had never been touched. New ones did 45 to 50mpg, so the wear and neglect hadn't had that bad an effect. The engine coughed and smoked on starting up, but cleared up after five minutes and settled down to a civilised tickover; the only real sign of mileage being the vibes, although even new ones are mildly afflicted.
Much to my surprise, I found myself actually enjoying riding the big Brick. Even in town, despite its mass and slow steering, the riding position was so good and the torque so plentiful, that I could hurtle along with the 125 pilots, who usually looked over their shoulders full of horror and wonder at the old geezer on the massive brute of a bouncing Brick. As soon as a bit of speed was involved, the K shone through, with its relaxed cruising ability and bulletproof engine.
After four years and 155,000 miles on the clock I was wondering what the hell was going down. The old dear, despite nothing more than regular oil changes, was whirring away with all the verve of a new bike. Eh? Well, I'd become so used to its characteristics that I subconsciously compensated for them and the vibration had been so assimilated that it no longer intruded. Only a ruined back wheel bearing at 140,000 miles showed signs of mortality - don't ever try to do more than 20mph on a K100 with a wrecked wheel bearing. I did and I ended up in a ditch with the bloody bike on top of me. When it was finally pulled off (by no less than three heavily built youths), there was a perfect foot deep impression of my body left in the ground - at least it saved me from any broken bones.
Two years later I put the bike into semi-retirement with 180,000 miles on the clock! She still runs quite well, would probably crack the 200,000 mile mark if I had a mind to, but my one year old K100RS now does all my serious mileage. I must say, the old K100 was the best bargain buy I've ever had but the newer Bricks are even better - smoother and easier handling.
There are quite a few old Bricks available for £1000 to £1500. Chances are they will be a bit rough, especially in the chassis, but they should keep rolling for a surprising mileage and once sorted out they are cheap to run for such huge brutes. Anyone who wants a long distance tourer on the cheap could do a lot worse.
Garreth Eeinbright