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
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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
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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