(truly) Understanding the R100GS

The title of this post is a reference to this other one because even though I was accurate in what I said back then, it was incomplete simply because I had never done the type of riding I did during this multi-day offroad trip, and so I could not have known what this machine is truly capable of and how robust it is. 

I was particularly worried about the gear shift selector spring breaking, so much so that I brought every tool necessary to replace it, plus gaskets and seals. It would be an extremely difficult repair to make "out in the field" but definitely possible if the alternative is to be stranded. As it turned out, I could have left almost everything at home. The only tools I needed were an 11mm spanner, a couple of CO₂ cartridges and a portable tire inflator. I'll talk about the tool kit further on.

It doesn't make sense to me given the type of tracks we rode, but I must acknowledge the fact that somehow this bike survived and actually performed far better than I could have anticipated. It felt completely unflustered and entirely unfazed no matter what I was asking of it, immediately returning to an idle state (in every sense of the word) as though it hadn't just clambered up a long and steep rocky incline, or navigated a few miles of sandy tracks in hot conditions. Thanks in part to a new rear shock absorber, even harsh bottom-outs were controlled with far less bounce or wallow on recovery. Because of how the damping circuits are built, the unit absorbed sharp hits without transmitting too much of a shock to the frame — or to me. It just... worked.

What we did must be regarded as a fully respectable test of the machine's capabilities that leaves virtually no unanswered questions; and so, if it did well here and if nothing broke or failed, then I must conclude that it really is an extremely strong machine.

My focus here is on the motorcycle, I will not go into the trip itself right now as that was always secondary to me. Others who came along on the trip are far more involved in that aspect and will prepare a comprehensive video report, eventually.

The R100GS is in fact a very competent offroader that has surprised me in just how well it copes with pretty much anything I've thrown at it. And unfortunately sometimes I mean I literally threw the bike far too fast down a track, ended up bottoming out the suspension and bouncing over ruts or bumps in the most unsightly manner, but still the bike coped. Not only that, but it miraculously kept me out of trouble on more than one occasion: once, I came up against a deep and rather steep rut with not enough time to slow down, I had no choice but to compress front and rear suspension fully, then try to steer the bike up and over the opposing steep slope. The velocity of the whole maneuver was such that I could tell the bike had just bounced up in the air and somewhat contorted as it did so. The rear wheel was undoubtedly higher than the front, something you most definitely don't want. I thought "I'm about to be thrown off this horse for sure" but somehow we stuck the landing and continued as if nothing had happened. Another time, on a track where the sand suddenly got much deeper, the front wheel darted off to the right in search of firmer ground, to such an extreme degree that Giulio, riding behind me, says he saw the entire right-hand side of the motorcycle, only to then see the bike right itself and continue forward. Quite how I managed to stay on the bike is beyond me. There too I thought "this is a crash, for sure" but the rear wheel regained traction and we continued, again as if nothing happened.

One notable upgrade made ahead of this trip and which I hinted at earlier, was replacing the basic Hagon shock absorber that was on the bike with a much higher-spec one made by FG Gubellini: it is fully adjustable and sprung precisely for my weight and luggage, which transformed the handling overall and allowed the bike to withstand rough terrain with relative composure and precision. It was one of very few improvements I had in mind from years ago, and I'm glad to see it paid off, refining this machine into a reliable, capable tool for real on/offroad use.

Speaking of crashes, I counted five in the whole trip (that's just my personal tally): three in deep sand, very annoying but entirely harmless, two on rocky sections, which could have been more serious, though luckily nothing critical was damaged. I did bash one of the engine guards pretty hard, so that will need to be straightened or replaced, we'll see.

Another thing I noticed (and witnessed on a G/S special that was on the trip) is the actual ground clearance these bikes have. Obviously the width of the engine is always noticeable and sometimes a problem - as evidenced by the bent engine guard, though that was partly my fault. But even when climbing down a steep incline with large rocks in the way, there was never any risk of hitting the sump, which is tucked well above typical strike points. It goes without saying that the cylinders are much higher up than the sump... 

Now, the undercarriage bash plates, that extend from the very front of the engine all the way back to the exhaust collector box - and thus also protect the gearbox - took quite a few hits. I often heard these loud bangs as rocks were disturbed by the passage of the front wheel and were being thrown at the underside of the bike, but inspection of the bash plates revealed no dings, scratches or gouges. They are thick enough to merit being called armor plating. 

I did notice some scratch marks to the outermost side of the plate, and to the torque reaction arm at the Paralever. The latter has me wondering whether this may be a weak point since it is fairly exposed and a potential contact point under heavy compression, and whether it may be prudent to carry a spare (which I have in the garage). This isn’t just cosmetic: the torque arm is a critical component in the rear suspension's geometry that controls the suspension articulation, so any damage here could throw off handling or compromise safety.

The other thing that must be said is that this really isn't a motorcycle: it's two motorcycles wrapped in one: for once you're done fooling around offroad, you can return to the civility of paved roads and instantly access fast touring with decent handling. Some of this merit inevitably goes to Continental and their TKC80 tires, which have handled every possible scenario including water and small streams fords with total confidence. Despite their apparently aggressive tread, they maintain admirable composure on asphalt (yes, they can sometimes feel a bit vague and somewhat noisy but that's probably due to low tire pressure necessitated by the offroad sections). Once on rocks, finer gravel, packed dirt or even sand, they allow the GS to plow through pretty much anything and get the job done.

Now, suppose you're riding fast along a pristine mountain road with perfect tarmac and big sweeping corners when you spot a little fire road off in the distance, leading up to the top of a hill or something; you wanna go there and check it out? You can do that, instantly:

You get off the tarmac and onto the gravel, dirt or pretty much any other surface, get up on the footpegs and off you go: what was a competent road tourer up until a second ago is now an actual offroader, and you can have total confidence that you can make it up there and back down with no problem. And on top of that, with a luxurious feel to the whole thing that is unmatched among its peers. You don't even have to faff around with electronic settings, there aren't any! The bike is just always ready for anything.

How could I not mention the surging, turbine-smooth acceleration with the engine sound that goes "ooooo!" as it climbs up the rev range, the superlight clutch and quick gear shifts that are possible when the engine is used like that. Couple all of it with steady and extremely sensitive handling, definitely decent if you consider that you're really riding a big enduro bike on the road, where it has no business being as good as it is. Once again I have to wonder "how is this possible?" how can this bike work the way it does no matter what you do with it? It's not like you're relying on fancy electronics to switch modes and alter the behavior of the vehicle: the bike is how it is, always. And it works really well, always. What I find even harder to comprehend is that the engineers used a frame and an engine that BMW already had and had been using on their road bikes for decades, certainly long before the notion of a modern adventure bike had crossed anyone's mind. Yes, the Paralever, the Marzocchi forks and the 21/17 aluminum rims play a massive role in making the GS work, but frame and engine are also crucial... yet come from the road. So, the potential was always there, they tried it and it worked. I wonder if during the pre-production testing they were as surprised as I am. 

In its historical context, the R100GS defies convention: it is many different things all at once, and they are all slightly odd versions of what you might compare it to. Is it a dirt bike? Well, kind of but not really. Is it a road tourer? Well, definitely but not like a Gold Wing. Is it a delicate and complicated machine with complex engineering and high maintenance requirements? Absolutely, but it can also take a beating. I can't make sense of it!

I have to admit, this bike is one tough unit. 

Another thing I noticed and that surprised me is how forgiving the engine is of extremely low speeds without stalling. At one point on a particularly challenging combination of uphill hairpin turn, uphill gradient and what felt like loose, deep, smooth pebbles I slowed down in first gear to the point where I thought "well you've done it now you idiot, now the bike's gonna die, you're gonna loose traction and you'll have to hold the whole weight of it on one leg". But to my surprise the engine was still turning smoothly, with no sign of stutter or knock, and responded to the throttle by digging the rear wheel in until the TKC80 found traction and I was able to power out of the spot and continue up the slope. Wow... 

Let me not forget about the tool kit, for which I reached several times during the trip... mostly to assist others. The full size quality tools are the original ones selected by BMW, they impress again and again, and the storage compartment is so generously sized as to accommodate additional items such as the oil cooler bypass hose, a spare rear brake lever, three small containers with various bits and ends, a spare headlight bulb and two CO₂ canisters. Oh, and a Leatherman. I will make some very minor adjustments to the kit but I won't pare it down. I'd like to be realistic and reasonable about this: prepared for most things without going overboard and carrying too much stuff (which I probably did this time).

Then there is something which is really very clever: the top spine tube of the BMW's frame is a hollow, oval section tube. It is long enough that it can accommodate a nifty stash tube that can be used to carry additional small tools (like sockets, extension bars, a metal file) or additional CO₂ cartridges, something I will always carry on all trips from now on, regardless of what bike I'll be riding and with which tire type. You can see it in the photo below, laying across the frame:

So, to answer the all-important question that prompted the Morocco trip in the first place, "do I like this bike?", I can only say yes, I do like this bike. Very much so, in fact...

The thing about the R100GS is this: it only really makes sense owning one if you're going to use it on and off the road. Treating it like a road tourer, no matter the distances and luggage involved is wasted potential (and there are plenty of specialized road tourers that can be far better at that one specific task than a GS). Much in the same way as the Sportster 1200S only makes sense if you unleash all it can give you, the R100GS will only show its true self if you allow it to blend tarmac, gravel, rocks, earth tracks and even sand for you; I must concede that it was obviously engineered this way, with versatility and this duality to every single aspect of the final product. Give it a chance and room to show you what it can do: it will surprise you.

Let's go!

We're off, let's see what happens! I'll report back as soon as I can.

R100GS - prep work.

Partly because of what I have described here, I have been thinking a lot more about our R100GS lately, and I'm trying to decide if I like it or not. Finally, objectively, once and for all: do I like this bike?

One of my first impressions of these R80 and R100 bikes was that they are "simply astonishing motorcycles. There's no other word for it, when you consider just how much they can do and how well they cope. There is a bottomless pit of torque, always at your disposal and the powerplant just keeps on going without missing a beat." and also "that despite appearances [it] manages to deliver a very easy and fun ride no matter where you go.".

The 247 airhead was a relatively new experience for me back then, so that impression was not tainted by things I discovered over the following years (and miles). I have encountered various problems (both on our R100GS as well as on friends' and strangers-on-the-internet bikes) and even though none of the issues I've had have ever been bad enough to leave me stranded, they were bad enough and costly to repair (this was apparently a gearbox output shaft seal that had failed, as well as water in the transmission case that caused the bearings to rust, necessitating a rebuild of the gearbox. Are you convinced, or does it sound like the mechanic might have ripped us off? Consider also that the shifter oil seal was not replaced even though it is visibly leaking: I would have thought it would be one of the items that get replaced as a matter of course during a rebuild...). And then there's the issue of the glaring Achille's heel on these bikes, something I just cannot ignore. We'll get to that later...

Reaching a consensus (in my own head!) about this odd, goofy-looking motorcycle has been a bit of a rollercoaster; my last claim is to have finally understood what it's all about, and I stand by what I said, but there is a "but".

I refute the "stout indestructible motorcycle" stereotype in the strongest possible terms.

Another thing: the level of delusion people have when it comes to these bikes is breathtaking: "oh they are so simple and rugged, they're maintenance-free and nothing ever breaks, they are the best, most beautiful motorcycles in the world!". Look friend, I appreciate your enthusiasm at having found the right bike for you, but if you haven't had any issues with your BMW it is down to just dumb luck.

These things are anything but simple, the maintenance requirements are ludicrous and the most accurate word to describe their reliability is "unfathomable": you might be lucky and cross all continents with nary a problem, or you might be enjoying a lovely ride on a perfect day when suddenly you can no longer shift gears. Now what? If this happens on a Commando, it's a 15/20 minute roadside repair. Slightly more involved on the Sportster, but doable. On the BMW? Forget it. The gearbox on these bikes is the real Achille's heel I was referring to earlier and I simply cannot pretend there is no problem just because it hasn't gone wrong yet.

The driveshaft and final drive aren't much better either. Here are some issues encountered or that we're aware of:

• our driveshaft (!) needed to be replaced at 150.000km, which I realize is far more than a chain could ever do (maybe not a belt though...) but it's still something that requires checking with BMW's insane maintenance requirements and schedule. These are also disposable items that are eye-wateringly expensive to replace, so much so that a cheaper option from Taiwan seems to be a popular alternative and it can also be rebuilt (new u-joints and shock-absorber rubbers). I would definitely consider this next time we'll be forced to replace ours, again.
• Our starter failed, it was a shitty Valeo item so that's no surprise. And yes, these are relatively cheap (if not easy) to replace, but the point is that if this fails on the road, you're fucked.
• Witold's ignition system fried a control module, this is annoying but acceptable and a spare unit is no hindrance in a spares kit.
• Our final drive seal failed, Witold had a big problem with the final drive on his previous G/S (see next photo)... these are unacceptable flaws made all the worse by the fact that this transmission type was a deliberate choice! You want shaft drive? Make it work and make it simple, truly simple.

• Everything from the gearbox to the final drive requires shimming, which is an infuriating mathematical process that requires expensive special tools and repeated rounds of assembly, verification, disassembly, correction and reassembly. If you get it wrong you will cause catastrophic damage to the machine.
• Speaking of which, you also have to shim the oil filter cover plate and if you get that wrong you will loose oil pressure and destroy the engine. Shims everywhere!
• Apparently our gearbox output shaft seal also failed, I say apparently because I was not the one to inspect it, relying instead on the trustworthiness of a mechanic, something I very much dislike doing.
• The uniquely BMW charging system has some weak points, I don't find any of these to be particularly problematic as they are fairly easy to diagnose with a multimeter, and spares can be swapped out easily enough.
• The valve seats/guides on some models were known to collapse, not an issue on our /7 or R100GS but worth checking if you're unsure of your heads' provenance.

I have talked about the Paralever system before, and while there are definitely some desirable features (using two universal joints theoretically allows them to cancel each other's non-uniform velocities, thus avoiding variations in speed as the angle between the gearbox output shaft and the driveshaft is altered through the range of suspension travel), it also meant that BMW turned the driveshaft into a non-serviceable wear item. So while it's technically true that this is " maintenance-free" it is that way simply because its universal joints cannot be lubed. When it fails, and it will, you have to replace it. I don't care how long one lasts, to me this is ludicrous. There is an official maintenance schedule as well as plenty of real world experience to set the intervals at which to check this, and yes it's far less frequent than a chain and lasts much longer, but you still have to dismantle half the bike and pull the driveshaft out of the swingarm just to check it. 

You're then left to consider the cost of it all: spend an exorbitant amount of money for special tools, or pay someone to do the maintenance for you, hoping and praying they actually do it, and do it well, with no way to verify this other than trusting what they say.

Anyway, with all these reservations as the preface to what I'm about to do, I think this upcoming trip should be a fairly decisive test to finally understand if a BMW is a worthy motorcycle: we're off to the Kingdom of Morocco to see what these motorcycles can unlock out in the desert and up on the high Atlas.

Part of preparing for this trip was accumulating a considerable set of spare parts and tools.

Probably more out of superstition than a real need (famous last words?) I carry some spares for the carburetters. Floats and diaphragms can puncture, float needles can wear down and fail to seal, and gaskets can perish.
This horrendously expensive lot should take care of that, should any of it happen. Replacing the float on the Bing is delicate work with potentially catastrophic consequences if mistakes are made as it requires knocking out the retaining pivot pin, knurled on one end don't forget. You need a very thin drift/punch for that.

Then there are some engine electrics spares: a rotor with puller bolt, replacement brushes, regulator, ignition coil, diode board and an ignition control unit.

This should allow us to get back on the road/trail/sand should there be any type of electrical or electronic failure. I carry a NOCO booster in case the battery gives any trouble, and we even have a butane-powered soldering iron (very nifty) in case we need to start patching things up. Last but not least, the standard BMW toolkit is a set of high-quality, full-sized tools that are more than capable of tackling a roadside repair:

This was during the aggressively named Der Korsika Blitzkrieg, when my clutch cable snapped, somewhere along the D69.

I have a spare front brake and clutch levers, should there be damage as a result of a fall, which will 100% happen (hopefully only in the sand and at low speed, insh'Allah).

There is a usb socket/adapter that should help me keep my power pack charged (that itself is used to recharge a phone and a camera) without draining the battery, hopefully.

Despite it all fitting in a very reasonably sized luggage, I realize this can seem excessive but I prefer to have it and not need it, than need it and not have it. There are a few more bits and pieces I didn't have time to photograph, but one thing worth mentioning is a new rear shock absorber to replace the somewhat inadequate Hagon unit the bike came with when we bought it. The new item is a very sharp looking "FG Gubellini" made in Italy's "motor valley" on the outskirts of Bologna. This is still one of those medium-small factories where almost everything is made in house and the customer service is more than just a buzzword. This thing is set up for my weight (plus gear and luggage) and should be able to handle the type of on/off road riding we're looking for.

As a last-minute thing, the GS gets a new set of Continental TKC80 tires that'll hopefully be up to the task and keep me out of trouble:

So, time to finish packing and grab a handful of throttle, we ride out at dawn in three days time; our motorcycles get loaded up on a ferry and we fly over a few days later to save time and tire treads.

"Corsicaworld": the chapter ends.

In these idle winter months, I have found myself thinking about a trip we took many years ago on our airheads. So I went digging around old hard drives and found some photos from that trip, that we had jokingly called Der Korsika Blitzkrieg and I think it's high time they found a home here. You can see them on this page in chronological order, they speak for themselves anyway so I don't need to add more nonsense.

I haven't been back to Corsica since 2012 and I have longed to go back every year since I last was there, some years more than others.

In 2016, Marco and Witold went on a fast tour over there and discovered a few new places that would be worth a second look, such as a high-altitude campsite. I would also love to revisit some fan-favorites such as l'Agriates and the entirety of routes D69 and D84, but the truth is, after all this time, that there's really no telling as to if and when we'll set foot on that playground of an island again.

Their 2016 tour was not without its troubles (yes, that really is Marco towing Witold in one of the photos below), and the two learned some very valuable lessons about what can go wrong with these bikes. We've since done our best to be prepared by bringing some tools and spare parts based on what happened to them (and to others over the years), namely an ignition control unit getting fried. More on that below the fold.

Above: no, that's not Witold's GS, it's a cow. The cow is smaller and much lighter.

Ah, the breakfast of champions.

So, Corsica just isn't going to happen, but other trips might.

Witold has a new connect with the adventure world: he's already been to Tunisia, crossed the Pyrenees off-road, gone through some Balkan states, really putting his GSPD through the wringer and it's fair to say that bike now needs a full rebuild (it didn't let him down though). He's also had a Yamaha single cylinder rebuilt in "Gauloises Blondes" livery that he test rode (and already crashed) in Sardinia; it will be his ride for the next adventure. If I manage to go ride, there will be some prep work to do on the bike and some spares and tools to set aside, including an ignition control unit...

Corsica is in the past; the future takes us to God, the Country and the King.

Permutations

This was probably bound to happen sooner or later, so there's not much point being mad about it. Rather, let's figure out what is happening and what to do next.

The issue at hand is a growing sense of unease, a slight and barely noticeable condition that has crept up recently and makes us feel a bit... bored. This is a bad omen, as the initial (rushed) conclusion is that we've seen all there is to see around these parts and that it's all over, this place is done.

This is true, at least in part and I had experienced something similar after years riding across Tuscany, to the point where boredom became nausea. Yes it's all so picturesque and people come from all over the world to see the cypress-lined driveways and fields of golden wheat, the villas, bloody Florence and the coastline towns and beaches. But... it's also very dull after a while. Umbria and Marche are a bit better, but nothing compares to Abruzzo, our mountain haven. Yet we must confront the fact that we've been exploring these lands for the past eleven years now and with very few exceptions (the Majella park and Campotosto), there's no longer that feeling of awe and spectacle there was before.

Instinctively, I've always tried to stave off this moment, trying various permutations of a limited set of elements to yield different results. I join a long tradition of alchemists, philosophers and mathematicians, all of whom have done much the same thing in their own fields.
All the routes I've scouted and revisited, shared with friends and remixed have often unlocked new experiences, but the roads are only so many, so there's only so much change I can apply to the structure of reality.

Witold's view is much more pragmatic and more blunt than mine: "it's done, we've seen it all, let's go off-roading through the world". I prefer to think of it as a blade that gets ever sharper; much in the same way as I've constantly reduced my luggage, I must now do away with those itineraries that no longer offer anything noteworthy and focus on those that do. Surely it must be obvious that this approach invites discussions on identity (this is the Majella, this is Campotosto - both experiences remain basically unchanged regardless of how I rearrange itineraries), change, and the nature of reality: every permutation is simply a different arrangement of available elements with the purpose of maintaining the awe I talked about; either it all stays the same despite changes in how I arrange routes and gear, or something unexpected could always happen. As this isn't science, but divination, the outcome is far from guaranteed.

A somewhat more sinister interpretation has to do with determinism; consider all the permutations available to us: are we just following a predetermined order or is there room for genuine choice and variability? I wouldn't worry about this too much though...

Going much farther afield is and always has been appealing, the only limiting factors having always just been money and responsibilities. It also means, realistically, that if I do this it will be on the R100GS if there's even a hint of unpaved roads (otherwise the Sportster and the Commandos are perfectly capable machines).