BMW R1200GS

by Spiky

Imagine Spiky's surprise

Honestly, 12 months ago, I wouldn’t have had a 1200GS as a gift.

I am a dyed-in-the-wool sports-bike rider from way back, and still count a RGV250N as the best bike that I have ever owned. Medical reasons, far too dull to go into right now, finally persuaded me to accept that my GSX-R750 was possibly not the ideal mount that (a year ago) I had considered it to be. It was with some reluctance therefore that I found myself test-riding bikes that I had previously considered to be mounts for elderly gentlemen. I absolutely drew the line at a cruiser, and not far above this line was the R1200GS.

Imagine my surprise therefore, when I found myself handing over a sizeable cheque and riding one away from the dealer in May of this year. As I indicated left - but turned right – out of Worthingtons BMW, I could still hardly believe what I had done. So how could I – the very epitome of gracefully-aging cool – have suddenly stooped to such a level? Here’s how:

Walking around the GS, nothing looks like it’s going to work. The bike is too tall, the engine has roughly half the number of cylinders required to make a proper bike, it's cooled by air for fucks sake, and the suspension is simply bizarre. My young son, who is an awesome Razor-scooter rider but no artist, could design someone prettier looking with a set of crayons in a Simpsons commercial break. Swinging a leg over it requires the sort of physical dexterity and suppleness of hip joints which was popularised by the Kung Fu movies of the 1970s, and the effort required to lift the fully fuelled thing off the side stand is of hernia-inducing proportions.

Spiky's young son missed out on the job of designing the R1200GS's headlights

ASC is short for the German word "Arsch", and controls the heated seat

And all this is before you’ve reached for the handle-bars.

My first test-ride involved filtering into heavy traffic. Indicating left – but turning right – the GS seems to have good pick-up. 200 metres ahead are a set of lights which have a notoriously long sequence, and as I collect myself and glance up, I see that they are green. My chosen route means that I must turn right at these lights so, without thinking, I gun the engine on this strange contraption and shoot forward. 30 meters away and the lights change, but I am already totally committed. Oh Dear God. Indicating left, I throw the bike hard into the right turn at a speed that would have terrified me on the GSX-R. I am fairly convinced by this stage that I am about to lay this thing down in front of the horrified drivers whose attention I have already commanded by my cheerful lack of basic turn-signal discipline. The GS tracks perfectly through the bend at an angle which makes me feel as though the handlebars are about to touch down, with enough power in reserve to pop a little celebratory wheelie on the exit. What? What the fuck?

Honestly, had the bike run out of fuel and the test-ride ended there and then, I would still have bought it.

So, 8 weeks and 4,000km later, what’s it like to live with? The styling grows on you. I dated a girl in my teens who had dreadful buck-teeth, rather pale and uninteresting looks, and long lank hair....but she was a simply sensational lover. Her name was Melody, and thirty years later I still find myself wondering about her, and whether her bottom ever completely recovered. The GS is that very girl, made motorcycle. The more I ride it, the prettier it becomes. I love its ungainly looks, its cock-eyed lights, its nonsensical mudguard, and its fuck-you styling. There is simply nothing on this bike which has been designed to look good – it has all been designed to work.

The handling is just other-worldly. I am a remarkably average rider, who has somehow found himself in the company of some rather good riders. Generally they tolerate me because I hold good parties, but mainly because I moderate the Forum that we all use. On my first GS-mounted ride with the group (FZ1, GSX-R 750, Blade, ZX6, Firestorm and a few others), we set about a rather dank and damp Old Road early in the morning. After a short stop, I found myself in the front and started throwing the GS around in the clumsy and vaguely dangerous fashion for which I am known.

And fucked off into the distance.

After 5 minutes I looked in my mirrors to find that I was totally alone, and slowed down assuming that someone had dropped a bike (this is not an unreasonable assumption in the group I ride with). After a short while a stream of sports-bikes came barrelling around the corner in pursuit. Let me state again for the record, I am not a great rider….but the GS is a simply sensational bike to throw around. It makes heroes out of idiots. One day you will be riding your hot-poop sports-bike, and a well-ridden GS (so not one with me on board then) is going to clean you up and make you look like a pussy. Get over it now, because it is going to happen.

The engine has what I believe is known as ‘character’. It has this in spades, possibly shovels. It is the first bike that I have ever owned where I get all excited just starting it. It lives, it breathes, it pulses beneath you. Maybe this is the attraction of many bikes that I don’t understand. Maybe Harleys do this as well. It tries to fall over when I blip the engine at lights, so I’ve stopped doing that (when you are sitting in a right-turn lane with your left indicator flashing, the last thing you want is to be concentrating on not falling over). All other BMW owners cluck approvingly and tell me it has the ‘new’ engine, which means nothing to me as I never rode the ‘old’ engine. It’s not that quick by Jap four standards, but going fast in a straight line lost its appeal for me in about 1987.

Most new GS’s that you see will have the tricky suspension. This has three main settings (Comfort, Normal and Sport), plus additional settings for pillion and ride height. Like the rest of the bike, you think that they’re not going to work, but they do. If you set the suspension and blindfolded me, I would almost certainly fall off at the first corner. As the ambulance drove me away however, I guarantee that I could tell you which suspension setting had been chosen. They all make a difference, and hugely affect the comfort, handling and character of the bike. With the tricky suspension also comes traction control and ABS. It’s very unlikely that I will ever be good enough to need either, but the enormous confidence that they give you makes it worth the entry price alone. I have twice managed to provoke a full-on, tail-out, fully controlled slide on wet tarmac chasing other bikes, so Gawd only knows what a good rider could do with it.

It is as comfortable as my doona – a proper all-day riding proposition. I’ve done a couple of 700km days on it, and the only things that have stopped me going further were a black visor and the fact that it was a Masterchef elimination night. Other GS riders apparently complain about the saddle, although I will wager that these are not people who have been riding GSX-R 750s for the last few years. If you buy the additional lockable luggage (why the hell not – it’s not as if the wife would ever let me spend this much again, is it?) it has the same carrying capacity as a small hatchback car. Heated grips, let me tell you now, are just fucking awesome, and I will fight anyone who claims otherwise.

Cleaning takes fourteen hours. Longer if it's Masterchef elimination night.

So what are the bad bits?

Other riders don’t wave at you, and to make it worse, other GS riders go positively epileptic when they see you. This is probably because no-one waves at them either.

Every fucker from my neighbour to my Mum says, “GSX-R getting too much for you was it? Bought yourself a tourer then?”

Ewan McGregor.

It takes fourteen hours to clean properly.

Evidently the oil contains plutonium, because an oil change costs four hundred of your Australian dollars. Yes, four hundred - count them.

Quirky I can live with. In fact, I quite like quirky. My wife is quirky, and I love her dearly. But why in the name of all that is holy and good did they fit those fucking indicators? If you ride with me and I indicate left, I am intending to turn left. If however I indicate left, but then wobble around the road like a demented spastic, misjudge my speed and panic brake at the last second, I am intending to turn right. If you don’t know what I’m talking about, ask someone who owns one.

Would I buy another? In a heartbeat.

When I can’t sleep at night, I play the "what bike would I buy if I won the lottery" game. You do as well, admit it. But you know what, I don’t anymore – I genuinely can’t think of another bike that I would rather have.

It is that good.