It’s no wonder that the generation of BMWs powered by the 246/247 engine series holds a special place for me. Perhaps it is the elegant simplicity. Or maybe it is because they were the pinnacle of two-wheeled excellence when I was in high school and college. Could be that they evoke strong memories of good times with my dad. Whatever the connection they still, as a friend says, “spin my prop.”
A recent trip to scope out now bikes proved personally disappointing, even recognizing just how much technology is built into them. I like to stir the gears myself. I have no need for so much power that it can only be controlled my electronics. I adjust my riding style to deal with conditions rather than having switches that do it for me. Again, that’s just me.
But show me a Hans Muth creation or a Toaster Tank? Weak knees result.
A while back, I was fortunate enough to acquire a lovely 1974 R90S which had been restored into 1976 configuration by a former curator. It is brilliant. The impact of the Dellorto pumper carbs is breathtaking. I thought I was done and that my knee condition would be cured. I was wrong.
One of my recently acquired pastimes has become re-reading the accumulated works of Peter Egan. For much of the past 40 years, I’ve enjoyed reading his bits of wisdom and prose in both Cycle World and Road & Track.
Many of the Leanings and Side Glances articles have been accumulated into anthologies which are great fun to binge-read while traveling. Many of the places he went I’ve also had the chance to explore, and I now find myself comparing notes. We had very similar experiences in Shamrock, Texas, for example, although my foray by motorcycle into Western Ontario was far less dramatic than his. Nevertheless, all this reading apparently causes me to make contorted faces of amusement, which my wife/life navigator/best friend is quick to spot.
“What happened now,” Karen asks knowingly.
The latest was an article he wrote in 1988, shortly after adding a Lotus 7, a Honda 400-4, and a Triumph TR6C Trophy to his collection of interesting bits in the garage. The article documents moving the kit around in space to get just the right angle for viewing the beauty of each bit of the designer’s vision. They all remain great pieces of mobile art, 37 years later.
Earlier this year, in an episode of internet exploration, I stumbled onto someone in Oregon looking to sell a 1984 R100CS Last Edition. I wasn’t actually looking for one, but the pictures drew me in like the missing episode from Homer’s “Odyssey.” Ulysses may have had the mast to cling to in order to avoid succumbing to the Sirens’ song. I had no such protection.
A low mileage, last year, last edition, Pearl White, BMW R100CS would make a perfect complement to the R90S. Bookends. The rationalization almost made sense. The Oregonian who owned her apparently collected Ferrari’s, had bought it from a friend who had to sell it because of a bicycle accident, and now he just wanted it gone to make room for another Enzo creation from Modena. Apparently, it really was a mutual support decision for a pair of kindred spirits with similar afflictions, one German the other Italian.
After a protracted shipping experience, the CS arrived and was even better than the pictures suggested.
Which took me back to some of Peter Egan’s wisdom. After the CS arrived from the High Desert, we did a complete maintenance update. On the road our greatest hopes were realized. She runs and tracks like a brand new R100CS should. The Bing carbs may not be as crisp as the Italian pumpers, but she still runs like a scalded rabbit. Slick is a good description.
With the servicing behind us, she took her proper place in the garage, carefully positioned between the Daytona Orange R90S and the Daytona veteran (1981 Battle of the Twins) Moto Guzzi Le Mans that belonged to my dad. With everything in place, I kicked back with a proper cup of coffee, which seemed the best way to savor the moment. Peter’s beverage of choice was hot sake (he had run out of Guinness at that moment) which I too might have enjoyed had it been later in the day.
He noted we are really curators of these beautiful pieces of engineering and design, holding them for future generations. Sounds right to me. Of course, we may be curating them, but they love to get out and play. To quote Egan himself, “Hot damn.” Which is how I feel when I stir the oil in any of these pieces of rolling art.
Fully operational, we went exploring the bike’s back story. This was like a bit of a “Lost and Found” story.
When I picked up the CS, the seller was able to give me the last decade or so of history, along with a large folder of receipts and history memorabilia. Buried in the file was email correspondence between an earlier owner and BMW in Munich, on the matter of verifying details about the Beemer when it left the factory in Berlin. It was built on March 1, 1984.
I sent that owner an email which miraculously worked, and he helped me track down the first owner who still lives in the Portland area. Thanks to another Airhead owner in Oregon, I was able to connect with him by phone.
He (and his father before him) had been motorcycle dealers back into the 1950s. They sold BMWs, Guzzi,’ Vespa,’ Ducatis and a host of other things over the years. Conveniently, he remembered this bike very well. He owned it for a time, sold it to a regular customer, then bought it back. He kept it for many years as both a rider and a way to help draw customers into the shop. Eventually he sold both the CS and the dealership and headed into retirement. But the CS was one of his personal favorites.
We talked for a long time, and he noted that the whole conversation took him back to a happy time in his life. He also noted that the CS doesn’t have very many miles on it. That’s an issue we’ll be rectifying in the coming years. Now that we have the early story, we can add new chapters.
Before we were fully certified for “flight” operations, there were two final hoops to get through. First up was getting a new ignition key made. The Beemer came with exactly one and that made me nervous. The local locksmith is terrific so, armed with blanks from Boxer2Valve, it was off for a date with a cutting wheel. The kid who did the work had to ask the owner what to charge since I’d brought my own hardware.
“Oh, it’s the BMW guy, $5 for the lot.” Great when the local pub owner knows your name, but the locksmith? That might be indicative of another issue.
Next up was a trip to the State Police License and Theft Bureau for a final paperwork inspection. This is a fascinating bit of bureaucracy that dates back to the stone age (pre-computer) era for confirming that short VIN machines haven’t been boosted somewhere along the line. When I got there, they greeted me with a “Hey, nice to see you again!” Probably should be a bit of a warning that the constables know your name and distinctive helmet with the blinking Brake Free safety light on the back. On the other hand, both the conversation and service were terrific. Another “Cheers” moment.
After a bracing ride in 43-degree weather to get this done, I found that the joke was on me. I was gently informed that I didn’t need to be there at all. By 1984, the long VIN sequence was in effect, and the title had automatically been processed. Still, nice to know that I have friends at the DMV. And nicer still to get a proper stirring of the Beemer’s oil in on a chilly morning. And the new key? Worked great!
Which then meant it was time to get some more history on the whole saga of the Last Edition R100s. By that point, BMW had concluded that the 247 motors had run the course to a logical end. Air pollution standards made air cooled engines with carburetors a thing of the past. The future lay in water cooled, fuel injected, engines. The brick motor K-bikes were that future. Using the color from the 1983 60th Anniversary boxers, BMW NA came up with the Last Edition bikes. Pearl white with Motorsport stripes, they are stunning. There were 240 RT, 250 RS, 175 CS, and 75 “T” (basic) machines sold. All 740 came with certificates from BMW NA and were pitched as instant collectibles.
Then some days reality bites. The K-bikes were brilliant, and a K-100RS remains a personal favorite, but the loyal BMW owners of the pre-1984 era were unimpressed. By 1988, the 247 engine was back for a curtain call that lasted until 1995. Then the boxer torch was passed to the oilheads which sported the truly amazing and much improved, fuel injected, 259 engines. To apologize for the “Just Kidding” nature of the 1984 Last Edition bikes, BMW sent owners a new helmet.
Then there’s the matter of record keeping. BMW had a separate VIN range for the RT, RS, and CS bikes in ‘84. The Last Edition RT/RS bikes fit into those ranges. For the U.S. market that year, only three bikes were in the CS VIN range. Ian Fallon’s fantastic book on the R90S story confirms this anomaly.
It turns out that the R100CS and Basic Last Editions were buried together in a VIN range. No one seems to know if the CS has the 70hp engine of the RS, or the 67hp powerplant of the basic R100. My butt in the saddle dynamometer isn’t able to tell. But it does pull like crazy, making the whole thing kind of an academic discussion best conducted over a cold Guinness. Or a single malt.
One bit of bad news is BMW kept no records at all of the Last Edition bikes. Much like the Motorsport RS machines of 1978, that led to a potentially large number of fakes. As another friend once said of the ‘78 RS run, “Of the original 250 built, about 4,000 are still on the road”.
Certificates are nice, but they can be easily faked since there’s no official source of truth. Things, like memories, fade over time. So, for me, tracking the original owner down was Pure Gold. He remembers selling six Last Edition bikes in that era. He remembers them selling especially well in the Pacific Northwest. And he remembers this one as a personal favorite. Good enough for me.
One other bit of the story. I’ve had the good fortune of working with Steve McLaughlin, Udo Gietl, and a host of others, on putting together an event to celebrate the 50th Anniversary of Steve’s historic win at Daytona on an R90S in the first AMA Superbike Race.
Looking around my garage at an R90S and the CS that marked the end of an era is a gift. And the thunder in my garage when they are running? Chills run down my spine. I feel the need. The need for speed. Which is why the CS is named Iceman. Top Gun all the way.
