A Brief History of My Motorcycles, Part 3: Goodbye Japan, Hello Europe

Arriving home in San Diego from Germany I went straight to my local Italian bike dealer, GP Motorcycles (GP stands for Geoff and Paul) to negotiate with Paul the vending of an Aprilia Pegaso 650.

My only concern was that the minimum power requirements for riding the small winding roads of the Allgäu and the Alps are quite a bit less than those needed for navigating the major freeways of Southern California, where a burst of speed can mean the difference between a long happy life and a fiery death under the wheels of an enormous SUV.

While browsing the showroom, I happened upon an oddball from the nearly-unknown (in America) Italian maker Cagiva, called the Gran Canyon. It was lipstick red and had apparently lost the d in its name. It had nearly the same ergonomics and geometry as the Pegaso, but was equipped with a Ducati 904 motor, the 90° 2-valve L-twin of the 900 monster. The Duc motor produced 73 hp and 78 Nm of torque (57 ft-lb), half again as much power as the Pegaso. A two-up test ride later, and, for the second time in my life, I purchased a brand-new motorcycle. I opted for the full set of paint-matched luggage.

I sold the FJ to an incredulous buyer who couldn’t believe his luck at finding his dream bike in such perfect condition. Remember, I’d bought it new when it was already two years old. He’d brought a bank check for the full amount I was asking, but before showing it to me, he tried to negotiate a lower price. No, I told him. You’re the first to look at it. If you don’t buy it, the next guy will because there’s no cleaner example anywhere out there. He agreed and sheepishly handed over the check. I hope he managed to keep it in equally good condition, and stay out the hands of the CHP.

Now, here’s the saving grace of the Gran Canyon: you can’t help but notice when you’re getting up over 90 mph. There’s wind blast galore, engine and exhaust noise, and hand-numbing vibrations in the bars. It was just the cure for my hyper-speed addiction. Freed from the ballistic missile that was the FJ, I could now be happy speeding like any other Californian in a cage, going 85 in the 65 zones (with one eye in the mirror), without the risk of an “endo careero” moment on the roadside in police bracelets.

Rare that I stopped by Mom's house on two wheels - she hates bikes

The Cagiva’s ergonomics were a wonder – I stopped having to take ibuprofen before during and after a day’s ride. I started to enjoy the scenery more (as it was going past slower). And it was ridiculously fun. The torquey motor made it quick – very quick – off the line. In fact, the front wheel could be brought up with little effort, something that never happened on the FJ. On the backroads it was oh-so nimble, heaps more than the FJ, whose only real claim to fame is that it was faster than an F-14 until rotation. 

Maneuverable? Holy cats – jumping on the GC after the FJ was like switching from a circular saw to sabre saw. 

The FJ made me feel good, but the Gran Canyon made me laugh out loud, often.

Unfortunately, the pillion seat was less than luxuriously appointed, and Sabine – who, as I’ve mentioned is not a small person – would become uncomfortable after an hour on the rear perch. We tried various solutions (like an Airhawk seat pad), but what it really came down to was that the two of us together were just too big to fit in front of the topbox and behind the gas tank without one or both of us feeling a bit crushed. Consequently we didn’t tour as much as I would have liked. Solo, I loved the bike. Two-up, not so much. 

A year later, the summer of 2001 saw us spending five weeks in Europe while I was between jobs, and on that trip we discovered the BMW shop just blocks from Sabine's mom’s house also had a bike rental program. We rented nearly all the models they had on offer, one after the other, including the K1200RS – which reminded us of all the flaws of the FJ – and various R1150 bikes including the R, RS, and RT models.

           

        R1150R

R1150RS

R1150RT

I liked the naked R, but it was the RT – the bike the CHP had started using that year – which Sabine liked the most. At first I thought it was too big and too heavy, but in motion it felt hardly any heavier than the R, and in action it was just as maneuverable on the backroads while at the same time offering great wind and weather protection, and, best of all, it had an extremely plush saddle, both front and back. Nearly Gold-Wing plush. And I won’t be the first to remark that the low center of gravity of the boxer motor and the amazing suspension package delivered a ride way better than you’d think it would by looking at it. Just ask the CHP.

Sabine's charming hometown of Wangen im Allgäu

Sidebar: It was on this trip that Sabine and I decided to move to Germany. It was really my decision, as after spending a month riding here I didn’t want to go home. The decision was based almost entirely on my desire to live where I could go riding in the Alps a lot, and not, as some meager minds speculated at the time, a decision Sabine thrust upon me that I grudgingly went along with. Hardly. Plus, western Europe in general and tidy southern Germany specifically is hard not to fall in love with, and I was smitten. Charming doesn’t even begin to describe this area. It reeks charm. Rolls around in it and tracks it in on the carpet. Charm spills out of every crack and cranny, wherever cracks and crannies are allowed (there are rules, of course). 

There is too little not to like about southern Germany to bother trying to put it into words. You might complain that it’s full of Germans, but even the Germans don’t get up my nose like some other nationalities I could mention. Say what you want, they bloody well behave themselves. 

We left Germany with a plan to come back permanently in about two years. That would give us time to get Sabine her dual citizenship (which would allow her easy return to the US should things not work out in Germany) and for me to get an education that I could use for employment. Specifically, a professional teaching certificate as an English teacher.

Charm galore. Click to embiggen.

German Technology Overcomes Italian Charisma

And so, once again, upon arriving home in San Diego I went to a motorcycle dealer for the third time in my life to purchase a new bike. In this case it was to the BMW dealer to negotiate the vending of one R1150RT with the idea that Sabine and I would spend our last bit of time in America aboard a proper touring bike, exploring ever further the wonders of the American west. We discussed visiting the Grand Canyon, Zion and Bryce National Parks in Utah, the Sequoias and the Coast Redwoods of California as possible destinations. The world was our oyster.

As it turned out, we made the next two annual trips to Laguna Seca and went on some relatively local rides, and never managed to make the big tours we'd talked about. For one thing, I was swamped with work – which meant income we would need to tide us over when the big move happened, and for another thing, the year 2003 saw a tremendous heat wave standing for months across the western states, whose high temperatures discouraged us from donning our riding gear and heading into the scalding deserts of the southwest.

Sabine and the RT in Lompoc, on the way home from Laguna Seca

We did plan a trip up the cool coast to the redwoods between San Francisco and Arcata, but when we approached my mom about dog-sitting Susie the Beagle, she reveled in her memories of having seen the mighty redwoods many decades before, and cried “Oh how I’d love to see the redwoods again before I die!” Feeling guilty about the fact that we would soon be leaving her behind when we moved to Germany – and taking her ‘granddog’ with us – we switched plans to involve two extra wheels and two extra passengers: our Volvo station wagon, plus my mom and Susie. The travel budget for the year was shot.

Back to motorcycles: The first time I took the RT to work at Gillespie Field, I swept around the rippled asphalt of the constant-radius freeway ramp at a speed which would have worried the suspension of the Cagiva, but which seemed yawningly normal on the RT. The patented BMW Paralever/Telelever suspension is like nothing you’ve experienced, unless of course you’ve experienced it. That suspension brought a whole new level of smoooooth to the riding experience. The motor was every bit as vibey and chunky as the Cagiva’s Ducati had been, but the whole of the RT’s chassis just shrugged it off and went about its merry way without the slightest hint of distress from all the torn asphalt, uneven expansion joints, Botts’ dots, potholes, and anything else the bankrupt State of California's roads cared to throw at it. 

Tip: You'll have to go at least 80 mph to get the foot peg down

Jeff Sabo borrowed the RT one day when he was in town, and came back wide-eyed about 6 hours later, saying “It’s the ultimate man-machine interface. Your neurons are linked directly to the controls. You think, and it does.” And that was 15 years ago, in terms of technology. They’ve only got better since. 

As you know, I switched to the GS when I got here, a model that was born and bred for this environment. First I bought an identically powered and suspended 2002 R1150GS, and then in March 2014 I upgraded to the the vastly improved 2011 R1200GS. Like the RT, the GS models sport the same wondrous Telelever/Paralever suspension and similar boxer motors, all delivering the amazing man-machine interface Sabo raved about. The technology behind these bikes is nothing I'd forego without a serious fight. In fact, as I often say these days, I may well have bought my last motorcycle with the R1200GS. It may be the last petrol-powered machine I own, before I switch to a solar-electric-hydrogen scooter in my 70's. Watch this space.   

The R1150RT in front of my house in San Diego, a week before I moved to Germany

And that, friends, is the history of my motorcycles. My German biking history is pretty well documented starting with the earliest of my blog posts. Thanks for reading this far. And thanks for all of you who have clicked on my blog the last years, driving my readership to more than 5600 clicks. I just recently discovered that statistic and was amazed there have been so many clicks, from as far afield as Poland and Sweden and Canada and France, not to mention lots from Germany and America. Again, many thanks!

End of Part 3, End of this Series