After reluctantly selling my beloved Suzuki DR350SE (due to lack of use, and simply ‘having too many bikes’), it was only a matter of days before the money from the sale began ‘burning a hole in my pocket’ and I started looking for something new – doh!
At least I had a few prior criteria to narrow down the field a bit. I knew that the new bike would not see much use, so ideally, it would need to be road-tax-exempt, i.e. an Historic Vehicle (currently, over 40 years old, in the UK). It would also need to have an electric start, and be large enough to comfortably carry a pillion, as I rarely went out for rides just on my own. However, it also had to be small enough for me to manage, as I’m only 5ft 7in (1.7m) and I’m getting older by the day. Finally, any proposed purchase would also have to be a complete contrast to my other bike at the time, the Suzuki T500 two-stroke twin. Of course, it goes without saying that it would also have to look good and somehow, be an ‘interesting’ choice!
So, bearing all these points in mind, I began to assemble a shortlist (most of which I’d already had before). Sadly, old Triumphs/BSA twins and Yamaha XT500s were ruled out, as they were kickstart only. Others, such as the Yamaha TDR250 were not only solely kickstart too, but were also too similar to the T500 (i.e. two-stroke). Although attractive on paper, I’d already had a couple of Yamaha XS650s and found them to be too heavy and vibratory, which also ruled out a Harley (one of which I’d only just sold, for those reasons). That long list was getting shorter by the minute!
Eventually, only one marque was still ticking all the boxes, and that was BMW. I’d already had three of these (an R90/6 with a few issues, that I rapidly got rid of, an R80/7 that I’d ridden solo around Europe in 1980, and an R60/7 that I’d also ridden ‘two-up’ around France in 1981. Although I’d only had the latter two bikes for short periods, having to sell them to buy my first house (that I’m still living in, 40 years later!), I remembered them as very smooth, reliable and torquey machines, living up to their prestigious reputations.
I was also still in regular contact with an old friend from those early days, Pete Hodson, who is now one of the UK’s foremost BMW customisers (as ‘SideRock Cycles’) so I knew that I’d have plenty of expertise on tap, should I ever need it.
That was it, then; a BMW it would be! (Mmm, but which one, eh?) Thankfully, I could still recall that the ‘little’ R60/7 had been the nicest, smoothest one of all, but also able to carry a pillion (and luggage) effortlessly for far further than I was ever likely to ride these days. While the current craze for ‘cafe racer’ conversions was causing the price of R80s, 90s and 100s to sky-rocket, the R60 seemed to have been overlooked, which suited me just fine!
When I had previously bought my R60/7, back in 1981, it was only a few years old, and I was keen to have such a new model, with its smooth lines and disc brakes. Now, I was looking for something older and more traditional, and I may even have gone for a real classic like the older R69, had the prices not already gone stratospheric and hence way out of my league. Gradually, I came around to the idea of an R60/6, built between 1974 and 1976. This model had the older style rubber knee-pads on the tank, the aesthetically more attractive rounded rocker box covers and a drum-braked front end, yet it had the much better four-speed gearbox.
Searching online, I found that R60/6s were rare, but certainly not unobtainable, with about one fresh advert appearing every week. With only a very limited choice of colours (black, bronze or blue) originally available anyway, I preferred the ‘Monza Blue’ that I had had before (although my 1981 bike had been professionally resprayed blue for me – from bronze – and with more metal-flake added). Eventually, I found the ‘perfect bike’, that not only had the optional quarter ‘bikini’ fairing, but also had Krauser panniers fitted. The only bad thing was that it was in Sunderland, some 400 miles away from my home in Poole, on the South Coast of the UK….!
Unusually, I’d found the bike listed on a ‘Classic Car & Bike’ website, rather than Ebay, my usual ‘go to’ marketplace. This meant that the price was already set, rather it being an auction. However, the price seemed reasonable, so I emailed the seller with a near-offer, which he promptly refused. As the bike suited me so well, I relented and offered the full asking price, enquiring how the seller would like to be paid, and to arrange a courier to collect the bike; an established process that I had done many times before.
Incredibly, the seller still turned down my money, refusing to sell other than ‘face to face’, as it was apparently ‘too much trouble’! I was both shocked and gutted; in forty-odd years of buying bikes, I had never experienced this before! After a week, I tried emailing the seller again, proving that I was a reputable buyer and offering a simple bank transfer of the funds into his account, but this time, he ignored me completely. Sadly, it was not practical to drive 800 miles simply to buy the bike directly, so I had no real option but to start looking elsewhere, all over again.
Some time later, another blue R60/6 was listed on Ebay, as an auction with a low starting price, albeit with an unknown reserve. Much as I despise people ‘doing deals’ behind the scenes, I was determined not to lose this bike too, so I emailed the seller to see if there was a ‘buy it now’ price, or, if not, to confirm that he would definitely leave the bike listed until the auction closed. He replied with the latter, so I put in an enormous ‘sniped’ (automatically entered) bid and held my breath for a week.
Thankfully, this time I was successful! I got the bike for a reasonable price; £500 more than the Sunderland bike, despite this one having no fairing and a slightly dented tank, but nevertheless, much less than my (honestly, ‘crazy’) top bid. (The Ebay advert had shown the bike without side panels, but this was simply down to the seller’s preference; they were included with the bike.) The bike even had the original (very well made and comprehensive) tool-kit in a roll under the seat.
In complete contrast to my previous experience, this seller was such a nice guy (a professional test rider for Triumph motorcycles, as it turned out!), and he helped get the bike couriered to me. When it arrived, it was just as advertised, and I was both keen yet apprehensive to take it out for a test-ride, as I was not 100% sure that I could still manage such a (relatively) ‘big bike’.
Luckily, the bike’s well thought-out dimensions still fitted me like a glove, and its peculiar ‘sideways’ rocking at tick-over, along with that distinctive exhaust note, soon became familiar again. The narrow, low-rise handlebars made the steering feel heavy and restricted at low speed, but once out on the open road, everything felt just right, and my initial ‘close to home’ trial laps began to get longer and longer, as my confidence in the bike returned. Soon, I found myself many miles away from home, yet still looking forward to the long return journey, not dreading it, as had been the case previously with lesser machines.
It looked like I had (for once!) made a wise choice, and that all those hours spent assessing what I really needed had paid off handsomely.
As the bike had first been registered in May 1976, it would not be tax-exempt until 2017 ( or so I – wrongly – thought! Actually it would be 2018.) Either way, I had to initially tax it, in order to carry out my test-rides. However, after a month of trouble-free riding, and with winter fast approaching, I took the bike off the road, got the remaining tax refunded, and began to think about tidying up the various minor cosmetic issues.
Obviously the worst one of these was the unfortunate shallow dent in the petrol tank, along with a few other (badly touched-in) scratches nearby. The side panels also looked a bit worse for wear, with the (repainted?) lacquer covered in tiny bubbles. At least the mudguards were OK, with just the odd area rubbed by cables, etc, so they could be left as they were.
I had also wanted to fit an iconic ‘S’-style quarter fairing, but as genuine used BMW versions were fetching silly money, I resigned myself to finding a reasonably similar aftermarket copy. However, a chance remark to my friend Pete revealed that he already had an R100S amongst his stock of ‘donor’ bikes, awaiting customisation, and he was happy to sell me the original fairing (complete with both OEM clock and voltmeter!) for a very fair price, if I came over and dismantled it myself. Wow, what an opportunity! Needless to say, I was straight round, and soon had the parts safely back home.
The original clear screen was quite badly crazed, simply due to it being forty-odd years old. Not a major problem, as it was way too low to ever look through it, but it did appear a bit unsightly.
I tried a few ways of polishing the marks out without success, but various online forums spoke highly of Meguiars’ PlastXCleaner/Polish, so I invested in a bottle. It has been many years since I have been so impressed by a product! Amazing stuff, and within an hour, the screen was almost as good as new!
The body of the fairing, along with the tank and side-panels, were then taken out to my friends at Wicked Coatings in Poole. Although primarily famous for their hydrographic process (where components are ‘dipped’, to get all types of exotic effects), the company was also capable of superb paintwork, as I had already commissioned for my Electric Chopper, Suzuki T500 and TS250. After confirming the colour choice of BMW ‘Monza Blue’, and the location of the ‘pinstripes’ (actually to be sprayed in), along with the new side panel decals, I left them in peace to work their magic over the Christmas period
The rest of the bike was in really good shape, considering its age. The fork gaiters were beginning to perish, but I was able to get a new pair from MotoBins. Of course, to fit them I had to drop the whole front end out, but that all went without a hitch.
The battery tray was a bit rusty, so this was refurbished, along with the odd scratch elsewhere on the glossy black frame. The wiring for the new instruments in the fairing (yet to be fitted) was added, helped by the very useful numbered connector board in the headlight shell. The original steering damper (universally derided online as ‘useless’) was removed, enabling me to fit the later ‘stroke seven’-style dash-pad on the handlebars. OK, so it was very slightly anachronistic, but far better looking, in my humble opinion!
Both the handlebar levers and controls were totally stripped and resprayed satin black too, as they were looking a bit shabby. The grips were changed to the slightly later (and much more comfortable) ribbed style, and I was able to reset the bevel-driven throttle to lose most of the slack in the system, although the carb return springs were still a bit too strong for my liking.
Engine-wise, there was very little to do. My friend Pete had already suspected that the slight ‘tappet’ noise was more likely due to end-play in the rockers, rather than a clearance issue, and that was soon proved to be correct – and sorted out. Both carbs were stripped and cleaned, revealing a blocked pilot jet in one of them, and the frayed fuel pipes were replaced, along with all the various lubricating oils (engine, gearbox, bevel box, shaft and forks).
To refurbish the rear shock absorbers, I had already removed the Keihen stainless steel silencers, and it became clear that, although these were perfect, the mild steel headers were past their best and were letting the side down somewhat. Luckily, Pete came to the rescue again, as he had just commissioned ten new sets in stainless from a local tube-bending company…but more about these later! He also had the special BMW tool to get the finned retaining collar off – how lucky was I, eh?
The bike came to me with pannier racks fitted, but no panniers. I managed to get a pair of Krauser cases very cheaply on Ebay, only to then discover that my racks were actually Sigma, not Krauser! The design was virtually identical, so I was eventually able to persuade the cases to engage with the racks with the aid of a heat-gun. The locks were completely different though, with no matching parts for either type available online.
However, having been disappointed with the genuine (yet ‘Mickey Mouse’ quality) Krauser fittings on my previous BMWs, I decided to keep the much more secure Sigma locks on the racks, then make my own matching case plates from scratch, from steel plate.
This actually turned out better than I had dare hope, and I was able to turn a disaster into a great success. The cases now fitted perfectly and were far more secure than the proper Krausers had ever been!
After a couple of months, I got the call from Wicked Coatings to say that my paintwork was ready for collection. As always, their craftsmanship exceeded my already high expectations – absolutely superb! It was also a relief to note that their colour perfectly matched the two mudguards, that I had opted not to have resprayed as they were virtually unmarked.
I carefully fitted the two fuel taps to the tank before placing it back onto the bike. However, after pouring a gallon of petrol into the tank, I was shocked to see it leaking back out, from around the actual tap assemblies! They had been fine before, but must have dried out over the previous few months. Fortunately, it was relatively easy to get the tank back off the bike and inverted to drain the fuel, before it was all lost.
Not sure how to proceed, I contacted my friend Pete, as I suspected that he might have encountered similar problems on his many BMW builds. Although he recommended simply getting two new taps, I chose to try the repair kits available, since these were only £15, compared to about £80 for complete replacements. This turned out to be a good move, since after careful fitting, the new rubber (as opposed to the original cork) discs and O-rings did the job – no more leaks!
I had been apprehensive about re-fitting the rubber knee pads, especially as I had intended to use hot-melt glue. I’m a great fan of this product, but I’m only too aware that things can get very messy, particularly when rushing to fix something large before the glue cools. In the end, my partner Linda offered to undertake the tedious job of applying 3M double-sided tape to the pads, before locating them back into the tank’s recesses. This worked perfectly and was far less stressful – well, for me, anyway!
My friend Pete had already given me a couple of hardly-used BMW tank badges that he had previously replaced with his own bespoke ‘Side Rock Cycles’ versions. Although the original glue worked OK again on one side, I was not so confident about the other, especially as the aluminium backing had become slightly bent when first removed. However, good old hot-melt glue saved the day here, and both badges were now securely attached.
Of course, the newly-sprayed quarter fairing had never been on this bike before, but at least it was a genuine BMW item, and I was using its original brackets too. Previously, I had to cut the (non-standard) mounting screws for the screen off, as they proved too corroded to unscrew. I replaced these with stainless button headed M5 fittings that I sprayed black; they looked great and very similar to the factory rivets. The fairing itself went on without a struggle, complete with the two genuine instruments (clock and voltmeter) shown here before their removal.
The bike had now been sitting around for a few weeks, patiently waiting for the new stainless exhaust headers that I had agreed to buy from Pete. He had encountered many delays getting these made, but finally they had arrived. I had expected to fit them in minutes, but that was not to be. The re-used OEM sealing rings were reluctant to fit onto the pipes but I got them on in the end. However, when I went to fit the balance pipe to the two headers (so that I could offer up the whole assembly, as the previous set had been removed) I discovered that the former was too small, with only a simple small cut made into it to allow for adjustment. Furthermore, after I gave up and fitted the headers individually, the angles seemed wrong; if they fitted at the ports, the pipes stuck down towards the ground and the silencers would never have fitted. After an hour of struggling, I abandoned the job and called Pete over to have a look – just in case I was doing something stupid.
The good news – I wasn’t; the bad news – the new pipes had been wrongly made, and would never fit. At least Pete promptly gave me my money back, and I set to, polishing up my original pipes.
Within an hour, these looked magnificent and I was pleased that I had not already got rid of them on Ebay, as I had previously planned to do. Of course, they also fitted snugly straight back onto the bike, and the stainless silencers also went back on without any problems.
At last, the bike was finished and I could take it back out onto the road. To check all was OK after various components had been rebuilt, I started the bike up…or tried to! After only a slightly longer use than usual of the electric start, all I got was the dreaded clicking of the starter solenoid. The bike had always previously started very promptly, so I had had no reason to suspect the battery before, but now, despite it only just having been charged, it clearly wasn’t up to the job. At least this was the best time and place to find out! Having already experienced a great improvement when replacing my T500’s battery with a MotoBat product, I knew immediately that was the only option for me, despite its hefty £85 price-tag. It arrived the next day, fitted perfectly and of course the bike started immediately – money well spent.
On the first ride out, it all felt a bit strange. As always, the bars felt too narrow, but at least the grips felt better, even if the throttle (despite hours of effort) was still too heavy for my liking. It seemed strange to have a fairing back in front of me for the first time in 35 years and there was an unpleasant drumming from somewhere (later traced to the mirror stalks rubbing the fairing, so that was easily rectified!) Both brakes also felt a bit peculiar, although they hadn’t been taken apart, and were still working OK-ish. Something to look into, I felt…
Once home, I went to dis-assemble the rear wheel and realised that I hadn’t really looked at this area before, apart from replacing both the shaft and bevel oil. The problem was that the ‘quickly-detachable’ wheel now wasn’t going anywhere, as the Sigma pannier racks were in the way, so off they came. Once again, better to discover this in the comfort of my own garage, rather than in the middle of nowhere! The wheel then came straight out, and without the usual palaver with mucky chains, too!
The brake shoes looked fine, and when mic’d up, proved to be well within spec; fortunate, as replacements were far more expensive than I was used to paying. However, it looked like they had not been disturbed for some time, and the operating cams, etc were bone dry, devoid of any grease. This was quickly and easily fixed and everything felt a lot smoother now; hopefully they’d feel better out on the road too.
It would be some time before I got the chance to test everything, in fact it would be riding across town to the other side of Bournemouth, and DynoMite Motorcycle’s workshop for that year’s MoT test. Despite weeks of glorious weather, after booking my appointment, the rainy season promptly arrived! Not only would I have to ride a strange, heavy motorcycle, but I would have to do it in the wind and rain, on treacherously greasy roads – lovely!
As it turned out, I was lucky and I escaped the worst of the weather. Better still, the bike passed its MoT test with flying colours and no advisories; one less thing to worry about! Now all I had to do was ride it a bit more…!
Well…some weeks later, after getting the bike MoT’d, I was still finding it a bit too big for me these days, especially with my partner Linda on the pillion (even though she’s not very big!). So, sadly, the decision was taken to now sell this one too!
We popped out to one of our favoured locations (Woolbridge, in Dorset, the setting for Thomas Hardy’s ‘Tess of the d’Urbevilles’) for a quick updated photoshoot and video.
We then came back home via Bere Regis and Wareham Forest. As we travelled along a road through the woods, a deer ran out straight across in front of us, stopped, but then decided to try and make it back again – a big mistake! It might have made it, if we hadn’t been on a BMW, with big hard bits sticking out each side…which on contact, killed it stone dead instantly.
By the time I stopped, thankfully still upright, some following motorists had already cleared the deer corpse onto the verge (maybe to come back later for some ‘free’ venison?) so we didn’t have to see the carnage, and the bike was completely unmarked.
We were SO lucky…many people have died, or had their bikes written off by deer; a good friend even lost his car this way. So….quitting while we were still very much ahead, the bike went into the garage, and onto Ebay.
Luckily, this all went a bit easier than when selling my TS250 Suzuki, although this (one!) new bidder withdrew his bid (pre-auction end) as ‘he was in Scotland, which was too far to collect….’ (you couldn’t make this stuff up!). However, Karma was on my side this time, as (post auction), I got an offer of slightly over my starting bid – from a nice man in….Scotland again! However, this guy paid up straight away and got a courier to collect the bike the next day, with no drama – just how I like it! Funny how things work out though, eh? I knew that I would miss the bike, but I accepted that I had ultimately made the right decision. I was also sure the new owner would enjoy riding the bike, and he told me that he was already planning a trip on it to the Isle of Skye.
Thanks as always to my partner Linda O’Connell for her help applying the tank pads, and for taking some of the photographs.
oldjapbikeguyUK 