Gone but not forgotten

After 38 years of acquiring motorcycles and compiling what some refer to as a fleet, I finally parted with one of my motorcycles. My 2004 R 1100 S is a younger man’s motorcycle and I’m no longer a younger man.

As I contemplated selling this motorcycle, I found myself thinking back over the nearly 10 years of ownership and remembering the times we spent together. I purchased the used silver S soon after turning 50. I wanted this model for a long time and finally found one locally. I was so excited after my down payment that I remember having trouble sleeping nights until the day I picked it up. I jokingly started a thread on the MOA Forum entitled Help With Sleepless Nights looking for advice with my affliction.

Along the Blue Ridge Parkway in North Carolina.

I still remember the November day I picked up "Silver" and starting the ride home with "Hi-yo, Silver!" rattling around in my brain. As I started the ride home, my heart rate increased and my breathing became shallow. I was a bit intimidated by the power of the S initially, but was thrilled to finally own what is arguably one of the best-looking BMWs. I loved the lines of the bike, the single-sided swing arm and the under-seat exhaust. I stopped partway home to let my heart rate and breathing rate return to normal and to admire it parked beside the road.

On a twisty road in Arkansas.

Those first few days and weeks were spent getting to know the S, my first "modern" bike. Compared to the 1971 R 75/5, 1983 R 100 RS and 1987 K 100 RS I owned, the R 1100 S was a rocket ship that handled well and stopped quickly. I loved the heated grips, the outlet for my heated jacket, the ABS brakes and the 98-horsepower engine. I soon outfitted it with saddlebags and a tank bag in preparation for longer trips. Over the years, we have ridden many miles together and the memories we made are still fresh in my mind.

Silver was equally at home on twisty mountain roads, those where you see your taillight in the corners, or burning up miles on the interstate. From my home in southeast Pennsylvania, Silver and I toured Pennsylvania twice, rode the Catskills and the Adirondacks, attended BMW rallies in Asheville, Birmingham and St. Paul. We were ferried across Lake Champlain and rode the north shore of Lake Superior, the southern Appalachians, the Gulf States, most of New England, the Mid-Atlantic and parts of the Midwest. Within our reach were the plains of South Dakota, the cornfields of Iowa and the outstanding roads of the Ozarks. We rode the Back of the Dragon, the Pigtail, the Cherohala Skyway, the Natchez Trace Parkway, the Talimena Scenic Drive, Skyline Drive and the Blue Ridge Parkway.

Morning alongside the Ohio River.

We watched tugs pushing coal barges on the Ohio River, experienced sunsets over the Mississippi River, took shelter from storms under highway overpasses and in churches and camped on the shores of lakes and the banks of rivers and streams. We’ve had outstanding views of valleys from mountaintops and mountaintops from valleys. I take responsibility for the speeding tickets we received in upstate New York and the Shenandoah Valley of Virginia.

A hairpin curve in the Ozarks.

Silver took me to many memorable meals in small towns. Especially memorable were the pie and coffee at the Oark Café in Oark, Arkansas, and Cup of Joe in Cedar Falls, Iowa, as well as the homemade turkey sandwich at the Tyson Village Store in Ludlow, Vermont, the chili and half sandwich special at the Main St. Bar & Grill in Larchwood, Iowa, the pancake breakfast at the Bogus Creek Café & Bakery in Stockholm, Wisconsin, and the BBQ dinner at the Pig Out Inn in Natchez, Mississippi. Silver seemed to have a way of sniffing out the good places to eat and knew when I needed a break from camp fare.

Riding the Cherohala Skyway.

Because the stopping power of the ABS brakes instilled confidence in me, Silver was my preferred bike for fall trips, when weather conditions were often less than ideal. Stopping on wet, leaf-covered roads in West Virginia or Vermont was never a problem. His heated grips kept my hands warm and dried my rain-soaked gloves on those days I just had to stir the oil. In all our travels together, Silver always returned me safely to my home.

A rainy day in Vermont.

I was in denial for a long time, but in spite of all the good times we had together, it was becoming apparent to me - as I approached 60 - that Silver was becoming less comfortable to ride, even for short distances. I’m willing to accept a certain level of discomfort when riding a younger man’s motorcycle, but the level of discomfort started to diminish the joy of riding Silver.

A quick photo break in Middle America.

With a fair amount of thought and after buying a nice R 1150 RT with its more upright riding position, I reluctantly realized that it was time to part with my old friend. I took him for one last ride and one final cleaning, then sold him to a local MOA member. As I watched the new owner ride Silver out of my driveway, my heart rate increased and my breathing became shallow one final time.

A Pennsylvania dairy farm.

With the remainder of my fleet still intact, and with many fond memories of Silver, I’m beginning to move on. I will be the old man sitting around the campfire at rallies reminiscing about once being a younger man and having had the privilege of owning an R 1100 S.