BMW R 80RT

Comfortable, stately, and sporty enough.   Fifty horsepower isn't a lot these days, but it'll provide a 7 second 0-60 time and top out at over 100 MPH.   That's a lot sportier than most econo cars.   Max continuous RPM is only 7200, so it doesn't scream and whine like the play racers.

A common endearing (or irritating, depending on your point of view) feature of the BMW airheads is a very optimistic speedometer.   Hopefully the police models (mostly RT's) had more accurate speedos, because if they clocked folks using the stock speedo, they would have written everyone speeding tickets.  

In the twisties or on the Superslab, the poise that refreshes.
BY STEVE THOMPSON

The great bulk of America's touring riders—those who put a capital "T" on touring—love Stuff. They love CB radios, stereo cassette players, cruise controls, Can-Caddys, ashtrays, cigarette lighters and radar detectors. To them, this array of hardware bolted onto a motorcycle is what turns it into a Touring Bike. Predictably, then, when BMW launched the R80RT in 1979 as its big bore noholds-barred, turn-key touring flagship, those Touring Riders weren't impressed. The reason was twofold: The RT was very, very expensive. And it didn't have any ...

Stuff. Oh, the Bavarian Motor Wizards had given it a swoopy fairing, all right, with an adjustable windscreen and rolling-louver vents and built-in storage boxes. And those Motobags were nice, too. But the only Stuff consisted of a voltmeter and a clock stuck on the lip of the fairing below the windscreen. So the hardware-loving Touring types simply ignored it.

Today's R100RT is equipped much the same as its forebear; and Touring Riders have ever more Stuff for their entertainment—Factory Stuff, too, like on the glittering, awesome Honda Aspencade— and so they are still ignoring the R100RT.

BMW's response has been as predictable as the Touring Rider's disdain. Because like them, the company is guided by certain clear, but different, priorities. Thus any changes made to the RT over the last three years have not added a single item of Stuff; instead, they have only made the motorcycle better. Not simply better as a BMW, but better as a motorcycle. Furthermore, a great deal of effort has been spent on keeping down the startling cost escalation that has characterized BMW prices over the last half-dozen years. Surprisingly, the two efforts have worked with and not against each other.

A close examination of what the RT is and how it got that way discloses the reasons. By the mid-Seventies, BMW clearly saw that the Japanese would steamroll any attempt to build bikes with more power than Japan, Inc. could offer at anything like a sane price. So the Bavarian planners thus concentrated on rationalizing and improving the R100 line rather than rushing out a CBX-beater. In practical terms, this meant that the oft-rumored BMW Four was put off until at least 1983, and that all Rl00s would share as many components as possible; gone were the days when each model got its own engine tuning, final-drive ratio and suspension. Even bodywork was to be as interchangeable as possible.

The R100RT we have today is therefore a stone-clone of the other R100 bikes in virtually every important mechanical area. Its 980cc opposed-twin engine is identical to those on the RS, CS and bog-standard R100. Likewise its frame, bolted-on rear subframe, fork, fork springs and gearing are the same. The only exceptions are the drum brake (rather than disc) fitted to the rear of the CS and standard R100, and the self-leveling Nivomat shocks, which are standard on the R^ and a $375 option on the other bikes.

The R100 engine that powers the RT and variants is quite simple in its own massive-cylindered way, but it has taken a few bits of clever engineering to keep the overhead-valve twin literally up to speed in 1982. The aluminum alloy cylinders do not have iron liners; instead, the big 8.2:1 pistons ride on Nikasil, a silicon-nickel spray coating that BMW claims reduces oil consumption, improves heat dissipation and reduces weight of the jugs by 3.5 pounds each.

An automotive-style diaphragm clutch feeds the power directly to a three-shaft, five-speed transmission bolted to the rear of the crankcase, and from there it is plugged into a torsionally damped shaft and spiral-bevel final-drive gears. At the front of the big engine cases lives the solid-state transistorized ignition system; farther aft, four spring clips indicate the location of the airbox, a black plastic case that houses the (easily) replaceable air filter and that leads, through a pair of external plastic intake tubes, to the 40mm Bing constant-vacuum carbs.

Also feeding from the airbox are two steel lines that are the external parts of the Pulse-Air system, the means by which BMW pleases the EPA and yet keeps the jetting rich enough to also please riders. A reed valve in the airbox opens when low pressure in each exhaust port tells it to, thus delivering a shot of oxygen to the exhaust gases, resulting in their further combustion; afterburning, in effect. Two separate crossover pipes between the single-wall headers augment the system and further aid silencing, although it is there that the mild popping and banging that has become characteristic of late-model BMWs takes place as the exhaust charge finishes its burning.

Despite having a sealed-at-the factory, do-not-disturb appearance, the engine is wonderfully easy to service, especially in those operations an owner can undertake. Valve adjustment, for instance, is at most a 15-minute job made even easier by the excellent directions included in the owner's manual. And that handbook not only provides step-by-step instructions for everything from valvework to two-up riding techn.ques, but also notations for which tools are required for a given job and what sizes the nuts and bolts encountered will be. This manual gives you a clue how different the BMW philosophy is from that of the Japanese; and the superb toolroll, un-derseat storage capacity (a large rear glove box, a deep rubber-covered tray above the battery and space in the frame backbone for the standard cable lock) and general access tells you the rest:

These guys, says the aggregate of the above, are motorcyclists.
Unfortunately, there is a flip-side to that philosophy, manifested in certain other aspects of this and all Beemers. The ride and the handling characteristics, for example, apparently are tuned to suit BMW's hard-riding Alpine Test Team—of which many BMW engineers are an integral part—but not necessarily anyone else riding anywhere else. This would explain why Beemers generally offer no suspension adjustments (adjustable damping, air-Assist, etc.) other than the usual shock-spring preload cams.

The RT attempts some degree of adjustability with the Boge-built Nivomat shocks (see story, page 74), but even their variable rates of springing are chosen not by the rider but by the shocks themselves.
Similarly, the ergonomics of the RT, like on any BMW, demand that you fit its peculiarities. Despite fillips like adjustable passenger footpegs, a BMW forces its rider to adjust to a riding position that places his shins sometimes uncomfortably close to the Bing carbs. Which means that dabbing for a missed shift or desperately stabbing the rear brake pedal can require some dexterity.
Futher idiosyncracies of the R100 series are the stands.

The centerstand can prove more difficult to use than a Japanese equivalent, and it places the bike tail-down rather than nose-down. Ours lost its foot-tang early in our test, but swinging the side-stand clear of the pipe gave access to the centerstand foot so the stand could still be swung down, albeit even more awkWardly. Likewise, the sidestand is a clumsy-use design, demanding the rider to swing it very far forward, something difficult to do with the RT's fairing lower in the way.

All these features, of course, also are present on a standard R100; but thankfully, the addition of the RT's fairing and new saddlebags have added to them only a few quirks and a considerable body of good traits. The new saddlebags are ABS plastic
and offer important advantages over the old Motobags; at 22 pounds max load each, their capacity is greater, and their depth, weathersealing, locking, attachment and load-restraining elastics are much better, both in quality and function.

Further, their lids can be painted to match any BMW paint scheme, although this is likely to be of less value to the tourer than is the fact that the arm that holds the lid at 90-degrees open can be unsnapped to allow the bags to he flat for easy packing.
Similarly, the molded-in downforce strakes on the fairing are likely to be of less interest to the RT buyer than the fairing's weather protection and its storage compartments.

The former is splendid, at least above the ankles. In flight, the only wind that reaches the rider comes through the vents (which can be completely sealed in bad weather by snapping in small outer-vent covers) and, of course, through the cylinder-cooling scoops, which also, alas, direct water at the rider's boots. Crosswind stability is excellent with the big RT fairing, but the bike seems less happy in the turbulent air behind trucks at speed; then, even though no gusts reach the rider, the noise level increases and the directional stability decreases, although neither condition ever becomes even mildly annoying. More seriously distracting are two flaws in the windscreen; although adjustable through 10 degrees of rake by a simple friction-knob system, the screen on our test bike badly distorted the picture of the road ahead; but worse, the shield is surrounded by a thick bead of wind-lace molding that drew the eye and, under certain conditions, blocked our view of taillights and other road hazards.

There were no such major difficulties with the storage boxes cast into the fairing. They lock with the same key that works the forklock, ignition, seatlock and screw-in gas cap, and will swallow a fair amount of knick-knacks. Despite rubber seals on the lids, though, they're not waterproof; on our bike, a little water crept in through the external box sealing.
Underway, the fairing shapes the performance of the bike in most critical areas. Despite that sizable fairing, though, the RT steers as lightly and easily as any Japanese 550. The engine is willing, too, revving freely and pumping out enough brute torque to allow steady acceleration in top gear from a walking pace, with not a hint of stumble—although the power pulsations at that speed make the bike shake like an exploding jackhammer. Treated more normally, the RT accelerates smoothly and briskly, delivering steady, usable power well past its 5500-rpm torque peak right to its 7250-rpm redline, although most good shifts are executed around six grand.

Ultimately, however, two less-desirable side-effects of the fairing begin to show up: Its frontal area decreases steering precision on the other side of the Legal Speed Limit, especially in sweepers; and the preload that its weight exerts on the fork amplifies the usual BMW long-travel front-end dive. The former affects only sport-touring play, but the latter must constantly be reckoned with, especially in slow, tight corners, where the ease with which the Boxer can be leaned is often more than offset by the ease with which the stands ground on the left side and the brake pedal on the right; more serious apex-strafing requires no additional effort at the controls but drags the fairing and, if you push hard enough, the heads. But for all its dragging, the RT still comes closer to allowing ten-tenths cornering— eight and one-half is about right—than any of the Stuffbikes.

For such antics, though, BMW has configured the R100RS, which has a lighter and smaller fairing, stiffer shocks and a riding position more in keeping with sport touring. The RT's focus lies elsewhere, in a more leisurely, but no less roadwise, approach to touring.

At that, it does very well.
Indeed, the bike is as effective at eating Interstates as it is at nearing canyon-racer speeds in all but the slowest or fastest of
twisties. Its three-position hydraulic steering damper allows the rider to damp out all manner of steering irregularities, and the common-to-all-RlOOs seat is superbly configured for long hours in the saddle one- or two-up. Cruising at about 4000 rpm the vibes are low, the engine smoothed out to a remote throb felt only occasionaly through gas tank, footpegs or grips.

The effect is effortless riding, and thus an appetite for long, long riding days on the rider's part.
Very little emerges on a long ride to dull that appetite. The annoyances of the fairing ultimately don't, the stand problems don't, nor do the ergonomics or suspension rates, which only require adjustment of the rider, not a significant performance
Plastic inserts cover RT fairing ports For foul-weather seal of good touring.
sacrifice. Only a squeal that developed in the RT's rear disc brake made our test bike any less enjoyable to ride at the end of our 4000-mile test than at the beginning.

The word that best describes the RT's unique combination of torque, comfort, handling ease and capacity for both luggage and distance is poise. By silky-smooth Japanese standards it is noisy, slowish and demandingly configured, but most likely these are not the traits that keep Touring Riders on Gizmobikes. More likely it still is the RT's lack of Stuff. If so, it's too bad, for every serious rider ought to experience the kind of largely invisible Stuff the RT possesses. It is not stretching much to call it The Right Stuff.

Source CYCLE GUIDE 1982