This is what started it all for me and vintage BMWs.

What I know of the bike's past is that it was built on December 13th, 1960, #336 of the R60/2 models off the line in the '61 model year. It was sent to Butler & Smith, BMW's US importer at the time. A friend of a friend, Eric, owned the bike in the early 70s and for some reason unknown to me, disassembled it about 1974. At that time it had just over 63,000 miles on it. In 1980 or so, Eric gave the bike to my friend Rick for Rick's birthday ("Happy Birthday! I got you a motorcycle! Some assembly required...") Rick did some minor clean up, but basically, the bike sat in his garage. In 1985, Rick moved from LA to San Jose, and he gave me the bike. Together with my friend Mark, we started in with the usual enthusiasm to restore the bike, but soon that enthusiasm ran out and, when Heather and I moved to Seattle in 1991, I paid for his expenses and took the project with me.

After moving around and renting for a while we bought a house in Bellevue in 1996. Eventually, we emptied enough boxes to clear a spot in the garage for Heather's car. Thinking that it would be nice to get another car in the garage, Heather looked at what was left, saw the boxes and frame standing in one corner, and said "Are you ever going to do anything with that? If not, why not get rid of it?" No man takes a challenge like that lying down, so I immediately moved her car back out into the rain, put a milk crate down where it had been, and placed the frame on it. For the next three months or so, I would spend an hour or two after work bolting things onto the frame. It turns out that there's a particular order that must be followed to assemble one of these bikes successfully. As I had never seen the bike together, I really had no idea what that order might be. Many parts went on several times before they actually stayed there.

Eventually, I had a motorcycle! It wasn't very pretty, but it did start and run. And it was completely different from my current-at-that-time R1100RS. It was pretty much alien to any bike I had experience with. Riding this bike really flipped a switch in me — unlike previous bikes, which were all much more competent than I was, this bike needed me. It had limits and foibles that were within my reach as a rider, and I had to be aware of these things and take them into account.

I rode it around all summer, fixing what broke. On one of the first long rides I took, I went out with some sport bike friends from work. I told them not to worry about me, just to wait at the turns. (Actually, they didn't have to wait long.) We rode up to Anacortes and then down across Deception Pass and Whidby Island. There was one rider — he was gorgeous! He was riding a new, red Ducati 916 and was wearing a white helmet, white leathers, red gloves and boots. He looked like The Great Leslie. Unfortunately, he wasn't a very fast rider, and I was continually stuck behind him whenever we came up behind a car. He had the annoying habit of waiting until the end of a straight to make a pass, which guaranteed that I could not also pass at the same time. (With a 12lb. flywheel and a 30hp motor pushing 650 lbs. of bike and rider, one must be on the gas well ahead of any attempt.) Finally, we were behind another car coming into a bend. I had left a gap in front of me so I could downshift and stay on the gas through the turn… and then went past both Leslie and the car. For a further 20 miles, down to the ferry dock, I maintained my lead. But the Gods do not like pride in a mortal, and when time came to load onto the ferry, the kickstart lever broke in half, and I had to get a push start to get on and then get off the ferry.

In the fall, I took the bike even further apart than it had been. I bought a new exhaust system. I had everything rechromed. I had all the cad parts replated. I found a painter and had the bike painted and striped. I repolished the the polished aluminum parts. The second time it was much easier to put it back together.

The summer of '97 was great for the bike and me. I rode the newly restored bike out to the Washington State BMW Riders' Cascade Country Rendezvous rally. They had a concours judging and the bike won two awards, best vintage and people's choice. I did have one little oopsie, though. I had taken the bike out on one of the suggested rides with some friends, but needed to be back at 1pm for the concours. A bit before noon I bid them adieu and rode up Blewitt Pass road. Near the top the bike sputtered and I put it onto reserve. No big deal, I knew there was a gas station at the junction with US-97 at the bottom of the pass, which wasn't very far away. However, the bike ran out of gas after 12 miles and I coasted until the road flattened out. Fortunately, another rider came by and let me take two beer cans worth of gas, which was enough to get to the gas station. I just made it to the show.

I rode the bike to other events that summer and had a grand time. One Sunday I went to a picnic and upon my return, as I was removing my helmet, gloves and jacket in my garage, I turned to the street. There was a tall man striding purposefully up my driveway — so purposefully, in fact, that he had left his car idling in the middle of the street with the door hanging open. I thought, did I cut this guy off in traffic? Did I turn in front of him? What did I do to make him angry? It turned out that Salvatore, an engineer working on a contract at Boeing, had been trying to catch me for a little while. The first time he saw me go by, he was stuck in traffic and could not follow. As he was sure that I had just stolen his newly acquired R50/2, he immediately dropped what he was doing and drove home, only to find his baby still where he had left it, parked in his living room on the wall-to-wall champaigne colored carpetting. After that he saw me a couple more times before he was able to give chase. He had always wanted one of these bikes since he was a teenager in postwar Italy and saw them. The last I heard, he had gone back to Italy and his son was riding the bike.