After I got out of the cast on my right foot from the accident that totaled my R65, I naturally needed a new bike. 1985 was the year of the introduction of the "Monolever" airheads, which were supposed to just be a stopgap until the new K bikes ramped up production and everyone switched over. (It didn't play out that way, of course.)

As a part of this move, BMW had eliminated the 1000cc model airheads. The 800cc R80 was now the top of the line for boxers. I visited Laurie and she had a red one coming in. Flush with the insurance settlement money, I told her I wanted it, but set up with the S style bikini fairing and the clock and voltmeter installed. And a set of BMW's saddlebags, please.

I think as a part of the effort to kill off the boxer line, BMW had chosen some particularly ugly stickers to apply to the side panels. I don't usually care too much about such things, but these looked particularly cheesy to me, so I carefully peeled them off and replaced them with plain white stick on letters that read "DSR80S". DSR is me, and R80S was the bike.

From the start, I really liked this bike. The slightly crouched seating position was completely comfortable for me. I rode all over California and the west, going to rallies mostly, and of course, I did a lot of commuting to work in LA.

In 1986, I arranged to fly the bike and myself to Europe for an extended vacation. My company had an office in London, and I agreed to show up there and give a presentation, so they covered the cost of the flights for me. I did a lot of research and found the best deal with Air Canada, out of Vancouver, BC, going to the Prestwick airport near Ayr, southwest of Glasgow in Scotland.

Two days before I planned to leave for Vancouver, one of the fork leg seals started leaking — a lot! Unfortunately, Laurie and Don had closed their shop because they had to go to a BMW dealer meeting. The was a shop in North Hollywood, but it had a rather poor reputation. The next closest shop was in Torrance, Marty's Foreign Motors. I called them up and because it was pretty much an emergency situation, they told me to come down whenever I could. They really saved the day for me.

The ride up to Vancouver was otherwise uneventful, but they were holding the Expo 86 there, then. I had reserved a B&B out in Richmond, which is not very close in, in order to avoid the crowds and the costs. I was able to also reserve the room again for the day I got back. On the morning of my flight, I rode to the Air Canada cargo hangar. It was nearly deserted. I went into the office, they had me fill out the papperwork, we weighed the bike, and then I paid $400 for the freight.

Airports are not made for pedestrians. The cargo hangar was about a half mile from the passenger terminal. I had to hike cross country to the terminal and dodge a lot of traffic in the roads before I got close to the terminal where there were actual sidewalks. Then I got to hang out for nearly 6 hours in the terminal before my flight.

At the other end, the Prestwick airport was dead. My flight was the only arrival at that time. I whipped through customs. I hadn't checked anything because I had loaded it all on the bike. I got directions to the cargo area, which was immediately behind the terminal, so it was a much shorter walk. The customs officer was very pleasant, and in a very short time I had the bike.

I had a great time and the bike was nearly flawless. I went across the channel to Normandy, stayed in Paris, and visited some friends in Munich. In Paris I had parked the bike for three days and took the Metro everywhere. On my way out, I wanted to stop at Versailles, but the traffic on the ring road was at a complete halt — it was much worse than what I was used to in LA. Although I knew it was technically illegal, I saw lots of scooters splitting lanes, so, when in Paris... I couldn't keep up with the well practiced scooter pilots. I watched my mirror and when one caught up to me, I'd pull in and let him by. I had just done that and gotten back in behind him when we got stuck behind one of those weird D series Citroens that was also trying to split traffic. The driver saw us and got back into line, and we went around him. It was only then that I realized that it was outfitted as an ambulance! By the time I got to Versailles, I had been creeping along for much more than an hour, which I knew was not good for the battery. Sure enough, when I came out, it was too run down to start the bike. Fortunately, just as I was about to give up, a Scot rode up on his R65, and gave me a push. By then the traffic was better and I got out of town as quickly as possible. This trip really cemented my love of riding around Europe.

This was the bike on which I earned my first 100,000 mile award.

It only once ever stranded me, when the infamous diode board quit. This board is the rectifier, and between the heat under the front cover and the vibration working at the electrical connections, they seem to have a more limited lifetime than most other parts on the bike. I knew I had a problem when the red charging light came on while riding and the voltmeter started to sink. If your battery is fully charged at this point, you have something like an hour of riding left, more if you can disconnect the headlight. For me it wasn't a big drama as I was in town, but it could be more exciting in the middle of nowhere.

When we moved to Seattle in 1991, I packed up the bike and rode it up there. I had a great ride, the weather was pleasant the whole way. I crossed over the Columbia River from Portland into Vancouver and Washington state on I-5. Once outside of Portland's sphere of influence, there was no traffic to speak of and I was just cruising up the road. At that time, as I-5 passed through the Kelso area, there was a section that had a 55mph speed limit for no discernable reason other than perhaps revenue collection. And sure enough, there was a Washington State Patrol positioned just in front of a bridge abuttment as I went by, in the process of passing a lone car that seemed to know about either the limit or the officer. Anyway, as soon as I saw him begin to move, I just pulled over and waited for him. We had a pleasant chat, and in spite of my California plates, he let me go with a warning.

Before leaving, I had talked to Laurie about my move and asked her if there was a dealer up there she could recommend. She thought about it a bit and then said "No", which didn't give me such a good feeling. When I got there, I found that there was only one dealer in Seattle, Buckingham BMW, so that's who I had to go to. A few months went by and an issue of Motorcycle Consumer News arrived nearly completely devoted to choosing a dealer and including the best dealers in each state according to a survey they had run, and also the 50 Bottom of the Barrel dealers. Buckingham was on that second list.

Also before leaving, I vowed not to let the Seattle weather prevent me from enjoying riding. I bought a one piece rainsuit and packed it up there with me. It got a lot of use. I arrived in October and by December, every seam in that suit was covered inside and out with duct tape. One sodden, black December evening, I left work and rode directly to REI. I entered, tore off the dripping rain suit and dumped it unceremoniously into the trash. I bought a waterproof nylon windbreaker and a set of foul weather boating bibs, which seemed like the right gear for Seattle.

Seattle is a wonderful place to go riding, aside from all the rain. There are many wonderful roads near and farther afield. I tried to investigate them all and the R80 was a willing partner.

In 1994 I bought my R1100RS. With an exciting new bike in the stable, and the R80 having more than 90,000 miles on it and in need of a top end refreshing, and the wife suggesting that I could only ride one bike at a time, I offered it for sale in the company newsletter. I thought I wouldn't get any response, but unfortunately, I was wrong, and the buyer paid very nearly what I was asking for it. I was very sad to see it go, but figured it would get more use with someone else. It turned out that I was wrong about that, too, because about a year later I got a call from the buyer. He had never registered the bike and now couldn't find the title. Would I meet him at a notary public in order to create a bill of sale? Yes, you bet I would. While we were waiting for the notary, he told me that he had immediately taken the bike apart. He had a bunch of ideas for customizing it. Unfortunately, he and his wife were getting a divorce. He was quitting the company and was going to move out of state. The more he talked, the lower my heart fell for the bike. I'm sure it ended up being parted out.