When a bike has been acclaimed as the second coming by pretty much all and sundry, you can’t help but look forward to riding it – a feeling tempered on the day by the fact of the first rain for weeks (leaving a drying, patchy surface by the time I climbed aboard) and the knowledge that sheer weight of expectation can sometimes be too heavy a burden for the reality.
By now y’all know what this machine is: spec here. The sole change for 2020 is cosmetic, adding the metallic silver ‘Hockenheim’ paint job to the more familiar options. The variant awaiting my ministrations was the range topping M: carbon wheels, fully customisable ride controls and a spot under £20k to bring home. Bring home next year: demand everywhere has outstripped supply.
So what were the first impressions? Well, the ergonomics felt a little less friendly than the outgoing model, but that’s subjective take. Key physical parameters differ slightly from previous incarnations – the seat is slightly higher, the bars wider, but significantly everything remains fixed. The KTM RC8 should have been a design game changer for sportsbikes, but no one else was playing. As far as manufacturers are concerned, we’re all still the same size. As punters, we deal with that, but it remains an utterly ludicrous situation.
The next thought was how incredibly user friendly the bike was in an alien environment, bumbling around a congested county town as we headed for the hills. This thing will sit in top gear at 40 mph without complaint, and when play speeds up short shifting works with effortless competence. You do not need to rev out – or to put it another way, revving out on the road is 100% pointless. You can reach go directly to jail speeds effortlessly enough without going anywhere near the red line. And yet it’s compliant, which is quite an achievement in a machine knocking on the door of 200 bhp @ RW. This duality is courtesy of the shift cam technology which means the valve timing is flexible. Effectively you have soft profiled cams and harder ones rolled into one, which means you can optimise top and bottom end performance in one machine.
Each engine mode has a default, corresponding suspension setting for rain, road, dynamic and race; likewise the TC and ABS defaults. These are unadjustable (i.e. you can’t mix and match) unless you go for an optional add on to the base model, and interested parties should check model specs and the plethora of options carefully. The M that I rode brings everything to the party as standard, and comes in around £4.5k over base. This includes semi active suspension, meaning that damping adjusts incrementally in real time (hence the Dynamic Damping Control soubriquet) The DDC pack is an add on to the base bike and the RR Sport: a half way house between base and the M, and sporting DDC among other additional features.
The ride noticeably firms up between road and dynamic modes to a point where the latter feels only really suitable for top notch surfaces, and there were precious few of those in evidence on this particular ride. Historically, the problem with semi active systems (like Ducati’s Skyhook) has been that you could never predict exactly how the bike was going to react on any given surface, because by definition semi active suspension isn’t a closed loop system. That remains the case, but the BMW variant is an improvement on previous incarnations: it reacts faster and damping quality feels superior. However, it sometimes felt like the system was over reacting to the surface: we went from float to slap with a fair degree of regularity, depending on surface. The suspension itself is high quality and works perfectly well without DDC, providing a level of consistency some riders might prefer.
In terms of the user interface, I preferred the older Motorrad ESA approach where you chose your suspension setting according to the conditions irrespective of selected rider mode. What’s actually happening here is that the selection is made for you according to current engine management mode. It’s hard to fathom the rationale behind this, and it applies to bikes with or without DDC. The standard model is the only one of three not to feature DCC, and for some this might actually be a better bet, since you can add the rider pro mode for £200 which opens the customisation box, freeing you from defaults.
The BMW branded brakes are astonishingly good in normal road conditions, the ABS was unintrusive but effective, and can be dispensed with altogether. Combine the brakes with rest of the electronic safety net, and you have a bike which suggests that you rethink your approach to riding – a process which takes more than a test ride to implement. But to get anything like the most out of this machine, it has to be done.
The quick shifter works well – I found it smoothest with a fractional throttle back on the up kick – although going the other way sometimes felt snatchy. Experience of shift assists suggests you need a bit of localised familiarity to nail them every time and I’m pretty confident that could be achieved, with the slight reservation being that shifter tec on previous BMWs (especially the boxers) was never flawless.
Despite the bike’s willingness to trundle down to the shops or head across town and back, like all its sportsbike predecessors the S1000RR really comes together when you open it up. The problem of course is that doing that on the road means that you are an iteration of throttle away from going to prison, the more so because it’s at those kinds of speeds that the bike really works. Stability was outstanding, even when the suspension was under sustained attack from poor surfaces. Make no mistake – this is a track machine first and foremost, which makes you wonder… how many people who might otherwise be interested in the bike can afford to spend between 15 and 20k on a trackday weapon, bearing in mind the possibility of customising it further by stacking it?
Let’s assume you can afford the finance and you’re in the market for something sporty. A key determinant then becomes whether or not you like the general feel of a digital bike, where virtually every input is mediated by electronics. Make a road going bike with 200 hp and you end up with a vast array of technology on board to stop you coming to grief. In a world where a lot of people are demanding more simplicity, more authenticity and realistic power outputs, a bike which bristles with tec supported raw power feels conceptually a little bit parallel universe. My personal view is that while electronic control systems are valuable additions on our overcrowded roads, too much mediation can make for a weirdly detached ride experience which, paradoxically, can feel like you’re less in control than on an old skool sportsbike. The RR largely manages to avoid that disconnect, courtesy of the smoothness of the electronic assists. If you’re you’re looking for a top notch sportsbike with the last word in bells and whistles, then checking out the RR is a must, because the bells and whistles feel so well sorted – which is not necessarily the case with its competitors.
Capable as the S1000rr is on the road, it’s hard to justify it exclusively for that role. I got off the BMW onto an old ZX6R for the ride home, and although the RR would slaughter it on track and petty much everywhere outside an urban environment, comparing the two on the road was an interesting exercise. For all its relative shortcomings (most notably the brakes), the 6R (lighter, 14k redline and sorted suspenders) didn’t feel like it was less fun – and if sportsbikes aren’t about fun then maybe we should stop riding them. Put it another way – perhaps the RR is just a little bit too serious as a road bike. You initially feel compelled to show everything a clean pair of heels at the first opportunity, you get into competition with yourself via the lean angle data, and this isn’t a particularly relaxed mindset. Which is more evidence that you have to retrain the brain for this one. That what comes with owning the best mass production sportsbike on the planet.
Sometimes you come across something which represents an awesome technological achievement, but which for reasons of practicality or cost is hard to recommend to the market. For most people owning a £60k bike is beyond imagining, but owning a £20k one is a more credible fantasy. And for many a fantasy is what it will remain: a luxury toy, a dreamer’s bike, an alternative reality. When the GSXR K5 first appeared (itself key source material in the S1000’s development), I remember someone saying that opening the throttle was a cartoon like experience, so preposterous was the rush for the horizon. Add another 45 odd brake to that party and these days you could easily be headed for something rather less alluring: your day in court. It really is all about self discipline on road and recalibration on track. You have to learn to ride all over again, but the bike promises to massively repay that investment.
Don’t get me wrong: this is an extraordinarily capable motorcycle, but I’d be amazed if 20% of its riders ever got anywhere remotely near the S1000’s true capability. And that’s being generous to prospective purchasers. Then again, simply knowing what it’s capable of might be enough for the majority of them, and that’s fair enough. Because this is a bike to make dreamers and fantasists of us all.
