Category Archives: BMW F650GS SE long term test

BMW F650GS in the Black Rock Desert

Originally published in Motorcycle Monthly in 2012, I just dug this out from the archive. It’s of interest as it describes how I came to choose the meaty part of Stage K of today’s Trans Morocco Trail, one of the trickier desert sections of the coast-to-coast ride. There’s more on the F650GS here. For a big bike I quite liked it. Long, low and easy to live with, as they nearly used to say.

There’s always a sense of trepidation when you set off alone on an unknown desert track on an untried bike. The bike’s performance and set-up are added uncertainties. I’d done the first few miles of this route before, but once the creek passed a well and took a gnarly climb onto an escarpment I was on new ground.
Left led north: I’d done that one before and had recently read about a guy on a DR who’d fried his clutch and in a panic called the British Embassy for help. A complicated and costly recovery followed. Hoping for better luck, I took the right fork towards the Algerian border. The coarse limestone bedrock kept speeds down, but the way was clear.
Up ahead flat-topped hills stacked up to the northeast but soon the helpful line of the Olaf [early digital] map dropped off the screen and I was back to pre-GPS nav, watching my orientation and seeking the most used track.

This trip was a couple of years before the Garmin 610 Montana came out which, in tandem with free OSM-based mapping, changed the whole game for desert nav. Iirc there were no such things as verified gpx tracklogs to show the way, there were only waypoint and the famous Olaf Maroc Topo map which was somehow complied by a German digital mapping enthusiast using submitted tracklogs. Tricking a pre-Montana Garmin GPS unit into displaying Olaf needed a visit from a tech-bro (in the old, non-billionaire-libertarian sense). Only on this trip I realised that not all of these user-submitted tracks where genuine recordings, they appeared to have been drawn from online sat imagery. Sadly, a similar situation exists with OSM today (at least in Morocco, to which I contribute): lashings of discontiguous, user-generated junk so you can’t see the track for the traces.

My plan for the second edition of my Morocco Overland guidebook was to sweep across the Kingdom from the east, much like the Muslim hordes some 1300 years ago, but causing much less of a disturbance. I’d log new routes from the Rekkam plateau in the east to the Reguibat tribal outlands of the Western Sahara, adding whatever took my fancy along the way.
My own Suzuki GS500-based overlander was barely complete so I planned to rent out of Marrakech, but BMW Motorrad UK stepped up with a new F650GS SE twin, the modern iteration of my Suzuki project. According to my calculations the 650 ought to be the ideal Moroccan tourer: fast and comfy enough to bang out the
European stage, and an adequate dirt tracker once I got there.

Enter sand man
Most are attracted to the better-looking 800 model, but the confusingly named F650GS is actually the same 795cc motor, detuned by 15% to 71hp peaking some 1200rpm down the rev band. Suspension travel is shorter and with a 19in front wheel that makes the seat lower too. Tyres are tubeless and the gearing is said to be from the F800ST road bike, the only flaw on the piste.
At the first service at Vines in Guildford a smaller front sprocket was fitted because swapping cogs was not a roadside job. A bash plate, hand guards and engine bars were also fitted, and Metal Mule supplied a rack, tall screen and radiator guard. With the Tourances replaced with a set of lumpiuer Heidenau K60s and some Enduristan throwovers, I was good to go.
Now we were finally on the piste and so far so good. The track headed south back to the escarpment edge. Far below in the haze lay my destination, the dune-basher’s Mecca of Erg Chebbi, Morocco’s only distinctive sand sea. Just 20 miles long, they come to gaze in wonder at its forms or test themselves on its rosy flanks. I knew that once I dropped off the escarpment within sight of an Algerian border fort and headed towards Chebbi, things would get sandy; that’s rare for Morocco and hard work on 230 kilos of bike.
Sure enough, as the mid-afternoon heat peaked I found myself pushing alongside the GS in first, the tall gear churning the back wheel as the bike inched across the sands. Experimenting with the K60s still at road pressures, this was to be expected, so the slightest forward progress was better than losing momentum. It was only an hour or two’s effort but that was enough to drain me, and as I neared the firm gravel plains alongside the Erg, I unzipped my sweat-drenched jacket and cruised around lazily from one auberge (desert lodge) to another until one took my fancy.

I’ve done enough of these short adventure rides to know that at some point a spanner as long as a pool cue would be thrown through my spokes. That reversal had already come and gone so I felt myself in the clear. On berthing at the Moroccan port of Nador I noticed my tailpack of camping and riding gear was missing. It was one of the ferry crew for sure, but my protests were in vain; they blamed the passengers and I blamed my laissez faire attitude towards security. All that really mattered: GPS, maps, iPad and other valuables I’d kept with me for the six-hour crossing. I was fuming of course, but the mission had not been compromised. I just wouldn’t be camping as I’d hoped, and the bike would be a little lighter.

Black Rock Desert
Encouraged by the low-seated 650 and the K60 tyres, I was ready to tackle a trickier stage I’d spent months preparing for. West of Erg Chebbi, between the N12 highway and the popular M6 route along the Algerian border, close scrutiny of Google Earth revealed a network of possible tracks. Unmarked on most maps and restrained by convoluted topography, many tracks ended at mines that scoured the blackened mountainsides which gave the region its name: sahra aswad sakhar (I made that up). I wanted to cut through the middle to the west, but was unsure how- or if it all linked up. One route looked like it might work out, but somewhere I’d need to cross the desert course of the Oued Rheris river.

A few days earlier I’d passed close to the source of the Rheris up in the High Atlas. A tip from a local auberge owner had led me up a mountain track cut by the legionnaires in the 1930s high above a narrow gorge to evade ambushes by the as yet unpacified Berbers. Up at over 2200m in the sleet (above), the 650’s computer had read just 1ºC; and today down at Erg Chebbi overnight winds had smothered the skies with a desert haze that might bring rain.
Crammed between desert, ocean and mountain, erratic Moroccan weather can throw everything at you during a springtime fortnight. It was going to be an adventure for sure, nosing out a way though the valleys and around the escarpments of the BRD, but hopefully something would come of it.
The great thing about riding in Morocco is that distances are short by the Saharan standards on which I cut my teeth in the 1980s. Few tracks exceed 200 kilometres between fuel or towns so there’s no need for extra tanks or – luckily this time – even camping gear. Follow a likely looking track and it’s bound to lead somewhere. It might be a dusty mine site or a stone clad Berber village, clinging to a canyon side and barely changed since medieval times.

I rode south past Erg Chebbi (above) as the forerunners of the Rallye Aicha des Gazelles tore along the base of the dunes. At the village of Taouz I set off on my own one-man rally, which initially required crossing the flood plain of another big desert river, the Oued Ziz. Three years ago on my Ténéré, the Ziz had been flowing past Erg Chebbi fit for rafting, nixing my chances of getting into the desert noire. This time round I had a few moments as the BMW sank into the chalky mud; getting mired within sight of the village would not be a great start to the day, and I reminded myself to take some air out of the tyres.
On the far side a moped-mounted tout soon zoned in and offered his services but I was determined to work it out myself. As is often the case, tracks can be confusing near a settlement, and after a bit of blundering with my moped mate never far behind (“ooh, you don’t want to go that way, chum…”) I picked up a likely trajectory to the northwest.

The track forked and reconverged around obstacles, a common trait in open deserts that can unnerve the inexperienced. After a few miles it picked up a bigger piste that had been pulverised into a flour-like powder by mine trucks. Even here the K60s kept their composure and I came to a junction where a passage led to an abandoned village I’d spotted on Google Earth. Down in a dry creek below the ruins I marked a waypoint and the depth of a well for the book, and rode on, taking any track that erred west. Stopping frequently to mark each junction, I came to a gap in the range (above) where the main track led north to the Rissani, a fall back destination if things didn’t go to plan. At this point a lesser route swung directly west into the Black Rock.

Cry me a river
The fast track soon swung off to the south, probably a service route for the village of Remlia on route M6. Heading there was another contingency should I get stuck, because I knew that up ahead the state of the Rheris would make or break my day. I lit off westwards cross-country and after a few miles picked up another track.
The valley narrowed and I squeezed through a sandy passage that in turn led to a basin, a kind of inland delta or reservoir filled when the Rheris was in flood. Soon I was jostling the GS over the salt-capped mounds of crusted mud, and with a fright, felt the GS sink and slow to the mud below. I dashed directly for the edge of the basin where firmer tracks skirted the hillside.

The baked rim of the muddy delta led over a rocky pass to a field of small dunes where the track ended abruptly on a flood-carved riverbank (above). Down below a ribbon of water separated me from the far side and another field of small dunes which stretched on who knew how far. I turned the running GS into the wind to cool off, hung my heavy jacket and lid on the bars and slithered down the sandy bank to the water’s edge. One thing was for sure, once l rode down that sandy bank there was no getting back up. This was a one-way trip to whatever lay beyond. At the river the water was only ankle high and the bed was firm; I could ride through this. But up ahead a long sandy ramp rose away from the channel and would sap the 650’s traction. I walked up and decided that it too was doable, then waded back to the bike, dropped a couple more pounds from the Heidenaus and paddled down the bank and through the water.

On the far side I paddled the GS hard up the sandy ramp with the engine pinking, tyre spinning and the fan whirring fit for takeoff. I kept at it until the terrain relented and I was out of the dunes. Up ahead a well caught my eye, the first I’d seen since the morning. I pulled up for a breather and kneeled by the camel trough for a cooling splash and a snack. An hour or so later a final expanse of sand led me out of the Black Rock’s escarpments and onto a sandy plain.
I ignored what tracks there were and instead rolled west cross-country towards a distinctive peak where I was sure a haul road led back north to the N12 highway. At one point a local guy joined me on his 125 and we diced in the dirt until he spun off on some unknown shortcut.
I’d taken a chance and my mini-adventure had panned out. I’d found a way through the Black Rock. It’s commonly said that the era of grand exploration is long past. That may be so, but the thrill of taking on the unknown, be it a transcontinental ride or just a day in the desert, is why they call it adventure motorcycling.

BMW F750GS in Morocco • 1200-km review

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After ten successful years, in 2018 BMW Motorrad replaced the 700 and 800GS parallel twins with all-new ‘750’ and 850 versions. As before, the two models share an identical 853-cc engine but, along with other aspects, are significantly different. According to this detailed BMW press release (click and it downloads; worth reading if this bike interests you) the 750 makes 20% less power (77 / 95hp) but only 10% less torque (83 / 92Nm; see graph, right). It also has a lower seat, a little less weight and suspension travel, better fuel consumption as well as cast tubeless wheels with a smaller 19-er on the front. The 750 will also run stock on 91 RON fuel (unlike the 850 unless modified) and is significantly cheaper: in the UK it currently goes from £8225 vs £9875 for the 850 which makes it cheaper than an XT700.
I’ve ridden the old 700 and 650 twins in Morocco and for me, these lower, mildly less revvy, 19-inch and tubeless shod bikes have always been a better, real-world travel bike option to the flashier, taller 800 and now 850, even if the ‘bigger’ bikes probably outsell them.

Like many P-twins these days, the new engine uses a 270-degree crank to give an impression of more torque – or maybe just because it’s fashionable. They are no longer (or cannot be) engineered to sound like a 1200GS, but even at basic levels, both models come with an array of electronic rider aids and position the fuel tank back up on top, so lifting the centre of gravity.
I rode a bottom of the range 750 (LED dash; no quickshifter, connectivity, ESA and so on) for a week, on winding Moroccan mountain backroads and easy desert trails, covering some 1200kms or 750 miles. The bike had 6300km on the clock (114 hours running time) and was fitted with a thick Givi bashplate, crash bars, handguards and rear racks.
In Adventure Moto World you might say it’s competitors include the KTM 790, Guzzi V85TT, XT700 or just updated Tracer 700, the V-Strom 650 (£6500 discounted new) or a 1000cc Africa Twin. The BMW is cheaper than all of them except the ageing Suzuki and the Tracer, new or old.

What they say

It keeps your engine running, every day. Your heart beats to the rhythm of the BMW F 750 GS. It’s your ticket to the adventure. Because with the balanced Enduro all-rounder, you will master all paths, regardless of the road surface, and expand your horizons – because you want more. The F 750 GS gives you more power, more comfort, more spirit of GS. Feel the strong-charactered engine and enjoy the ease of handling of the F 750 GS. While you’re off discovering the world, you have the bike with the automatic stability control (ASC) and the ABS safely under control. And with the ex-factory option Connectivity, the 6.5-inch TFT-display shows you among other things which junction you have to turn off at or who is calling you. Clear and concise – without distracting you from the road. The entry into your next experience is – also thanks to the low seat height – easier than ever before.

Compared to the 850, at just £8225 it’s a very good deal
Enough real-world power to get the job done
Great brakes with ABS
Great suspension too. HPA shock with rebound damping
Stable in corners. Long and low, just like the old 700/650.
Turns better than old 700 – must be down to the higher CoG plus rake and trail changes.
Tubeless tyres with easy-access side valves
Traction control (‘ASC’) plus a rain mode
LHS scrollable menu with all the essential metrics
Seat – no complaints this time.
BMW-style 12-v power outlet on the dash

Heavy With the added metalwork mine probably came in at 230kg wet, but only felt it when pushing around or trying to pick up.
Windscreen? More a small transparent plate which does nothing much.
Engine lacks character compared to a Yamaha CP2 or even an NC750.
Fuel consumption worse than the 700 – averaged 70mpg (but only measured twice).
The thin digits on the LCD dash were hard to read easily or if not in direct sun.
Remaining range (400km when full) proved a little optimistic when pushed to the limit.

Review

As do-it-all gravel travel bikes, the old 650 and 700 twins were both better than most people thought. With some K60s, I took a 650 quite a way out of its (and my) comfort zone back in 2012. So I expected to like the new 750, even if I’d be held back by stock road Anakees.
The 750 retains what looks like a long wheelbase; there’s a cubic foot of collector box packed in behind the engine and in front of the back wheel. Initially, I found the cable-less, electronic throttle lacked damping and the steering had that sports-tourer ‘self-leaning’ thing (like my old TDM). It must be a calculated consequence of weight, rake and trail but as the miles passed by I soon didn’t notice either, instead revelling in the bike’s more positive attributes.

The gearbox has an uncharacteristic slickness for a BMW, easily tapped without the clutch, and I sure appreciated the correctly positioned foot controls after the well-used Sertao I rode the week before which needed foot lifts to brake or change gear. With a few accessories my bike probably weighed not much less than a GS12, but like the 12, it sure feels less once on the move.
A big difference between the 700 was locating the slightly bigger 15-litre tank back up front. This raises the mass of the bike, but as mentioned in the 700 review, too low a CoG can make a bike hard to turn easily. and on the dirt, including loose hairpins, the 750 didn’t exhibit the resistance I felt in the 700.

The 750 and 850 are oddly fitted with a, to me, anachronistic telescopic steering dampers which I’ve not seen since the 70s and which to me signifies a way of disguising a bike’s instability due to poor frame design. It’s not mentioned under that name as in the long press release pdf. A few years ago there was a new version of the 1200GS which was soon recalled or somehow hampered with an unpredictable steering shimmy fixed by retrofitting a steering damper, iirc. Perhaps the 853-cc twins are set up with the same angles and weight distribution. I couldn’t see any way of adjusting the damper and it didn’t have any electronics attached to it.
Road or trail, out of the crate the 750 retains the same excellent suspension without masses of baffling adjustments. For the first few days I left the rear preload as it was, then gave the HPA (left) several cranks (maybe 5 full turns) which stopped my boots dragging (and even being dragged off) on some bends. (I had the same problem with the Sertao the previous week; I’ve never had feet dragged off the pegs before, but they did point down at 45°). Once firmer up and raised a bit, much less boot dragging though I felt I should have increased the rebound damping a tad, but could not be bothered to meddle as it worked fine.

One sad day I’ll count them up, but the circuit I use in southern Morocco must have over a thousand bends. By the end of it I was confidently swinging through the less gravelly curves, never needing to rev over 5000 rpm (about 120kph) to make progress at a location-related pace (ie: not going berzerk).
On start-up it produces a cleverly engineered bark, but like the weight, that soon dissipates on the move and there’s little impression of the off-beat crank’s charismatic throb, even if the torque is all there. For a 270°, the motor lack the character of Yamaha’s CP2 700s (which make 10% less power) and even the NC750 I briefly owned.
On one very steep, rough and loose switchback climb I made the conscious effort not to slip the clutch (done to minimise the risk of stalling and then falling over) and the 750 managed to chug its way at walking pace round most bends until I lost my nerve or ran out of space. You’d not manage that on a big thumper, though next week I’ll try the same test on a 310. I only got to log two tanks to accurately estimate the fuel consumption which averaged 70mpg (58.2 US; 25kpl). One reading was 10% higher, the other 10% lower and pretty similar to the 2012 650 (68.2) but much lower than the 700 (81mpg) with 100,000 on the clock. This reading closely matched the displayed average of 4L/100km (25kpl).

This was my second chance to get to grips with traction control (or Automatic Stability Control: ‘ASC’). On gravelly tarmac the TC light fluttered briefly on the dash, and trying to activate it on the dirt, occasionally the power was notably constrained to hold the back-end in line. But this was me throttling on like an idiot; normally I’d exercise my own traction control to keep wheelspin as I want it. On the dirt letting the back-end step out is usually intentional, either because it’s fun or to rear-wheel steer and square off a tight corner. This is as opposed to the front, which once slipping usually ends in a fall. That’s what you’re really trying to avoid, especially on road tyres but there’s no way electronics can manage that; it takes better tyres or less speed.
It’s likely that on a long, steep and loose climb the TC would beneficially constrain wheelspin, but only up to a point. On low-traction slopes of sand, mud or wet grass I bet it would soon tie itself in knots. Only momentum and knobbly tyres work here but would take quite a nerve piloting nearly a quarter on a ton of 750GS.

It seems to me that TC and modes are nifty but non-essential riding aids which – at negligible weight penalty (unlike ABS) – have become inexpensive enough to throw on to bikes which don’t really need either but which help give the impression of added safety getting more for your money. If they’re serious about safety, I’d sooner see TPMS included as stock, but you can buy a kit for 30 quid. TC and modes might suit riders without decades of pre-electronic riding experience under their belts. As with GPS or smartphones, you either merely find them handy; or you don’t know how or can’t see the point of managing without them.

They say the cast tubeless wheels have been strengthened. Good to know and I like the easy-access valves (left) which eliminate grovelling about with an inflation hose. Fitting a TPMS cap might make it a bit vulnerable to flying rocks, but the valves at least can be easily replaced. On a long trip I’d carry spares.
The ABS was never an issue on the dirt (though I didn’t do any emergency braking). I did find the brakes – or associated fork dive – a bit grabby, but better too much than not enough and the ABS safety net is always here. On the Sertao the previous week, the ill-positioned brake pedal saw me lose the back brake on long descents. No such problems on the twin.

Some LED dash figures like the clock were too thin and therefore hard to read at a glance, but once I got my head around it, the menu on the left bar displayed some useful data including 3 trip meters (including daily), average and live L/100km (hopefully changeable to another metric), ambient and water temperatures and remaining range. I can confirm that the bike I was riding had logged 114 riding hours in 6300kms.
I didn’t cover huge distances in one sitting but the seat on the 750 felt a whole lot better than previous iterations (not hard to do). I think it may even have been height adjustable, but though I took it off a couple of times for other reasons, this was not obvious.

I can’t say the same for the near-useless piece of clear plastic screen (left) which just gives the mounting bolts something to do until you fit something actually useful. I did notice the slimness in the bike’s waistline did make standing up much more comfortable than on the older underseat-tank models. The bars were the usual 2 inches too low for me (6′ 1″). Under the seat there’s some useful stash space, partly because of the skimpy, three-piece toolkit (right).

Summary
On the road and easy trails there really is very little to dislike about the 750GS. I know everyone will ignore me but it’s got enough of everything you need in a travel bike with maybe a little too much weight and electronics. The looks are subjective but I’d say are an improvement and in line with the current humpbacked GS look, all the way down to the 310GS. It’s got a potential 400km range, plus the brakes, torque and stock suspension to do it all. Essential additions would include an actual screen, a centre stand plus pannier racks for your luggage and probably a bashplate and other protection. Having tried it, I could live without TC and a rain engine mode (which I forgot to try) and settle for a similar bike like a mechanically proven Tracer (old model from £6700; 2020 model £7400 claimed) or 19-inch V-Strom for less weight and a lot less money.

XSR 700 Scrambler – some Morocco pics

Some pics by Jim B and Jim L.

Enduristan Monsoon review

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See also: Soft Baggage Comparison

DESCRIPTION
Thirty-litre, nylon and TPU-coated fabric, roll-top, throwover panniers.
Enduristan web page.

WHERE TESTED
Spain and Morocco in March 2012 on a BMW F650GS SE. to update my Morocco book. The bags were used with a kit bag of camping stuff across the back seat but that got stolen early on so most of the time I just had the Monsoons along, plus a small tent and bag I got lent.

IN A LINE
Good volume and details, but too wide on this particular bike

PRO
• Will mount on most bikes
• Locate securely (against a rack)
• Well made
• Secure stiffener keeps shape well
• Several external attachment loops

CON
• Velcro straps were too short (but they now sell extensions for £8)
• A bit small, or could use a few more inches in roll-up height
• Wide. I’d prefer a slimmer, longer profile shape (don’t start me on that…)
• Not unique to Enduristan, but fabrics a bit light for long-range durability
• Lacks useful external pockets

COST
€290
Bags supplied in exchange for an Enduristan advert in AMH

DETAILED DESCRIPTION
According to my measurements the Monsoons are 33 tall x 25 wide x 36cm long so do have a genuine maximum capacity of about 30 litres as claimed which makes them a very useful four litres bigger than the Ortlieb Saddle Bags, their main throwover competitor in Europe at a stated 33 x 21 x 38cm or 26 litres. Australian Steel Pony Gascoyne’s are listed as 37 x 23 x 44 = 37 litres plus the nifty outer bottle holders. Andy Strapz Expedition Panniers say they are 30 x 18 x 33cm which comes out at 18 litres plus the outer mesh pocket, though they still claim up to 35 litres volume. I used a pair once in the desert and don’t recall them being anywhere near 35 litres when rolled up, but that was several years ago. Since I wrote this Adv Spec Magadans are around at 32 + 3 with the pockets.

The Monsoons throw over and adjust with two-inch wide velcro straps, and to stop them moving forward or back an elasticated strap at the front lower edge attaches to a pillion footrest mount, while another non-elasticated adjustable strap runs across the back from the top of each corner to limit forward movement which studies have shown to actually be the greater dynamic load when riding.

The outer bags are made of an unproofed 1000D nylon lower which is sewn to a thermally coated polyurethane (TPU) fabric upper for the rolling section which is welded to itself to make a cylinder. The top edge of the outer is then partly sewn to the inner, red TPU coated, thin nylon-like fabric lining (left). This waterproof red liner is also RF welded into a bag shape which I feel is better than stitching, and then taping. Separating outer abrasion from inner waterproofing differs from say Ortlieb Saddle Bags where the bag is made of thicker waterproof vinyl that is probably less resistant to abrasion than nylon.

In between the Monsoon’s inner and outer layers you slip in a flexible plastic panel (not pictured) which fixes into position neatly with velcro tabs to give the bag its boxy shape. Enduristan claim that this panel gives a ‘third’ layer of protection from flung up debris which I suppose is true, but let’s face it, it’s really a shaping panel, like the Zegas had in box form. What’s more important is the front outer corner of any pannier which takes the brunt in a fall, and this vulnerable area was not reinforced.
The waterproof red lining had a pair of clever, flip-out dividers to make optional compartments in the lower half and into which slips the 7.5-litre Isolation Bag accessory (right). Unused, these dividers take up virtually no space.
There are no actual pockets inside on the red lining though up to a point you can slip stuff between the lining and the outer – a hidden compartment of sorts, but it won’t be within the waterproof inner. No pockets on the outside either, but plenty of attachment loops (left) for mounting stuff over the top. That’s not so convenient for easy bag access; I’d have prefered attachment points on the front/back panels as well, but the clip down points for the roll-top get in the way which is why Steel Ponys roll tops clip as they do.

REVIEW
First up I must admit that while I like soft baggage, throwovers are not my preference for the age-old reasons. But although I had three offers of hard luggage for my Morocco guidebook updating trip, I was keen to compare these new Monsoons to the well established and recently redesigned Ortlieb Saddle Bags. Perhaps unusually, I used these bags over a Metal Mule rack. Had I not had this rack the bags would have swung around much more and probably got stressed or damaged on the wheel/swingarm. Or, to limit that would have had to be mounted awkwardly high. (Since writing this review Enduristan have told me that they testing a rack adapting kit for Monsoons). It’s notable that Andy Strapz now suggests that his bags mount much more securely on a light rack (which he can also sell you). He’s right; a pair of Andy Strapz panniers I lent someone melted in a short run on the back of an XR650L one time, though that would have happened to any throwover, as many, many of us have found over the years.

With its wide, sub-seat fuel tank the F650GS may not have been an ideal candidate for Enduristan throwovers; it just doesn’t have the nice flat sides to suit them. Even then, I mounted the bags as low and as far forward as possible to centralise the weight and was typically running up to 10kg in each bag. Even in that position they never got in the way when I was paddling the bike hard through soft sand. Pushing the bike through even softer conditions was made awkward by the width of course, but better that than an alloy pannier’s hard edge. It never crossed my mind that the Monsoons might hurt me as it often did on Desert Riders with alloy Touratech Zegas.

At 30 litres I’d say they’re still a bit small. The fact is there’ll be times on the road when you want 40 litres and other days when 20 will do. I prefer bigger bags low down and as far forward as possible on the sides, then something small over the back seat/rack – a bag or even a small lockable box. At least with roll-tops you have the capacity to deal with varying volume needs, although to me the shape is not optimal – too wide. I’d have preferred a longer, slimmer profile, though it seems most soft panniers use width or height to gain volume, keeping the front-to-back length short presumably so as not to interfere with passenger legs, where present.

My first problem was finding that the velcro straps were way too short (right) to fit the F650, and would have been barely long enough even without a rack. I extended them by making two loops of two-inch strap I had lying around and adding some mini carabiners as buckles; that worked fine. On the GS the forward pillion footrest straps lined up just right, but on the exhaust side would have been way too close to the pipe, so I clipped and zip-tied a carabiner in there (left) to move the strap point further away. The back strap also wouldn’t have worked on my bike as it was set up had I not fixed on some R-clips with jubilee clamps on the back of the rack to keep the strap in position (right). That was a temporary fix which may have eventually worn through the strap. Had it been my bike I’d have come up with a better long-term solution.

Once I did all that I have to say the bags never shifted in all the rough riding I did in Morocco or <80mph riding on the way back, although on the dirt I did use an extra belt between each bag’s handles (left) as I wasn’t convinced the velcro would hold. I’ve taken the same precaution on many other panniers I’ve used over the years.

I complain about them being too wide on the GS (right), but it’s just occured to me that the stiffening plate you insert to give the bags form could easily be trimmed or even removed altogether to make a more saggy but less wide profile. I wish I’d thought of that in Morocco. As it is, my bags picked up passing thorns as well as tears and scuffs off passing rock faces and were a nuisance on narrow mountain tracks where I was forced onto lines I’d have preferred to avoid. They are I suppose no wider than a hard-cased GS1200, and at least a soft bag deflects you less when you bump into something hard, and hurts less when you bump into someone soft or have the bike fall on you, all of which is reassuring and the reason we go soft, is it not?

At the end of the day the bags clipped off easily and could be heaved over a shoulder to walk into a hotel, hands-free. Ortlieb QL2 Side Bags (31 x 18 x 43cm – 28L) would have clipped off a rack effortlessly. I’ve used smaller Ortlieb QLs on pushbike tours in the Himalaya and I can tell you when you’re shagged out it’s so nice to just lift the bag off the rack with the handle and then slot it on again next morning; no grubbing about with straps. Had it been a wet and muddy you’d get all mucky undoing the Monsoons, but that’s the way it is with all soft bags on motorbikes. Eventually, the bags got quite grubby and dusty, but so was the bike – hosing it all down at a car wash fixed that.
The back panel – a sort of dense closed-cell foam (left) – stood up pretty well to being rubbed on the rack for weeks. But the outer face of the left pannier (right) which stuck out more because of the pipe, had a harder time of it, even though I was trying to be careful and never consciously felt myself barge into the scenery.

The only chance I got to really test the Monsoon’s waterproofness was on an 800km-day back across Spain through several showers and one mega downpour with flooded roads with run-off. Even though I’d been expecting this and cinched the bags up nice and tight, when I got to the hotel that night there was some wetness inside the red liner along each forward end of the roll top where it clips down to the front panel of the bag. I’m not too surprised by this; roll top closures can’t really claim to have a waterproof seal, for that you need something like submersible Watershed Dry Bags (my 30-litre Watershed with new tent, bag and mat was among the stuff that got pinched off the ferry). Water being what it is, by pelting a roll-top bag at 70mph capillary action will eventually see it seep through to the insides. The top outer panel of the bag has a lightly textured exterior surface (uncoated side of a fabric?) which I believe may exacerbate this. A smoother surface to roll up (like thick PVC SealLine Baja bags) might help reduce ingress. It also occurred to me that the flat, flexible plastic, inch-wide stiffening ‘blade’ that’s sewn along the top edge to give you something to roll against might be better off being a piece of flexible tube or hose. That would be much easier to roll up tightly and without creases to stem the ingress of water.

So, all up I’m a bit lukewarm about the Monsoons even though nothing broke or failed in three weeks of hard use. The initial strap shortage was annoying, the width was also annoying and was made only a couple of inches so by the rack. I believe for actual overlanding rather than weekend camping, a soft pannier is much better off resting securely against a rack, or better still sitting on a platform rack (more about that later). Enduristan can’t be blamed for making a boxy shape like Ortlieb, but I’d much prefer a longer, thinner shape like the Steel Pony Gascoyne (seen but not tried), or a ‘suitcase’ shape (more about that later, too).

I also think the fabrics are a bit thin to survive a tough, trans-continental trip – that is the perspective taken and intended use for all gear reviews on this ‘website of the book’. I never fell off the GS or had it fall over but that, as well as rough use, is all part of motorcycling across the wilds of Africa, Asia and Latin America. The Morocco ride gave a good snapshot of that and if I was doing a longer trip with Monsoons I’d consider sewing on a second layer of material to protect the base and the damage-prone leading outer corner from wear and road slides. The fact that the Monsoon’s nylon lower is not waterproof makes sewing onto it no problem.(it doesn’t claim to waterproof; the base filled up as it seeped through when I washed them in the bath back home). Pockets could also be added here now I think about it. But making the bags slimmer as I suggested earlier by trimming/removing the flexible panel may not be that effective as the bags are cut to fit that panel.

Zip-free, roll-top is definitely the way to go, but what we want are big side bags mounting low down but without pedestrian-menacing width. I’d like to see Enduristan or anyone make a full-on, rack-mounting or rack-resting expedition pannier at 35 litres slim and in OTT tough abrasion-resistant fabric and similarly tough vinyl inner liners; separating the two is a good way of doing it because for resistance to rain and abrasion you need something like hypalon raft fabric (more about that another time). Since I wrote this Adventure Spec Magadans have come on the scene and answer many of my above requirements.

BMW F650GS 4000-mile review

Released in the UK in February 2012, the ‘SE’ suffix in BMW’s F650GS added up to a new paint job and an array of optional Special Equipment.
As a reminder, the ‘650’ uses the same 795cc engine as the more popular F800GS, but detuned to be more tracable and more economical, with higher, road-oriented gearing, shorter suspension travel, a lower seat, cast wheels with a single front disc and tubeless tyres.

The bike was loaned by BMW Motorrad and I rode it from new for over 4000 miles from London across Spain to Morocco and back in March 2012 to update my Morocco Overland book. I set off with around 600 miles on the clock, just after the first service and was out for three weeks.

My bike came with a batch of these optional extras: main stand, trip computer, heated grips and ABS, all of which I learned to appreciate. At the first service it was additionally accessorised and modified as follows:

Heidenau K60 tyres
Metal Mule rack, tall screen and rad guard
BMW bash plate, engine protection bars and hand guards
Touratech sidestand foot
1 tooth smaller 16T front sprocket
12v plug
Ram mount
Aerostich wool seat pad

Why the ‘650’, anyway?
Now they’ve had their teething problems sorted, I believe the ’650′ is the best of the two F-GSs twins for real-world overlanding. I wrote as much in the AMH6, even before I rode the bike.
BMW Motorrad did suggest I might like a new Sertao for the Morocco job, but that bike overweight slug has little to prove. Overall, I prefer the unsnatchiness of a twin over a big single, and there’s apparently less than 10 kilos weight difference, while you get a more smooth power and nearly-as-good economy. With damage protection, moderate speeds and alternative tyres, the 650 twin was fine on dirt roads and, with the exception of gearing, everything that differentiates the 650 from the 800GS makes it more suited to overlanding.

Comfort
On collection, the BMW felt comfy and natural to sit on, but I was warned by another 800 rider that the seat would be uncomfortable. Though I’m sure one man’s sofa is another man’s slab of coarse granite, for me at well over 100kg in all my riding clobber, the seat was the bike’s biggest flaw, just as I’d speculated while running in. Sadly, the Aerostich wool pad made little difference.
I put in a 600-km run across Spain on the way out from which my butt probably never recovered. That was followed by mostly sitting down on the pistes to spare the bike and baggage too much of a hammering (and standing was a bit awkward without bar risers), all of which probably helped beat the seat’s foam into powder.

By the time I turned back from southern Morocco, soreness returned so soon that when coming over the High Atlas, I couldn’t face the 1500 mile ride home. I pulled up at a village mattress shop and bought a 50mm slab of foam (left) which tucked in easily under the Aero pad (below). The soreness passed in a few days and Spain was crossed in an 800-km stage without agony. I recall the same discomfort on a GS1100 I borrowed years ago (confirmed by an 1100 rider I met on the Bilbao ferry) and even a GS1200A rider we met in Morocco said his seat was not up to the bike, and he was a light guy.
What is wrong with this seat – surely it’s something they’ve got to the bottom of (boom-boom) over the years? I suppose function may have suffered in the face of slim design to complement the bike’s looks, just as a Triumph Rocket III has a huge saddle to emphasise its bulk. It’s not all about width though, it must be foam quality or density. The Tenere’s saddle was no wider as I recall and was even hampered by a lip which stopped you moving back, but it was nowhere near as painful to sit on after two hours. There’s a bit of buried chat here on UKGSers about F-twin seats. It seems the inflatable Airhawk pad is the simplest solution if you ride long hours.

Even though I’m 6′ 1”, the low seat height was just right, if a bit low for easy standing up. It meant dabbing and paddling in sand or steadying over rocks was easy, but didn’t make the bike vulnerably low; the bashplate very rarely bottomed out, though caught plenty of flying hits.
The OE high option screen was way too short for me and without the taller Metal Mule item (left) the ride would have been grim, as I realised when I returned the bike without the screen and felt my arms lengthen by an inch. But as mentioned, I feel the top edge of the MM screen curves back too much and anyway, it’s still a little too low for me. Although it caused no buffeting, any clouds of bugs got splatted straight onto my visor rather than blown over like they’re supposed to. A couple of inches longer and it would have been perfect.
I never felt the screen was a distraction on the piste, though if I’d gone over the bars I’d have ripped it off for sure. For me, the Tenere’s screen – more upright and further forward like a Dakar racer worked better once I clipped on the clunky Touratech extension (it was too heavy to fit on the MM screen). But as with seats, finding or adjusting a screen to suit your exact prefs can take a while. One size does not fit all.
It may be lower spec’ and shorter than the 800 model, but the firm suspension suited me fine, giving predictable behaviour in bumpy bends with no wallowing – better that than too soft, although taking the bike back the thought ‘harsh’ cropped up again. The only time I meddled with it was a rocky day’s riding without baggage when I wound the back out with the handy pre-load adjusting knob and lowered the tyres a bit more to soften the ride.
While you do feel the engine vibration at higher revs, it never intruded on comfort, nor did engine noise which either sounded great at town speeds, or was drowned by the helmet din. The light clutch was a real pleasure to use too, and got plenty of use at low speeds, feathering in first to get round the still-tall gearing. Despite that it never needed adjusting, neither did the foot controls. Some days my right knuckles got very sore from the holding the throttle open while keeping two fingers over the brake lever, but other days they didn’t, so it must be me.

Economy
The BMW comes with a 16-litre underseat tank. I was expecting excellent economy and most of the time I got it, though the average of 68.2mpg / 56.8US / 24.16 kpl / 4.14/100km over 23 fill ups was about 4% less good than the XT660Z’s 72mpg or 25 kpl. Of course, you get a smoother and more powerful engine. Worst result was a 51mpg on a partly sandy piste where I stuck with street pressure tyres for too long and so wasted a lot on wheelspin while pushing and paddling. Best was an 80mpg (28.3kpl) coming off the Middle Atlas, with quite a few 70mpgs when riding at <60mph with my mate on a Yamaha TTR250, much of which included piste stages with hours in first or second gear.
I don’t believe the wide baggage, tyres, high screen, heated equipment or the slightly lowered gearing had any real effect on fuel consumption, and like the Tenere, it seemed to be getting better and better as the miles wore on. Full records, here.

There was some pinking in deep sand, partly due to the hot conditions, tall gearing and the 12:1 compression ratio. With the fan whirring and the throttle virtually closed in 1st or 2nd, the fuelling would start surging, but it was never uncontrollable, just mildly annoying, although it did seem to coincide with higher fuel consumption figures.

Oil, water, drive chain
In 4000 miles no oil was used and I didn’t even think to check the water. I adjusted the chain once and even that may have been premature, which means BMW may have gone OTT to fit a quality chain after the early breakage issues. I oiled the chain most days with engine oil, but on reflection, this did little long-term good as it was soon thrown off. Next time I’d brush on thicker Tutoro oil.

Performance
The 650 has all the power I need and in fact I’d have liked to have tried it in the detuned 34hp version, assuming there are notable benefits in fuel consumption or cool running. I never needed to rev over 4000 while accelerating, and with the lower gearing, 5000rpm at 80mph was as fast as I went. The red line is at 8500.
The low rpm power really helped on the piste, pulling out of deep sand, even if the high, road gearing was not ideal here. Like I say, I’d spend all day in first or second.
Fuelling was smooth and very responsive, although this made the bike a bit of a handful the one time we rode a day on the piste with no baggage to damp the response. As mentioned it would start surging when it got hot – a slow track with a backwind – but that never lasted more than a few minutes until a higher speed cooled it down. Running at very low rpm with high gearing meant slow oil and water circulation speeds may not have aided cooling as much as they could.
With just a single disc on the front, the brakes were well matched to the bike’s performance. At least once the ABS stopped me from skidding over the edge while checking out the scenery, though I’m told the mass of brake fluid pumping around for ABS can contribute to the slightly woolly feeling at the lever. I never thought to turn the ABS off on the piste, and can’t imagine it would be necessary at the speeds I rode, as it came on reassuringly late on the dirt.
And as for the twin bulb front headlight, that was pretty good too on the few occasions I rode a night.

Road riding
On the road in Morocco I rarely exceed 60mph. At this speed riding is less tiring, safer, the cops won’t nail you and economy stays good. I felt the bike was stable up to 70mph on the K60s though at times there was a very slight wobbling from the headstock (as opposed to a weave), and possibly only on concrete highway surfaces in Spain. With the upright seating position, wide luggage, trial tyres and tall screen, I can’t say this bike felt that surefooted at high speed on the way out, though by the way back I was able to sit up to 80 with more confidence, either because the Heidenau tyres had worn in or I was more in tune with the bike’s movements. I also think saddle comfort makes a bike handle better; when you’re tensed up in pain, your rigidity can affect a bike’s response. I met a GS1200 Adv rider who’d ridden both models and said getting back on his big 12, it just sat on the road like a wet pizza, however, you loaded it, largely down to its mass and the telefork.
Loaded up, the F-GS was hard to turn on hairpins, both on or off-road, just like the Tenere it tended to run wide or understeer. The Tenere was a tall bike but on the BM I attributed this to the seemingly long, 1575mm (62 inch) wheelbase. The bags were slung as far forward as possible. Early on I noticed the bike’s balance at sub-walking pace was very good; you can easily keep your feet up at 1mph and this must have helped with low-speed control on the piste.
To be fair, some of the roads and tracks in Morocco are very narrow and tight, with the wide baggage pushing you out towards thought-provoking drops. Even some mountain back roads have strips of gravel down the middle from uncleared landslides where any big, loaded bike would struggle to progress quickly and smoothly. One time I found a well-surfaced road tar in the Middle Atlas and blasted along from bend to bend around 60 or 70, but you can’t forget this is a relatively tall bike for that sort of spirited riding.

Off road riding
Dirt biking in Morocco is mostly on rocky or gravel tracks, and much to my relief the K60 tyres were uncannily good. I’m sure the OE Tourances or whatever they were, would have been less effective.

I take it fairly easy when riding alone on the piste, for safety and to spare the hammering on what is really a road bike. Within these limits I was amazed to find how easy the bike was to handle with its low seat, light clutch, ABS, firm suspension great tyres and good clearance – and all despite the tall gearing, occasional hot surging and tight turning limitations.

Early on it was quite disorienting how well the bike would track straight in deep sandy ruts, right up to the point where I lost my nerve, or less often, when the front tucked in. When this happened the instinct was to lean with it while standing up and gas it, all in one swift movement, to which the bike responded correctly every time, surging forward to regain its steering composure. The full-length bash plate meant you could do this confidently on any rideable surface and take the hits. Though I had my share of these moments, I never fell off the GS or got so wildly out of shape that I thought I might do.
Not surprisingly I found the handlebars were too low when standing up off-road, causing me to crouch unsustainably. Most bikes are like this at my height, though handlebar risers would have easily fixed it; something I forgot to address before I left.
Of course dry dirt and even sand are fairly easy to ride on any bike with clearance and the right technique and tyre pressures. I’m sure the K60s would have clogged up and the weight got to me on very muddy tracks, but all in all, I was pleasantly amazed how well the GS coped off-road in Morocco.

OE and extra equipment
The dashboard was slightly harder to read compared to the higher rally-style layout on the Tenere. Speedo numbers were a bit small, and the computer lacking in contrast and clarity in sub-optimal conditions.
The computer is pretty good though, and besides the total mileage, two trip metres, clock, fuel and water temperature levels and nice big gear indicator, a button on the left bar lets you toggle between air temperature, average speed or mpg (both resettable though I couldn’t work our how) and live mpg which could dip down to the high 40s uphill at 70mph, or give a maxed-out figure of 199mpg cruising downhill on a shut throttle. Interestingly, it must be all pretty accurate as the computer’s average mpg of 68 matched my own figure which was calculated from actual volume and distance at each fill up.
I’d have preferred a digital speedo that can switch to kph like the Tenere, while the indicators and other switchgear I eventually got used to, though in a panic, might well get it wrong.
The temperature gauge never budged, but the fan came on quite a lot. I do wonder if the close-fitting Metal Mule radiator guard may have exacerbated this. I’d be tempted to mount it an inch forward to get some more circulation behind it without losing protection. I’ve heard the fans or fan switch packs up on F-GSs when they get clogged with grass or mud – but that’s not unique to this model
The fuel goes to reserve at round 12 litres, or between 180 and 222 miles. The furthest I ran the tank was 238 miles at which point it took 14.3 litres. There are 16 useable litres says the handbook, but the capacity is 18 – I’m never sure which is which.
Checked against a GPS over 34 miles, I found the odometre (distance recorder) to be a mile over so about 3% out, though I’m not convinced GPS distance recordings are always that accurate as it depends on the set-up in recording frequency. This means that my mpg readings are a tad optimistic assuming all fuel bowsers were correctly calibrated; on some fill-ups in Morocco I did wonder. As for the speedo, at an indicated 60 or 70 it’s 5% out according to GPS, so the bike reads a little faster than it is.
Non-OE equipment besides what’s been mentioned all did the job, the BMW bashplate took a lot of flying clunks and clangs on the chin but rarely landed hard, their engine bars were only used as pouch racks I’m pleased to say, same with the lever guards, though the handguards could have been much bigger against driving rain, like the Acerbis Rally buckets of old. The Metal Mule rack was never taxed, helping merely to keep 20kg of throw-overs off the bodywork, and as said, the Aerostich wool pad couldn’t disguise a seat fit for the welcome centre at Guantanamo Bay.
As always my nifty tank net, this time used with a foam pad to protect the paintwork, was a great idea, and the Touratech GPS holder on a RAM mount held up (the Nuvi satnav I laid on the tank foam when off-road). The Garmin 12v cig plug leads both on the 76csx and the Nuvi began playing up. Hardwiring as we know is the answer to that one. My engine side pouches were dead nifty for handy access to water, oils or stuff in general, even if they are more Steptoe & Son than Rally Pro.

Durability
Not a single thing malfunctioned, broke, came loose or fell off and so I feel the BMW has been very well screwed together.

Summary
The Morocco run confirmed my early impressions while revealing how well the GS coped with dry dirt tracks. I feel the same way about what I liked and disliked at 500 miles but have proved that this ‘650’ doesn’t just look like an adventure touring bike; with appropriate tyres it performs like one too. Once that seat is fixed (there must be several solutions out by now) the 650 GS ought to offer continent-crossing comfort with adequate fully loaded off-road ability. With the smooth and tracable twin-cylinder engine and nearly as good economy, I’d say it makes a great all-rounder.
The only truly unresolvable fly in the off-roading ointment was the tall gearing. Dropping a tooth on the front sprocket didn’t really fix that, fitting a couple of teeth more on the back would – but the clutch didn’t complain. Now the 650GS SE looks less drab, that’s the only thing I can see that works better on the more powerful 800 model.

Since I wrote this the newer ‘700’ model (left and below) has come out alongside the new 800. With revised styling, a bit more power, a second front disc but barely modified gearing. It’s also sai the 650 runs better on low octane fuel which is a big plus in the AMZ. More 650 vs 700 here.

A few years later I rode a well-used, rental 700 for a week and liked it as much as the 650. And a year after that tried the new F750GS too.