What I Learned By Giving Away My BMW Motorcycle

We reason by analogy. I recently donated a motorcycle to charity. My decision to do so informed me about how we define merit. In my work as a professor, I am called upon to assess quality, whether of applicants to be students or faculty, or those wishing for a scholarship or promotion. Our discussions about public policy, how we as a society choose to distribute scarce goods among various potential claimants, also are all about who is deemed worthy.

In considering whether to give away a motorcycle, I realize merit is neither abstract nor measured on a unitary scale. I parted with a 2001 BMW K1200RS, a bike that was the top-of-the-line in its day. Yet I kept a 1990 Honda Hawk GT 650, which by virtually all conventional criteria is not as good. This ordering of personal preferences, guided by a rationale, gave me insight into how rankings depend on purposes and contexts. When I have had the responsibility of hiring for leadership roles, I always suspect the search has not been run well if only a single candidate emerges without a credible rival.

Here is the extended metaphor. I am sure there are other examples.

The BMW K1200RS was a great product commanding a premium. It was the penultimate model in a series descended from the mighty K1, an attempt by BMW to reinvent itself, moving away from the venerable Boxer Twin engine and competing head-to-head with fully-faired race replicas. Dubbed the “flying brick” for its substantial four cylinder engine, which has enough horsepower to propel kit cars, it is wrapped in discreet bodywork. Loaded with advanced technology, such as power brakes with the original anti-lock system fitted to a two-wheeled vehicle, it was perfect for a ride with a companion across the continent. I spent years admiring it before I had saved enough money even to consider visiting the dealership. 

The Honda Hawk GT 650 was a sales disaster which became a cult classic. It was an odd mix of components, with a “naked” look (no plastic) that had gone out of style but not yet become “retro” hip. While it had some trick features, such as a single-sided rear swingarm, its modest engine was retooled from less glamorous origins, and it was underpowered even against other offerings from the same manufacturer. Enthusiasts embraced it, however, because it was easy to handle with ample torque from low RPM, and it could be hopped up for victory at the racetrack. I had studied everything on the market back in the day (circa 1991), before making it my first major purchase as an adult professional on my own. 

At the threshold, how we group items together into categories for comparison is crucial. Evaluations should be of like to like. Even a non-rider, minimally observant, would discern that although these two motorcycles could be classified together, as motorcycles at the most general level, they cannot be tested against one another in any appropriate manner. Prospective purchasers would not “cross shop” them. The BMW cost five times as much as the Honda and weighed not quite twice as much. They were as comparable as a BMW 7-series sedan and a Honda Accord. They both would take me from place to place. You likely would select the one versus the other based on the distance between those points. 

At my stage of life, given my interests, the BMW is simply not suitable. I am no longer riding long distances through the night, scanning the highway at the limit of the headlights for deer. I remain a regular in the saddle, but as a commuter across a crowded city. The change in destinations, from the adventure of a journey nowhere to the arrival at the office on time, makes all the difference. In a parking lot, the BMW is ponderous. Nobody is a fan of paddling about, wary of dropping his top-heavy conveyance on its side.

The point is that merit depends on perspective. A frame is necessary for any analysis however objective. The BMW is properly matched against other open-class bikes meant for sport-touring use (the later Honda Interceptor 1200); the Honda, light-weight day-to-day runabouts (the Suzuki 650s). The BMW was usually rated an acquired taste, for a demographic a generation older than those would who would be attracted to anything called a “hooligan” bike. Then once you take into account intangibles, I would not hesitate in subjective sentiment. The BMW was fast, very fast, but the Honda somehow felt quicker — you could travel at twice the speed on the BMW in tremendous comfort, but if you wanted the exhilaration of the proverbial wind in your face, then the Honda offered the superior sensation. That perception is integral to the cruise, the spirit that riding represents. 

When I bought the BMW, I assumed it would replace the Honda. That turned out to be anything but the case. I did put mileage on the BMW, albeit much less than would impress any “iron butt” rally contestant. I joined the BMW club, and I always returned from any pleasure trip remarking that I ought to take the K1200RS out of the garage more often. I even gave the machine a name. After it had a custom paint job, becoming an eye catching chrome yellow, I affixed a decal that entitled it “Peril,” making it a visual pun, the Yellow Peril, as if I had a secret identity once I donned my “hi-viz” riding suit. I would have liked to hold on to it forever. 

It’s just that when I had the bill for the last attempt to repair the deteriorating systems, which the shop stamped with the declaration to protect them from liability no doubt, that they had warned me the BMW was no longer safe for the streets, I concluded I could continue with one bike. The BMW was too sophisticated for its own good. Complexity increases risk of failure. The truth is, I neglected both bikes. I did that equally though. The Honda revealed itself to be much more reliable, starting up after years of storage, restored to showroom condition on a budget. The BMW was done in by its fancy electrics, suffering intermittent loss of the brake power assist and ABS protection, and weeping of fluids throughout the transmission and shaft drive.

For all its status as a beginner bike, the vintage Honda ended up the keeper. I had held on to it for nostalgia’s sake, tucked away behind storage boxes. 

Perhaps none of this is relevant beyond motorcycles. Yet I would say I have learned a lesson. We cannot be sure what the best is, or even what better is, without having in mind our intentions and which factor we want to weigh most among the many options. Philosophers advise us that we display diverse desires, and they are “incommensurable,”meaning it is impossible to set one against another. What we momentarily feel we want, we eventually think better of. Our lives are not about the consumption of goods as much as they are enriched by the quality of experiences, and that is as it ought to be.

This essay originally appeared at HuffPo.