The Buried Beemer

Wherever there’s a vintage bike, someone is taking a photo of it; that’s one bond between cameras and vintage motorcycles. And when vintage cameras and ‘obsolete’ photo technology is mixed with vintage bikes, something very special emerges.  So when Paul d’Orléans suggested a series on vintage motorcycles shot with vintage cameras, I knew where to start. I happened to be heading down to the Monterey Peninsula to hook up with Robb Talbott, he of the Moto Talbott collection in Carmel Valley. His museum is unfortunately closing within the month and may in fact be closed by the time you read this. Robb is known for his affection for Italian bikes, especially MV Agusta, but his collection covers a broad swath of motorcycling history including BMW.

One of his favorite bikes is a 1965 BMW R69S with a curious history, and is one of the bikes that resides in his home workshop. Many of you are hip to this bike already, but for the uninitiated here’s a bit of the back story: “I bought it in 2009 from a guy down in Big Sur who lived next to Esalen,” said Talbott. “He lived up a dirt road, very narrow. During the Soberanes fire in 2008, when the fire was getting close, he buried the bike in a cliff… He wrapped it up with a cover. He dug it out 30 days later. I went and saw it, and I had to have it. I have never washed or cleaned it.” Ever since, the bike has been known as the Buried Beemer. Despite winning some awards (like the Spirit of the Quail Award at the Quail Motorcycle Gathering in 2015), the bike is no show queen. “It’s been on the Moto Melee three times,” said Talbott. “I’ve used it for camping trips – hence the axe on the frame – and made numerous trips though the Sierras. I flat track it on dirt roads. It’s easy to slide due to its low center of gravity. It’s done multiple track days at Laguna Seca.” He has ridden it hard enough in the last 16 years that the engine has been rebuilt twice.

The R69S came along during BMW’s long run of Earles fork series bikes, the /2s, and it was the hot rod of the bunch. By the time it debuted, the chassis was getting a bit long in the tooth, but the bikes were still very capable. Expensive, smooth and fast, they were made in a cost-is-no-object frame of mind. A well-ridden R69S is perfectly capable of keeping up in modern traffic, and was BMW’s flagship until the /5 bikes came out in 1969, and revived the company’s fortunes. These were the years before there were specialized motorcycle categories like Adventure (ADV) or sport-touring bikes. There were just motorcycles and you rode, doing whatever you wanted to do: road racing, trials, cross country etc.  Just change the tires and get out there.

I knew I wanted to photograph this motorcycle with a Rolleiflex, as they’re from the same era, they’re both somewhat unusual and both German. For those of you unfamiliar with the Rolleiflex, it is a type camera known as a Twin Lens Reflex or TLR. The camera has two lenses stacked vertically on the front; you focus through the top lens, while the bottom lens takes the picture. Looking down into the top of the camera, you frame the shot, which sort of detaches you from the subject, as it’s not in the ‘line of sight’ – you aren’t boring in on your subject with the camera. The Rollieflex is widely considered one of the best-looking film cameras ever made, and was introduced in the 1920s: it was continually built through the 2000s in one form or another. They are idiosyncratic and evolutionary, like the BMW. In the decades before and after the Second World War, Rolleiflex was the gold standard of professional cameras.

Many of the most iconic photos of the pre- and post-WW2 period were taken using a Rolleiflex. Virtually all the best photographers of the period used one at one time or another. Everyone from Richard Avedon and Irving Penn, Man Ray and Lee Miller to Robert Capa and Jesse Alexander used them. The Rollei uses 120 roll film and shoots a dozen 6x6cm (2 1/4″) square negatives to the roll. Because the negatives are fairly large, they’re easier to blow up, and produce sharper prints than can be made with a 35mm negative. This made them popular with magazine photo editors, who also loved the square format. You can easily format the photo in three ways: square, or with a bit of cropping, vertical or horizontal. Rolleiflex cameras were a bit of a cultural icon, and appear in many films. In Fellini’s La Dolce Vita the Rolleiflex is so omnipresent it should have been given a line in the credits. Over and over the character Paparazzi is shown with his Rollei.

What really characterizes a camera’s image quality is its lens. As much as certain cameras are objects of desire and lust, the camera itself is kind of the lens’ bitch. It’s there to look pretty, slide the film across the back of the lens, and open the window so the light can come through. So, from a technical standpoint the lens is what makes a good photo and the Rolleiflex had lenses from two of the best lens makers in Germany: Zeiss and Schneider-Kreuznach.  But, one of the peculiarities of the Rollei is that you can’t change the lens. That’s a limitation you have to creatively work with: limitations encourage creativity, and the Rolleiflex is proof of that concept.

So, when I met Robb Talbott, we combined one of the best German bikes of its era – the BMW R69S – and one of the best German cameras of the era (simmer down you Leica nuts) – in this case a 1952 Rolleiflex 2.8D with a Schneider lens – paired up for a photo shoot. There’s a little codicil to the story: Robb Talbott’s father Robert was, like many discerning men of the time, the owner of a Rolleiflex, in this case a 1951 3.5 model. Talbott senior was an amazing guy who, as they say, had done it all. As a young man he was in one of the last horse cavalry units in the US army. During the war he was a Major in the 8th Air Corps. After the war he founded the Talbott Tie Company which was a staple of style and taste.

Robert Talbott traveled all over the world and photographed his travels with his Rolleiflex. “He loved that Rollei,” said Talbott. “It’s been all over the world: China, Italy, everywhere. I know because I have the negatives.” In 1976 Robb’s parents were at their cabin in Bear Valley when it caught on fire. ”They escaped out the bedroom window. They barely made it… It (the camera) was the only thing I pulled out of the fire. I sifted through the ashes to find it,” said Talbott. It’s is a minor miracle that an item made of fairly thin aluminum did not vaporize in the fire that reduced the cabin to a pile of ashes. And what a talisman to remember his father by: the Rollei is one of Robb’s prized possessions. I knew the history of this camera and it’s one of the main reasons I wanted to shoot Robb’s BMW with a Rolleiflex. The Buried, almost burned, Beemer and the burned Rolleiflex. Some things just go together.

[Editor’s note: The Moto Talbott Motorcycle Museum is closing at the end of August, and much of Robb’s extraordinary collection is being sold (if you have an interest in a bike or the auction, contact Nick Smith here).  We’d like to thank Robb for his years of infectious enthusiasm and tireless commitment to the motorcycles and their history.  Robb is a gem, and we have been lucky to have him our midst!]