We had flown business class from Sydney to Rome, although business class in those days was more like premium economy today: no lie-flat beds. The main advantage was that your legs had enough room to retain their ability to support you after the flight, which was especially important as alcoholic beverages were supplied freely and happily by the cabin crew. For many of the reptiles of the motorcycle press on board, this was about the only chance they had of drinking anything more sophisticated than sweet sherry straight from the flagon.

Everything considered, we were in reasonable shape after 24 drinking hours when we arrived in Rome and climbed into the ground transport. No-one had to be carried. The high point of bus trips remains the Honda Turbo launch when Wil put a cassette of Monty Python’s “How to Speak Japanese” on the sound system, thoroughly mystifying the Japanese executives travelling with us. Google the scene if you don’t know it.

The BMW staff welcoming us as we got off the bus at the hotel nevertheless went pale under their recently-acquired suntans, reminders of one reason why the company rarely launches its products in its often cold and wet homeland. It’s a lot nicer for people in Italy, South Africa or the Canaries where there is actual sunshine (in this case it was in Castel Gandolfo near Rome). I well remember one wet launch in Bavaria when Roland Brown, a justly famous English road tester, slid into the kerb and actually broke the bike in half. He walked away.

“Ach!” said one of the BMW staffers as the editor of REVS, a Kiwi despite the magazine being Australian, bounced down the bus steps. “Herr Esdaile…”. I later discovered that the reason for the painful surprise was that Mike was in the habit of doing hakas, occasionally on the dining table. You can google “haka” too.

The next morning, I inadvertently kicked off my own BMW motorcycle launch legend by going for a swim in the ornamental pool in front of the hotel. Very bracing, although puzzling for onlookers.

The evening before that we had the welcoming dinner which went pretty well considering that one of the journos complained that his spaghetti was undercooked compared to the stuff he had at home out of the Heinz tin. And the sauce didn’t taste like “proper” tomato sauce either.

At breakfast, John announced that he had got lucky with one of the BMW PR girls the night before by the simple tactic of sitting up with her, smiling and nodding at her stories until she finally took him to bed at 3 AM. Sadly he had then lived up to his nickname “Two Stroke.”

During the pre-ride briefing, we were told that for the autostrada stretch of the test ride, the Italian police were going to be quite tolerant – “but there is a limit, obviously.” You could see everyone in the room decide that they would be the one who stretched the police tolerance to breaking point. As it turned out the cops did nothing but cheer us on.

There were some very pretty country lanes to follow before we got to the autostrada. I was accelerating happily up a hill on a tree-lined boulevard when, with loud clattering, an Italian army helicopter came over the hill towards me. Half the crew was hanging out of the doors alternately waving hands or cameras and bellowing something lost in the roar of the engine. Unfortunately, I looked up with my mouth open and none of my attention on the road in front of me. That turned out to be a mistake; possibly a forgivable one but a mistake nonetheless.

Backing up towards me was a large moving van, its rear doors open as if ready to swallow me and the K1. There was a steady stream of traffic on the left side of the road; it might only have been Fiat 500 Topolinos but enough of even those will stop a bike – and rider. The trees lining the pavement made escape to the right an equally suicidal option.

I slammed on the brakes, of course. And – heaven be thanked – the K1 was equipped with BMW’s brand-new Anti-Lock Braking System! Instead of sliding under the truck and breaking vital pieces of myself off on its differential, I stopped with a good centimetre to spare behind the truck’s loading platform. It had also stopped. So kids, ABS is worth having. I’ve never used it in anger since, but that one ride on an Italian country road taught me that much.

The rest of the launch was uneventful unless you count my question at the post-ride presentation about the, in my opinion overwhelming, yellow stripes. I was later proven right by the black-and-white version of the bike. Could, I asked, the stripes be removed? I’m pretty sure I got the cold answer that yes, I could always peel them off, from BMW’s Hans Sautter, who later became a good friend.

Despite being a lot of fun, the K1 was too impractical to do well in the shops. The launch was memorable, though.