Kawasaki ZX-7R
They say looks aren’t everything, but in the case of the mean, green and, frankly, enormous ZX-7R, they count for a lot. It’s over two decades since this bastardised ZXR750 came swinging our way, sporting a revised motor (shorter stroke, bigger bore, finger followers), a braced and bulkier frame and those larger than life six-pot Tokico calipers that would make one assume they could stop a train... or two, yet this bargain bruiser has enjoyed a resurgence of late. Maybe that’s got a bit to do with its cheap and cheerful (albeit climbing) pricing, with plenty of options around the two-grand mark, but I reckon it’s down to nostalgia, harking back to a time when sportsbikes ruled the world and going fast was what everyone did… then along came Charley and Ewan.
Lucky for me, just before it became cool to go slow and cassette players were still a part of everyday life, my mate had one of these Kwackers. To me, aged 17, it epitomised everything a sportsbike should be: high speeds, awesome soundtrack and, in someone other than my mate’s hands, multiple wheelies. I was smitten with the thing and often found myself pillion on its roomy top perch, blatting around the neighbourhood, burning as many hydro-carbons as its bank of four carbs would let it.
Those were days, eh? Maybe it’s just a case of wishing to relive those youthful times, but that ZX-7R left an indelible mark on me; an itch that’s needed to be scratched for 15 years. And so it was that many sleeps on from my introduction to Kawasaki’s last ever 750cc sportsbike, I finally got a chance to see what all the fuss was about. A lot of water’s passed under the bridge since my adolescence, and the same can be said for bike tech and design. I’ve known sofas less roomy than the Kawasaki’s saddle and don’t even get me started on the shed-sized front fairing and screen. I was also surprised at how low the thing felt, forcing my knees to bend with my feet firmly on the floor.
How times have changed… and then there’s the clocks. We’re talking about two unashamedly analogue dials, sat in front of a chunky, simple top yoke that also played host to this particular bike’s battered ignition barrel. Being more cryptic than an Aztec carving, it took me an eternity to get the thing turned to the on position with the simple celebration being a green diode to register the bike was ready for business. Technically speaking, things couldn’t get simpler, but that was half the charm.
What proved more challenging was getting the 7R fired into life. It’s not that manual chokes and tank taps are new to me, but it’d been a long time since I’d had to use either – and the reason why I couldn’t get the Kwacker to fire up. But before the sun set, and with fuel flowing and the choke wide open, we eventually had blast off, pumping out a rich and steady flow of petrol induced fumes my way. It sounds daft, but modern bikes smell too clean for my liking, which wasn’t the case with this vintage Ninja. It smelt good, it sounded good, but it revved rougher than a badger’s arsehole until it cleared the pilot jets by a few thousand rpm. It was to remain a theme of this bike long after the motor was warm, regardless of pace or
LOW DOWN THE KAWASAKI FELT FLATTER THAN A PANCAKE, AND ABOUT AS INTERESTING TOO
my level of aggression on its wide-opening throttle. Twenty thousand miles can take its toll on any bike, and whether this example just needed a good old carb clean, or the bolt-on carbon can was behind its stutter, I had no idea. Low down, mostly owing to this issue, the Kawasaki felt flatter than a pancake, and about as interesting too. But then the thing would come to life with a bit of poke and an accelerated soundtrack deceiving of its actual rate of knots.
It screamed its nuts off, aided by a raucous induction noise that howled as the revs increased. It wasn’t a fast bike, or at least by today’s standards, but it wasn’t slow either. Not that we ever do it ourselves, but for naughty people who want to reach triple figure speeds in a hurry, they won’t be left too disappointed by the Kwacker. Here’s the thing, it was never a bullet back in its day. It did okay in the racing scene but only once you’d thrown the kitchen sink at its motor. In stock form 110bhp would’ve meant a pretty exceptional example and when you dilute that figure by its 220kg-plus kerb weight, it doesn’t take a genius to work out why it’s steady by today’s standards. Bad news if all you want to do is go flat out on autobahns, but for everyone else there’s a tangible reward that comes from riding this bike well.
The more I rode it, the more I grasped its engine’s intricacies and learned how to make the most of its two-decade old architecture. I liked it for what it was and never found it an issue that it lacked a quickshifter, blipper or any other such items of contemporary jazz. Life felt at its simplest and it was all the better for it, even if those aforementioned six-pots were to give me a scare a time or two.
Going fast is nice, being able to stop fast is often essential… and that wasn’t really the 7R’s strongpoint unfortunately. Whether it was down to dirty oil, flexing hoses or simply just aged technology, your guess is as good as mine, but to stop the beefy bike took far too much thinking, squeezing and heart-in-mouth moments for my liking. I never use the rear brake, but even that got dragged into the scene when I was trying to stop the thing, plus a bit of engine braking from down-changes.
While there are a few areas of the 7R that could get me chuntering, such as the raised lip of the right-hand air intake which guaranteed to crush my hand against the clip-ons when performing tight turns at full lock, the most faultless of its qualities was its handling. I’d heard how brilliant the front end was meant to be on these, and it turned out people hadn’t being telling porkies. It wasn’t a particularly fast turning bike, but the front wheel felt well and truly glued to the ground in, through and out of bends.
The bike’s setup was on the softer side, which probably didn’t helped it in the agility department, but I soon got used to its mass and couldn’t believe how brilliant it felt at full lean. Ground clearance was never an issue, though the low seat height made me feel like I was within elbow scraping distance without even trying. I liked what the package had to offer, which included a decent level of traction to the rear wheel. Aside from skimming a few lose stones, I never got the rear stepping out of line or causing me grief, as is so easily done on a modern day equivalent. I’m not saying power’s a bad thing, but I actually enjoyed this bike so much more because it was a doddle to beast around. Going here, there and everywhere that I could, the bike’s two week loan wasn’t wasted on me.
I felt it gave me something of an education, and a comfy one at that. Its relaxed riding position meant it never got tiring, and that huge screen did a top job of keeping the elements from hitting me. Hell, even the mirrors proved pretty decent, which is more than most modern bikes can claim. Overall, I really learned to like it… just not as much as the Aprilia. It felt a generation older and less competent than its Italian counterpart, though Boothy didn’t feel the same. For him, as I can understand, it wasn’t so much about the competence of the bike, but more about its character, and when you focus purely on that level the Kawasaki really does take some beating.