Going out with a bang
As legislative vultures circle, Suzuki and Kawasaki show us exactly what we’ll soon be missing. Former Editor of Bike, Tim Thompson was right there road-testing the last-of-breed 250 strokers
JUST AN HOUR or so into Bike magazine’s 1989 group test of the planet’s sportiest ever 250 two-strokes, the class benchmark Yamaha TZR250 was wheeled offstage and parked respectfully behind the pitlane wall. Faced with the all-new and shockingly racy Suzuki RGV250, the bike that had come to embody quarter-litre zip and agility suddenly seemed rather ponderous. “Thin tyres, high headstock, slow revving – it’s finished!” we all excitedly agreed. Things were moving fast.
By the summer of 1990, the RGV had itself become the benchmark and was joined by Kawasaki’s relentlessly exciting KR-1S, a perfectly judged upgrade of the 1989 KR-1. Both the Suzuki and Kawasaki were gloriously unsuited to everyday use, impossible to ride smoothly, flappy over bumps – and as likely to bog embarrassingly at the lights as do anything useful like move forwards. But they felt emphatically like the start of something. A double gift from the two-stroke gods.
The not-so-secret secret was to immerse yourself in every ride; to see the world not as, say, a complex and miraculous occurrence of millions of species of fauna and flora, but strictly as an entry, an apex and an exit. And, of course, to grab the throttle and give it the absolute berries.
These were pre-fireblade times, with modern handling still finding its way to the road via a handful of exotic outliers like the Honda RC30 and Yamaha OW01. Yet it was the humble Suzuki stroker with all its feel and accuracy that introduced so many of us to life-enhancing concepts
like trail braking and running into corners with what seemed like insane amounts of corner speed – and not crashing, for once.
There was something else, too. Yes, these bikes were basically piston-ported stinkers running on grotty total-loss lube, but so were 250 Grand Prix bikes, the most technically exquisite machines of them all. No matter that neither Suzuki nor Kawasaki had a presence in the quarter-litre GPS, the RGV and KR-1S pushed away the image of twostrokes as transport for school leavers and captured instead that sexy factory feeling. From their 300mm discs to their fully adjustable rear shocks and electronic exhaust valves, they glistened with racy Japanese engineering.
Key differences? The RGV250 was a compact 90° V-twin. You sat on it, hunched and modern with chin held low, maybe three inches above the tank, without a hint of irony. The KR-1S was a sweetly balanced parallel-twin that required a more conscious stretch to the bars and was faster up the bypass. But it was Spitfire vs Hurricane, really. Both weighed 140 kilos, made 60 horsepower – did the job.
Like the best two-strokes, they also shared a disruptive energy that unsettled biking’s four-stroke establishment and perhaps marginalised their appeal in the process. Both required possession of a workshop manual plus a regular plug inspection and syncing of carbs and oil pump, which wasn’t for everyone either. At around £4000, they were perceived as expensive for small-capacity machines and, without the old 250cc learner category to pin them to, sales were steady at best. Just 804 KR-1SS were sold in 1991, its peak year.
So, sadly, all this hazy goodness wasn’t a new beginning for production 250 strokers after all, more their last hurrah. The KR-1S disappeared from dealers after 1992 while the RGV stayed on Suzuki’s books only until 1996. There were grey imports, of course, like the beautiful NSR250 and reverse-cylinder TZR, but these were seriously niche. By the time the brilliant Aprilia RS250 arrived in showrooms in 1995, it felt like the moment had gone. Tighter emissions regs were looming and the Japanese manufacturers simply weren’t interested any more. The world was moving on.
‘THE RGV AND KR-1S GLISTENED WITH RACY JAPANESE ENGINEERING’