Group ride: retros to Brighton
The Kawasaki Z900RS, BMW R ninet Pure and Yamaha XSR900 are factory retros with a modern twist. We blast across the south-east from Box Hill to Brighton
PETERBOROUGH TO RYKA’S CAFÉ 122 miles
We’re barely ten miles into our looping ride to the Sussex coast, just south of RIDE’S Peterborough office and looking forward to warming up the Kawasaki Z900RS, BMW R ninet Pure and Yamaha XSR900 with the fabulous B660 in preference to the A1, when we’re almost instantly thwarted by familiar dodgy British spring weather.
It’s not the rain, falling as a fine mist to coat jeans and jackets in a soft, downy glow of dew and it’s not the cold eating away at flapping jeans and trendy lightweight jackets. No, it’s a raging brown torrent of last night’s rainwater, bursting from a brook and flooding the road.
I pull up on the R ninet Pure, uncertain of how deep the murky shallows get. I’ve ridden through axle-deep floods on road bikes before and paid the price, breaking down with electrical failure a few miles later. Chippy, alongside on Yamaha’s XSR900, ploughs through without hesitation leaving a bow wave fanned out behind the bike. Steve Holmes, RIDE subscriber and guest tester on the Kawasaki Z900RS, flips up his visor: “This bike is fantastic,” he stops beside me. “Straight out of the box, it rides really well; suspension is plush, engine is smooth and the whole package feels together and balanced. The members of my bike club all want to know what it’s like;
“Stretch the RS’S throttle cables and it piles on speed ”
I’m looking forward to telling them.”
We cross the flood but a few hundred yards round the corner, another river has burst its banks and flooded the road — and this time it’s too deep; a car is stuck, hazards on, up to its wheelarches. An AA van is trying to tow it out. We retrace our wheel-tracks to find a different route. Bloody weather.
Another 50 miles and the weather is still bloody but our cockles have been well and truly warmed by the new Kawasaki. Steve is absolutely right: it’s fantastic.
Substantially modified from the Z900 it’s loosely based on, the RS is built in Japan, not Indonesia. The 948cc inline four is retuned, down 14bhp at the top end but with more bottom-end and midrange and with a lower first gear and taller top gear for nippier acceleration and more relaxed cruising. The RS’S steel-tube frame is altered to allow for a period-style flat seat and tank profile, while forks get a performance upgrade with compression adjustment alongside rebound and preload, and brakes switch to radial calipers found on the standard Z900. Two-level traction control is also added but the most obvious change over the Z900 platform is with the RS’S styling.
“You wouldn’t believe it’s based on the Z900, they look so different,” says Chippy. Because where the Z900 is pointy and angular, the RS shamelessly raids Kawasaki’s 1970’s Z1 nostalgia pantry with period Candytone brown and orange paint, sweeping coachlines, flared tank, onepiece flat seat, Z1-style ducktail back end, twin chrome dials and an old-school round headlight. But even so, it’s not hard to spot the technology: headlight and indicators are LEDS, wheels are cast not spoked (too heavy), rear suspension is a modern monoshock and not old-fashioned twin shocks, the forks are upside-down and the calipers are radially mounted. The clocks even have a gear indicator.
It’s a good mix of old and new but personally I think the RS is trying a bit too hard. The XSR and R ninet have old school touches but aren’t trying to trick you into mistaking them for the real thing at 20 paces. However, I’m clearly in a minority of one; Chippy and Steve love the RS’S looks – and if the number of conversations with passers-by are anything to go by, owners will be the most popular people in the car park. Every time we pull up for fuel, coffee or a bite to eat, the Kwack draws admirers like a magnet, cooing over its 1970s vibe. “I used to have a Z1, of course, back then,” says a chap, stroking his chin and admiring the RS as we fuel with caffeine and grub at
the legendary Ryka’s café near Box Hill.
And all of which would be hot air were the Kawasaki a bore to ride. It’s not. The base Z900 has an unexpectedly satisfying chassis and engine balance (given Kawasaki’s patchy history with uppermiddleweight nakeds; I’m looking at you, 2011 Z750R). The RS feels like it came from a joined-up engineering and test program — its riding position, weight balance, ride quality, steering dynamics, braking and engine performance mesh in perfect harmony. Nothing irritates or grates or needs acclimatization or excuses.
You sit high and upright on the RS, very much ‘on’ it rather than ‘in’ it — seat height is 40mm taller than the Z900 — which opens up knee angles for comfort, at the risk of leaving the upper body exposed to windblast from wide, raised bars. If I had an RS, I’d add a fly screen. “I could ride this across Europe, no problem,” says Steve after A-and B-roads (but later, following an extended motorway schlep, he concedes it’s harder work than he first thought). But the Kawasaki’s seat is deep, compressing a little after a day’s ride but not to the point where it is uncomfortable.
The motor, detuned at the top but with a broader middle than the Z900, goes down like a glass of Baileys, whisking the needle around the vintage analogue-style chrome dials with a turbine whizz. “It’s amazingly linear but a bit featureless compared with twins and triples perhaps,” says Chip. “Any gear will do, but the top three ratios are so close they feel much the same.”
He’s right; pull the pin, stretch the RS’S throttle cables (no fly by wire; fuelling is crisp) and the motor piles on speed — despite the claimed 4bhp power deficit over the XSR900, the RS just about has the legs during a mad thrash. But for general romping along back roads, easing past traffic between sections of double white lines, the RS operates with a fluid precision in any gear. It’s light and brisk — the clutch is flyweight, steering agile yet predictable, and side-to-side rolling weight is
negligible. There’s none of the weighty steering that plagues some other Kwacks.
As we get ready to roll out of Ryka’s and down into deepest, darkest Kent, Steve sums the RS up: “I’ve never been a big fan of inline fours,” he says. “But I’m deeply impressed with the RS; I could certainly see myself on one.” He pauses, imagining how the Kawasaki would fit alongside his beloved R1200GSA and I can see he’s tempted. He won’t be the only one in 2018.
RYKA’S CAFÉ TO RYE 140 miles
I jump on the XSR900 for the next leg of the loop, dropping down the A24 before picking up the B2110 towards East Grinstead. As we barge along the narrow tarmac between high hedgerows, a burst of proper spring sunshine finally starts to draw moisture from the road, leaving patchy blotches of grey to aim between, as well as picking off the odd car in a blurting, squirting overtake.
And boy, have I picked the right tool for the job. Because if Kawasaki’s Z900RS is agile yet refined, the Yamaha is downright
“It can be hilarious or a handful and, often, both at once”
wide-eyed and hyperactive; like a guilty toddler who’s scoffed a packet of Skittles.
The XSR instantly feels lighter than the RS — which is no heavyweight itself but the Yam is a diet-crazy 20kgs less hefty. That’s a lot of missing ballast, mostly from the engine. The inline triple is slimmer too: “You can really get a grip of the Yamaha between your knees,” says Chip. “They tuck right in under the tank, so you can chuck the bike about.”
Just as well because with so little mass, distinctly average suspension, whip-crack steering, an explosive throttle and a short-geared, wheelie-prone engine, you need all the body grip you can get just to hang on. The Yamaha can be hilarious or a frolicking handful and, often, both at once. After a couple of miles of searching out the slightest excuse for a crest in the road to pop a cheeky wheelie (with the Yam’s traction control on level one, it’s happy to let you enjoy the odd natural mono), I realize the XSR also enjoys aviating the front exiting second-gear corners. Nothing excessive, you understand officer, just harmless exuberance.
We stop for fuel at a rural filling station on the B2110. The XSR’S 14-litre tank means it’s ready for filling after only 100 miles of silliness; 120 at a more sedate pace. The Kawasaki and BMW have 17-litre tanks and will push on for another 30 or 40 miles.
“Where the Kawasaki shooms, the Yamaha rasps,” says Steve, before bursting into an onomatopoeic comparison of an inline four and inline triple and drawing strange looks from the pump attendant. But he’s right – the XSR rips and snorts where the RS flows and purrs. There’s an inherent devilishness in the heart of the Yamaha; the dark side of Japan, indeed. The XSR’S character reminds me of an early 1990s Yamaha FZR600 3HE: raw; unrefined; marginal chassis; and a loopy, lead-me-astray-please motor.
The XSR’S triple, making a claimed 113bhp at the crank (but it might as well be mainlining it into your bloodstream), is borrowed lock-stock from the original MT-09. So is the XSR’S frame and chassis. This means the XSR isn’t trying to convince anyone it’s a genuine retro. It’s a modern bike with styling nods to the past — and a few accessories too... the test bike has over two grand’s worth of Yamaha extras, including a high-level Akrapovic at £1332 (looks great, sounds fit), £102 fly screen (helps with wind), and a £225 suede seat, half of which is covered by a £313 aluminium seat cowl. It’s all good but if the standard XSR is a bearable £8842, pushing it close to eleven grand is asking a lot.
We stop to jet wash a day’s grime and muck from the bikes. “I didn’t feel so instantly at home on the Yamaha as the Kawasaki,” says Steve. “But after a few more miles it comes into its own — it’s so much fun. It certainly livens up the ride. But though that seat looks nice, it’s pretty hard.” We look at the XSR and realise we should’ve covered the suede perch before soaking it. Guess who’s getting a wet arse?
Back on the road, as we head towards Tunbridge Wells on the slinky A264, the Yamaha is revealing a less pleasant side to its character. The ride quality is choppier than the polished Kawasaki, with ripples
and stutter bumps arriving at the bars unfiltered. Speed up a little and the XSR’S front end starts moving about and generating the faintest hint of instability — through fast sweepers I can feel it teasing and testing the bars in my hands, as it kicks off ridges that the Kawasaki flattens. It feels like it’s running high spring rates; not something that can be dialled out with adjustment. I mention this to Chip and Steve, who both shrug.
But we all agree that, in general, the Yamaha is a more active bike to ride than the Kawasaki, always jostling for attention, whether it’s on back roads or motorways.
By now we’ve arrived at Dungeness, one of Britain’s weirdest landscapes. The flat expanse of shingle beach, horizon interrupted by a nuclear power station and lighthouse, is desolate but enthralling. We’re so distracted that when we stop in search of a picture we end up parked where we shouldn’t, accidentally straying onto a nature reserve. A nice man in a Land Rover puts us straight; stay on the tarmac.
The run into the port of Rye is a belter, chasing the tall wire fence along Jury’s Gap towards Camber. The road needs resurfacing: 20 years ago it was blissful, glistening new tarmac; now it has more ripples than a crowded swimming pool. The Yamaha kicks and bucks where the Kawasaki just soaks it up. Soon, Rye’s ancient harbour provides a welcome coffee stop, then it’s time to try the BMW.
RYE TO PETERBOROUGH 200 miles
“There’s one big problem with the R ninet,” says Chippy, examining a filthy leather jacket. “The spray off the rear tyre in the wet goes straight up your bum and back. The seat tapers so much there’s nothing to keep it off.”
But that’s about as bad as it gets. The Pure is the most-stripped back of BMW’S Heritage range; without the USD forks and wire-wheel bling of the original R ninet,
“Bathe your ears in a punchy exhaust note thumping the air”
minus the off-road hipster chic of the Scrambler, and lacking the sexy Motorsport colours of the Racer and the Urban G/S. The Pure is basic — a blank canvas for your customising masterpiece.
And, like the Yamaha, BMW’S accessory elves have already been at work. The bike is £10,815 for the base Pure C, which comes with spoked wheels, heated grips and LED indicators as standard — plus BMW’S basic traction control (£320) and then a cosmetic Option 719 Storm billet pack consisting of machined cylinder heads, belt cover, brake and clutch levers and reservoirs, adjustable rearsets and seat holder... for £2550. That brings the grand total of our BMW R ninet Pure C to a chunky £13,685 – but the cosmetics are Russian-oligarch-grade bling.
Unlike the Kawasaki and, to a lesser degree the XSR900, which both have something of the Sealed Knot Society about them (costume re-enactments of an historical scene) the BMW has the taste of authenticity. Close your eyes, lean forward across the flat, matt grey tank to reach the wide, low bars, fire up the lumpy motor with that leisurely rock to the right, and bathe your ears in a surprisingly punchy exhaust note thumping the air. There’s nothing here that instantly says 2018. BMW Boxer owners have been enjoying the same sensations since the 70s. Okay, maybe not the heated grips.
The Pure is a simple bike: the retuned 110bhp flat-twin motor, lifted from the previous generation of air-cooled 1200GSS and RTS, dominates its steel tube chassis, leaving very little extra room for gubbins. You have wheels, suspension, engine, frame, and somewhere to sit. And not much of that, either. The BMW doesn’t even merit a tacho.
Not that it needs one. The engine booms and burps as its pistons, 25% larger than the others’, slam the mixture around to generate less power per cc but a lot more torque, lower in the rev range. It’s a lazy delivery, with none of the frantic revving of the Kawasaki and Yamaha but lacking their sense of urgency as a result. You don’t thrash the BMW, you thud it, bombing
“How do you like your nostalgia served, sir?”
along the back lanes towards Battle Abbey like a low-level, prop-engined plane.
“It’s a lovely, flat riding position; puts you in attack mode,” says Chippy, and he’s right — the Pure might be more thunder than lightning but its riding position is more committed than the XSR or RS. It suits me, but Steve is less convinced: “I’ve never been a sportsbike rider,” he says. “So I feel exposed with the low bars. It’s as if there’s nothing in front of me.”
Like the Yamaha, the Pure doesn’t have a very supple ride quality and chops over bumps rather than absorbing them, but it has significantly more chassis mass to damp the forces out. It also has a longer wheelbase, less suspension travel and a steering damper. Steering is neutral and the Pure has a rolling, momentum-style chassis dynamic — it’s about as far from the point-and-squirt XSR as can be.
We’ve now reached the twisties leading up to Beachy Head. It’s early in the season so the roads aren’t yet choked with sightseers: “You have to pick your moments, riding in the South-east,” says Steve. “A lot of people hate it, but you can string together a good ride if you know which bits to join together,” he says.
And with that we bypass busy Brighton, blast up to Ditchling Beacon, grab an ice cream, and try to choose a bike for the ride home.