SCREAMING PREFECTION

There’s something so very right about a sporty two-stroke 250. And there’s something really rather splendid about the Yamaha TZR250 3XV from the heyday of 1990s two-strokes says Mark Forsyth.

The late Eighties was a bonanza for the quarter litre two-stroke, and its appeal was easy to understand.

These compact, light, race-inspired water-cooled strokers offered sophisticated technology, explosive performance and handling so sharp you had to make sure your tetanus booster was up-to-date. Machines both official and unofficial percolated down via the racetracks, on to our roads and back again during those heady, smoky days. Machines such as the Kawasaki KR-1 and KR-1S, the Suzuki RGV250 in VJ21 and 22 forms, Aprilia’s mid-1990s RS250 with borrowed Suzook lump, and, of course, then there was Yamaha.

The TZR 250R 3XV marked the zenith of the dominant TZR range. It replaced the reverse cylinder 3MA (known, unkindly, as the reverse seizure) which, in turn, succeeded the original Deltabox framed, parallel twin 2MA. Unsurprisingly, these trends of engine configuration closely mirrored exactly what was going on in 250 Grand Prix racing with the firm’s pure racers, the TZ range.

The 3XV production run lasted from 1991 to 1998, although from 1995-98 the specifications remained unchanged. Eight variants came along in that time, with differing ignition, carb, clutch (wet or dry) and different cylinders and powervalves, dependant on which model of the following you had: 250R, RS, R-SP, SP and 250SPR.

Riding experience

Since Honda’s ground-breaking FireBlade rocked up in 1992, 170kg Superbikes have been pretty ubiquitous. Sure, their power outputs have risen by 60 or 70bhp, but that weight figure, a 190 profile back tyre and a 120 profile front, have been pretty constant specifications for most of what has filled showroom floors for the best part of two decades.

It’s an acquired taste, though. With so much rubber and so much power, the riding experience is skewed by having to ride these bikes like they want to be ridden, rather than how you want to ride. Fast in, stop, square it off and fire it out. Without the luxury of traction control it’s a riding style that invites a highside-induced trip to Accident and Emergency. However, it doesn’t have to be like that. Yamaha’s diminutive TZR250 is the proof.

You get your first inkling you’re in for a pleasant experience the moment you swing a leg over the low (780mm) seat and hoik it off the side-stand. It takes so little effort you’d swear blind someone had stolen the whole engine without you noticing. These things are the weight of a London Boris Bike and easily light enough to lift into the back of a van on your Jack Jones, without a ramp: I know. I’ve done it. The lack of cake is a real shock because, today, it’s such a rarity where even 50cc twist-and-go scooters tip the scales at around 100kg. The 3XV weighs a piddling 126 kilos, the bulk of which is centred on an axis through the centre of the crankshaft.

Click the ignition key a quarter turn clockwise and the buzzing and whirring of the computer-controlled powervalve servos tells you all is well. A bit of choke and a quick prod on the kickstarter ignites the rich mixture almost instantly. The crackle from the standard twin rear pipes is much louder than we’re used to in today’s Euro-stifled environment. The noise is aftermarket, not production line. With a bit of temperature coursing through the water galleries, ease off

the 26mm Mikuni flat-slides mixture richeners and the tick-over settles to a smooth, but very smoky 1000rpm. It’s a process best conducted in the open air, not a closed garage. This little TZR is running on Rock Oil fully synthetic and the smell is intoxicating, cloying and addictive.

In the best pit-lane tradition, the warming process is life or death for a highly strung two-stroke and it takes a minute or three to get things up to temp’ and for it to clear its throats. Your neighbours might not be as appreciative, but anyone with a sense of race heritage will revel in the ying, ying, yang crackle as the revs rise and fall at pure race bike pace. The lack of flywheel weight is noticeable. Counter-balancers keep vibrations to a minimum. There’s a fair old clonk as first gear engages, but the clutch lever is lighter than a pair of barber’s scissors and the snappy, fastaction throttle is equally un-taxing to operate. The controls are almost learner-friendly. Then things get a bit trickier. The TZR is not a bike for a relaxing potter. If bumbling around, doing a bit of sightseeing and relaxation is your two-wheeled thang, you’re possibly looking at the wrong bike. The one for you is called a Honda Deauville. In stock trim, the 3XV puts out around 45-48bhp, and while it’s admirably tractable and well mannered at low revs, thanks to those powervalves and computer-controlled ignition, the source of the main hilarity lies much nearer the red zone of the rev counter. The first burst of through-the-gears, full throttle, full revs acceleration results in a smoke screen behind you of epic Dick Dastardly proportions. I spent a great deal of time before my test ride setting up the cable operated auto-oil pump to avoid any issues. Despite this, the first throat-clearing blast of the day still proves dramatic enough to trigger oncoming cars to flash their lights, thinking my pants might be on fire, or something. It’s not a problem. It’s just how it is. The exhaust smoke, I mean, not combustible trousers. That’s definitely a problem. Clear-out blast completed and temp

Anyone with a sense of race heritage will revel in the ying, ying, yang crackle

gauge settled at 80-ish, normality is resumed. That rich-mixture woolly sound and four-strokey feeling is replaced by a hard-edged rasp and minimal smoke from the tailpipes within just a few minutes of riding. Once warm, the throttle response is electric. With revs north of eight grand, the little 3XV zaps and cracks, responding to every tiny wrist input with alacrity and rabid urgency.

In pure G-force terms it doesn’t feel modern-day fast, but the utterly unique soundtrack and manic engine response convinces you otherwise, especially as you clutch-less shift up through the slick six-speed cassette box clinging on to every last rev with the throttle cables stretched to the max. Peak power is all over at 11,000, although it will rev to 12,000 if you need to hold on to those revs through a series of corners rather than waste shifting time.

That GP-inspired engine, however, is only half of what makes the 3XV such a brilliant bike to ride. It was Lotus founder Colin Chapman who coined the phrase ‘add lightness’, and I reckon it’s long forgotten in the bike industry today. Not in 1992, it wasn’t. The bantamweight TZR takes some adjusting to, or at least its limits and capabilities take some time to familiarise yourself with. It was 23 years ago when I first rode a brand new TZR 3XV and, like I said, since

then everything has got progressively fatter and definitely worse for it.

You’ve got to be super neat and tidy with everything you do to extract the last few per cent from the little Yam. That doesn’t just apply to your physical inputs (it does, massively) but also your forward planning and execution. To get the best out of this TZR you suddenly find that your whole world relies on maintaining momentum and micro-perfecting your lines. It’s a real science – a science that punishes laziness and rewards diligence. Corner speed is at the very foundation of this discipline and the potential here is just massive.

With its unfashionably skinny 17in tyres (110-150) this mini-GP bike corners like nothing you’ve ever ridden before. Turns become smooth, kerb-to-apex-to-kerb arcs, handlebars almost in the dead-ahead position, even though your boots are scraping the ground.

It’s an amazing experience and one I’d like to have pushed further (but not on 10-year-old rubber). This narrow rubber, with very little width difference between front and rear tyres, is surely a major contributory factor of the TZR’s immaculate steering and pinpoint precision.

Never has a bike’s steering, weight distribution, road-holding and grip been so well suited and so well matched to an engine’s character and performance as can be found in this last-of-the-line V-twin TZR.

Setting up for corner entry at the peel-in point is simply a question of a gentle tug on the opposite bar to counter steer it on its way to a millimetre perfect apex point.

I really do mean the gentlest of touch. It flicks from full upright to hard cornering mode in the blink of an eye, even at three-figure, sixth gear speeds (on the Isle of Man, obviously) with a ridiculously small amount of physical effort.

In fact, at corner entry time you can pretty much remain in a racing crouch, head behind the bubble, both knees gripping the sculpted cut outs of the four gallon fuel tank. There’s no need to showboat with cocking a knee out or hanging off like a magazine road tester (ahem). Shift your bum two mil’ to the side maybe, but subtlety is the way to get the best out of the TZR. Like, fingertips and tiptoes subtle.

In left/right flicks it’s even more amazing. I got the chance to have a blast over the Mountain on the Isle of Man and through Tower Bends on the fast approach to the Gooseneck (flat out all the way from Waterworks to the Gooseneck braking point) and it was a revelation, flipping from side to side like a pure race bike. Two fingers on the clutch, though.

I’m not sure how much credit the alloy twin-spar Detabox chassis should get here. With a 24 degree head angle, a 1340mm wheelbase and 90mm of trail, the dimensions are pretty run-of-the-mill for a bike in this category. While the chassis and banana swing arm mimic John Kocinski’s GP bike of the time, I assume this silhouette is more marketing than mechanical necessity, especially with only 45bhp in stock trim. They could probably have made the frame out of Meccano and achieved the same superlative results, but it might have been harder to sell.

The suspension is lightly sprung (it can afford to be), stiction free and beautifully damped. Not once did I suffer any lock-to-lock moments – it just floats over poor surfaces – and that’s without a steering damper fitted. In standard form the 39mm USD forks – a pretty cool luxury item back in 1992 – are prone to bottoming out in aggressive, bumpy braking zones, but considering they’re set up for much smaller Japanese market riders, that’s to be expected with a lardy Anglo-Saxon aboard.

Speaking of stoppers, it’s not exactly what you’d call under-braked, even with the original rubber hoses fitted. A pair of four-piston calipers bite floating discs with enough power and feel to easily lift the rear wheel with just one finger. Your physical size might be an issue for TZR ownership, though. Like the best MotoGP riders, you’re probably best off, like Dani Pedrosa, being the size of a malnourished 10-year-old boy, but at least the TZR’s seating position is roomy enough to accommodate normal people as well. I’m 5ft 8in and 80kg, and while the suspension would probably prefer me to spend more time in the gym, the bar-seat, peg positions are far from cramped. A lack of bum-stop on the seat helps here.

Nope, it’s not about trans Europe touring or loading up with luggage for a camping holiday. The TZR’s a thrash-happy, rev-box, cornering monster, which you can ride flat-out without the risk of going to jail if you get caught.