04-17-2014, 08:06 PM
Further to that was my Honda NSR250R (MC18)
A beautiful, sweet handling, light, toy of a thing, I paid a LOT of money for it in the late nineties. This thing was rarer than a jacket on a squid. Never officially imported to the UK it was. 'Grey Import' which made it all the more of a treat.
I used to eat RGV250's, FZR400's and ZXR400's for breakfast, dinner and tea.
Even the beer mat they used for a seat didn't deter my love for this razor sharp tool.
Hell, it even lived in my lounge for several months while I secured my garage rear door! (Not the last bike to live in the house I hasten to add).
So why have entered it in this thread you're wondering?
Well, one day I took my 'then girlfriend' for a ride on it, and carving out of a race-track smooth corner at ahem 'a good lick of speed' the rear wheel let out a piercing shriek, the air was deathly silent once I'd pulled the clutch in and pulled over.
It had seized on me, causing a 20 metre skid mark on the road, a marginally shorter one in my underwear, and destroying the engine internals (crank shattered like a glass hammer).
The bores were special 'Nikasil coated' jobbies and would need to be imported from the landing of the rising repair bill. I ditched it and sold it back to the guy I had it from, who stung me for a cool £1800 for the 6 months or so I owned it.
This was despite my careful warming up routine, use of fully synth 2 stroke oil which cost more than royal blood. I used to top the oil up before every ride, and babied the bike until I knew it was up to temp.
I didn't hate the bike for exploding under me, or even nearly killing me (and her) but I was very disappointed it happened, and how bad it was.
Seizing my Kawasaki AR125 as a teenager was merely an every day embuggerance that was part of my riding life. It went "waaaaaaaaahhhhh, screech, silence, swearing"
Then I'd sit at the side of the road, looking at the traffic go by until I was sure it was cool, then kick her over and continue on my merry way (albeit gingerly).
A beautiful, sweet handling, light, toy of a thing, I paid a LOT of money for it in the late nineties. This thing was rarer than a jacket on a squid. Never officially imported to the UK it was. 'Grey Import' which made it all the more of a treat.
I used to eat RGV250's, FZR400's and ZXR400's for breakfast, dinner and tea.
Even the beer mat they used for a seat didn't deter my love for this razor sharp tool.
Hell, it even lived in my lounge for several months while I secured my garage rear door! (Not the last bike to live in the house I hasten to add).
So why have entered it in this thread you're wondering?
Well, one day I took my 'then girlfriend' for a ride on it, and carving out of a race-track smooth corner at ahem 'a good lick of speed' the rear wheel let out a piercing shriek, the air was deathly silent once I'd pulled the clutch in and pulled over.
It had seized on me, causing a 20 metre skid mark on the road, a marginally shorter one in my underwear, and destroying the engine internals (crank shattered like a glass hammer).
The bores were special 'Nikasil coated' jobbies and would need to be imported from the landing of the rising repair bill. I ditched it and sold it back to the guy I had it from, who stung me for a cool £1800 for the 6 months or so I owned it.
This was despite my careful warming up routine, use of fully synth 2 stroke oil which cost more than royal blood. I used to top the oil up before every ride, and babied the bike until I knew it was up to temp.
I didn't hate the bike for exploding under me, or even nearly killing me (and her) but I was very disappointed it happened, and how bad it was.
Seizing my Kawasaki AR125 as a teenager was merely an every day embuggerance that was part of my riding life. It went "waaaaaaaaahhhhh, screech, silence, swearing"
Then I'd sit at the side of the road, looking at the traffic go by until I was sure it was cool, then kick her over and continue on my merry way (albeit gingerly).