Back when I passed my bike test, 250cc two-strokes and 400cc fours were all the rage. Imported by the container load from Japan, these sporty ‘grey’ imports were among the trickest bikes ever built. They looked super cool so I took out a bank loan bought a really nice Honda NC30, the 400cc version of the iconic RC30 superbike.
We went everywhere together except, ironically enough, the circuit. I never did manage to do a track day by the time adulting came along and insisted having a motorbike wasn’t compatible with being a grown up.
Fast forward to 2024 and I am on the cusp of turning 50. I’m doing what every midlife crisis patient does. I’m looking to relive my youth…
A quick look for a decent NC30 reveals very little by way of good bikes, not to mention my own ambivalence towards buying a cramped and complex piece of late ‘80s engineering. What it does reveal though is something much more exciting. How about I do my first proper track day, and how about I do it on a 250cc two-stroke?
Driven by fashion, licencing laws and the Japanese home market customer’s desire to be at the cutting edge, early ‘90s 250s were works of art. In 1991, when I celebrated my 17th birthday, the coolest quarter litre stroker was probably Yamaha’s TZR250R - not to be confused with the aged parallel-twin TZR250 we got in the UK, a very fine bike when it replaced the legendary RD350LC YPVS in 1986, nor the super trick ‘reverse cylinder’ model sold in Japan from 1989.
By 1991, Yamaha’s TZR250R was a stunningly beautiful replica of the Grand Prix bikes of the era. With its V-twin engine and Deltabox chassis, it’d easily be confused for a full-on racer. The only problem I could see was that Yamaha only actually sold them in Japan.
Sure some did make it to the UK through grey import routes, but they were too expensive for me and I was naively put off by the fact that they were limited in power and speed to meet JDM requirements. Maybe I thought I was going to be breaking the Knockhill lap record on it, when in reality I couldn’t even get my knee down on the local roundabout. Honda’s NSR250 was another grey import legend, probably even tricker than the Yamaha, but teenage me liked it even less because it didn’t wear a set of the latest upside down forks…
But then the latest Suzuki RGV250 also had USD forks, a cool banana shaped swingarm and a race style alloy frame, not to mention exhaust stingers stacked like the latest 500cc Grand Prix bikes… And at a time when Kevin Schwantz and his Lucky Strike Suzuki were the darlings of motorcycle racing. It was one seriously cool stinkwheel.
And there was none of that Japanese market restriction here. Where grey imports were limited to a near impossible to derestrict 45bhp, Suzuki claimed over 60bhp for the RGV. Despite the garish shellsuit graphics (even in era you could tell they were too gaudy) I wanted one. I had no idea how fickle two-strokes were, but in the innocence of youth I wouldn’t have cared. It looked good, sounded good and went fast, but that Honda was just that bit more affordable.
Yet here we are over three decades later, trying to relive the youth I never had at a surprisingly sunny Cadwell Park in Lincolnshire. In the run up to my birthday I ‘celebrated’ by splashing out on the 250 stroker I always promised myself. Not the Suzuki, mind you, but a Kawasaki KR-1S of 1992 vintage.
The KR-1S is a curious machine in my opinion. Kawasaki’s entry into this two-stroke arena was a relative sales flop, despite the fact that it was commonly regarded as the fastest 250 of the time (and arguably all time). Launched in 1988 as the KR-1, it already looked a bit dated on arrival. Its parallel twin motor and boxy lines owed more to the earlier generation Suzuki RG250 than the fancier V-twins of the time.
The forks and brakes looked spindly, while the 18” rear wheel was getting old hat even then. While rivals brought out a never ending stream of upgrades to make their wares even more attractive to fashion conscious Japanese buyers, the quick Kwakker seemed tied to the ‘80s. With no Grand Prix programme to bask in, the KR lacked street cred in this image driven class. The KR-1S came along in 1989, with some small upgrades to the KR-1, but in a fast moving world this was a motorcycle that looked like it came from 1985.
For all it may not have won the hearts of riders like me, the Kawasaki KR-1S was a hugely popular bike in club racing. Production 250s even had a national championship, and the Kawasaki shone – making it a real cult classic.
My KR-1S is a race bike, or more accurately a retired race bike. Like most track machines, especially ones over 30 years old, it’s a bit of a Trigger’s broom. Modifications include a tuned engine and upgraded wheels, brakes and suspension. The front wheel and brake calipers come from a Kawasaki ZXR400 of a similar era, the rear shock absorber from a Yamaha R6 of unknown vintage.
I do at least get a little bit of RGV, as the Kawasaki’s OE 18” rear wheel has been swapped for a 17” RGV item. It is a very common modification – if only because no-one actually makes tyres to fit the KR-1S’ oddly sized rear wheels today. It brings back memories of my NC30. It also had an 18” rear hoop – and they were difficult to shoe 30 years ago.
My bike’s wearing some new Pirelli Diablo Rosso IVs, not the stickiest in the Italian company’s range but a really good modern sports tyre that’s way beyond the Dunlops it wore out of the factory 30 years ago, and capable of carrying way more corner speed than I’ll ever be able to.
Elsewhere, the wiring loom’s been gutted in order to save weight, while even the kickstarter’s been ditched. Anything that’s not necessary is not there. I wish I could lose weight so easily…
And because of all this, my bike’s not road legal. I wanted a two-stroke, and I wanted to do a track day, but I probably didn’t want my first ride on this bike to be on a track day. Yet here we are. I bought the bike around six months ago and have spent the winter buying all the paraphernalia needed to get out on track.
Other than the helmet and gloves, it’s all been bought second hand – showing it’s possible to grab some bargains when time’s on your side – and it probably stands me at just over £500 on top of the £2800 I paid for the bike. That £500’s bought me a host of stuff I’ll probably never use away from the track: front and rear paddock stands, tyre warmers and one-piece leathers were all purchased for this one moment. I’ll also change all the fluids and had the new Pirellis fitted. The track day cost me less than £100 from No Limits, who I can now confirm run an extremely professional track day.
In the week before my ‘debut’ the regret kicks in as I do the basics: change the gearbox oil, charge the battery, bleed the brakes… At this point I discover 30-year-old brake calipers, especially one that hasn’t seen much action for half a decade, can suffer metal fatigue.
Unfortunately for me, the bleed nipple breaks off and this already poor condition caliper is set for the bin. Luckily for me, after some brief panic, I’m able to sort a replacement at short notice. The guy I bought the bike from has a spare and even assembles it all for me. He lives 30 minutes from Cadwell, so ‘fitting a brake caliper at the last minute’ gets added to my list of concerns, which now looks like…
- Struggling to fit into my leathers (they were ok last year, but they might have shrunk…)
- Having a bike that seizes on me (it’s a two-stroke, innit?)
- Getting my gears messed up and either breaking the bike or myself (it’s got a race shift pattern)
- Having a bike with no brakes (I used to do a bit of speedway, but quite like the idea of brakes these days…)
- Being kicked out because the bike’s too loud (105dB is the limit)
- Being knocked off by a faster rider (I know I am slow, and the bike is too…)
After confirming I haven’t gained weight over the winter, I set about task two – purchasing the finest quality fuels (Shell V-Power and Castrol 747 oil) and mixing them together with a little more oil than I probably need.
My mechanic comes in the form of my dad, and we set about adjusting the gear linkage to road pattern – that’s an easy one – and he’s in charge of (successfully) fitting the ‘new’ caliper while I sign on. He’s also found an old generator in the back of his garage, so tyre warmers go on and make us look like seasoned track day veterans.
And so we begin. Part of the reason for coming to Cadwell Park is it’s 105dB noise limit, which is more generous than most. I did check the noise using an app on my phone. It’s noisy, although I can’t really work out if it’ll get through scrutineering. My bike was active in club racing, where 105dB was the limit, so I am sure we’ll be ok here. The man with the noise meter asks me to rev to 8,000rpm and gives me a sticker when we (just) get through. Just as well I didn’t go to Brands Hatch the day before!
Lining up at the back of my ‘aqua’ group of around 30 riders I do my two mandatory sighting laps behind the instructor and stay out for two more steady ones before pulling in to check everything over. Brakes are ok, it seems to stop at least, and the engine goes – although the temperature gauge has stopped working, which doesn’t allay my fears that the engine might nip up and send me flying over the handlebars.
This is not so much joy as terror, but the second session comes and goes. I do a handful of laps before pulling in again but I probably am starting to enjoy it. There are £20k Ducati Panigales alongside me in the ‘slow’ group and they blast past me in a straight line, even if I am (a bit) quicker in the corners.
We’re a mixed bag for sure, and demonstrates that track days really are accessible to all. I clock an early Yamaha Fazer 600, a first-gen Kawasaki ZX-6R that’s not much younger than my KR, a couple of classic racers and various every day roadsters with their lights and mirrors taped up.
I am very aware that I am not the fastest. I am a very different person to the youth who wanted to do this 30 years ago, but probably the main change is my much higher level of self-awareness and self-preservation. I also know my bike isn’t the fastest, and it’s been stood in a garage for at least five years, which is definitely playing on my nerves. Sure I’ve given it a once over, but I am not too happy to be riding a bike that I’VE worked on!
I’ve also almost exclusively ridden torquey four-strokes for the past three decades and the KR-1S is a completely different animal. It’s so light, you just point it at an apex and it’s there, but the engine is hard work. There’s virtually nothing below 7,000rpm and then there’s a massive flat spot before the fun starts at around 8,500rpm.
Then you flick that powerband and understand what it’s all about. Dancing on the gear lever, I’m feeling a connection with a motorcycle in a way I’ve never done before. I’d be faster on a more modern four-stroke, for sure, but a clunky old diesel wouldn’t be half as satisfying.
Nerves gone and sessions three and four are nirvana. Cadwell Park is itself a real throwback. It’s a lovely track to ride (although staggering to believe 240bhp superbikes still race there) and I’m pleasantly surprised at the courtesy my fellow trackdayers are showing as they zap by. The tight and twisty Hall Bends section is glorious to ride on this lightweight 110-ish kg machine and I doubt I’d be quicker through it on any other bike.
With less than a third of the power of a modern superbike at my disposal, the others blast by down the pit straight and clear off through the fast corners around the back of the circuit. After four sessions I call it a day early. The old battery is starting to cry enough and this is manifesting itself by making that big flat spot even bigger, when the powervalve system is struggling to operate. It’s fine for now though. I’ve scratched the itch and otherwise my KR-1S has performed almost faultlessly.
There are a few things I want to look at later. These are, in no particular order, leaning off the two-stroke mix, fixing the temperature gauge, getting a new battery, trying to fix a small oil leak and looking for an alternative exhaust set-up to allow me to ride at more circuits. When I got home I took the silencers apart and noticed that they needed repacked. Hopefully that will be enough to get the noise down to acceptable standards.
If you’re at a track day this year, keep an eye open for a lime green KR-1S screaming around at the back of the novice group. I’ll be out again, living out my midlife crisis in a high-pitched, high-revving haze of blue smoke.
To be honest, if you just want to do track days, there are way more appropriate bikes out there. A CBR600 or Daytona 675 would be so much easier to ride, far more capable of keeping up in a straight line and much less maintenance than my quarter-litre stinkwheel, but motorbikes are much more about riding, and owning and fettling my KR-1S has been a life affirming experience.
You also get an enormous amount of satisfaction from really riding the motorcycle, rather than being taken for a ride. In a world where bikes are increasingly digital and made easier to ride (something I am definitely in favour of, by the way) the KR-1S has reminded me that (especially as I get older) the fun’s not so much going fast as it is being at one with the machine.
A superbike would have scared the bejesus out of me on a track day, but with my KR-1S we can both grow old disgracefully together!
Words: Paul Taylor
Photos: Paul Taylor and Hawk Media Services
