YAMAHA TZR250 3MA
Finally the reverse-cylinder is finished! Onya Jeff!
G’day! Well it has been one hell of a ride but the journey from wreck to weapon was well worth it. Darren’s TZR250 3MA is better than new and I mean that.
Tim, Darren and I did not leave one nut, bolt or washer alone – every single component was cleaned, wire-wheeled or refreshed in some way and the bike was stripped in its entirety then carefully reassembled. It’s basically a blueprinted bike.
As you may have seen last time, we fitted the fairings and the bike was ready to ride and run in. Before I handed the bike back to Darren, I wanted to make sure it was safe and going to be reliable. After three or four heat cycles over a few days on the bench, then double-checking for leaks and so forth, it was finally time to ride the bike. I have to admit it, I was nervous…
With only the top fairing fitted, so I could stop a few times and check for fuel, coolant or oil leaks, I set off on a short ride around the block, only about two miles, before pulling back into the laneway and letting the bike idle behind my shed for 10 or so minutes while I went right over it checking fasteners and looking for any leaks or problems using a torch.
With everything looking great, I let the bike cool and then I popped the fairings back on ready for a better ride and to hopefully hand the bike over to Darren later in the day. I just wanted to put some time on the bike before I was confident in handing it over.
Heading off for the test, I have to admit I was excited and nervous. I really didn’t want to damage the bike and even though in almost 20 years as a full-time motorcycle journalist I haven’t crashed on the road once (ok, so hundreds of times on the track but that is part of the job), I still get worried when I’m on something that can’t easily be replaced.
The nerves went away quickly as the reverse-cylinder twin came into the powerband and the Jackal pipes started to howl as the YPVS opened up the exhaust ports and those trick flatslides came on to the mains. I’d been waiting to have a decent ride on a 3MA since the early 1990s when I first discovered they existed. I had a 2MA, but I used to see these 3MA masterpieces in the overseas magazines and also a Japanese mate would send me Japanese bike magazines (that I could not read), such as Cycle Sounds and Riding Sport.
I dreamt of one day owning or riding such two-stroke technology and would never have guessed I’d finally get to restore and ride one in my 40s! I’ve since ridden and raced everything from factory 250cc GP bikes to 500cc GP bikes, World Superbikes and all sorts of cool stuff, so I wasn’t expecting the craziness I’d fantasised about as a teenager, but that doesn’t take away from the experience at all.
First stop was the main street of my home town where I just had to ride past the shop fronts and check myself out in
the reflection. I know, I know. But I used to do it on the same strip when I was 16 on my RZ250FN, then TZR. I blipped the short-throw race throttle as I worked the hell out of the clutch in the tall first gear, keeping the revs above 5000rpm (the tacho doesn’t even start until 3k) just to move along with the traffic… From the looks I was getting, not many of the millennials out Covid-19 shopping had ever seen or heard a two-stroke before. I was grinning inside. By the way, I looked like a gorilla humping a can of beer on the poor little TZR.
Next stop was the service station, where I pumped up the tyres and filled the tank with premium unleaded. I had a quick can of Red Bull and perved on the bike. Our local Shell Servo used to be 24/7 and was the only place open in the entire area of a night. As a result, it was the place to be, particularly with your new bike or car, as a teenager. So, standing around there drinking Red Bull was a typical Friday night. I’d have loved to have a 3MA there back then in 1991/1992… So, I relived that moment then headed east.
East to the beach and the esplanade, where I literally ripped the TZR up through the first four gears about a dozen times up and down the main strip as annoyed middle-aged locals in active wear waved their fists at me and shook their heads. I smoked them all out, just like when I was 17, then once I felt I had disturbed their power walks and ruined their view of the beach I gave them all the finger and took off in a cloud of Castrol synthetic smoke… it felt good to be 17 again!
Between me and you and the TZR, Heather and I were back there in the afternoon having our usual walk and exercise as respectable citizens. So, sorry Darren, if anyone on the esplanade throws their Fit Bit at you when you ride past on the TZR, thinking it’s your fault…
Time for a blast up into the hills and through the local national park: a short 10-mile strip of traffic-free undulation twists and turns perfectly for a 250 race rep. Climbing up the hills at the start of the run, engine on the pipe, the sound bouncing off the giant sandstone rock face, is pure magic. It’s like the sound of 35 250s leaving the line in a hectic 250 proddie race back in the day.
Third gear and full noise, tacho rapidly climbing towards 10,000rpm, I snick back three gears in rapid succession for a supertight first gear hairpin. Hard on the brakes, the TZR remains stable and the brakes are proper powerful, with only two fingers needed thanks to the Hel lines, and I run it into the turn. A shed-load of clutch slip and 8000rpm sees me and the Yamaha firing off and up the hill with the ageing rear 18in Dunlop squirming for mercy.
Head on the tank (I can still manage that if I loosen my belt a few notches), first, second, third, fourth gears changing up at 9500rpm each time, I weave the TZR through the flowing esses, cliff on one side and rock wall the other, as I head up the mountain like I’m in the TT. These are the feelings only a 250 two-stroke can give you. Only a bike like this can take you back to your boy racer days and make you feel so alive…
Exiting the fast esses, head still on the tank, pipes screaming, vision blurred, teeth clenched, I click fifth gear and the TZR is howling. It’s a bit lean on the mains so I’m now restricting things to just above 9000, but we still get a few feet of air over
Underslung swingarm brace looks race-cool! a crest I’ve been jumping for almost 30 years. When the front 17in tyre touches down I’m amazed there isn’t even a wiggle. RGVS shake here, as do RG500S, RD500S, RS250S and just about any other lightweight. The TZR feels long, low and stable compared to the other quarter-litre lightweights of the era.
About a millisecond after touchdown, there is a fast right then left flick, with lots of bumps. The suspension bottoms out and there is a slight shake, but we survive and by now I’ve got double vision as my glasses have shaken off my head a bit. What an old fart. Imagine that.
I don’t let it slow me down. Now the fun bit is here. Head on the tank again, elbows in, ass off the seat and knees in the tank. I grab sixth. We are in top. We are full throttle and we have two miles of undulating straight with only one curve that I reckon I can take at full noise now that there is some heat in the hoops. I hold my breath…
150… 160… 170… 180km/h, the engine is screaming, but doing it easily. Pulling the tall gearing and a 100kg rider is no issue. It lacks the top-end of an RS, RGV, NSR or KR-1S, but the TZR still holds its own and is lighter… I’m watching the temperature gauge as the fast left approaches. A blind crest of a turn, only experience gives me the instinct of knowing exactly when to flick the 3MA left. One last glance at the temp, a listen to the engine, a deep breath and I roll in, through and out without lifting the throttle even one millimetre. The TZR weaves and
bucks a little in protest. The clip-ons wiggle. But we come out of the other side and have another half-a-mile straight to really clean those pipes out.
Holding nine grand in top for the next 30 seconds or so, I sit up, brake like I’m heading for a wall, and tip in for the descent down the other side of the mountain. The back wheel comes off the ground momentarily and the bike shakes as it touches down when I release the brakes a little. It gives me a fright and gets the heart pumping.
Bang, bang, bang, bang down four gears and it is left-right, left-right, left with only a small squirt of throttle between apexes. The 3MA does not go even an inch off line. For a 31-year-old bike, it’s simply incredible…
A short downhill straight and the tacho briefly swings to 8500rpm in third before it is back to second for the final hairpins and the run down to civilisation…
I short-shift to fourth and let the little engine take some cooling air and wind down. Pulling over by the sea, I let the TZR idle for a minute as I look over it again. No oil leaks, no fuel leaks, no coolant leaks, no fork oil or brake fluid anywhere… I can smell the brakes. I can smell burnt carbon and everything is ticking. I think it’s run in now!
I slowly head home at the legal limit before any cops arrive. I’m sure the locals heard the bike screaming through the hills…
After safely arriving home I let the 3MA cool, wipe it over, check the fluid levels, check the spark plugs’ colour and give Darren a call to tell him the good news. I rode his bike. It didn’t blow up. I wasn’t arrested, and I have cold beer in the fridge. He will be back for a 1000km check and re-jet.
Darren arrived a few hours later, case of beer under the arm, to collect the 3MA and take it home to be displayed inside his house (and ridden on weekends.) We had a cold amber ale each, admired the best-looking rear end on any motorcycle, then I watched him head off up the road on the mighty TZR…
“Thank fu*k for that,” I mumbled to myself as I walked back into the shed, only to realise I’d have to start buying my own beer again. Bugger!