Beauty & The Beast: TDR250 Rebuild

She looked so good on Trade Me. Her bright white wheels, winking at me coyly from the photographs. The write up was smooth and convincing, the interest of others encouraging, the questions asked both daft and probing in just the right degree.

A few drinks on a Sunday evening, a chat over the phone, and the deal was done. A 1990 Yammie TDR project bike was mine. Sweet as bro! Right? Wrong. Oh so very wrong.

I fly up to Welly to pick up my new ride. First impressions are good and bad - but that's only to be expected with an 18yr old bike. Nice powdercoated frame, tidy clock conversion, shiny engine casings. Leaky fork seals and broken temp sender noticed but not a big prob - an easy fix on both counts.

I'd love to say the ride back to ChCh was a dream - a Shakespearean sonnet of such beauty that it would remain embossed on my brain as the pinacle of my riding experience. Not so, my friends, not so.

Alas, before I'd even reached the ferry, misgivings were crowding into my head. The power delivery just wasn't right. Then the gear change dropped off.

I limped to the ferry, and called the AA whilst tucking into breakfast. I'm met the otherside and we get the gearchange fixed. Sweet as!

If only that were true.

130 odd k's later, my spanking new ride shat herself. Temperature senders on 2-strokes are there for a reason it seems. Bless her white wheels, her shiny engine casings, her neat and tidy clock conversion. At least she looked good as I waved her goodbye on the back of the AA man's trailer.

4 days later and she gets to her new home. Rather than a triumphant 'riiiiIIIIInnnggggg a ding ding' to herald her arrival to the neighbours, the only noise is the desultory rattle of the fully floating disc as she gets parked.

Further investigations reveal that she shares a lot of similarities to Pamela Anderson. The body is nice to look at from a distance, bit the closer you get and the deeper you delve into her history, the nastier and nastier things become.

Which brings me to the now. With bits of her everywhere about the house, a new engine is almost ready for insertion. The old is going to be tuned. She will rise again to terrorise the narrow lanes and twisty roads of Canterbury.

Sure, some may scoff at her smoky exhalations and high pitched whine, however others will revel in the sound of a frantically chased powerband, the heady smell of Castrol R, and the sight of motorcycling purity.

From the ashes, a phoenix will rise.