The modern 125cc two stroke single, with its watercooled engine, exhaust and induction valves and use of high tech manufacturing methods should be good for at least 25 horses without ruining reliability nor becoming impossible to ride at low revs. The power characteristics of these engines are usually gentle if clean running below 7000rpm, then going wild as the throttle is cracked open.
Good for about 70mph at 7000 revs in sixth gear, would suggest that they are making 12hp at the point before the power pours in. Were these engine thus restricted to these revs they would make ideal devices for the UK learner market, with such a soft power delivery and such a good chassis (made for over twice the power) that few learners would get themselves into serious trouble. Strokers, when properly designed, are quite efficient beasts at this capacity, should in 12hp form, be able to turn in 90 to 100mpg.
This long preamble, which in this instance is aimed against the Wolf, could equally be used in attacking any of the other 125 quasi-racers. They are all much of a muchness, restricted to 12hp by interfering with either the exhaust or induction path; a senseless piece of vandalism against engines that have had thousands of design hours to set them up perfectly in high power form for more enlightened markets than the UK. If you doubt this just look at the relative economy figures on most of the watercooled strokers; when they are derestricted they become more economical yet twice as powerful!
The simple solution to restricting an engine is to use a shortened throttle cable so that a fully open twistgrip only allows the motor to rev to 7000rpm! This has the added benefit that even the most inept mechanic can derestrict the bike. All companies who adopt this solution can bung me a wedge via the UMG.
Thus we come to the Suzuki RG125U Wolf. An inspiring little motorcycle to look at, for sure, with a chassis that would not have been perturbed by the kind of power put out by 250s in those happy days when they were allowable as learner machines, let alone the paltry 12 horses with which it is endowed.
The naked look is becoming ever more popular, the race replica image in its profusion of models and sameness of lines becoming rapidly passe. With its mono-shock rear end, excess of discs, upswept exhaust, three spoke wheels, large section frame and bright red paint, the RG125U looks every bit the business.
The truth, of course, is that some dodgy old geezer on a KH125 is going to stay planted on the Wolf's numberplate however much effort is put into the throttle and gearbox. Whilst the RG tracks well around corners, can be flicked every which way with hardly any effort and only shakes its head on very bumpy exits, speed, power and mass are so minimal in this category that some old rat 125 ridden hard will stay with the Suzuki, albeit with a lot of wallowing, weaving and weirdness. Don't get me wrong, I'd much prefer to jam around on the Wolf than some dreadful old hack, but not at the cost of more than two thousand notes.
The engine always felt as if something was slightly off - a similar effect is apparent in other restricted 125s - as if it was struggling against itself to overcome the half-hearted, ill thought out restriction. Vibes were absent, the engine running better if more than 3000 revs were dialled in, the exhaust blowing off a little oil if the bike was used continuously in town, although the spark plug showed no signs of oiling however slow the going.
After the first day of cursing the lack of speed, I began to adapt to its nature, using the bike for slicing a fast path through London traffic. Cruel abuse of the clutch and operatic use of the gear lever kept me ahead of all but the most insane despatchers, whose death defying antics seemed to involve riding straight through crowds of suddenly cowering pedestrians.
Strung out in the lower gears at high revs the exhaust gave off enough noise to poison the whole world against bikes and give me flashbacks to my dissolute youth. After a few days of this self-abuse I actually found myself throwing a leg over the Wolf with an evil grin only obscured by my newly purchased black visor.
A lot of this fun was down to the mere 210lbs mass allied to the ultra stiff frame, reasonable suspension and fierce brakes. Anyone into cut and thrust riding would thus find the Suzuki a delight in town. Stopping on a dime takes on a whole new meaning on the Wolf......I often thought that the back wheel was going to bounce up a yard or two, maybe go right over my head.
The thankfully large petrol tank (3 gallons) meant that fuel stops were about 150 miles apart. For the aforementioned reasons, fuel economy was shocking for such a low powered unit. Ridden gently you'd be lucky to get 70mpg.....or avoid being mowed down by irate car drivers. I usually did about 50mpg, which wasn't much better than a 140mph CBR600 I once had the pleasure of thrashing.
Out of town riding was tedious, the bike was too slow to keep up with general traffic flow on any half decent bit of road. Ultimate top speed was a quite respectable 80mph but any number of unfavourable conditions would easily cut that to under 70mph. I vividly recall one urgent motorway dash into a headwind, the poor motor feeling like it was going to bust its guts in fourth gear - good for 65mph flat out; changing into fifth or sixth just threw the machine into a sulk and 60mph maximum.
The RG has a big bike feel, the minimal seat was more comfortable than it looked as I was comfortably wedged between the bum-stop and large tank, with none of the feeling of many a tiddler of being perched high above the machine. The ergonomics of the Suzuki are excellent, only the minimal seat padding will intrude after about 75 miles.....which is about all I'd want to do in one session given the enervating nature of buzzing up and down the gearbox, winding the throttle on and off whilst judging the road and traffic characteristics up ahead so as to get an edge on the minimal power output.
Any bike that weighs only 200lbs is going to get knocked around a bit by the wind and road bumps. The Suzuki seemed less afflicted, some of the lightweight replicas with their expanse of GRP could become very nasty when subjected to strong side-winds. The tyres also gripped well even in the most torrential downpour when the roads were awash with streaming water. I felt safer on the Wolf than many a heavier, more powerful machine. Had I a son who wanted to start riding on an RG I could find few objections, as long as he didn't expect me to pay for it.
There's not much more that can be said about the Wolf. Oh, running costs? I did so few miles on this one that I can't really comment but past experience suggests tyres, chains and pads won't last as long as you'd hope - the people who design these fashion accessories don't give a damn about optimising the engineering to allow maximum consumable life. The pity is that they will end up being ridden on shagged chains, worn tyres and most dangerous brakes just because they wear so quickly and cost so much to replace.
Most of my complaints about the Wolf can be equally levelled at the other 125s, so don't take them to heart if you like its looks and it feels nice to sit on. You can always pass your test and enjoy a year or two with the motor derestricted - an entirely different ballgame!
Dick Lewis
****************************************************
It was sex that made me buy a 1988 Suzuki RG125. At the tender age of 17 I was much impressed by a friend who had one and pulled a string of beautiful girls. L-plates were dumped after the first day, much easier than taking the test and necessary to carry a pillion. All the girls seemed to suddenly disappear! Those I approached just smirked or laughed. I was despondent for a whole week until I realised that motorcycling was a lot of fun; even better than computer games, although you could hurt yourself seriously.
I found that out very quickly. On the third day I was giving the throttle thing a bit of effort when a couple of cars orchestrated a perfect pincer movement. Leaving me the choice of hitting a bollard or the front of an oncoming car. Luckily, the bollard had already been loosened in a previous accident and a bit of heavy work on the front brake avoided total suicide.
I still flew through the air, for once thankful for the government's omni-presence (ie the crash helmet law) but wishing that they made tarmac a touch softer. I rolled down the road with cages whizzing by on each side. I could easily have lost a leg or two!
The Suzuki had a cracked front wheel, broken indicators and a couple of bent levers. After the shock dissipated a little I noticed that the whole of the female sixth form were rolling around in hysterics on the pavement. They got their act together long enough to give me a round of applause. I suppose I should mention that I'm a bit underweight for my age and the old man reckoned I looked like a flea on an elephant once astride the RG. To be fair to him, he did cough up the insurance money.
There was a £200 excess on that so it was cheaper to raid the breakers. The breaker found the sight of me cowering before his dog hilarious and only begrudgingly handed over the bits, making some stupid remarks about my proficiency at riding and the likelihood of my messing up the rebuild...in my haste to be back on the road I forgot to properly tighten up the front spindle, resulting in a huge wobble at about 30mph. Just my luck for some fat old cop to pop up out of nowhere, grumbling out some sarcastic remarks about me not looking old enough to hold a motorcycle licence. Some squawking on his radio drew him away before he could demand my documents. Shortly after that, I gave up on any illusions of pulling birds and replaced the L-plates.
The RG looks a touch angular and has a bunch of controls that require lots of attention. In particular the clutch had a very sharp take-up that made the bike easy to stall. A bunch of revs solved that but made the bike susceptible to twitching up off the road on one wheel. Felt very precarious to me until I sorted out the balance point, then I could go into a quite impressive act.
The least edifying aspect of the Suzuki was the hardness of the seat and the poor position of the bars. I couldn't believe how sharp edged and hard the saddle became after as little as 25 miles. My friend with a similar machine, and a desperate need to do a few hundred miles over a weekend, soon developed a bandy legged funny walk that made him look like a cross between Charlie Chaplin and John Wayne. Not wanting to end up in the same state I usually kept my mileage down to a more moderate level.
Given that this was a lightweight, low powered 125, the restraint in mileage was just as well because the fuel was only around 40mpg. Having to use the revs to get anywhere fast probably accounted for this dire lack of frugality but that was no help with the fuel (or oil) bills. The old man couldn't understand its thirst, mumbling that in his day even a 650 twin would turn in 60 to 70mpg and I'd be better off buying a car. Okay, the cooking 125 singles, like the CG125 or GS125, will manage over 100mpg but I just don't like the way they look. Riding around on an old commuter's mount at seventeen just ain't on. If they put one of those four stroke engines into a replica chassis I might be more interested.
On the consumable front, tyres were okay (they never wore out in 5000 miles) but the drive chain was awful. What a pathetic bit of nonsense. I had to adjust it every other day and replace it in less than 3000 miles. Is this 1995 or 1905? Could've fooled me! I might've had more luck if I'd changed the sprockets (there was over twenty thou on the clock) but I didn't think of that then.
The next accident was caused by diesel on the road. Running slowly through a roundabout the front wheel just slid away. No warning whatsoever, no chance to fight back. I flew through the air like an exocet missile, finding the side of a slow moving car to head-butt. It nearly tore my head off my neck but I refused to go to hospital even though I'd spewed up my school dinner into my helmet. Ugggh! The bastard machine was scratched and dented but in one piece except for cracked indicators and bent levers (again). The same breaker was highly amused to see be back for more bits in less than a month.
After that accident I was a new man. For a whole month I rode with great probity, scared shitless that I was going to come off again and this time seriously injure myself. After a while boredom ruled and I went back to abusing the throttle like a druggie desperate for some kicks. School, lack of women and no money gets to you like that.
The next event of great importance wasn't down to falling off but caused by the piston rings breaking up and scraping huge gorges in the bore. The first I knew of this was a huge amount of heat coming off the mill and lots of ringing noises. I ignored them, not knowing any better, received my just deserts in the form of the motor seizing up solid. My clutch hand worked of its own volition and death by being viciously chucked off was narrowly avoided.
Another visit to the breaker, who was becoming almost friendly (he didn't let the mutt loose), and offered to do the rebuild (crankshaft, piston and barrel) for a hundred quid, parts included. As I didn't know what I was doing I said okay, immediately becoming paranoid that he'd fit worn out bits.
I needn't have worried because the motor sounded quiet and went incredibly well. After the test ride I returned with a big grin, to be informed that he'd derestricted the engine whilst he was at it. Despite the obvious presence of L-plates and his knowledge of the times I'd fallen off. Really, it was a bit too fast for me; the powerband was very vicious, needing the throttle to the stop and much work on the gearbox. I was a rolling accident looking for somewhere to happen...
The third crash, I like to believe, was down to a car driver roaring across a junction. His excuse was that he didn't see me. He should've heard me as the degutted silencer gave a sort of sonic boom when I was up to speed. I had the right of way and saw no reason to back off from my 50mph pace. Spying the car all I had time to do was twitch the bars and pray. I actually missed the auto but found myself aboard an out of control missile. Harsh application of the brakes caused me to slide off again. This time there were no cars in the way and I just (just!) tore off a layer of flesh from my leg. Hospital was unavoidable but I soon had the RG back on the road.
For some reason, during the first month of winter, the frame went into fast corrode mode. There was rust breaking out everywhere. Added to this were loads of hairline cracks in the plastic, due as much to the harsh vibes as my rough handling when trying to get at the engine (not to mention the crashes). I was soon riding around on a bike that looked like it'd done a 100,000 miles off road! I half-heartedly wire-brushed the rust off the frame and touched it up. The fairing didn't fall off so that was left to its own devices.
I shouldn't have bothered as in a matter of weeks all the rust was back. The motor was making funny noises again, objecting to the way I caned it everywhere. The final straw was yet another accident - I think there's something wrong with the front end's geometry. The wheel just went away without any warning at 40mph around a country lane. Took a lot of careful searching to find the patch of gravel. More leg rash for me and the one side of the bike took a real battering from the grass. I struggled with the bike all the way home, almost screaming from the leg damage, and the way the RG veered all over the road. I sold the thing in that state for £150 and bought a nice little car.
Motorcycling hurts too much and derestricted RG125's encourage crazy riding. The race replica style's one big rip-off and I only wish I'd read the UMG before I got into the game. What am I doing reading a motorcycle mag if I'm driving a car? Well, simple really, these traffic jams are driving me crazy and I'm really yearning for two wheels. Next time around I'll be more careful in my choice of bike and buy some body armour!
T.R.
****************************************************
It was sex that made me buy a 1988 Suzuki RG125. At the tender age of 17 I was much impressed by a friend who had one and pulled a string of beautiful girls. L-plates were dumped after the first day, much easier than taking the test and necessary to carry a pillion. All the girls seemed to suddenly disappear! Those I approached just smirked or laughed. I was despondent for a whole week until I realised that motorcycling was a lot of fun; even better than computer games, although you could hurt yourself seriously.
I found that out very quickly. On the third day I was giving the throttle thing a bit of effort when a couple of cars orchestrated a perfect pincer movement. Leaving me the choice of hitting a bollard or the front of an oncoming car. Luckily, the bollard had already been loosened in a previous accident and a bit of heavy work on the front brake avoided total suicide.
I still flew through the air, for once thankful for the government's omni-presence (ie the crash helmet law) but wishing that they made tarmac a touch softer. I rolled down the road with cages whizzing by on each side. I could easily have lost a leg or two!
The Suzuki had a cracked front wheel, broken indicators and a couple of bent levers. After the shock dissipated a little I noticed that the whole of the female sixth form were rolling around in hysterics on the pavement. They got their act together long enough to give me a round of applause. I suppose I should mention that I'm a bit underweight for my age and the old man reckoned I looked like a flea on an elephant once astride the RG. To be fair to him, he did cough up the insurance money.
There was a £200 excess on that so it was cheaper to raid the breakers. The breaker found the sight of me cowering before his dog hilarious and only begrudgingly handed over the bits, making some stupid remarks about my proficiency at riding and the likelihood of my messing up the rebuild...in my haste to be back on the road I forgot to properly tighten up the front spindle, resulting in a huge wobble at about 30mph. Just my luck for some fat old cop to pop up out of nowhere, grumbling out some sarcastic remarks about me not looking old enough to hold a motorcycle licence. Some squawking on his radio drew him away before he could demand my documents. Shortly after that, I gave up on any illusions of pulling birds and replaced the L-plates.
The RG looks a touch angular and has a bunch of controls that require lots of attention. In particular the clutch had a very sharp take-up that made the bike easy to stall. A bunch of revs solved that but made the bike susceptible to twitching up off the road on one wheel. Felt very precarious to me until I sorted out the balance point, then I could go into a quite impressive act.
The least edifying aspect of the Suzuki was the hardness of the seat and the poor position of the bars. I couldn't believe how sharp edged and hard the saddle became after as little as 25 miles. My friend with a similar machine, and a desperate need to do a few hundred miles over a weekend, soon developed a bandy legged funny walk that made him look like a cross between Charlie Chaplin and John Wayne. Not wanting to end up in the same state I usually kept my mileage down to a more moderate level.
Given that this was a lightweight, low powered 125, the restraint in mileage was just as well because the fuel was only around 40mpg. Having to use the revs to get anywhere fast probably accounted for this dire lack of frugality but that was no help with the fuel (or oil) bills. The old man couldn't understand its thirst, mumbling that in his day even a 650 twin would turn in 60 to 70mpg and I'd be better off buying a car. Okay, the cooking 125 singles, like the CG125 or GS125, will manage over 100mpg but I just don't like the way they look. Riding around on an old commuter's mount at seventeen just ain't on. If they put one of those four stroke engines into a replica chassis I might be more interested.
On the consumable front, tyres were okay (they never wore out in 5000 miles) but the drive chain was awful. What a pathetic bit of nonsense. I had to adjust it every other day and replace it in less than 3000 miles. Is this 1995 or 1905? Could've fooled me! I might've had more luck if I'd changed the sprockets (there was over twenty thou on the clock) but I didn't think of that then.
The next accident was caused by diesel on the road. Running slowly through a roundabout the front wheel just slid away. No warning whatsoever, no chance to fight back. I flew through the air like an exocet missile, finding the side of a slow moving car to head-butt. It nearly tore my head off my neck but I refused to go to hospital even though I'd spewed up my school dinner into my helmet. Ugggh! The bastard machine was scratched and dented but in one piece except for cracked indicators and bent levers (again). The same breaker was highly amused to see be back for more bits in less than a month.
After that accident I was a new man. For a whole month I rode with great probity, scared shitless that I was going to come off again and this time seriously injure myself. After a while boredom ruled and I went back to abusing the throttle like a druggie desperate for some kicks. School, lack of women and no money gets to you like that.
The next event of great importance wasn't down to falling off but caused by the piston rings breaking up and scraping huge gorges in the bore. The first I knew of this was a huge amount of heat coming off the mill and lots of ringing noises. I ignored them, not knowing any better, received my just deserts in the form of the motor seizing up solid. My clutch hand worked of its own volition and death by being viciously chucked off was narrowly avoided.
Another visit to the breaker, who was becoming almost friendly (he didn't let the mutt loose), and offered to do the rebuild (crankshaft, piston and barrel) for a hundred quid, parts included. As I didn't know what I was doing I said okay, immediately becoming paranoid that he'd fit worn out bits.
I needn't have worried because the motor sounded quiet and went incredibly well. After the test ride I returned with a big grin, to be informed that he'd derestricted the engine whilst he was at it. Despite the obvious presence of L-plates and his knowledge of the times I'd fallen off. Really, it was a bit too fast for me; the powerband was very vicious, needing the throttle to the stop and much work on the gearbox. I was a rolling accident looking for somewhere to happen...
The third crash, I like to believe, was down to a car driver roaring across a junction. His excuse was that he didn't see me. He should've heard me as the degutted silencer gave a sort of sonic boom when I was up to speed. I had the right of way and saw no reason to back off from my 50mph pace. Spying the car all I had time to do was twitch the bars and pray. I actually missed the auto but found myself aboard an out of control missile. Harsh application of the brakes caused me to slide off again. This time there were no cars in the way and I just (just!) tore off a layer of flesh from my leg. Hospital was unavoidable but I soon had the RG back on the road.
For some reason, during the first month of winter, the frame went into fast corrode mode. There was rust breaking out everywhere. Added to this were loads of hairline cracks in the plastic, due as much to the harsh vibes as my rough handling when trying to get at the engine (not to mention the crashes). I was soon riding around on a bike that looked like it'd done a 100,000 miles off road! I half-heartedly wire-brushed the rust off the frame and touched it up. The fairing didn't fall off so that was left to its own devices.
I shouldn't have bothered as in a matter of weeks all the rust was back. The motor was making funny noises again, objecting to the way I caned it everywhere. The final straw was yet another accident - I think there's something wrong with the front end's geometry. The wheel just went away without any warning at 40mph around a country lane. Took a lot of careful searching to find the patch of gravel. More leg rash for me and the one side of the bike took a real battering from the grass. I struggled with the bike all the way home, almost screaming from the leg damage, and the way the RG veered all over the road. I sold the thing in that state for £150 and bought a nice little car.
Motorcycling hurts too much and derestricted RG125's encourage crazy riding. The race replica style's one big rip-off and I only wish I'd read the UMG before I got into the game. What am I doing reading a motorcycle mag if I'm driving a car? Well, simple really, these traffic jams are driving me crazy and I'm really yearning for two wheels. Next time around I'll be more careful in my choice of bike and buy some body armour!
T.R.