My first bike was a Ninja 250. Honestly, I have owned and ridden so many bikes since then that I can't really accurately recall exactly what year it was... but I am pretty sure that it was somewhere around a 2001. Really, it doesn't matter. I'm pretty sure that bike could have taken the prize in a contest for the longest running model of vehicle with no updates.
I still fondly remember the day I bought it. It was some time in February and it was in LA. The gal who bought it put 26 miles on it brand new before she decided that riding wasn't for her. It was pristine and as I type this I even remember the way it smelled when the motor warmed up. It was a great bike.
When we brought it home, my best friend rode us to an empty parking lot at the nearby college. It was there that I did the routine drills, re-igniting old muscle memories from the days of my youth when I blasted around in the dirt with my cousins well into the evening of hot summer days. Bikes were never foreign to me, but I had always sworn that I wouldn't take it to the street. Then one day I did, and I bought the 250.
There is no "braaaap!" involved in a Ninja 250. The song of this siren is a boisterous but feeble "VvvvvRRRROOOOOOMmm" as it's carbureted motor growls with endearing weakness like a sewing machine in an overworked sweatshop. I got comfortable on that bike, and not long after I bought it it became my sole mode of transportation. I rode it everywhere and no matter where I had to go, I always looked forward to going there because I was going there on my bike.
On the weekends we rode the twisties. My friends on supersport bikes disappeared around corners with valiant howls of precisely tuned fuel injected systems and I puttered behind with inferiority as my little bike and my little skill level pushed the limits of our combined will to keep up with the big dogs. There were times when my frustration got the most of me as my mighty ninja fell behind but we kept at it and as miles passed I picked up the pace. Before long I had settled into the mentality that I had simply outgrown the little engine that could.
I was comfortable, confident, and I felt ready to bump up. So I did.
I found an 04 ZX6R that was in pretty pristine condition and I put the 250 up for sale to cover the cost of my upgrade. The mighty ninja went to a family of folks who taught 4 generations of people to ride. I ran into them several years later and they updated me, letting me know that the bike had become a part of their family and that it had withstood the tests of time and trial. I just imagined my little blue machine sitting in the garage like an old family dog who went to just the right home. It made me smile, but it always made me think about how much more I could have gotten out of the bike.
While I have come a long way in my journey as a rider since the days of the 250, there have been many realizations that have enlightened me. Within weeks of buying my 636 I did my first track day. I hadn't intended it to happen like that, but I just never got around to it when I owned the 250. I had the normal anxiety and as I settled into the first few laps everything felt foreign. The familiarity and the confidence I had gleaned from riding Highway 155 a hundred times had faded into beginner skill and on more than one occasion I found myself thinking, "This would be a lot less intimidating if I still had the 250." I made it through many track days on that ZX6R and I have no regrets, but I had definitely set a bit of a curve for myself and as my passion unfolded, the expenses added up. One day whilst doing a track day at Streets of Willow at Willow Springs International Raceway, I popped over to the Big Track where the 250 class was racing. "God... that would be such a cheap and easy way to branch into racing," I said to my friend as we listened to the pack of hornets slowly bumble down the front straight with ferocious tenacity. He responded with: "Yeah, gas, tires, everything would definitely be cheaper." His response was innocent and honest enough but he was right.
There's no telling how quickly I might have truly grown out of the 250 on the track, but the fact remains that most riders who have gone to the track know that there is an entirely different level of skill that is developed when you make the transition from street to track. We've all known those guys who are hot shit on Mulholland but they get on a track and they are far outpaced by riders on 250s. Body Position, throttle control, braking, all of these things can easily be developed on a 250 with minimal consequences by comparison to a supersport.
At this point in my life, a 250 probably wouldn't suit my needs on the track. I have often considered buying one just for a lazy day and for some calisthenics when I don't feel like putting forth the effort to throw around the 636 or the R6. I don't discount them at all. I look to people who offer insights to newbies saying "You're probably gonna grow out of that bike," and I am not as quick to agree. It all depends on what your goals are. Do you want to do track days? OR do you want to just buy a Harley V-Rod and call it a day. It all depends on how much you want to make the most out of spending the time to maximize your investment and learn the core skills of riding and racing on something forgiving and inexpensive.
You might outgrow it on the street, but you might just find yourself growing into it on the track.
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