Yamaha 2004 WR250F Lover

by Tristan Fourie
(Pietermaritzburg, Natal, South Africa)

My name is Tristan, and I’ve been on dirt bikes for just over a year now. A friend introduced me to dirt biking when we’d go up to some farm lands and ride his girlfriend’s father’s KTMs for a couple of hours on the weekends.

I was thrown onto a monster of a machine, a 450 4-stroke, and back then I had no idea in the difference in power delivery and torque of 2-strokes vs 4-strokes. I was just too busy clinging on for dear life trying not to die or eat my own spleen through terror. And I soon learnt the best incentive for going faster on hill climbs was not to fall, because picking that sod of an orange bastard up every time had me shanked out and bugger arse tired, and I soon loathed anything which even smelt of orange!

The time soon came when I realized I could only go on breaking someone else’s stuff for so long, and I begged, borrowed, stole and sold small children to get the cash together to get myself a dirt munching beast of my own. The options were endless, the bright green of Kawasakis (though every ride I’d been on had one breaking down), the toxic orange of the KTMs (awesome beasts, but no friend to the pocket in repairs). Suzukis and Hondas were floating about but they just seemed to lack the romance and enthusiasm of that one which just stood out amongst all others… the die hard, (mostly) indestructible Yamaha!

Having toyed with 2-strokes a bit I realized that one of these would soon allow me to admire the hospital ceilings from beds smelling of old people and mothballs, so I decided a 4-stroke with its consistent power delivery and it's happy button (electric start) would be the best route.

In fact, the first ever fun Enduro I did was on a friend’s Yamaha TTR 230. A bit small, but as I was on my own with no mates and really had no clue how to ride properly… well let me tell you, that bike looked after me good and proper. And thank heavens for its light weight because there was a fair amount of struggling on the hill pushes (climbs). That little machine could go anywhere, and I gained massive respect for that little war-horse that day, especially if it could carry my 92 kilo ass around the hills and valleys of the country side for 76km and smile at me knowingly afterwards.


In the end, I acquired a 2004 WR250F from someone who was leaving the country, and he had the nerve to sell his beloved machine in order to fund his move. I’ll never understand it. He had a wife… why not sell her instead? In a perfect world I suppose. Ah well, I told him not to come crying to me afterwards. I’ve since had to have his number black listed, but there you have it. Since then my Yammi has been my best friend.

I’m not a massive fan of motocross per se, well I enjoy watching it certainly, I just like all my bones in their current positions is all. So I stick mainly to casual enduro style rides and falling on my face in rocks and mud without the risk of becoming added traction for the guys behind me.

My bike has taken me to view points, hill tops, up vertical banks, through impassable mud and rivers, dirt, dust, stone, rain, pitch black forests at night, and some old age pensioner’s farm where we were duly chased off for trespassing. And 9 times out of 10, it’ll be me who’s broken and spent before the bike.

In fact the only thing which has gone wrong with my bike is when, my buddy who I am encouraging to take up biking, has had the good grace to flip it a few times in the air and destroy my radiator or handlebars. Apart from that, it’s been bomb proof. The engine is the kind of thing governmental systems should be based on; reliable, economic, easy to maintain, never once failed me, and super responsive to my needs. This bike has never let me down through its own misgivings because it has none, and when the time comes to upgrade to something with more power or a lighter body or whatever the case may be, you can bet your ass it’s going to be a Yamaha again.

Oh yeah, a new sticker kit wouldn’t hurt, because the old battle axe, despite being more reliable than your mother in law showing up when you least want her to, has suffered my learning curves in a manner which leaves it with the same cosmetic value of the mentioned mother in law. Now who wants to be reminded of their mother in law when they look at their bike?

- Ewww.. not me!

Hayden -