I am Dirt Rider Magazine's 2010 Yamaha YZ125. I was made out of parts that haven't changed much since designers added my motor to this aluminum frame in 2005. Sure, I got trickle-down, lightweight additions here and there a few years back; and that Speed-Sensitive System fork in 2006 was a nice modern touch. But for the most part, I'm very close to my brothers from 2005 and on. For 2010, I get two new stickers. If you find them, I will give you a prize. That prize is looking at a YZ125 with care. Now you are cooler. You are very welcome.
Today, most of my competition have valves in their heads, cam chains spinning next to their cylinder walls and ridiculously skinny pipes. The modern motocross bike, in my humble opinion, has gone soft like a couch. It begs you to work less, make more noise and spend more money. It's a big dose of fat laziness served up in a sport that is supposed to chew the fat and spit out the lazy.
I'd be lying if I weren't jealous. I mean, kids everywhere are lining up for today's bikes. Fuel injection? I can only image what that feels like in my heart no matter the temperature or altitude. Some have electric start, I hear. Four-stroke traction? I don't know what that is, but the way the noisy bikes grip to the hardpack makes me ping. Titanium exhaust systems? That. Is. Awesome. My second cousin, the YZ450F, even has a backward cylinder. I hear that's so it can feel more like me. Cool!
But something strange is happening in this sea of coolness. What was old is new again. And eyes are coming back to me. Well, at least they're glancing.
Riders can hear me wake up from across the pits, and they almost always turn their heads. Famous people must ride me because they give a lot of high-fives. Cheers of "Yahoo!" "Nice!" "125s kick ass!" are not uncommon. It seems I'm the most popular bike in the pits. When I'm riding in the back of a truck people stop and smile. Brett Metcalfe (the last racer on a factory-level YZ125) nearly wept when he saw me. And I'm rarely left in the shop on a weekend. I'm getting respect everywhere I roll. Well, almost everywhere.
There are riders who hate me. They hate to hear me coming. They hate to hear me next to them. And they really hate to hear me go by because they'll do anything to get in my way. It's funny because most of these haters are older. They probably remember riding bikes like me before they got their newer, lazier bikes. They're probably mad at how much fun they know the guy riding me is having or that they can't do the work anymore to keep me competitive. Whatever. I know I sound cool to them.
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