When I was younger, I was utterly obsessed with sports bikes, especially those from the 1990s. GSX-Rs, ZXRs, CBRs, YZFs, RC30s, NSRs, RGVs, TZRs – two-stroke or four-stroke, it didn’t matter. There was something genuinely magical about that era. The bikes felt exciting, individual, and just a little bit wild.

Writing recently about going to watch Grand Prix racing back in the early ’90s brought all of this into sharp focus. Back then, my fascination with sports bikes was absolute. They symbolised power, speed, and aspiration. The irony is that at the time, I couldn’t afford them. I could only admire them from afar, which perhaps made them even more special.

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The ’90s were a golden age for sports bikes, largely because they were race-replica machines that defined the era. They looked astonishingly close to the Grand Prix or Superbikes of the day. From the sharp bodywork and bold liveries to the aggressive riding positions, these machines carried real racing DNA. You didn’t just admire them – you lusted after them. They felt like barely civilised race bikes with lights and number plates.

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As the decade progressed and we moved into the new millennium, my relationship with sports bikes began to change. Technologically, bikes improved massively, but visually and emotionally they started to converge. Everything became more refined, more powerful, more capable – and, to my eyes at least, more similar. Somewhere along the way, a bit of that raw magic and individually was lost.

Looking at modern sports bikes now, I rarely feel that same pull. That’s probably as much to do with me getting older as it is with the bikes themselves. These days, comfort and practicality matter far more than outright performance. I’ve never been someone who lives for track days or rides flat out everywhere. I enjoy riding, not chasing lap times.

This lack of interest was summarised in the photos I took at Motorcycle Live 2025, the UK’s biggest bike show – I took just one picture of a modern sports bike and that was the Norton Manx R Superbike. I did get a picture on one more sports bike, but that was mid 2000’s GSXR 750, so not exactly modern yet miles away from the late 80’s slabby and early ’90s gixers.

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That’s not to say I don’t appreciate modern sports bikes. A quick blast on one can still be great fun, and the performance is staggering. But if I’m honest, given the choice, I’d rather go back to the sports machines of the ’90s – bikes with character, quirks, and a direct link to racing that felt tangible rather than abstract.

The closest I think we have to the looks of these old machines today is the XSR900 GP from Yamaha, it’s no superbike but aesthetically, it’s a very satisfying nod to the past.

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So here we are today – looking back with rose tinted glasses but of course my priorities have changed. I’m firmly in the retro, scrambler and adventure camp when it comes to ownership nowadays. I have little desire to fold myself onto a cramped, uncompromising sports bike just to access performance I’ll never fully exploit. I want to ride further, for longer, and enjoy the experience rather than endure it.

Maybe it’s simply an age thing or maybe everything really was better in the ’90s – the bikes, the cars, the haircuts, the music, the football, the fashion and the nightlife. It felt like a cultural moment for British youth, not unlike the 1960s, where identity and passion shaped everything – in the ’90s sports bikes were to be desired in the same way as a Ferrari or Lamborghini of that time.

I must admit, I still catch myself browsing eBay for one of those 1990’s homologation specials – the very bikes I had pinned to my bedroom wall and could only ever dream of owning. The dream itself may have faded, but the memory hasn’t. And perhaps that’s exactly where those bikes belong: frozen in time, perfect in hindsight, and tied forever to an era that can never quite be recreated.

Photo/Image Credits
All images in this post are credited to kilnmoto.co.uk