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Typical of my time with the Honda SS50 was a tour of 2527 miles, including one of the best vintage hill climbs. You may think I'm daft, for I took a moped that was over ten years old and had been thrashed and dropped several times by learners. I made that moped work hard, too. For most of the journey up to Scotland and back to Southampton, it was run flat out at over 50mph, with me and a pile of luggage on board.
The 1976 SS50 took little time and money to prepare and had already shown it could return 137mpg in the normal commuting regime. The engine was decoked, the valves ground in, the spark plug cleaned and the condensor was replaced in the flywheel generator. All my kit was stacked on the carrier, including loads of tools which with my past experience of maintaining and rebuilding Honda fifties ensured that I could handle most emergencies. The highly mounted silencer on one side prevented fitment of panniers.
My daily mileage was rarely to exceed 200 miles, I intended to stop off at any interesting places that arose during the trip rather than rush headlong through the scenery concentrating solely on the bit of road in front. In the first 650 miles to Durham neither repair nor replacement was needed. Stirling turned out to be a big problem as I couldn't find my way out of the city and ended up riding in the dark, not recommended with the Honda's puny front light. Then after a long day's run of 270 miles the engine sounded sick. A new spark plug and oil change cured that.
The bike made it to Inverness okay, after perhaps the most scenic part of the route from Dumbarton onwards, helped by the fine weather. The next day, a forty mile ride to Lossiemouth took me to the end of my outward journey and a view across the North Sea, it was time to turn back homewards.
Via Culloden Battlefields, the clear atmosphere letting me see mountains 30 miles away, back to Inverness and the A82 to Faslane by the route whence I came, along the Great Glen. Just after passing the highest mountain in the British Isles, Ben Nevis, I braked for the iron Ballachullish Bridge and found the back brake didn't work any more. The control rod had come off the brake pedal and was dragging on the road; I tied it back on with string.
Luckily, there were no emergency stops necessary until after I had bought a new pin to hold the rod in position. I rode through the magnificent scenery of Glencoe and over Rannoch moor as fast as I could because I was approaching bad roads and a setting sun. By the time I reached Arrochar on the A814, it was getting dark and the rain was pouring down.
The road wound every which way and lights of the cars made it near to impossible to see where I was going (whoever invented direct 6V lighting should be.....). To add to the fun, the road was pockmarked with manhole covers, at least one of which had collapsed at a crazy angle and whenever I slowed down the falling engine revs all but turned out the lighting.
I survived this, a few days later found myself at Rest And Be Thankful Hill near Dunoon, famous for hill climbs in times past. The Honda did two trips up the hill without problem in third gear in memory of those wild days and I took a photo just in case anyone doubted its achievement.
No more problems until I was on the Great North Road (A1) to Hexham after exiting Edinburgh, when riding flat out at 58mph, after running the bike down a slight dip, the engine seized up. Backed off, pulled in the clutch and it freed up again. Gave the engine time to cool down, put a quarter of a pint in the sump and rode on carefully, slowly, at no more than 37mph. Such lack of speed allowed me to take in the pretty Northumbrian villages, a false Hadrian's wall which in turn led to Codger's Fort and a round tower, reminders of the days when bandits roamed Northumbria.
After Hexham, I noted some slop in the swinging arm bearings, but didn't have the correct spanner to fix it so carried onwards. The journey was slowed as I got stuck behind the labour march from Jarrow to London protesting the lack of jobs in the North East. Next day, in Syston, Leics, I got my first puncture which I fixed. That was the 16th day of my tour with 2527 miles done, an average of 158 miles a day. The highest altitude had been attained at Carter Bar on the A68, 1370 feet. One continuous problem, if I forgot to turn the petrol off when I switched the engine off it would leak out of the fuel bowl (fixed later by cleaning said item out) - surprising then, that I was averaging 154mpg.
Back in Southampton, I inspected the machine, changed the oil, oiled the chain. On both oil changes I exceeded the recommended 1000 mile interval - naughty boy! Apart from the two and half pints used in oil changes, the moped had used six pints between changes - 400mpp, which is heavy for a four stroke fifty. Some minor defects were found, a flasher light cover and end baffle of the silencer had both fallen out. The top screw had again come out of the pedal chain cover, which had broken because of vibration.
These items had escaped my daily visual check for loose nuts and bolts. A dent and two cracks in the back mudguard appear to have been caused by the two extra stays fitted between mudguard and carrier in order to strengthen the latter. The play in the swinging arm was cured by tightening a loose nut. The rear chain had stretched slightly but otherwise it and the sprockets were sound. The centrestand was bent, a woefully inadequate item that often lasts less than 3000 miles.
I bought the machine as a runner in 1983 for £50. Fitment of Avon tyres ensured that it felt safe to ride even on icy roads or gravel. I have never fallen off this machine and never had any problems with the road holding. The engine blew up shortly after I acquired the bike, when I over revved it, thanks to the low gearing which I changed by fitting a larger gearbox sprocket making it impossible to get the machine into the red in top gear.
However, after a journey of over 100 miles, a month after the Scottish tour, the oil consumption increased alarmingly and the spark plug kept oiling up. The engine gave up again just outside Whitchurch in Shropshire. This was not through over revving, with this piston I had always suffered heavy oil consumption, maybe due to a high spot on the piston when fitted new. What appears to have happened is that the piston's high spot wore into the bore, allowing large amounts of oil into the combustion chamber, where it played havoc with the spark plug and exhaust valve. I had to do a top end rebuild to cure this.
Then, in 1986, a gear broke, necessitating a push home and a major strip down and rebuild, which, I am pleased to say is at last complete......the moped is very comfortable, easy to handle and kickstart, cheap on fuel and great fun. It has not been very reliable, but it only cost fifty notes and in the course of ten years it had been thrashed and abused by sixteen yearolds. I would expect more reliability from a ten year old BMW, of course, and I would expect to pay a lot more money for it.
I regret not keeping my first five speed SS50 Honda. This was the earlier motorcycle version, circa 1969. I bought it for £35 with 4500 miles on the clock from its first owner. Like me, he was over six feet tall, but he took me on the pillion of this little bike along the A6 with 60mph up without any signs of strain. Little did I realise when I sold it that Honda were going to cease production of this type of SS50 and replace it with an inferior, detuned, lower geared device equipped with pedals.
My Scottish tour showed what can be done with an old moped, but more can be done with a new one. With a Mobylette, which he bought new, a Spaniard has toured most countries in Europe, including part of the Soviet Union. He carries a comprehensive tool kit and does his own repairs and maintenance en route. His moped is much faster than a bicycle, has some weather protection and yet doesn't cost a lot more. You can't beat a moped for cheap holiday transport.
Michael Waugh
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With the purchase of a 1980 Honda CG125 for £200 I had become a biker, much to the amazement of my friends and horror of my mother. My first of several run-ins with the law were quick in coming (and this is Northern Ireland).
Once, I rode out in front of a fast moving car without giving way at a junction. It turned out to be a plain clothes patrol car - just my luck. They gave me a patronising talk and then hinted that I might be responsible for discharging loaded shotguns down the street, trying to kill his three yearold daughter, before letting me off...
I was pulled over a week later by a cop on a large police bike and asked to produce all my documents and road tax. The officer told me I had been looking over my shoulder too often. You can't win.
The bike was a godsend when I moved up to student digs at university. I couldn't get any girls to ride on the back, they claimed it was too embarrassing, but I didn't care. It was mine and I loved it. So did someone else. I had just rushed into the house with some gear from the top box and came back out to find it gone.
The police found it a few days later after it had been dented by some scramblers. Mind you, it was that sort of area. Some maniac had let loose with a rifle in the local bar and there was even a mortar attack over the house one time! An offer by a friend to put a mate and I up in Bristol over the holidays was accepted with great relief. Before departure, though, my mother was running around, practically hysterical, sprinkling holy water over the bike!
My mate was also CG mounted, we left Belfast at midnight, reached Newry where we refuelled. Crossing the border was an experience, just after the checkpoint the road suddenly ended and a sort of dirt track began. My normally pathetic headlamp was even dimmer than normal and had started going out whenever I stopped. The ride to Dublin was a valuable learning experience.
Once we entered the fair city, all road signs stopped and within five minutes we were totally lost. More by luck than anything else we finally found the correct road out. The tank on the CG's seem to do just over 100 miles and we coasted into Rosslair on vapour. Not wanting to muck around with any funny money we had bought our own fuel which my mate carried in some plastic containers in panniers slung over his seat. The proximity of the petrol to his exhaust was something that kept him awake on the journey.
After a beautiful dawn ride through Wexford we reached Rosslair at about 9am. The crossing was uneventful, apart from the curious glances we got from the bikers on their huge BMW tourers. The sight of the tiny bikes with L-plates flapping in the breeze was probably quite funny.
Riding through Wales started out quite well, but soon the nether regions were forcing us to stop every half hour. The sight of my mate sitting in some long grass on his bright yellow waterproof trousers and Arran sweater, moaning softly, was pitiful. We tried sitting on rolled up clothes and old sandwiches but it was no good. We just had to grin and bear it. My feet had long since disappeared - two pairs of thick socks and some baseball boots were insufficient.
We entered England in the late afternoon - well the road signs stopped having funny Welsh names on them - and headed in the general direction of Bristol. It appeared that the only way over was described as a motorway bridge, so we decided to chance it and hoped no-one minded the L-plates. I don't think anybody did - the sight of the two of us riding over the bloody huge suspension bridge at 30 degrees to the road in a howling gale carrying rucksacks provided too much amusement. The chap at the toll booth waved us through with a smirk.
We reached Bristol and set about trying to find our friend's house. Over two hours later we had finally tracked it down. It turned out he owned a CZ 125 which we all had a good laugh at. I had a quick go on it and almost killed myself in the process. I don't know what the controls were linked to but it wasn't the engine.
The journey back was faster and warmer since I had bought a pair of riding boots and thermal glove liners. We were separated when I took a wrong turn during rush hour traffic in Gloucester but we met up again after a wonderful ride through a Welsh forest. Once again, on the boat trip we received glances of ridicule but we managed to get off the boat first and it took a surprisingly long time for the big bikes to catch us up.
Halfway to Dublin, my mate suddenly stopped and looked worried. His headlight was at a rakish angle because one of the fixing bolts had vibrated loose. It was just a matter of tightening up the bolt, but as I had charged my mate with bringing the tools the only thing he had was a screwdriver and a huge spanner for taking the back wheel off. He managed to secure everything with a piece of wood and lots of masking tape - somehow it held until we got home.
The night ride to Dublin, and on to the border was again a terrifying experience. I prayed that my mate knew where he was going and followed his brake light. The headlights on a CG125 are for one thing only - to help other drivers see you during the day. It would have been a vast improvement if I'd held a torch in my mouth, but it was too cold to lift the visor - and besides I had left the torch in Bristol.
We entered Dublin and once again got totally lost within seconds. Some kindly Guarda took pity on us, and pointed us in the general direction of the N1. At the border the soldier waved us to a stop and then collapsed into gales of laughter when he saw our trusty mounts. We reached home early in the morning and I almost killed my father with the shock of my sudden appearance fully rigged out in all my gear.
Just recently I passed my test and have started looking for something bigger, but the CG will remain my favourite bike - it taught me a lot.
John Kennedy
I wanted to go as fast as possible on my 1982 CG125. Don't laugh, when you're seventeen that's the thing most in your mind; especially when a lot of your mates have derestricted TZ125s.
First problem, I did not know a lot about engines. My mate told me leave out the head gasket and supplied some goo instead. He also set to the inlet and exhaust ports with a file, whilst I degutted the silencer. We visited a piston factor and spent half the morning trying to find something that would give higher compression. The piston we came away with looked very lumpy to me but seemed to fit okay.
My mate reassembled the engine, I flitted about hoping that I hadn't ruined the first big investment of my life - do you know how many paper rounds it takes to buy a CG, even an old one? When–I kicked the engine over it felt reassuringly hard. By the time it condescended to start I was drenched in sweat and not far short of tears!
My god, how could such a tiny engine produce such a terrible roar! My mate muttered something about having advanced the valve timing a notch. He had the first ride and pronounced that the carburation was too lean. A drill was taken to the main jet. Then it was my turn. I shot up the street, hanging on for dear life. It vibrated like a dodgy 747 just before take off but the speedo whizzed around to the stop and then immediately expired. My wrist watch stopped working. The cacophony of engine and exhaust noise had a pack of dogs descend upon me when I slowed for a junction. Dropping two gears and mercilessly throttling the engine saw me escape intact.
Examination of the engine mounting bolts revealed that one was not done up very tight. That done, the vibes diminished but were still much worse than stock. The engine had seemed very civilized when I first got the bike, but the power was very tame, even for a first timer like myself. Now, I had the power but at the price of needing to keep the revs always above 5000rpm and inflicting a terrible noise pollution upon the world.
The bike could still not keep up with the tuned two strokes. They reckoned that if I contorted myself over the tank, with my nose touching the clocks, I would extract a true 80mph out of it. That kind of speed was frightening because the bike wobbled and weaved all over the place. If I ever got ahead of my mates they would never dare pass unless there was at least a free lane between us.
The drum brakes were also piss poor at coping with rapid stops. They had been designed for some grandpa who would have an heart attack if he got the clock above 50mph. One hard stop and they gave up altogether. One time, a car cut me up when I was doing 70mph and I only missed his bumper by a fraction of an inch. My mates kept well away from me after that because of the pong of soiled underpants!
The bike had 33400 miles on the clock when I bought it. I did 2500 miles before tuning it up and then the engine lasted for only 3000 miles before the big crunch came. I was doing about 75mph with a pack of two stroke fanatics - if I went any slower I was relegated to the back and choked on two stroke fumes. We crested a hill and everyone went for it on the downhill stretch. God knows what engine revs I achieved but I could barely see and the bars felt like they were attached to a pile driver!
The engine locked up solid, the back tyre likewise, the bike slewing around, only avoiding doing a 360 degree turn because it hit one of the other bikes. Talk about highway carnage. At least half of the dozen bikes ended up on the tarmac. Amazingly, apart from my written off engine, damage to body and metal was minimal. The rear tyre was almost burnt down to a cinder and I was a trembling wreck.
Weird how things work out. The next day we were annoying the local breaker by hanging about his yard when I saw an old CB125 engine. This was the motor the CG was based upon, differing in having an OHC rather than OHV actuation of the valves. Surely, the CB engine would fit in the CG frame? I told the breaker a pack of lies about wanting to change my newish but slow engine for a CB motor, and probably just to get shot of us, he agreed to the swap if I gave him £20 as well.
Of course, the CB engine didn't fit straight in. Drills, welding gear and a big hammer were necessary accessories to the transplant. Learning from experience, I decided to leave this engine alone and satisfy my juvenile yearnings with just a straight through exhaust.
And it worked out quite well for the last 10,000 miles. The bike will do about 75mph flat out, 90mpg and has been remarkably reliable, if somewhat rattly. I also had a go at the cosmetics, frame and cycle parts painted a deep black. Looked at from a certain angle it seems almost classic in appearance and it's quite easy to convince myself that the looks will outlast things like RGs and TZRs. The chrome on the wheels, forks and shocks is a disaster, though.
Things like chains, tyres and brake shoes never needed replacing, so I can't really comment on consumables other than to say they are better than the strokers. Overall, the Honda had proved a good buy, was very easy to learn on (in stock tune) and extremely cheap to buy and run. True, the strokers are much easier to upgrade and just as reliable if you go for a modern one.
All good things come to an end, and after passing both my tests first time I was ready for something bigger and faster. Well, it had to be a Honda......a CD175, actually.
John Fraser
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TAN 26N was bought in the summer of ’84 for the princely sum of £100. On arriving to look at the bike, it appeared to be in good condition for the year with both chrome and paint still in evidence. The engine looked good externally with no visible oil leaks or signs of butchery.
It had no MOT or tax but according to the owner had recently been rebuilt by him. This last point made me a little suspicious. Why, if the bike was in such good condition for its age, hadn’t the owner put a years MOT on it and another £100 or so on the asking price? I decided to give the beast a test ride. I started the engine first kick and listened for any unusual noises from the 125cc OHC single cylinder engine, in particular the cylinder head.
If oil changes are skimped on these machines the head is easily ruined due to blocked oilways allowing drying up of the camshaft bearings. If this happens a replacement head is needed and costs more, new, than the bike is worth secondhand.
No nasties were evident as it ticked over evenly and quietly. I took it for a spin around the block and everything appeared fine. It pulled well throughout the rev range in all the gears and seemed lively for a four stroke single. That was it, I decided to buy it.
It failed the MOT, according to the tester the frame was out of alignment. This pissed me off excessively, with visions of the machine being a write off due to the expense of frame replacement, especially as the rest of the bike was good. I took it to another MOT tester where it passed with a compliment about it being in good shape for its age! I put the bike through another three tests in the time that I owned it and all it required was a new exhaust.
Servicing was simple. Just change the oil every 800 or so miles and check the tappets at the same interval. Usually, no adjustment was required but when it was, patience was needed as adjustment is a little awkward. Two thou is a ridiculously small gap to set accurately. Each time the gap was set and the locknut tightened, the gap invariably went down to one thou or disappeared altogether.
Perseverance is the answer as it is important with such a small gap to set it accurately. Ignition timing is dead easy to set and rarely seems to go out anyway. In all the time I had the bike (about four years), I only ever bought one replacement spark plug. It just never seemed to wear out.
Performance for a 125cc single of its age was quite good. If wound up in the gears, acceleration was quick enough to out accelerate most cars in the city and it cruised at 60mph without having to thrash it (I prefer whipping myself anyway). Top end was a bit over 70mph. One had to be careful of artics breathing down one’s neck. When this occurred I always felt that this great hissing monster was about to devour me (well, at least it makes life exciting). Headwinds took their toll on performance with the bike having to be worked hard to maintain a high cruising speed.
Starting was always a one kick operation. The bike always lived outside, and no matter how freezing cold or wet, the bike never failed to start and warm up quickly without fuss. This used to give me a perverse form of pleasure as I listened to numerous cars in our roads churning their engines over and over on cold winter mornings. 2CVs seem to be particularly prone to this activity in cold weather.
It was light enough to hold upright when slides started by just sticking both feet down and praying hard. I never came to any grief so I must have been doing something right. Generally, overall handling was not good. On bumpy surfaces the suspension felt far too soft and when bumpy surfaces were combined with bends at any reasonable speed, all sorts of unwanted contortions took place. Modern 125s show just how much suspension has improved since this machine was made.
Lighting, is another story. Although the electrics were always reliable (never any problems with flat batteries, etc), the power of the 35 watt headlamp left a lot to be desired. Even in poorly lit streets I found the beam inadequate for safe riding much above 40mph. I considered fitting a higher wattage bulb, but on looking at the electrical specifications I found that the total alternator output was only 45 watts. A bulb of any higher wattage would not leave enough power for the ignition and rest of the lights.
As it was, the engine would sometimes stall on tickover when the headlamp was on and indicators in use whilst waiting at junctions for any length of time. I can only assume that the drain on the system was such that the voltage dropped enough so as to stop the coil producing an efficient spark. Once riding along there appeared to be no problem except that the headlamp beam dimmed significantly each time the indicators flashed. Later models had 75 watt alternators which must have improved things a lot.
Braking also left something to be desired. Brake fade from the front SLS drum was noticeable. Locally, this was particularly apparent when speeding down Grapes Hill in Norwich and the lights turned to red at the bottom. The front would start to fade when applied hard although the rear held up well. This also seemed worse in hot weather. It seems that the cooling of the linings must be the problem here. However, at least the braking was unaffected in the wet.
Given that I was not a high mileage rider or used the brakes particularly hard, the life of the shoes seemed rather short. This was true for both pattern and genuine parts. I always cleaned out the drums and made sure that all the spindles were lubricated so as to ensure the brakes were not binding on. I can only assume that this must be something to do with the lining quality.
I finally sold the little Honda just before Christmas last year for £200. Not bad considering that I only paid £100 for it and got four years of basically trouble free use from it. My reason for the sale was that I finally got round to passing the bike tests and wanted something with more zap.
I ended up with a rebuilt air cooled RD250 which certainly fulfils the zap department. However, it has recently cost me more money in parts and running costs that the Honda ever did. I still see the bike around the city and it appears to be going well and still looks in good shape. The bloke that bought the Honda never even bothered taking it for a test ride. He looked it over, listened to it running and said, It sounds like a good 'un, and handed over the £200.
Would I have another? Yes, if I were to use it just for commuting to work, but since I also like a bike for entertainment ppurposes I really want something with more performance. A Honda CB125S is an excellent and inexpensive way for someone to get into biking provided that a good example can be found. In many way I found it a rewarding machine to own and hope that it gives its new owner the same service it gave me.
Steve Crook
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For fifty quid I thought I couldn't go wrong. The engine still ran. The MOT certificate was only a month old. The consumables had plenty of life left. The object of my attention was a 1976 Honda CB125J. The mileometer read 49,560. Red Hermatite on the engine joints gave away its hard life. As did the puddle of oil.
The CB125J has an OHC, two valve single cylinder engine. It roots go back to the sixties and the CB150. Engineering on these little thumpers is rather spartan. None of later excesses, like balancers or twin choke carbs. Simplicity and natural ruggedness were its calling cards. The compactness of the motor is echoed in the chassis.
The engine is slapped into a single down tube frame, straight out of the fifties. The CB floated like a duck on ragged, worn out suspension. When they were new they might've had some damping. The shocks and forks were now both weakly sprung and prone to sticking. The road bumps played havoc with my backside and arms.
But that was the least of my troubles. Nearing home a canine rushed out under my front wheel. I grabbed the front brake and twisted the bars. The dog escaped except for having its tail shortened. Judging by the screams of the huge dog and little old lady owner it'd been castrated. The CB has a curious disc front brake. The caliper is operated by cable, a worm mechanism translating the motion of the cable into braking forces. That was the theory, anyway.
The brake hadn't worked very well until I'd applied adrenalin inspired muscular input. That had squealed the front tyre. A dubious Taiwanese import that threatened to slide away from under the bike. Often felt like I was skating along on the wheel rims. I was quite impressed with the stopping distances. Until I realised the front brake was locked on solid. Dropping the clutch with 9000 revs up just stalled the engine dead.
I sort of pushed and dragged the bike the remaining couple of hundred yards home. Screams from my once friendly neighbour echoed down the street. She was acting like I'd put a hand up her skirt. Rather than mildly attacked her fido. Hammer and spanners soon released the caliper. The pads were so worn they had started to crack up. I was riding around on a potential death-trap. New EBC pads and some grease on the mechanism. Half a dozen washers in the forks to help out the springs sorted the front end.
Starting had proved elusive. Trying to remove the spark plug was no fun. Felt like it was corroded in solid. Left it to soak in penetrating oil overnight. Whacked the socket wrench with my biggest hammer. It moved a fraction, groaned as I carefully undid it. I was relieved, the last thing I wanted was to break off the plug in the cylinder head. The old plug was so corroded and covered in crud it was a wonder the CB had ever started. The shiny new one started to cross-thread but I caught it in time.
Despair set in when I clocked the points. So worn they surely must've been the originals. I found a set that almost matched from an auto-accessory store. Needed a bit of filing to make them fit. A deep blue spark at the plug was my reward. A new battery completed the electrical renaissance.
Starting became a one or two kick affair. A serious lunge was required despite the lack of capacity. The lights were pathetically dangerous. Discouraged riding in the dark. For loitering in the well lit town centre they were marginal. Most of the wiring seemed newish. The horn was a gruff bleat. It didn't matter as the rotted silencer gave a warning bark to wandering car drivers. The whole exhaust was hidden under a thick layer of rust.
The engine ran quite well. The main hassle, a 5000 to 7500rpm flat spot. I put this down to the rotted silencer affecting the mixture. It was so annoying that I bought a new OE exhaust system. It was heavily discounted, cheaper than buying a universal megaphone. The flat spot was still present but a less traumatic 5000 to 6250 band.
Riding around this proved difficult. The gearbox had only three ratios that could be relied upon. Fast progress demanded revving the hell out of the engine whilst punching the engine through the gears. Old Honda gearboxes have a strong reputation as anti-theft devices.
Anyone who rides old Honda hacks should expect as much. What I was getting for my fifty quid was an engine that ran nearly faultlessly, within the above constraints, for the past year. Top speed was a splendid 75mph. It wasn't sustainable. Down to the thumper vibes and chassis wobbles. A constant cruising speed was more like 55 to 60mph. I could live with that for most of the time.
The only engine faults were a rattly camchain and copious oil leaks. The bore and piston are supposed to be short-lived but mine gave no trouble. Maybe the piston was an improved design, I doubted that it was original. The camchain tensioner wasn't automatic but could be bodged. The oil seemed to weep out of every engine joint. The sump didn't hold much oil, could be run dry in about 200 miles. The few long runs I did I strapped a five litre can on the back. Once it ruptured, laying down an oil slick. I think it was the vibration that split the can.
Such runs were always a bit of an adventure. It felt like I was battling against the elements. The seat wasn't original and wasn't much cop. Went hard after about fifty miles. Doing 250 miles in about six hours left me with a John Wayne stagger. A total disinclination to get on the bike again. That lasted for three days.
By riding like a complete jerk I could keep up with modern (restricted) 125s. The ones I tried had brilliant handling and excellent suspension. But the speeds they could legally travel meant none of that mattered. What counted was the willingness to make wild overtaking manoeuvres. And, hang on come what may. As both brakes were seriously useless I didn't have much choice but to charge forward.
Even when thrashed fuel was a remarkable 85mpg. The more usual commuting chores meant a gallon lasted 110 to 120 miles. I think it was more expensive on oil than petrol. What kept surprising me was that it didn't get any worse when the engine went off tune. Or when I'd added 11000 miles to the clock during the year I'd owned it. The tyres, as they were like iron, still had a bit of life left in them. The EBC pads lasted about 9000 miles.
One benefit of owning the CB125 was that complete strangers would come up to me and rave about the little Honda. They usually reckoned that it was a brilliant bike that hadn't given a moments trouble. Two of them had mouldering old wrecks stashed away. Mine for free if I came to take them away. One had been crashed, had quite a few salvageable engine bits. The other had seized, spent about a decade rusting away. There was nothing that was worth keeping. The frame, for instance, had rusted right through. A few hammer blows reduced it to dust.
The bike isn't often found in breakers, getting a bit too old for that. CG125 chassis parts can be adapted. I reckon it's even possible to shoehorn in a CG engine. I've actually put most of the cosmetic bits into a reasonable state with a rub down and paint job. My latest improvement was a pair of Girling shocks. They are a bit stiff but stop most of the wallowing. A little sideways play in the swinging arm was removed with a couple of washers.
The last MOT was the usual laugh. A dingy back street centre notorious for its laxity. A gruff old bugger reckoned he couldn't hear the horn nor see the lights. He didn't cop the dubious swinging arm or pathetic brakes. I distracted him by asking about his days on British bikes. Exited with certificate in hand.
To be honest, I just bought the bike to ride into the ground. After the first couple of months I began to realise that the engine wasn't go to blow up. I rather liked the amount of effort needed to get it to flow through traffic. Perverse, perhaps, but it's all about arriving at a destination full of satisfaction.
R.L.L.
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There were times with my ten year old CG125 when I dearly wished I was on something else. Almost anything else. What did I hold against Honda's ubiquitous commuter single, what had caused my utter scorn? Well, I was 6'6'' and weighed 20 stone. The CG was built for a Japanese dwarf and weighed only 220lbs. Judging by the way the general populace laughed, sniggered and threw bricks at our passing form our partnership looked more than a little ridiculous.
I could live with that as whenever I stopped the doubters ran as fast as their little legs could take them. Its 11hp when new felt more like 5hp after 20,000 miles of abuse. Every time I crossed the 50mph barrier its little heart seemed to be tearing itself apart if the way the pegs and bars shook with the vibration was any guide.
In some ways the niggardly acceleration and pathetic top speed was all to the good. The drum brakes, even when replenished with new shoes, were prone to fade, the dangerous lack of braking disappearing to nothing. I often ended up bellowing at cagers and pedestrians to get out of the damn way, quite effective if I put a fearsome scowl on my face. The horn was the kind of squeak redolent of a mouse trying to get out of the petrol tank and far less effective than shouting and gesticulating with my arms whilst steering the little Honda with my knees.
The suspension was permanently down on the stops with my weight aboard. The seat was like a bed of nails that even my extra padding endowed by nature did little to overcome. Steering at the best of times was vague, at the worst suicidal. The CG would veer off in different directions with all the predictability of a kitten being chased by a Great Dane. At least I was never bored.
Being on the dole there was little hope of upgrading to something better. The one time I went for a DR interview I ended up destroying an office partition and breaking a flimsy chair. The boss's lack of a sense of humour was appalling and I nearly had to give him a slap when he got a bit lippy. He reckoned I'd be better off in a circus!
It was a pretty bad day. Coming home the throttle cable snapped, leaving me stranded with an engine at tickover in a stream of 30mph traffic. The only way out was to wrench the bike up on to the pavement at about 25mph. We lurched over the kerb and ran down some city types before coming to a halt, the front wheel wedged into some iron railings. I ignored the screaming from the injured, tried to pull the bike out. After a terrifying bang, I ended up shooting backwards with a Honda CG125 in my lap, plus half a hundredweight of iron railing that had torn out of the brickwork. A few more peds were taken out as well! It took police equipped with a welding torch to free the front wheel from the railing. Had I not been penniless on the dole I would've ended up with a massive bill for damages but as it was they gave up when I sent them letters from the dole office and bank manager explaining my plight.
The front wheel was a bit mangled but replaced, together with the throttle cable, by a breaker in exchange for an afternoon's work stripping down a couple of mangled bikes. The newer drum brake proved slightly better in the braking department but still provided lots of unnerving moments.
Even with my bulk aboard, the horrible Honda was ideal for cutting through congested traffic. A couple of times I even picked the damn thing up and hurled it across central barriers and other impediments to my journey. Pavement work was more trouble than it was worth as invariably some annoyed ped would run alongside whacking me about the helmet with their briefcase or handbag. Obviously a case of pure jealously.
Where the CG became totally lost was riding into headwinds or up hills. When both of those were combined, speed was down to about 10mph in first or second and on one memorable occasion I actually ended up running alongside for a couple of hundred yards. I often ended up with no more than 40mph on the clock, the bane of frustrated cagers as there was no way my dignity would allow me to ride in the gutter.
Doing more than 50 miles in a day left me with a sore bum, shaking hands and feet, plus a brain that was numb with pain, fear and sheer insanity. Not surprisingly, the seat split every 200 miles and the base would break if I pushed my luck by patching the old one up with rags and insulation tape.
Every time it rained a little I had a wet bum for days afterwards because the saddle soaked it up like a sponge. I tended to avoid wet weather because the tyres, always bought secondhand and worn out, slithered all over the place, adding to the feeling of riding an out of control donkey. The drums filled up with water, making sure I couldn't lock up the wheels on damp roads.....and removing all braking power.
A couple of times I just stepped off the bike at about 20mph! The indicators had long since fallen off and my legs were long enough to allow me to clear the bike without whacking the wedding tackle (and yes, ladies, it is in proportion to the rest of my body....). The little Honda careered off down the road riderless, which if anything improved its stability. Until some cage or other solid object ended its freedom.
Damage was surprisingly minor in these insane incidents. I did more damage to the front wheel levering on tyres, usually after I'd punctured the innertube in a couple of failed fittings. I ended up seeing red when that happened and actually buckled one rim into an oval shape! There was always the possibility that when riding a wheel would collapse under the stress but usually it was the bearings that went. The rear wheel bearings rarely lasting more than 4000 miles. Naff or what?
The overall build quality of the CG is not very good. An English winter corrodes everything made of metal and even the plastic bits go off! The mudguards have a quaint habit of rusting away until they fall off. When the front one jammed in the wheel, the retardation was so violent that I was thrown over the bars. Slimmer builds might get away with rolling down the road but I ended up on my back with a spine breaking descent from grace. The Honda vindictively tried to finish me off by landing atop my shaken but not stirred form. A minor sensation was caused when I finally arose, clothes torn asunder, as I took revenge by tearing out what was left of the guard and stamping on it until it bore a passing resemblance to a square ten pence coin. You can't let these bikes get the better of you!
The silencer was similarly short-lived and afflicted with rust. At least it did no more damage than to send myself, and everyone else within a half mile radius, temporarily deaf. It used to half fall off the downpipe, scrape along the ground until final disintegration occurred. Riding on an open down-pipe made sod all difference to the carburation, which was so worn that fuel economy was a shocking 60mpg and the spark plug would often be flooded with the excess of fuel. For some reason, even the police left me well alone, to continue on my world weary way.
The engine would run for about 5000 miles before needing any attention. The crankshaft mounted points were so fiddly that my gorilla sized paws couldn't cope and a mate had to stand in whenever the motor refused to start. I could just about manage to pour in some oil when it went down to the minimum mark; valve adjustments weren't needed before a rebore was required! The piston proved the most precarious item in the engine, but I know people who have got 30,000 rather than 5000 miles out of an engine, but they weigh about a third of my own bulk.
Invariably, it's cheaper to acquire secondhand parts than do any serious engine work. Or it was until a gudgeon pin sheared and took out the whole motor. The bike went into a skid that my instant reflex action on the clutch did nothing to remove. I did my usual stepping off trick and watched in amazement as the bike wobbled a good 100 yards down the road before falling into the gutter. I picked up the half length of chain that'd snapped off. At least it made the bike easy to push home!
My friendly breaker put me to work for a week in exchange for a running motor, which after fitting I'd foolishly ridden home in the dark. The CG has lights that would have most push-bike owners writing to their MP's. Somehow I got back in one piece, narrowly avoiding being run over by inattentive car drivers and riding the CG into some roadworks.
I suppose you could say that I've got used to the bike's strange ways and even enjoy myself for the majority of the time. They are quite tough little buggers that I can recommend to commuters; I'm looking forward to the day when I can afford a Gold Wing.
Bruce Letts
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The saddest thing about the ageing process is that very little seems exciting any more. Once you've done most of the things you always wanted to do (with the exception of getting my end over with Kim Basinger), nothing seems new. I suppose this was highlighted for me when a friend, who is a few years younger than myself, passed his car driving test and was bubbling with adrenalin at the mere thought of going for a drive. I admit to feeling envious of his euphoric state, as such a simple exercise ceased to have any such appeal for myself long ago.
There is always a silver lining to any rolling stone that spoils the broth, however, and in my case, memories of such youthful exuberance from my teenage years will probably linger for as long as my two remaining beer soaked brain cells continue to operate. My youth was probably similar to many of the people reading this magazine in the sense that many of the most memorable occasions are inextricably linked to the world of two wheels
At the age of 16, my first mount was a Honda SS50 and such was its importance, I can still recall its registration plate some 14 years and ten bikes later - PUH 824M. Perhaps it's true that you never forget your first love. Although many people will still be familiar with the later SS50, this one was the early version with only four gears and flat bars.
By the time it reached my eager paws, the machine had covered about 18000 miles and was far from new, but as it was handed down from my brother I knew it was in good condition and had been well looked after. The importance of this machine is difficult to overstate. It represented my first taste of freedom, allowed me to get my first job and provided a common cause with so many like-minded and equally spotty teenagers.
The collection of mopeds in the school's shed at that time were the inevitable Fizzies, SS50's, a Gilera and an assortment of Puch's finest. I remember going up a slight hill and being joined by one of the Fizzies whose rider slowed down and offered a race. I just shook my head and pretended that I didn't indulge in such irresponsible behaviour. How could I admit that the throttle was already straining at the stop - this was one slow machine. When the law restricting mopeds was enforced, it made little difference as my machine still had problems keeping up. It didn't matter, though, I was still king of the road in my eyes.
Nothing could hold back the enthusiasm of my friends and I. Over my first biking winter I was too impoverished to afford a pair of gloves and rode the bike day in, day out, with bare hands. On one night foray, my hands were so frozen that I couldn't use the clutch or brake levers and had to stop by driving into a wall as slowly as possible. I couldn't open my fingers and had to slide both hands off the bars - but still I was very happy.
At 24000 miles, top speed was down to a mere 25mph and it was decided that a rebore was necessary (not by me, however, as I didn't know what a rebore was). With the rebore done by the local bike shop, I was disappointed to find that top speed was even lower than before. No-one had told me that engines were supposed to be run in after such major surgery. We are, of course, talking one extremely naive youth, here.
One of the most memorable occasions on this machine was not a particularly pleasant one - this was my first accident. I was riding up a very steep hill and noticed that a car was parked by the side of the road on double yellow lines. As it was parked and my experience was limited, I didn't give it much thought. However, before I knew what was happening, the car did a U-turn without any warning and I hit it side on.
I caught my foot between the car door and my pedal, was in extreme agony, while the woman driving the car thought she had killed me and burst into tears by the side of the road. I was more concerned with calming her down than in my own injuries and despite her claiming that it was all her fault and that in the future she would Think Bike, as the advertisement of the day suggested. I told her to go home, to relax for a bit and that we would sort things out the following day.
Of course, by then she had spoken to her husband and when she phoned me she decided that I must have been doing at least 70mph up that hill and that it was all my fault - bitch! This was quite an important experience in my youth - to realise that where money is concerned people can be complete bastards. Luckily, at the time of the accident, some concerned person had collected the names and addresses of three witnesses on a slip of paper. The result was that I won the insurance claim and got the bike fixed. The other result was no more Mr Nice Guy. It's a shame to become cynical but I won't have anyone doing something like that to me again!
At the other end of the spectrum (Captain Scarlet used to rule, okay!), my sloped year taught me that people could be extremely wonderful and helpful whenever the bike gave a reason for having pedals. The first time I ever broke down I checked everything I could think of but could find nothing wrong. There was no rust and both tyres were alright - so why it wouldn't go was a mystery to me. The first person who stopped to check if I was okay must've been a mechanic as it took him only seconds to reveal the problem - I had run out of petrol.
My second breakdown occurred in the centre of Bristol just before an appointment with a dentist. Suddenly, the revs shot up to whatever heady heights they were capable of achieving (no rev counter) and after slowing down, the bike had no forward motion. No problem, I thought, and checked the petrol tank. This time it was full up and to complicate matters, there was still no rust and both tyres were alright. This time I really was stumped for an immediate answer.
A Goldwing owner came to the rescue, stopping next to me, holding something that looked suspiciously like a chain, while I sat there revving the bike and letting the clutch out, vainly hoping that something would happen. Nothing did and the Gold Wing owner handed over my snapped drive chain.
Luckily, my dentist was a bit of a bike fanatic and offered, very kindly, to take me the 15 miles home. How we ever managed to get me, him, his Labrador puppy and the moped into his MG BGT I will never know. Another advert of the day claimed that you met the nicest people on a Honda - I certainly had no reason to doubt it.
Over the year that I owned this machine it received no maintenance whatsoever. This might make me sound like an extremely lazy git, but the simple reason is that every time I did try to do something even vaguely mechanical to the suffering wee beastie, it'd invariably end up in a worse state than before. I admit that I was keen to learn, even to the extent that I took the carb off once, just to see what it was and on replacement I stripped both of the mounting threads.
Despite such abuse, it continued to run on full throttle until 28000 miles were up and I decided to sell it and move on to pastures new (a Suzuki A100). The last time I saw the bike it had covered a little over 30,000 miles and my respect for small Honda engines remains to this day.
The funny thing about motorcycles is that while very few things excite me, these days, the prospect of getting on a bike and riding a few miles takes me back to those halcyon days and always puts a smile on my face. Did Peter Pan ride a bike? I can't think of much else that still gives me an elevated feeling - perhaps Kim Basinger could help me with that one!
S.Pitt
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I get a lot of nasty comments, from both motorcyclists and cagers, about riding a Honda step-thru. For me it makes perfect sense as most of my daily journey is through the clogged streets of the capital. Even pushbikes are sometimes hemmed in. The C90 makes short shrift of dense traffic like little else. Even hardened DRs on huge fours have to give way to the little OHC single.
I soon realised that the Y reg machine had hardly any brakes. The front drum was particularly pathetic, the lever coming back to the bars with only a modicum of pressure. Stamping on the back brake lever was more effective, although judicious use of the throttle and three speed box knocked in some useful engine braking.
With marginal braking it was just as well that the C90 was narrow. Rather than brake I often found myself accelerating into small gaps. Once, a following plod BMW tried to follow suit, its rider not too amused at my 50mph flat out scampering through Central London. The ground seemed to shake when the two huge cylinders thudded into two different cars. I glanced over my shoulder (the mirrors are tiny, useless things) to see the cop shaking his fist at me.
I had to change my route and appearance for a while, but C90s are so ubiquitous that, with a mud encrusted numberplate, there was no way they could pin anything on me. Only the more perverted owners actually clean C90s. They are left to gradually rot away, taking ten to fifteen years before they finally fall apart from rust. The back frame/mudguard section is usually the first to corrode through.
Step-thrus don't have clutch levers as such. The C90 has a centrifugal clutch that comes in when the engine is revved. It's also possible to engage the clutch using the foot lever when taking off. Engage first gear keeping the lever pressed down, rev the engine a little and slowly let the lever up. The clutch comes in smoother this way, giving a faster take-off than just knocking into gear and revving the balls off the engine. Quite a lot of practice is needed to avoid locking up the rear wheel on downchanges.
In many ways the engine would benefit from a proper clutch, but the marketing men deemed this too complex for the car drivers who they hope to persuade on to the Cub's saddle. I often see some suited types crawling along in the gutter at about 15mph, apparently frightened out of their minds. Now that roads have begun to resemble one long car park, it's actually a lot safer than before because the cagers can't vent their frustration when they are tail to nose for hours on end.
After the first month of getting used to the Honda, I was quite happy to scream through traffic, most of the time flat out on the throttle. An accident looking for somewhere to happen? Not really, the C90 was light, flickable and fun. I was more worried by the potholes, the whole bike lurching around like the frame was breaking up. Also, the cheapo Japanese tyres reacted to wet, greasy roads quite violently. Often, I had to put a motorcycle boot down to keep the 200lbs of hot metal from sliding away.
With legshields and a screen, riding in the rain and cold was not the fear inducing trauma (tyres apart) of some larger bikes. Lightweight waterproofs gave sufficient protection even in the heaviest of rainstorms. I commuted right through the depths of winter without falling off even on icy roads. I had quite a few near misses, mostly down to the marginal braking. I would've thought that a commuter aimed at car drivers would have first class stability and braking, rather than scaring the shit out of first timers. I'm sure that commuters that are churned out as cheaply as possible put lots of people off motorcycling for life.
The Honda's got one of the toughest engines in the world. It's easy to service but hardly anyone bothers, except for oil changes, because it just runs and runs for the first 50,000 miles. Similarly, the fully enclosed chain just needs the odd bit of oil thrown at it once a year. Buying a used one it's worth pulling the bung out to check the chain, as some people don't realise that it needs some maintenance. A rusted, seized up chain will play havoc with the gearchange (which ain't brilliant to begin with), a useful bargaining point when buying off a cager who can't understand why it clangs every time he touches the lever: 'Main bearings on the way out, mate. Take it off your hands for fifty notes?'
Seasoned motorcyclists will be alarmed by the lack of a tank to grip with their knees. The seat is especially designed to tip you off under braking! After a while I developed some extra muscles in my backside that allowed me to cling on to the saddle. The bars are a touch too narrow and far too low to be comfortable. The trailing link forks work okay on smooth roads, but along with the rear shocks (watch out for shock studs that pull out of rusted frames), there's absolutely no damping. If you suffer from seasickness then this is one commuter to avoid. Strangely, after a couple of months I became used to the leaping about and I only really noticed it after coming back to the Honda after riding my summer bike (a CBR600). I'm a Honda man, through and through.
The CBR always comes as a shock to the pocket after running the C90 through the winter. Fuel betters 100mpg and absolutely nothing else seems to wear out, although in reality tyres, chains and shoes need replacing every 20,000 miles or so. The bike had done 12000 miles when I bought it and now sports 49000 miles with no signs of blowing up or falling apart. I put this down to the thorough clean it receives every time I finish the winter commuting session!
50,000 miles is usually the most that you can reliably expect, with bores, big-ends and clutches the most likely items to fail. Don't know why mine's kept going so strongly, maybe it had a very easy early life. As the chassis is still passable, has maybe two or three years life left it in, I've bought a low mileage C90 engine for £75.
My C90 cost me £150 back then. These days, £200 to £300 is the going rate for one with a fair bit of life left in it, although there are lots of older ones around for as little as fifty quid. They pay for themselves many times over in money saved on fuel (compared to big bikes or cars) or on public transport. Another benefit, my CBR600 looks immaculate because it's never used in the really bad weather.
Using the C90 for out of town riding shows up the machine's limitations. When it doesn't drive me crazy with its lack of speed it sends me into heart attack mode by waltzing all over the road and having no braking for pulling me back from the brink of disaster. If I have to go long distances in winter, I ride the Honda to the train station and travel in comfort. I've been tempted to stick it in the guard's van a few times, though!
I'm a satisfied customer, the machines's limitations can be overcome with a bit of canny riding. It has to be the cheapest powered vehicle, both to buy used and to run, that still bears a passing resemblance to a motorcycle. Honda have made millions of the things, so there's a lot of choice out there.
H.D.L.
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Working as a bricklayer, for the past three years I've been wandering around the country picking up work at various sites. This was the only way to survive the recession. The CB100N seemed ideal when I bought an '86 one at the beginning of this adventure as I didn't expect to do more than 50 miles in a day.
That easy life was quickly blown when after a month I was offered a contract in Glasgow. As I was working in London at the time and only had a weekend to get there, my first thought was to put it on the train. That was a trifle unfair to the little Honda, as it had whirred away reliably for the first 800 miles, even with a hundred pounds worth of building tools and clothes on the back.
Its 10.5hp, from a compact OHC single cylinder engine, was good for 70mph on the clock, fuel was around 95mpg and if it was shook about by London roads it only weighed 260lbs, easily kept in line. In the chaos of London traffic there were few better devices and I was often despatched on chores by the foreman as I could cover distances in a fraction of the time of a van.
The open road beckoned one stormy Saturday morning. The A1 all the way up to Leeds, about 200 miles, seemed good enough for the first day's ride. Unfortunately, there was a howling wind coming down the road all the way up, so cold it must've originated in the Arctic Circle. The little Honda was slogging its heart out at 40mph in third gear. A brief, mad run up the A1(M) had me weaving all over the slow lane at 50mph, still in third, with the engine trying to vibrate its way out of the frame.
Even with 13000 miles on the clock when I acquired it, the gearbox was not very precise, although once a gear was clunk-clicked into it didn't try to fall out, but the gap between third and fourth was such to lose a lot of the speed built up in the former gear, especially into a headwind when loaded up with a heavy rider and an excess of tools, clothes and other essential items.
The seat was so uncomfortable that every 30 miles I had to pull over, leap up and down, and let loose with a stream of curses. The bike just sat there ticking over ever reliably, unperturbed by my agony. Stopping so often was useful for warming my hands on top of the engine (don't try this with plastic gloves, unless you want to become one with your motor), and flexing my fingers, which were aching due to the narrow handlebars. Range, of well over 150 miles, was well ahead of the comfort factor.
Progress, then, was a series of frantic revving for about 45 minutes then 15 minutes hopping about. After 90 miles of abuse I was beginning to look for a luxury hotel for rest and recreation. Strong side winds had also knocked the bike around a lot, making us look like an accident waiting for somewhere to happen. Despite working ten hour days on building sites my muscles were given a good working over.
After an hour's stop for lunch I felt ready for the road again and a sudden decrease in the ferocity of the wind made it possible to fly along at 65mph for almost an hour. 150 miles finished then. Just another 50 miles to do before the light faded. No way I wanted to ride on the marginal lights - Honda had cut corners on the electrics. Unfortunately, the gale came back and my tired backside resisted doing more than 20 miles in a go even though the speed was down to a pathetic 30mph!
Fuel had dropped to 80mpg but that was hardly a big expense. Leeds was a welcome sight, although I could've done without the attentions of the widowed landlady who made Dame Edna look like a movie star. Still, any port in a storm.
And what a storm on Sunday. But the wind had changed direction, so it was sail assisted all the way along the A65, which I followed over to Workingham to have dinner with an old mate. The rest of the day was hard work, the A596 and A74 taking me to Glasgow with just the lack of speed and comfort cause for any kind of real complaint.
I didn't feel much like work the next day but had no choice in the matter. The CB100 had developed a top end rattle (with about 15000 miles on the clock) that had peds turning around wondering what was coming down the road. Probably thought it was Dan the Dustbin Man. I rode it around Glasgow, often two-up, like that for a couple of weeks until I was persuaded of the need to hand the bike over to a dealer.
I've read all kinds of horror stories about these chaps but for sixty quid they fitted a new camchain and gave the engine a full service (not difficult). The CB purred into life first kick and never seemed to have run so well before. As it happens, a whole year was spent in Glasgow, working sixty hour weeks and earning loads of dosh. Only the occasional dash into the countryside was experienced, the Honda handling well in the curves but gasping a bit when forced past lines of caravans. The suspension was fine on smooth roads but lacked damping when subjected to a series of bumps but it never came close to frightening the shit out of me. The rest of the time it was used for city work where it, of course, excelled. If town commuting is all you want this bike is more than enough.
Eventually, it was time to head back to England, this time six months in Brum. A long run that had to be done in one day. The silencer took this occasion to finally lose its end. Hell of a racket and an engine that refused to run above 5000 revs. A slow and painful day that ended with 30 miles in the dark, the dim glow from the front light making it difficult to stay on the road.
There were 23000 miles on the clock. That meant it needed a new exhaust system, new caliper and pads, new chain and sprockets, new seat and speedo. The total new cost was more than the bike was worth, so it was visiting Brum breakers in the lunch break and fitting the bits in the evening. Both chrome mudguards were also almost rotted through so they were replaced with plastic stuff. Total renovation cost was about £50. There weren't very many good CB100N's in breakers but quite a few old rats; luckily other, more modern bikes in the Honda range provide bits that can be persuaded on to the bike. It could also have done with a respray but that seemed rather an extravagance for a bike that could easily be mistaken for a fading rat.
I had the dosh to buy something newer and bigger but not the inclination, my biking has always been about cheapness above mere pleasure. Brum traffic was almost as bad as London's with some real psychotic idiots armed and loaded with huge company cars. But the tiny Honda could be shoved through and around them, especially with the renovated front brake that lately had become very dire. It was still an on/off switch in the wet but otherwise could twist the forks, losing speed rapidly and safely. The rear drum worked but didn't inspire.
As the six months in Brum coincided with the winter I only used it for commuting. Even on snow and ice, on Jap tyres, the Honda could be slid quite nicely and if it wobbled on occasion both feet down (the seat was both narrow and low) saved me from a tumble. I'm on the large size, so totally dominate the bike, feel rather perched atop the little thing. Some mates find the sight hilarious but are less derogatory after I've taken them across town in a fraction of the time they would take in a car or on public transport.
After Brum it was back down to London. On that journey I had my first serious crash when some cager knocked me off the A1 into a field. Cheeky blighter, saluted me on his horn as I was thrown off and did a roll around the field. I survived, the Honda had all its levers bent and was covered in mud. I kicked it straight and carried on to London, hoping the cager had been crushed between two artics but I never saw him again. More's the pity!
The rest of the CB's life was in London and it now sports 39000 miles. The camchain has just started to rattle again and the poor old thing doesn't like doing more than 50mph. I never bother locking it, apart from the rat looks and reluctant starting, the gearbox has become so dubious that I doubt if anyone else would get more than a few yards. If I ever get the time I might give it a good going over, I'm sure there's some life still left in the old girl. It's got to be better than selling it off for fifty quid as a rat bike.
John Drew
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I love my Honda CG125. It's ten years and 40,000 miles old yet still gets me back and forth to work every day. Starting's a first or second kick affair as long as I change the spark plug every 3000 miles, when the oil's also done. Being a pushrod single there ain't even a camchain or tensioner to worry about. The two valves are tweaked every 9000 miles.
I keep the bike in nice condition, a clean every week showing up any potential problems before they have a chance to develop. Despite much polishing there was no way I could stop the chrome mudguards from rusting through from the underside. One moment there were a couple of bumps in the rear guard, the next the whole thing, light assembly included, flew off the back and bounced down the road. I was alerted by bits of rotted guard being chewed up by the rear tyre.
Temporarily, I attached the light and numberplate to the large top box I'd deemed necessary for my shopping needs. Any time I went for a long run I had to remove it because above 50mph it caused large wobbles. A result of the box catching the wind and radical redistribution of the mass, working on suspension that could at best be called primitive.
The rear guard went at 25000 miles, or around five years old. I looked at the front, probed the lumps around the fork bracket. It was just about ready to fall off. A great deal of hassle was incurred trying to find plastic replacements because they were very skimpy, the OE items giving good protection from the rain. A pair of mudflaps were needed to make up for the lack of length in the replacements. Pretty pathetic but at least I cured the rust problem.
I mentioned that the suspension was primitive. That was when it was new, barely able to cope with rotted roads so beloved of our councils who much prefer to spend money on workshops for lesbians. At least the bike was light, low and narrow, allowing the same kind of control as with a pushbike. As the suspension wore the lack of damping became too much for me, it was like being on board a pogo-stick, leaping out of control from bump to bump. I don't know how they get away with fitting such crap, worse than the stuff the British factories churned out in the fifties. A couple of washers in the forks and some gearbox oil sorted out the front end and an ancient pair of Girlings transformed the rear.
If the suspension gave me a hard time, the tyres, Jap crap, almost killed me. I went back to the dealer demanding free replacements, reckoning that they slid so much in the wet that they were not fit for the purpose they'd been sold for. The dealer was outraged at this suggestion but after a shouting match that would've done Millwall supporters proud in the intensity of its potential violence he agreed to fit a pair of cheap Pirelli's at trade prices. Along with the modded suspension the whole feel of the bike was transformed; unknown angles of lean were experienced with a feeling of safety rather than wondering how soon I was going to fall off. Tyres last over 15000 miles, maybe even 20 thou if I was riding mildly.
The drum brakes needed firm action but matched the speed of the bike well, and didn't play any nasty games in the wet. Shoes lasted for so long I've only gone through two sets so far. I had a spate of breaking front cables, must've been a bad batch because I finally found a good 'un which has lasted for over 10,000 miles.
There was no easy way to fix the front light, though. The whole electrical system gave the impression of being highly marginal, never more so than in the amount of illumination provided by the pathetic front light. In the winter it's impossible to avoid riding in the dark - at times, doing the overtime to excess, I rode down a stretch of deserted road twice a day. What a performance! The slight yellow glow a few yards in front of the bike, which represented main beam, was good for no more than 15mph, which was deemed far too slow. I ran along at 35 to 40mph, eyes out on stalks, hand on brake lever for the times when I ran off the road. Eventually, the contours of the road were blasted into my brain by trial and error, and I could shoot along at 50mph!
I tried a halogen bulb but that blew first time out and using a higher wattage bulb just drained the battery, the overworked alternator unable to keep up. There were also problems with the indicator control box which failed three times and a battery was need every year. I'd give the electrics one out of ten except that the ignition side was without fault.
During the daily commute, a round trip of ten miles, lights apart, the Honda was perfectly suited to the mixture of choked up traffic and country lanes, albeit after I fixed the tyres and suspension. I can't remember an occasion when I broke down or even when the engine just stalled. It was so easy to ride and control that I didn't really have to think about it. Expect about 110mpg under these conditions.
Main road work, with speeds up to 70mph, strained the CG a bit, although it was no great problem for ten to fifteen minutes at a time. The riding position was upright, relaxed and comfortable for about an hour. The only area where it was let down was when the motor was held flat out. The vibration seemed out of all proportion to its size, much more intense than on, say, a CD175 which I'd owned prior to the CG (another marvellous bike which did 78000 miles before dying). An hour in the saddle numbed both feet and hands.
The answer was easy enough, ride slower, 50 to 60mph being very relaxed with only the slightest of buzzes. Even though the motor's still on the original engine components, the vibes have become no more intense and performance is just as good (or bad). 50 to 60mph on fast dual carriageways and motorways that aren't posing as car parks is bad news, leaving me feeling very vulnerable (lorries seem to love sitting an inch under my numberplate). I try to avoid such roads on the CG but don't always succeed.
One time, I was straining at the leash at 60mph when the back end went into some large weaves. I pulled over to the hard shoulder, shook the back wheel...loose wheel bearings. Ten miles on the hard shoulder and another five on normal roads. The bike was falling into corners so violently that I had to put a boot down each time. That was at 29,000 miles, so I replaced every bearing in the chassis to make sure I wasn't caught out again. The bike felt so bad that I thought the effort was well worthwhile.
I've just replaced a whole exhaust system with Honda OE, which might be a record, even if it spent the past four years rusted through. The rust on the wheels rims appears implacable and some coughing from the engine makes me suspect that the petrol tank's about to corrode through. All that adds up to time to buy a new bike but the lastest CG's too expensive and I've heard rumours about its Brazil-built quality. I fancy an electric start GS125 Suzuki, which looks a bit more sophisticated.
Still, there's something about my particular CG that fills me full of admiration and, yes, love. It's just large enough to make it as a proper motorcycle and its lines are, dare I say it, almost classic. I always have this great feeling when I start her up first kick in the depths of winter. The exhaust sounds strong, not like many wet-fart commuters, and the skill needed to execute a clear gearchange (the box's bad from new, wear doesn't make it much worse) would send even most BMW boxer owners' to the psychiatric ward. I'd probably find a perfect motorcycle very boring, there's something about carrying on against the odds that appeals.
T.L.
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People scorn the C90's staid looks, glacial performance and pogo-stick handling but no-one doubts that the little step-thru is reliable. Strange, then, that mine gave so much trouble.
I bought the bike, a D reg, 1986 model, for £499 from a dealer. It had just been serviced and MOT'd, sported a new clutch, exhaust and seat. My 70 mile ride home pushed the odometer up past 14000 miles. The very next day I began using the C90 to take me to and from work, a round trip of 30 miles.
The Honda's trademark semi-automatic gearchange took a few days to master. Up-shifts were sometimes impossible until I learnt not to let the revs drop too much before depressing the foot lever. It seemed a bit involved on such a utilitarian machine, but I am sure the problems were caused by the stiff new clutch. After a few thousand miles, the C90 could shift ratios whatever the revs. (Honda's "clutchless" gearbox comes with the option of a clutch lever in other countries but costs more! - Ed).
In normal circumstances, the Honda's top speed was a disappointing 48mph, so there was no hope of keeping up with the traffic on derestricted roads. I soon got used to riding in the gutter. Strangely, the C90 seemed to find extra reserves of speed on dual carriageways and could hold 50mph or even more. Perhaps the cumulative slipstream created by other vehicles sucked it along. Once, with a strong tail wind, I managed to get the speedometer needle right off the 62mph clock.
The Honda's front brake was so pathetic that any more speed would have been inadvisable. The real limiting factor was the design of the front forks, which actually rise under braking. But the rear drum was fine and engine braking so strong that the tyre would chirp if the throttle wasn't blipped on downchanges.
The C90's handling was adequate for a novice like me. The large wheels gave good stability at low speeds but, thanks to its crude suspension, the Honda didn't like mid-corner bumps and would try to throw me off if I attempted a bumpy country lane at speed.
Only once did the C90 frighten me, and that when I had owned it for less than two weeks. I was powering out of a ninety degree left-hander on my way to work when without warning the back end stepped out. I instinctively steered into the skid but that left me on the wrong side of the road with a large Merc hurtling towards me. I saw its driver brake and steer for the hedge.
I frantically wrestled with the bars and, with an almighty wobble, the C90 made it back over the white lines. I pulled over, my hands literally shaking, and investigated... the back tyre was nearly flat. I rode it at 15mph to the nearest garage and had some air put in it before continuing my journey.
A dealer in the town where I work put in a new inner-tube during the day. The whole incident was seriously frightening for a newcomer to motorcycling. As a Christian, I trust God about safety and I certainly gave thanks that day.
The C90 ran well through the summer and early autumn. Its choke cable once jammed on, but this was hardly difficult to fix. And, although the Honda's performance was so limited, there were two occasions when it came close to turning into a literal ball of fire.
The first was entirely my fault. I forgot to replace the filler cap after refuelling and ended up riding 30 miles with the petrol sloshing over the hot crankcases. When I got back to the filling station the next day, I found that the cap had been run over by a car. A replacement from a breaker cost £1.
Not long after, petrol began to leak out whenever the fuel tap was on, unless the engine was being revved. I found that a screw had fallen out of the carb, allowing it to pivot on its remaining fixing and send a stream of petrol over the engine.
I needed the bike the next day and the chances of my having an identical screw were small. Then inspiration struck me. I shone a torch on the cylinder head, which is almost horizontal...sure enough, the original screw was nestling between two cooling fins. I popped it back in and the problem never recurred.
At the end of September, I began attending evening classes at a distant college. This meant that I was doing 1000 miles a month, most of them flat out. Covering such large distances on a C90 required patience but the Honda was surprisingly comfortable. Its seat was well padded and vibration was noticeable only at extreme revs, when the mirrors would actually go out of adjustment. Very useful!
I continued to use the bike hard through winter, the coldest in living memory. The leg-shields gave welcome protection to my lower body and proved surprisingly tough when I fell off on black ice at 5mph. Much of my riding was done on unlit roads where the C90's headlamp proved to be better than expected. The Honda even made a fairly good snow-mobile. It was great fun to sail past stuck cars on ice covered hills.
But all this use began to take its toll. By 20,000 miles the C90 was losing oil - through its breather pipe - so fast that I was in danger of single-handedly causing an energy crisis. Since it would empty its sump in a week I gave up doing 1000 mile oil changes and treated the bike as a two-stroke. Inevitably, it ran dry a few times. This seemed to do no harm.
But there was a worse problem. As winter approached, the C90 had begun to display the first signs of a fault which would almost drive me to distraction. On frequent occasions, it would make a stuttering noise on the overrun; when revs dropped to idling speed the engine cut out completely. At least it was easy to restart.
On a really bad days, the C90 would misfire the whole time and proceed along the road in a series of kangaroo hops. At certain revs, the motor would go completely dead. If I carried on riding, the misfire would eventually go away. Sometimes it could be cured by pulling over and switching off for a couple of minutes.
A mechanic cleaned out the carb and fitted a new spark plug. I thought this had banished the problem but, after a few days, it was back. So I had the dubious looking rubber plug cap replaced with an NGK item. This made no difference and neither did a new plug lead.
The really infuriating thing was that the misfire was intermittent. The C90 ran perfectly whenever my mechanic was anywhere near it. However, the symptoms often struck at the same point of my journey to work, about ten miles from home. Both factors suggested an electrical fault.
My mechanic reckoned the HT coil was the source of the problem and replaced it with an £18 used one. The very next time I used the bike, the misfire returned. My mechanic admitted defeat. By now I was getting desperate. I had booked my test and it was less than a month away. If the C90 played up on the day, I knew that the examiner would either abort the test or fail me.
Although the misfire occurred in both wet and dry weather, I took to carrying a can of WD40 and spraying the plug cap whenever it hit. I also tried fitting a hotter grade plug and even running on leaded fuel, but to no avail. Cleaning the breather hole on the fuel cap didn't help.
On the test day I was so tense that my movements were clumsy and uncoordinated. I could barely hear the directions which were being shouted through the radio... luckily the Honda ran perfectly and I passed the test!
Flushed with success, I threw caution to the wind, ignored the UMG's warnings and paid top money for a knackered Honda RS250 from a dodgy back street dealer. Its engine seized solid after 135 miles. I got most of my money back but in the meantime it was back to the C90 for a few thousand miles.
I never did find the cause of the misfire. As the weather became warmer, it simply struck less and less frequently; finally disappeared. When I eventually sold the C90, at 24,126 miles, I told the buyer about its faults but she was still happy to hand over £325.
If I hadn't spent so much on oil and the misfire, the Honda would have been very cheap to run. It needed two rear tyres and one front tyre during my eleven months and 10,000 miles of ownership. The valve clearances were checked once - they needed no adjustment - and the front suspension seized up and was repaired just before the sale.
You can forgive a bike a lot when it gets you through your test first time, and I would have been quite sad to see the C90 go, had I not just bought a Morini 350!
John Young
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