I bought my 1970 CB250K1 for £50 three years ago from a Brit bike owning mate who needed the space. Said mate could vouch for the claimed top speed of 100mph, unfortunately he'd destroyed two camshafts. The first in active service, which had seized in its bearings and the second by the simple expedient of whacking the points' cam neatly off with a hammer. It's not difficult, be warned.
The camshaft in these bikes runs directly in plain alloy end caps and a good supply of oil is essential to avoid intimate relations between bearing surfaces. This intolerance of inadequate oil supply constitutes the Achilles heel of the type; one which Honda chose to perpetuate through to the G5 and CJ models. Cynics could accuse the Big H of being on to a nice little earner with this one, but I'll be charitable.
I needed a camshaft. Another mate, known locally for a certain erratic genius with motorcycles and a more consistent lack of mechanical sympathy, just happened to have a K3 motor for sale, which is basically the same but shares with the K4 a milder camshaft and less performance. This had powered a low mileage and tidy K3 which he'd rescued from a cellar, but he'd soon had to replace one piston and both sets of rings. Unfortunately, both oil rings broke during fitting so he continued without them. The engine smoked horrendously but ran - for a while.
Eventually, it choked to death on its own lubricant and was replaced by a G5 motor. I bought the K3 motor for £10 and was intrigued to find that the replacement piston was a +50 CB200 item which just happened to be handy at the time. Standard CB250 bore is 56mm, that of the CB200 55.5.....gudgeon pin size is identical so there's no hassle except for piston skirt to con-rod clearance which requires a file taken to the piston. Crown shape is different and will lower compression ratio, but there's no risk of valves clouting anything.
With the K3 camshaft my motor was rebuilt and ran well enough, so the Honda was bullied through its MOT, like a pig to the slaughter. It hit the road resplendent in its original blue and white. These bikes have an almost Norton look about them, a sort of Atlas or Dommie in miniature, which I suspect is more than purely coincidental.
The previous owner had removed its tank badges and painted it black in a half hearted attempt to conceal its shameful origins. With a straight handlebar fitted and its black and white number plate, plus a lack of indicators, it's easy enough to be fooled at a glance. It must have looked quite sporty in 1970, what with weight saving dummy spoke holes on its hub flanges, but nowadays it's as passe as a bath chair.
Riding the bike, however, affirms that it's very definitely Japanese, for though certainly having more torque than, say, a GSX250, rapid progress depends on big handfuls of throttle through the gears. Redlined at 10500rpm but with useful power much lower, it's easy to keep on the boil, unlike a GSX250 I borrowed a few years back which could be caught out on steep hills and on which was a more clearly defined power band keeping the needle close to the redline. Where, it must be asked, was the benefit of DOHCs and eight valves?
Handling I'd rate as good in as much as I never noticed it, though the short bar on mine means more rider effort on any given corner. Here, I'd rate the GSX better but I'm not complaining. Oh, except that when I take my hands off the bars vicious head shaking occurs. This may be typical, I don't know, but there used to be a friction steering damper on mine before someone removed it.
Braking is adequate with a TLS drum up front and a SLS rear, though there are hairline cracks in the bracing inside the front hub. They don't seem to get any worse, but it's not conducive to peace of mind. Cheap IRC tyres are perfectly adequate for a bike of its size and relatively modest power. I'd happily fit anything, anyway, though I always felt uneasy about the rear Speedmaster I once used.
An early problem occurred with the alternator, which burned out. Replacing that and the regulator made sure all was fine there. The carbs have given problems, mostly due to age. Both brass floats almost immediately filled with petrol when I started the motor. These have soldered joints which I suspect had perished while the bike was not in use. The right-hand carb used to flood intermittently, traced to uneven float needle wear, whereupon needle and seat were replaced from a spare carb, only for petrol to escape past the aged O-ring seal round the seat.
The left-hand carb refused to work at low revs. The bike would drag its heels up to about 6000rpm before settling down as both cylinders began to run properly. The problem actually corrected itself briefly last year only to return a few days later. Using reserve position on the tank helped, as did having a full tank of petrol, though I could find no blockage in the fuel feed.
Properly assembled, the engine's sturdy enough provided the oil level's checked. I've seized mine twice but I'll admit negligence. Originally I built the engine using the old gaskets and it leaked somewhat but I was happy to wipe it clean every so often and top up with oil. Returning to Harrogate after a visit to Peterborough, I decided to deviate via the Peak District. Mindful of the oil leaks I was stopping every so often to let the bike cool down, then topping up the oil. I did this last at Glossop, intending to stop again at Huddersfield.
Ascending Saddleworth Moor I could swear the oil was visibly pumping out over the engine, but decided it looked worse than it actually was. I didn't stop in Huddersfield. Or Leeds. By now there was hot oil smoking on the engine and people were gawping at the bike. I decided to take it easy for the last 16 miles, but with only a few miles to go the bike seemed okay and I stopped worrying. As I approached the last hill into Harrogate I grabbed a big handful of throttle. This was the moment the bike exacted its revenge. A sudden loss of power and attendant funny noises told me the game was up. Half a mile from home I had a seized bike and nearly a litre of fresh oil.
The left piston had nipped up and broken rings had textured the cylinder head. I fitted a spare barrel and a pair of oversize CB200 pistons and was back on the road. About a year later the camshaft seized miles from anywhere. I'd got sloppy again and hadn't checked the oil for quite a while despite the fact that one bore was scored and it was using quite bit. I was lucky to get a camshaft from a terminally corroded K2, after which I became more careful.
Recently, I treated it to a pair of proper pistons, ground in the valves and used a set of new gaskets for the rebuild. It keeps its oil now. With the K series long gone and Classic Racing types scouring the country for bits for their CB350s, I might not be so lucky if it happens again.
In summary, then, I'd rate the CB250K a sound machine in most departments. These days, it's pretty low tech and simple to work on, and doesn't cost the earth to run. The engine should be happy enough if regular oil changes are observed - given that these models are well out of the mainstream now, it's probable that the average owner will be an enthusiast to whom, regular maintenance is part of the fun.
I'm thinking about a 350 engine for mine, alloy rims, racing fairing and seat, clip-ons, rear-sets, etc.......but whatever happens I'm keeping it.
Rod Smith
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I had enough trouble finding the money for petrol, so when an uncle offered me his old Honda for free it seemed almost too good to be true. After the Neval this was, at last, the real thing, even if it was only a Honda CB250G5.
The rear tyre was bald, the chrome was mostly missing, the chain was shot to pieces and there was no MOT. Some appeasement made to the critical eye of the MOT tester, the bike was ready for its first ride to the MOT station.
You never forget your first bit of real acceleration and throwing caution and the relevant cliches to the wind, I went through the whole eyeball popping, shoulder wrenching rigmarole before noticing that the speedo was pointing at the ninety mark and the deserted bit of road was fast becoming a crowded bit of junction.
I immediately employed the braking techniques learnt on the Neval, namely grab/stamp on both brakes as hard as possible, running various accident scenarios through your head whilst waiting for your trusty steed to come to a halt. This kind of tactic is not recommended on a wet surface with a front disc and rear drum that actually work! The resultant locking of both wheels was both inevitable and unexpected. Miraculously, I didn't drop it and after waiting for my pulse to slow to twice its normal speed, I carried on with a new found respect for motorcycle brakes.
The MOT was a complete farce. All they did was test the lights and brakes. The next few weeks were spent hurtling to and from college at increasingly demented velocities. Subject to this kind of abuse, the bike coped better than you could expect from any 12 year old machine. It always started 1st or 15th kick and warmed up in no time. The choke could be turned off before moving away, which was just as well as it was carb mounted and difficult to reach once under motion. The back end was reasonable, thanks to a set of Koni shocks.
The forks dived quicker than a torpedoed U-boat, probably thanks to the huge full fairing which had been skilfully transplanted from a 750 with no more than a bit of welding, an old pram frame and a gung ho outlook.
The handling defects this created were mostly compensated by the excellent weather protection it afforded. In all but the worst downpour it kept me bone dry - unfortunately, being short in stature I was unable to see over the top of the screen, so in the rain I had to clamber over the front end to wipe it clear, which, on reflection, could have done little to aid high speed stability.
My uncle had owned the bike from new and had the head removed at 25000 miles to check on the state of the camshaft and its bearings (which were part of the cylinder head), an area of self destruction for which the G5 was notorious. Fortunately, this one was okay and remained free of problems for the 30,000 miles I did after getting the bike with 40,000 miles on the clock. Other engine problems were a different matter, but I get ahead of myself here...
Eager to try out my new steed's touring ability I arranged to take a friend for a run down to the coast. He had never been on the back of a bike before, so much amusement was had trying to make him understand that he was supposed to lean the same way as the bike.....despite this we made it there and I proudly parked my machine amongst a gaggle of racer clones, much to their owner's annoyance.
On the way back along the M18, my friend expressed a desire to go over the Humber Bridge. I obliged and have to admit to being impressed by its sheer size, but was not impressed by the fact that there was only one toll booth open. I still cringe when I think of the size of the tailback we caused whilst I searched for some coinage. I had to perform a drastically rapid take off to avoid being flattened by the irate box owners behind.
Shortly afterwards we left the motorway and headed back to Doncaster. It was at this point I noticed a strange knocking noise coming from the motor. I had just decided to stop to get a proper earful when the knocking noise was drowned out by the screams from the passenger as the rear wheel locked solid.
By then I had got the hang of riding moving vehicles with stationary wheels and I was able to slew gracefully to a halt, leaving a thick black line to mark several quids worth of sudden tyre depreciation.
A seized camchain and missing tappet bolt did not exactly inspire optimism once the cylinder head cover had been removed. Nor did the need to jump from the garage rafters on to a tyre lever wedged between cylinder and head to remove the latter. Having succeeded in reducing the engine to a heap of scattered pieces and knackered screws, the next problem was getting the new bits - one tappet bolt and damaged lower camchain sprocket. The local dealer was almost in hysterics when I enquired of the chances of obtaining them. Thank god for the breaker.
Working in groups of three and alternating every 100 kicks, eventually persuaded the rebuilt motor to resume fruitful life. Much to everyone's shock it went just as well as before. Performance was fairly normal for a four stroke OHC twin, around 90mph and 60mpg.
Breakdowns came and went. Minor stuff like broken wires and knackered batteries caused by old age. I went everywhere on the bike and revelled in the personal freedom gained. I terrorised most of Yorkshire with a combination of crash and burn riding tactics and silencers that didn't live up their name.
Long distances could be covered without terminal bum ache and I went on long trips with nothing more than a map stuck down my jacket and a determined look on my face. I had got the handling so well sussed that I could overtake much larger machines on the outside in tight corners, much to my amusement and their annoyance - admittedly the Honda was going up and down and sideways at the same time!
The nearest miss of all time came one summer when I was once again heading for the coast with a mate on the back. I was in the process of overtaking a large truck when suddenly a large black bin bag with nothing better to do came flying out of nowhere and hit me square on the visor, completely blinding me.
Bearing in mind that we were still bowling along at a fair speed in close proximity to a truck, I judged this a suitable point at which to break out in extreme and utter panic. Fortunately, the pillion had a strong sense of self preservation and tore off the offending bag just in time for me to note that the road took a sharp right turn immediately ahead.
I don't know what the odds are of a heavily laden, well worn out Honda 250 making it around a 30mph bend at 60mph with the brakes full on but I reckon I used up my life's supply of luck several times over. Afterwards I found scrape marks on the engine cases!
Having thus used up my luck I was not greatly surprised when the gearbox decided not to change out of sixth on the way home. After much necessary abuse of the clutch, it thereafter slipped whenever revs were high. The gear lever had stripped its splines and after much pondering was fixed by angle grinding a flat edge on the shaft and a slot in the lever, thus allowing a metal peg to be whacked in with a hammer.
Next came the greatest horror of all, the tappet fell off again. I couldn't face the idea of another engine strip, so I had the great idea of turning the bike upside down in the hope that the bolt might fall out. We tied a winch around the garage roof, wrapped it around the frame and cranked the bike off the ground. When it was about four feet off the floor we all grabbed hold of it, spun it upside down and shook it with great gusto.
It didn't work and the motor had to be stripped. It was soon back on the road but I was so pissed off that at the slightest excuse I was going to throw it in the river! Remarkably, it didn't give me the chance and ran along for another 10,000 miles. However, every dog has its day and the Honda's came when the compression disappeared to the extent that it refused to start unless hurtled down a steep hill. I sold it for £50 as a field bike and was more than a little saddened to see it go.
Chriz Gorman
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The Honda ground to a halt. The dying engine sounded like a lack of fuel. I knew that it could just as easily be the ignition. I hit the horn, a violent blare out of all proportion to the Honda's age and size. Off some truck, I think. I couldn't use it for more than a few seconds. Drained the battery dead. The noise was enough to get me through the cars. Pulled the bike up on to the pavement.
The heat pouring off the engine threatened to melt my plastic gloves from a foot away. A certain laconic attitude was useful. I dreamt big dreams for fifteen minutes. Leered at a few passing frails. Gave the Honda a kick. The electric boot was in a thousand pieces in my house. A plate covering its mounting hole.
The motor made some noises. Another kick. Blat, blat, blat. Beautiful. The sky was suddenly obscured by about two thousand sea-gulls. Their idyll shattered by the robust roar out of the home-made 2-1. Whenever the Honda became too hot from town riding it conked out. Some ignition components overheating or the ancient points distorting.
The CB was easily bodged. Bits from whatever was cheapest in the breakers employed. Hence a Honda Benly drum brake front wheel. The dreadful G5 disc had long refused to function. I cracked the caliper trying to fix it. A drum in good condition was better than a worn out disc. I felt relieved that the Honda wouldn't do more than 80mph!
All kind of stories go the rounds with regard to the motor. Its biggest fault was poor oil supply to the camshaft bearings. These are part of the cylinder head. When they wear it's big expense time. Mine had already been sleeved. I changed the oil every 1000 miles and let the engine warm up slowly. That achieved a good, clean supply of lubricant to the top end.
The engine was otherwise tough. It wasn't powerful. Felt like a 250 Superdream with 20% less power! At around 400lbs there was a lot of mass to push through the air. Acceleration was sluggish but able to keep ahead of the more mundane cars up to 60mph. The gearbox was enigmatic. Some days it worked well, others it'd fall out of gears and make clanging noises. Microscopic adjustments of the chain helped! Old Honda gearboxes are full of such delights but they rarely fail terminally.
I found fourth the safest gear; with a bit of clutch slip it'd run down to 15mph. Fifth and sixth were too tall for the aged engine to rev out. They would give a relaxing ride at 70mph until the gears fell out of engagement. I was always a bit worried when the tacho needle bounced against its stop! The throttle mechanism was so vague there was a discernible delay between backing off and the revs dying down. The cable was an unlikely (and expensive) combination of components. It gave me the excuse I needed to ignore the carb balancing chores.
The clutch cable was even more fun. Had a life of 2000 to 5000 miles, snapping at the engine end. Many were the times I was left stranded miles from home. The gearbox went into a self-destruct routine sans clutch. Had to put the box into second, run alongside and leap on board. Riding home at 12000 revs and 30mph caused chaos. The noise blew my eardrums and left a trail of shattered windows and barking dogs. People looked up expecting an earth moving sized vehicle. When they realised it was just a scruffy biker they shook their fists in anger. Usually, I dawdled through town in fourth on minimal revs.
The other trick the bike held in readiness to ruin my day was spewing fuel out of the carb bowls. The carb floats needed weekly attention. I didn't realise what was happening until the engine cut out on to one cylinder. By then the petrol was streaming off the engine cases. All it would've taken was for a civilian to throw a fag end at the engine. Whoosh!
Also, reserve didn't work, leaving me to guess when the fuel was going to run out. Economy was very variable, 30 to 60mpg. I couldn't pin this down to any particular riding style. Probably the way the carbs leaked fuel. I tended to fill the petrol tank up every 75 miles.
Most of my riding was the commute to work and back again. Stern retribution was handed out to anyone who arrived late. I always allowed an extra fifteen minutes to deal with problems. Sometimes it'd refuse to start unless jump leads from the neighbour's ancient Austin were attached. Perhaps the vehicles were have a technological love affair! Other times it'd just conk out for no logical reason. I'd end up pushing the reluctant road warrior into work. Swearing all the way that I was going to get shot of the old heap. For the next week or two it'd run perfectly! I'd forget the angst until the next breakdown. When the whole cycle would be repeated.
It never seemed awful enough to pull the whole thing apart. I never knew what might turn up. This is a rather silly way to behave with a nigh on twenty year old Japanese motorcycle that wasn't built to the best standards even when brand, spanking new. I came to this conclusion when the handling went really weird.
Compared to many Jap commuters the G5 handles okay. It's thrown all over the place by potholes. Fast curves cause the swinging arm to waggle and the forks to waver. High speeds (alright, 80mph seems damn fast on this kind of plot) are usefully aided by the handiness of a sick bucket. But it's not a vicious bike. Not retributive like some. You can get away with a certain amount of silliness. A moment's inattention or the odd daydream aren't going to kill you.
Or it didn't until no less than 73500 miles rolled up. I kid you not, the G5 has survived that kind of abuse. Survival was foremost in my mind when the thing went into a killer speed wobble at 45mph. Speed wobble? It felt like the chassis was cracking up This was because the frame was indeed falling apart. Massive effort on both drum brakes whilst wrestling with the bars got speed down to 25mph. Then we skidded off the road.
Judging by the huge holes torn out of the earth a bloody great plane had crashed there. Luckily, earth is relatively soft. I was bruised and incoherent with rage. The Honda was sinking into a ditch. I was tempted to leave it there but didn't feel like walking ten miles home. Pulled the bastard out, fuelled by rage and desperation. I wish I hadn't bothered!
Rust had eaten through the right-hand shock mounting, causing its stud to shear off. The remaining shock was able to support the bike. Seemed obvious, then, that I should ride home at 5mph, sitting on the petrol tank to distribute my mass forward. If I knew what I know now I wouldn't have bothered. As well as being stopped six times by suddenly vigilant cops, I ended up with a nasty case of piles! I don't know about walking I could hardly get out of bed the next day.
After tearing off reluctant cycle parts I was able to examine the patina of rust on the frame. There was a lot around the battery and under the tank. The other stud looked like it was halfway to oblivion. I hired some welding gear and got a book from the library. Practised on some old bits of metal until I stopped burning the scrap to a cinder. In for a penny in for a pound, thought I, adding some massive bracing around the headstock, swinging arm and shock studs.
The suspension was so worn that I didn't notice any difference in the handling but I felt a lot more reassured. The G5 is still running and in constant use but I also bought a CB250K4 (for fifty quid) which seems even better. I had a lot of trouble persuading the motor into life. The carb diaphragms had rotted but some car items were cut down to fit. Braking, handling and acceleration are superior to the G5. I'm now keen to buy other Honda 250 twins. I could become fanatical about it if I had any spare dosh!
The G5 is dismissed, laughed at and the bane of more jokes than even the venerable MZ 250. That's okay, it keeps the classic mob away and the prices down. At fifty to a hundred quid a time they make a lot of sense. Anyone who pays more is quite mad and should be locked up!
Dave Collingworth
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Japanese classic, worth its weight in gold, the owner reckoned. It didn't look much to me but nicely done out in blue and white. New exhaust, chrome guards and chainguard, fresh paint and polished engine covers. The engine was stock, the clock read an amazingly low 4000 miles. £3000! You've got to laugh at these people. I had a quick spin, wasn't impressed. Rough running, vibration and not a lot of performance.
The guy kept advertising the bike for the next few months. The price coming down to £1250. Meanwhile, I was getting a bit desperate for wheels. I phoned him up and offered a grand. He was around to my house on the bike before I'd put the phone down. Or it seemed like that.
After fixing the insurance, I tried to start the bike. The electric foot drained the battery after a couple of minutes. Much work on the kickstart had the motor spluttering and backfiring, needing much juggling of the choke to stop it cutting out. The bike stalled dead when I tried to ride off. More kickstarting. Nothing!
A new set of spark plugs were fitted. It looks like a simple job, just pop the old ones out but it's dead easy to cross-thread them, and tightening them down I felt that if I applied too much force they'd wreck their threads. Crap plastic HT caps didn't inspire but I gave her a few more kicks and it was boom-boom time. The old plugs were too white for comfort, like the old hack was sucking in gobfuls of excess air.
A quick blip around the block revealed an excess of vibration - should my feet be tap-dancing like that on the pegs? - and a reluctance to rev beyond six grand, where I suspected all the power was hidden. Even when the gear lever turned up more false neutrals than gears the engine still wouldn't rev high.
I sorted through my old spares, found a pair of coils and HT leads off, I think, a CB550. They fitted straight on. Immediately, the engine had a more urgent feel. The vibes were still there but it'd now go up to nine grand before having a fit of the stutters. It still wasn't right, though, felt like something was tearing itself apart inside the engine.
Tickover varied between 1500 and 2500 revs, so I reckoned maybe the carbs were out. There was definitely more exhaust pressure on the right than the left, as felt by sticking my hands close to the end of the silencers. About as scientific as I get. The carbs proved impossible to balance so I pulled them off after a fight with the airfilter and induction manifolds (old rubber gone hard, therefore brittle and easy to crack, so take care!).
The left hand carb was bodged with jets out of a tractor by the size of them. Cracks in the casing filled with what looked like Araldite. The diaphragm repaired with Superglue. It became evident that I'd bought a bike given a cosmetic going over whilst the rest of it was bodged as cheaply as possible where necessary. Now what to do?
I contemplated modifying a Triumph manifold so I could run the Honda on a single carb. Too much trouble. Buy the proper jets and sleeve the holes drilled in the carb? Maybe. Find a secondhand carb? More like it. I have a wide circle of motorcycle buddies and a telephone. Four hours later I'd tracked down a possibility. Had a K1 slung to the back of his garage after he'd seized it in the early eighties.
Whatever the faults of British bikes, they can't compare with the rate at which Jap's rot. When we finally excavated the Honda, it was a pathetic sight. Even the wheel rims had rusted through. All kind of curious creatures had made a home in the crevices of the chassis. But there were two carbs covered in white crud that I could have for nowt if I dumped the rest of the thing in the canal for him. I took the bike home with me, split the crankcases and found a lot engine components still in good nick, saved by the sump full of oil!
Out of all the carb bits I managed to salvage one, albeit with a the Superglued diaphragm. Right, let's see what the bike will do. 11000 revs, a massive lowering of the vibration levels and a ton on the clock along deserted Fen roads. This was more like it! Acceleration from 7000 revs on was almost blistering. Admittedly, the higher revs were accompanied by a grinding vibration that ran right though the machine. The tank threatening to split asunder, the pegs fall off and my eyesight faltered. All part of its sixties character, I told myself.
The next thing to check was the points. These looked different to the ones in the manual, Halford's specials probably, judging by the crude filing work to get them to fit. I paid twenty quid for a new set plus a condenser and some new wires as a lot of the wiring looked a bit frazzled. An afternoon's merry making had the thing sorted.
Made no difference to the acceleration or vibration but the nice fat blue spark meant it'd come to life first press of the button rather than twenty kicks. These days, this era of Honda twins need the ignition circuit in top order, otherwise all kinds of minor and major electrical horrors turn up. If it hasn't been done already, fit new components and wiring!
About 2400 miles later, the performance disappeared. I was rattling along at 80mph at the time. The top end went rat-tat-tat then the rev counter swung down towards zero and the only noise was the tyres whizzing away plus the chain flapping in the wind. The AA took me home.
One of the exhaust valves had dropped, whacking the piston which then broke up and lacerated the bore. No idea of the real engine mileage but judging by the totally shagged gearbox it was pretty high. One used piston, barrels and valve later, the engine was reassembled and ready for the road again.
Or not! The engine rattled and knocked, heavy exhaust fumes, lots of leaking oil and about the same performance as a restricted 125. I put the oil ring on upside down. Silly boy. Still, I rode around quite happily for a couple of weeks until I tired of being chased by the plod and shouted at by the ped's.
After fixing the oil ring, performance still wasn't much cop but it was sufficient for running around town and the odd outing into the countryside. It stayed that way for another 2000 miles when the gearbox offered only the choice of second and fifth!
This required 11000 revs in second, which after fumbling with the gearbox and keeping the throttle to the stop, equated to five grand in fifth. The bike went forward in a series of jerks. Yep, the cush-drive was breaking up under the abuse. By then I didn't give a damn. There was nothing about the bike than inspired other than its cute classic looks. Handling and braking were barely adequate whilst the performance was going off with each extra day it was run on the road.
In the end, the engine blew up when rather than hitting on fifth (click, click, click...) the thing got stuck in a false neutral, the revs climbing off the clock and the engine trying to pile-drive its way out of the frame. A rather large bang and deathly silence followed.
The AA came to the rescue again. I didn't want to know any more. Just too much hassle for too little kicks. They might've been hot in their day but now they are too worn out and finicky. And if you use all the 30 horses then the engine blows up. If you don't there ain't much point in buying one, as it's pretty mediocre at low revs.
I got nine months riding out of mine. A lot of it was fun but even the chassis was going down fast, with rust poking out from under the new chrome and paint! Okay, the bike had been cheaply renovated in the search of an easy profit. But most of the owners I talked to were a bit pissed with all the hassle involved. Mine was chucked in the canal in a fitting tribute to the engineering of old Jap's.
James Golding
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People love to hate the Honda Superdream, but I've always been a fan of the breed - cheap and cheerful but also just fast enough to be useful out of town. So when a newish Honda Two-Fifty turned up at a bargain price locally I could hardly wait to break into my piggybank. There was never much wrong with the appearance of the old CB250N, I liked the very mild custom shape of the new 250 even more. The twin cylinder engine still lacked the brutish lines so beloved of ancient Brits but it was a neat compromise between street cred and practicality.
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People love to hate the Honda Superdream, but I've always been a fan of the breed - cheap and cheerful but also just fast enough to be useful out of town. So when a newish Honda Two-Fifty turned up at a bargain price locally I could hardly wait to break into my piggybank. There was never much wrong with the appearance of the old CB250N, I liked the very mild custom shape of the new 250 even more. The twin cylinder engine still lacked the brutish lines so beloved of ancient Brits but it was a neat compromise between street cred and practicality.
The engine had only a single carb and about 20 horses to play with. 20hp from 250cc? Pretty pathetic for 1993 but this was the recession and those nice men at Honda were evidently going for the money-wise, for once. Low seat height, compact riding position with bars a little on the high and wide side for my taste but very comfy during my first roar around town. There was a bit more power at low revs than on the rather gutless old CB250N but the same whirring noise as the balancers set to absorbing the vibes. A few hard core throttle roll-ons revealed not much in the way of arm wrenching acceleration.......but the speedo would flick around to 75mph without much hesitation.
The single front disc didn't appear to work the first time I grabbed the lever. Before I had time to drop a load, some braking was found by straining my right hand. Whilst the brake wasn't very strong it was quite sensitive, so in the wet was relatively safe. Given that many a 125 graduate will be seen roaring around on these devices, it's probably slightly better than having some hugely powerful twin disc set-up that just needs the slightest finger pressure to burn off a layer of rubber. On the other hand, it needed a good sense of co-ordination to pull up sharply in an emergency - matching down-changing with rear and front braking forces could produce some quite spectacular stopping distances.
The bike had already done 4500 miles when I got my grubby hands on it, the front forks already showing a little sloppiness under heavy braking or energetic cornering. Weighing only 300lbs, there was never much doubt that I would get the better of the donkey. Steering was easy, especially in traffic when it was rather relaxing to have such a laid back riding position (as long as it didn't rain when one's crotch ended up looking like it was full of piss) but above 50mph there was a certain amount of vagueness to the steering. It was not the kind of bike that could be steered within an inch of the required line, needing quite frequent corrections.
After 3750 miles the twin rear shocks started to jump around rather a lot. They had been quite firm under solo use, but sticking the girlfriend on the back had the mudguard dragging on the rear tyre. I was not that surprised by their early failure. The local breaker let me sniff around in his Dobberman's droppings until I found a pair of the same length. These must have come off some mammoth as they did not move unless the bike was thrown off a hump-back bridge at 70mph, when the whole machine lurched and twitched wildly when it remade contact with terra-firma. Still, I always knew exactly what the rear tyre was doing.
These rear shocks made long distances something of a pain, not that the bike was particularly well set up for use as a tourer. If I wanted to do long distances at high speeds the Honda was useful for riding to the local rail station but not much else. With a maximum cruising speed of 75mph there was not much point going anywhere near motorways and even fast A-roads had cagers into operatics on their horns. I did slog the bike up the A1 once, droning on for most of day, just stopping every 150 miles to sort out my muscles and fill the tank with petrol. The best that can be said for such excursions was that the motor was tireless, feeling unburstable.
It was on the A1 that I found out the top speed - a long straight stretch, downhill all the way with a following wind with my head down on the clocks - 88mph. Normally, it proved impossible to budge the speedo needle past 80mph, however much throttle abuse was attempted in the lower gears. Once past peak power the engine just died a death as if someone had turned off a switch. Even when furiously caned in this manner, the bike still turned in a respectable 70mpg. 80mpg was easily achieved with the slightest amount of throttle restraint and when in a quiet mood better than 90mpg was possible.
The Honda was conducive to sane riding. The beat of its ever so quiet exhaust, its riding position and mild power delivery all tried to rein in my madder instincts, and often succeeded. I enjoyed many a nice amble through the countryside in the quiet of an early evening or morning, especially in the autumn or spring when the tourist hordes were still madly trying to juggle their finances ready for the summer onslaught or just recovering from their binge.
The only time the Honda really frightened me was when overtaking some car on a narrow road with obscure forward vision. Doing that at say 70mph left little additional acceleration should, as quite often happened, a vehicle suddenly appear coming in the other direction.
Once, I'd just pulled level with one of those Volvo hearses, glancing over at the driver I saw this gorilla type grinning hugely. I only saw what was so amusing him when I looked up to see a bloody great artic lumbering around the corner. The cager had speeded up a little leaving me stranded on the wrong side of the road. I twitched almost as greatly as the Honda as I took a firm grip on the bars and rode straight off the road, having to keep accelerating to miss the front of the lorry. I could have tried to slow down but I suspected that the gorilla would have amused himself by braking with me!
Hitting the grass at 75mph was a pretty harrowing experience for one so young as myself. I killed the throttle as soon as we cleared the front of the lorry and put some pressure on the back brake. The bike rocked from side to side as it skidded over the soft earth, going into a wild circle at about 60mph. I wrenched the bars into opposite lock and put a boot down (I'm a keen speedway fan). I held the bike like that for a while, almost grinning, thinking I was going to hold it. Some hope! At about 45mph the front wheel hit a chasm in the ground and flipped the bike over. I let go of everything and went flying through the air, end over end a couple of times, coming to land in what smelt like the remnants of a septic tank.
I cringed, braced myself, thinking that the lumbering Honda was going to come crashing down on top of me. After a few moments I realised it wasn't and dragged myself out of the stagnant pool. The Honda was about fifty yards away, embedded in a hedge with the engine still stuttering away. Bloody hell, my skin was raked by the brambles as I pulled the CB out. Damage was mostly cosmetic with only bent bars, pegs and indicators that needed kicking straight. The twelve mile ride home was traumatic and I was only allowed back into the house after I'd been hosed off!
Still, the crash had shown that the frame and forks were basically good stuff, for handling had not deteriorated after that experience. Perhaps because of all the crud that had filled them, the calipers needed a strip down a week later (with 12,300 miles on the clock). There was a lot of corrosion and the seals were on the way out. As there was only about 1mm of material left on the pads I judged it an opportune moment to replace them. The rear chain was still okay, it had another two stops on the adjusters before it went off the scale, actually lasting all of 16000 miles before I finally tired of the 100 mile adjustment sessions. I dare say, had I been desperate to save money, I could quite easily have got another couple of thousand miles out of it by taking a couple of links out. The sprockets looked okay, so were left alone. I had enough experience of pattern sprockets to know that it was better to stick with the originals until the last moment.
A winter's worth of salt had been ruinous to both the chrome and alloy, but nothing that a salvage operation with Solvo and elbow grease could not cure. Before the off-road fracas, the paint had been better than I'd expected but the bike really needed but never got a respray - I just touched up the worst of it with red paint that was not a very good match. With 19000 miles done the exhaust became rather loud, a sign that the baffles had gone, and started backfiring on the overrun, but I rather liked the gruff noise and it did not affect the carburation.
The bike came with new Avons, which had held the road well and were still not worn out by the time the exhaust started to fall apart. However, with just 2mm of tread left I had some pretty heavy slides during the rain lashed days of spring. When in London for a day, the greasy roads took both tyres away from under me, the bike lined up for a fortuitously slow corner. The police officer under whose boots we scraped to a halt was not very jolly about the matter, having jumped a foot in the air after being awoken from his reverie. He had his notebook out before I'd even managed to pull the bike upright. The rotter was muttering something about it obviously being a case of criminally negligent driving until I went into my upperclass-twit voice (being a bit of a mimic) and he decided to let me off with a warning.
So, a newish set of Michelins were bunged on courtesy of the breaker who was in such shock after someone had hacked his canine to death he only charged me a fiver. He must have known something I didn't as they were worn down to the carcass within 5000 miles. With 24000 miles achieved, the top end had become rather rattly, which was probably quite understandable as all I'd done to the motor was change the oil every 1500 miles. The noise was dramatically reduced after the valves were given the correct clearances but I could swear that the camchain was beginning to sound like it was due for replacement. Vibes had become quite noticeable if the bike was slogged flat out up inclines and the like, previously the buzz had been so mild it had faded into insignificance after the first couple of months.
The Honda was not yet two years old and still worth something on the secondhand market, so for the next 2500 miles I restrained the right wrist and rode sensibly, ever on the lookout for a suitable replacement or trade-in deal. But nothing came up and I grew bored with riding slowly; by the time the clock was nearing 30,000 miles I was back into full thrash mode. The chainsaw noise that came from the top end, combined with fuel that was nearer 60 than 65mpg, indicated that some serious attention was required. I would have got away with a camchain swap I later found out but when the breaker had a 500 mile, one month old, badly mangled CB250 in stock it was more than I could resist to buy the motor for a price that caused me to doubt the machine's provenance.
The exhaust is full of patches, the cosmetics are tatty, the front brake gummed up but the new motor makes the machine feel really good again, so I will have to get around to fixing the other faults. Don't be put off the Honda by this tale, I am guilty of shameful neglect of my motorcycle and the little 250 has proved a nice highway companion. I'd love a 150mph missile but there's no way I can afford the running costs, even the economical CB250 stretches the pocket on occasions. All you old Superdream hackers rejoice, in a few more years there will be a whole new breed for you to abuse and neglect!
Mark Riverson