Like a lamb to the slaughter I ventured into Noxious & Nasty's Motorcycle Emporium. The perfume of decay hung over the decrepit heaps assembled before my eyes. Or maybe it was Noxious's infamous farts. A loud buzzer sounded as I crossed the threshold, causing both inhabitants to emerge from the Netherworlds. Nasty was larger than the average Orang-utan and not much more intelligent whilst Nasty had a rat-like quality of litheness.
Noxious sniffed deliriously and left me to the tender mercies of Nasty, who having worked out I had but five hundred notes to spend and a proper licence pointed me in the direction of the Honda CB550. Someone had thoughtfully painted pink butterflies on the petrol tank which also fluttered in my stomach at the thought of the engine running without any silencer in sight.
When I pointed this out to Nasty he muttered something about throwing in a can for free. God knows, they had a huge basement full of motorcycle debris. Undeterred, he gave it a few pokes on the kickstart, a terrible, rattling wail tried to blow my eardrums apart. Nasty didn't seem to notice, content to give me the thumbs up whilst he revved the motor into the red.
After some further negotiation, four hundred notes was agreed on with a newish can, set of tyres and chain thrown in, with the proviso that I would fit them myself. Lazy bastards. They actually let me use their tools as the bike couldn't be ridden in its current state and it was the only easy way of getting rid of me! Noxious, scribbled out an MOT certificate and gave me a colour photocopy of a tax disc plus a cover note that was as dubious as a ten bob note (oops, given my age away, there).
So to the open road went we. Even with the can, the exhaust was bloody loud but not so loud that it didn't drown out the top end rattles. 80mph on the clock the most I ventured, not wanting to blow the motor. The suspension was shockingly taut, the bike feeling more like some British sixties rotter than a saggy Jap horror story... the Girling shocks went some way to explaining that.
Noxious had gained passing fame by taking a chisel and hammer to a CBX550 top end so I was quite relieved when I was told they hadn't had a chance to service the OHC four yet. All eight valves were in need of attention but the actual camshaft seemed whole. Not a difficult job. Electronic ignition had been fitted, the carbs were too worn to balance and the camchain tensioner bolt was seized in solidly, so apart from an oil change there was sod all else to do!
I was pleasantly surprised to then find myself in charge of a whirring piece of precision engineering that would put 110mph on the clock without coming close to any weaves. The front disc was another story but a well trod one with the usual seizing caliper, worn down to the metal pads and scored disc. A tale of near death experiences laid on to Nasty secured some bits gratis!
That was before I cleaned off all the accumulated crud that had made the bike fit only for rat city. I suspect that the owner before the last one had lavished much tender loving care on the CB whilst the subsequent one had just run it into the ground. Or tried to. After some work with the Gunk and a couple of jet-washes all was revealed. Lots of paint and chrome missing but not that much deep seated corrosion. Fix-up-able!
Progress made, some more miles done. What did that add up to? Well, 55mpg, loads of oil and quite a lot of on the road fun. The bike was light, reasonably fast and able to cruise at 90mph for as long as I wanted, which given the antics of the plod wasn't that long! The chopped down numberplate attracted them like flies to dead meat. The key is never to put your own name in the registration doc, quote the old owner's name and address!
The first big problem was the selectors going so shot that I couldn't engage gear, even with years of experience on old Honda hacks. Some disassembly followed... I actually had to buy new components as the only set I saw in the breakers was as dead as my own. Ouch!
It's surprising what a difference a slick gearbox makes to one's feelings for a motorcycle. The air was no longer blue and forward motion was a much more festive affair. If I really caned the engine through the gears I could just put 115mph on the clock. Impressive for a twenty year old hack!
I didn't push my luck by doing it too often, just the odd blast to blow the cobwebs away. After about six months of gay abandon the camchain tensioner rattle overwhelmed the exhaust din, though there wasn't much difference to the performance. I had to chisel the old bolt out, but doing the thread and replacing the screw were insufficient. The tensioner had rattled around so much that most if its components were thrashed. For once, I got lucky with the breakers, only a tenner for the bits I needed.
That little lot fixed, there were still some rattles from the top end and the bike didn't really want to go over 105mph. Smoke on the overrun, though only slight in density, indicated either valve or piston ring trouble; maybe both. I decided some more hard riding was in order, see if I could break it. After a couple of week long tours, doing about 3000 miles each time without any problems, I decided it was going to be a hard job to make the motor blow up into a million pieces.
I still wasn't happy with the way it was smoking on the overrun... Fix it or sell it? As the chassis had cleaned up nicely and the bike was skirting classic status, I decided on the latter. 1200 notes was what I demanded and a nice round grand what I got. When I told Nasty and Noxious they gave me the eye until it dawned on them I had the cash in my pocket. I was quickly ushered into the armchair perch of a Silver Wing encrusted in road grime. It was either buy it or a trip down to the basement for remedial treatment, so I gave in.
Noxious sniffed deliriously and left me to the tender mercies of Nasty, who having worked out I had but five hundred notes to spend and a proper licence pointed me in the direction of the Honda CB550. Someone had thoughtfully painted pink butterflies on the petrol tank which also fluttered in my stomach at the thought of the engine running without any silencer in sight.
When I pointed this out to Nasty he muttered something about throwing in a can for free. God knows, they had a huge basement full of motorcycle debris. Undeterred, he gave it a few pokes on the kickstart, a terrible, rattling wail tried to blow my eardrums apart. Nasty didn't seem to notice, content to give me the thumbs up whilst he revved the motor into the red.
After some further negotiation, four hundred notes was agreed on with a newish can, set of tyres and chain thrown in, with the proviso that I would fit them myself. Lazy bastards. They actually let me use their tools as the bike couldn't be ridden in its current state and it was the only easy way of getting rid of me! Noxious, scribbled out an MOT certificate and gave me a colour photocopy of a tax disc plus a cover note that was as dubious as a ten bob note (oops, given my age away, there).
So to the open road went we. Even with the can, the exhaust was bloody loud but not so loud that it didn't drown out the top end rattles. 80mph on the clock the most I ventured, not wanting to blow the motor. The suspension was shockingly taut, the bike feeling more like some British sixties rotter than a saggy Jap horror story... the Girling shocks went some way to explaining that.
Noxious had gained passing fame by taking a chisel and hammer to a CBX550 top end so I was quite relieved when I was told they hadn't had a chance to service the OHC four yet. All eight valves were in need of attention but the actual camshaft seemed whole. Not a difficult job. Electronic ignition had been fitted, the carbs were too worn to balance and the camchain tensioner bolt was seized in solidly, so apart from an oil change there was sod all else to do!
I was pleasantly surprised to then find myself in charge of a whirring piece of precision engineering that would put 110mph on the clock without coming close to any weaves. The front disc was another story but a well trod one with the usual seizing caliper, worn down to the metal pads and scored disc. A tale of near death experiences laid on to Nasty secured some bits gratis!
That was before I cleaned off all the accumulated crud that had made the bike fit only for rat city. I suspect that the owner before the last one had lavished much tender loving care on the CB whilst the subsequent one had just run it into the ground. Or tried to. After some work with the Gunk and a couple of jet-washes all was revealed. Lots of paint and chrome missing but not that much deep seated corrosion. Fix-up-able!
Progress made, some more miles done. What did that add up to? Well, 55mpg, loads of oil and quite a lot of on the road fun. The bike was light, reasonably fast and able to cruise at 90mph for as long as I wanted, which given the antics of the plod wasn't that long! The chopped down numberplate attracted them like flies to dead meat. The key is never to put your own name in the registration doc, quote the old owner's name and address!
The first big problem was the selectors going so shot that I couldn't engage gear, even with years of experience on old Honda hacks. Some disassembly followed... I actually had to buy new components as the only set I saw in the breakers was as dead as my own. Ouch!
It's surprising what a difference a slick gearbox makes to one's feelings for a motorcycle. The air was no longer blue and forward motion was a much more festive affair. If I really caned the engine through the gears I could just put 115mph on the clock. Impressive for a twenty year old hack!
I didn't push my luck by doing it too often, just the odd blast to blow the cobwebs away. After about six months of gay abandon the camchain tensioner rattle overwhelmed the exhaust din, though there wasn't much difference to the performance. I had to chisel the old bolt out, but doing the thread and replacing the screw were insufficient. The tensioner had rattled around so much that most if its components were thrashed. For once, I got lucky with the breakers, only a tenner for the bits I needed.
That little lot fixed, there were still some rattles from the top end and the bike didn't really want to go over 105mph. Smoke on the overrun, though only slight in density, indicated either valve or piston ring trouble; maybe both. I decided some more hard riding was in order, see if I could break it. After a couple of week long tours, doing about 3000 miles each time without any problems, I decided it was going to be a hard job to make the motor blow up into a million pieces.
I still wasn't happy with the way it was smoking on the overrun... Fix it or sell it? As the chassis had cleaned up nicely and the bike was skirting classic status, I decided on the latter. 1200 notes was what I demanded and a nice round grand what I got. When I told Nasty and Noxious they gave me the eye until it dawned on them I had the cash in my pocket. I was quickly ushered into the armchair perch of a Silver Wing encrusted in road grime. It was either buy it or a trip down to the basement for remedial treatment, so I gave in.
W.V.