I was leading a peaceful and low key life when I kept seeing this Honda CB750F. I know, a lot of people would've winced and looked the other way, but to me it's one of those landmark machines. A neighbour had owned one 15 years ago, pulled the sweetest babe in the town. With that kind of pedigree there was no way I could ignore the fearsome roar of the late seventies machine.
Then I didn't see the machine any more. Turned up in a Bristol dealer's, a rather odd old codger. He wouldn't give me a test ride but agreed to let me sit on the machine and play with the throttle. Sad, I know! The 1500 quid demanded was a hefty price tag but the bike was standard, 19000 miles and in good nick with a new set of consumables, MOT and tax disc.
The last bike I'd owned was four years previously, a GSX250 Suzuki. Apart from sharing two wheels with an engine between them, these bikes had nothing in common. Immediately apparent from the sheer girth of the Honda when sat upon it and the fearsome impression of power it gave out. I tried to talk him down in price but my body language must've given the game away; he wouldn't budge and I had to have it.
So there I was. A slim 32 year old who'd never owned a big bike before, suddenly thrust on to an 80hp, 550lb monster motorcycle. The dealer was as gruff as ever, walked away as soon as he had his wedge. At least there wouldn't be any witnesses. Into first with a loud clunk, gently let the clutch out with hardly any throttle, the big beast moved off. Easy!
Second gear found with another clunk, wrapped the throttle open halfway to see what it was like. Quickly slammed it shut as the front end threatened to go vertical and the far off junction was suddenly a couple of yards away. Fast, then! Third turned out to be a false neutral until a bit of clunk-clicking found it. Hey, I can do a ton in third!
With my senses reeling, I finally made it home. A big grin, the whole family going totally paranoid about my chances of surviving for more than a few hours on such a huge machine. Nothing like having one's confidence shattered, is there? The bike was given a polish and put away for the night. Tomorrow was the weekend!
A non-motorcycling friend had agreed to go pillion, the camping gear stuffed in a big rucksack that he had volunteered to carry. Just about everyone I knew assembled to see us off on the big adventure. Bath to Loch Ness and back. I'd always wanted to clock the monster's home, the new bike and the summer weather a good excuse to get up there.
The Honda had other ideas. Went all sullen, then there was a lot stuttering and backfiring. Just as the electric boot was about to expire, she caught and floated up to about 5000 revs on the choke. My parents shook their heads in dismay at this earth shattering display of raw power whilst my pillion seemed reluctant to throw a leg over the seat. He was even less reassured when he was almost thrown off the bike after the engine lurched into first gear; clutch drag due to cold oil.
We were soon settled on the motorway, holding 90-100mph. Even with a brief blast to 125mph to see off the odd BMW or Merc, the Honda didn't seem to be in the least bit perturbed. Fuel stops every 150 miles because I wasn't sure how far I could go on a tank, the bike doing about 37mpg.
150 miles was about right for fast riding. There was a lot of pressure on my arms and neck, any greater mileage would've had me doing silly things to get it over with quicker. My pillion wasn't a happy bunny, complaining about fierce vibration through the pegs, sore arse and the excessive weight of the rucksack. He was a bit happier when I loosened the latter's straps so it could rest on the rear cowl.
At the 300 mile stop I gave the oil a cursory glance and was shocked to find I couldn't see any. By the time I'd bought a bottle, some had drained back and it wasn't as bad as I thought. I topped it up, added the bottle to the rucksack. There was a bit of a smear around the cylinder head gasket, and a couple of drops under the crankcase!
I worried about this for a few minutes until I began to worry about the traffic weaving all over the motorway. Needed a heavy touch on the throttle and brakes, and I soon became amazed at what I could get away with thanks to the fierce top gear acceleration between 80mph and 120mph. Left me elated and my pillion a gibbering wreck!
The day wore on, the miles ate up, until the Scottish border was in sight. I knew we were getting close because up ahead there were very black clouds. It was one of those incredibly hot days, with the same predicted for the whole weekend, the only way to survive to ride fast on a motorcycle. It dawned on me, at this point, that it was foolish optimism to leave home without any waterproofs (that was because we didn't have any).
By the time we reached the border the summer day had vaporized, black clouds all around. I pulled off the motorway on to some back lanes, decided to set up the tent even though it was only afternoon. The poor old pillion found it difficult to stand let alone help erect a tent on a bit of grassland next to the road. At least it was a big tent, which we could put the Honda in as well.
Just as well, because the tropical storm lasted for nearly 24 hours! Couldn't see through the rain let alone ride in it! Bloody Scotland! By the time a weak sun poked through the sky, all we could do was rush down the motorway at maximum speed. I didn't fancy riding in the dark, not after being tired out.
If that trip was totally farcical, trying to ride through Central London was an even bigger laugh. After riding sanely for a few minutes, I was cut up on both sides by vicious DR's, one of whom snarled at me for slowing him down. I gave the CB a big rush of throttle, promptly had to brake. The bike had big crash-bars that protected the engine and my lower legs but I'm not really into taking the sides off cars as per the DR's and many contributors.
Riding fast and ragged on a bike that I wasn't totally in control of, ended up with the Honda wedged between no less than three cars when it failed to make a ninety degree turn! Two of the cars decided to close in, see if they could break a leg or two, but I gave the Honda some very heavy throttle, the blast of raw power making them back off pronto and the car in front lurch forwards. I was a free and wiser man. I wouldn't be applying for a despatch job, at least not on a flying pig like the CB750.
My normal commute from Bath to Bristol was a lot less traumatic, plenty of bits of open road on which to get the engine roaring away. On one early morning buzz I touched 135mph before backing off to avoid the speed cameras.
The bike lived up to my adulation in many ways but it was such a porker that I never felt wholly in control. Not that the handling was outright bad, at worst it would weave heavily at speeds above the ton-twenty but just losing the speed sorted it out. I liked the upright riding position as it suited the great variety of roads on which I rode.
The triple discs never gave me any hassles, though like the engine they are rumoured not to wear well. In about 9000 miles I never had any major problems and am not giving in to all the derogatory remarks made about this series of brutal Honda fours.
Wayne Harris
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The next door neighbour sold me this ratty old Honda CB750F1 for 250 notes on the understanding that I did not coming running to him when it went wrong. That the Honda was still a runner would've come as a surprise to anyone who cast an eye over her, but she rumbled, clattered and rattled into life more or less on cue. The neighbour had ridden the bike for the past three years and never laid a hand upon either engine or chassis; the thick layer of gunge and grime that covered everything was evidence of this.
After a brief ride up the road to check that it was indeed still rideable, although I had seen the guy rush off for work every day, I rode the bike into the depths of my garage where I could give the machine some much needed TDC. After a few days work with Gunk, a high powered hose and a wire brush the machine was revealed in all its naked glory. There were three major problems - the frame was cracked around the headstock, the camshafts had lumps missing out of them and the non standard rear wheel had broken spokes, a cracked brake hub and dented rim. There were also several hundred minor problems, like replacement of all consumables, painting of all metal and a complete top end strip down. Several visits to breakers, three weeks worth of work and about £200 later, I was able to push the newly reclaimed rat out of the garage, resplendent in all its new found glory.
The neighbour, who had proudly shown me his nearly new Tomas moped, peered over the fence, telling me I was mad to waste so much money and time on a 93000 mile bike. What he did not realise was that the F1 was one of the machines that were part of my youthful dreams, not least because a friend who owned one at 17 carried around on his pillion a girl of amazing beauty, the kind of frail who if taken along to the Kent Show would cause mass rampage amongst Angels used only to old dogs.
I enthusiastically swung a leg over the F1, listened to the clatter of the engine and waved nonchalantly to the neighbour as I roared out of the street. That ride was to set the style for all the others. After 10 miles when I was congratulating myself on a good job done well, the engine stuttered, then there was a sudden whooshing noise and an explosion of flames. I must have been brave then because I reached through the flames to turn the petrol off before leaning the machine against a car and running a few yards away.
The fire lasted for about a minute before spluttering out. The fuel pipe had evidently fallen off causing the raging conflagration. I hurriedly moved the blackened heap away from the car, a nearly new BMW which now sported a black, orange peel effect on one side, and pushed her the ten miles home. The only good thing to come out of this was that by the time I reached my abode it was gone midnight and the neighbour was not around to take the piss. Damage was mostly melted paint. wire and plastic, so after a bit of work she was back on the road.
The bike seemed to rumble ominously and whenever I went through the curves too quickly something bottomed out and sent tremors through the chassis. This did not stop me from enjoying myself down the local coast roads, putting a 110mph on the clock on one fast if bumpy lane. Careering through a series of hairpins there was this horrible noise like a steamroller crushing a car, the bike pivoted around and threw me off into three foot of ditch water. I crawled out of the water, trying to shake the slime off, absolutely amazed. The first ride had resulted in the bike trying to catch fire, the second in it trying to kill me. I picked the monster up, finding it had suffered no harm and that the cause of the accident was the sidestand spring disappearing. I removed the sidestand and threw it as far away as possible.
There followed two weeks of commuting in which little went wrong. I was so disgruntled that I didn't want to take it out in the evenings or weekends, but the feeling of hatred gradually wore off, so I decided to go for a camping weekend, up to Scotland from Dungness, a long, long ride. The bike was loaded up with lots of camping junk and my 20 stone brother-in-law who was going through a bad patch with my sister and desperate for some R & R. By the end of the trip he was in an even worse state. Carting so much junk around meant that most of the performance had disappeared. Despite having the top end rebuilt with used parts even solo it had trouble seeing off things like 400 Superdreams, with so much mass aboard it could barely puff up to 80mph. Not that I would want to go that fast, the ancient rear shocks having bottomed out under the mass, the machine weaved and wobbled like a C90 on flat tyres. At the first petrol stop the pillion was ashen faced and had to to rush to the toilet.
The M1 was the usual horror story, mad motorists speeding along at 90mph - and that was only in the slow lane - the poor old Honda needing two lanes to itself if we wanted to go above a paltry 70mph. We were stopped twice by the police who complained about the layers of smoke the bike was leaving behind but pissed off when I mentioned the pillion was a lawyer. The Honda celebrated crossing the border by blowing the back tyre. Disgust turned to horror when I saw that the blow up was caused by the back wheel collapsing. We were lucky that it had done so gradually, there were about ten spokes left holding the oblong shaped rim in place.
Even if we had wanted to we would not have been able to push it. Luckily, I had joined the AA and they agreed to take us to Glasgow. Various breakers were visited until a wheel that would fit was found. This wasn't a standard F1 wheel, either, and the way the chain didn't line up had me worried for a few minutes until I realised that I could always phone the AA. It was decided not to continue north but spend the weekend getting drunk and laid....all the way home I could here the brother-in-law muttering that he had probably caught AIDS, Glasgow having more people with AIDS than any other city.
His thoughts were doubtless interrupted when the bike went into a horrible wobble at about 65mph. The back wheel slewed every which way; even when I had the presence of mind to pull in the clutch it still skidded wretchedly. We eventually crashed to a halt on the hard shoulder, the bulk of my pillion conveniently taking much of the force of the fall. The chain had flown off the rear sprocket and wrapped itself around the wheel. The AA took us the 220 miles home, much to the relief of the pillion who still walks with a limp after the accident.
I found a breaker with that rarest of objects - a good F1 rear wheel - and treated the wreck to a nearly new set of sprockets and chain. A month went by with few problems, much to everyone's surprise, then really vicious wobbles intruded again. The weld job on the headstock had failed. A lot of hassle and money produced a used but straight frame from a breaker in Birmingham. Everyone told me I should dump the bike in the fens but I was determined to keep the machine going, whatever the cost or work involved. It only took a weekend to change everything other.
With over 100,000 miles on the clock I was not that surprised when the engine locked solid at 90mph. I was, by then, an old hand at controlling bikes with locked up rear wheels and had been riding with my hand over the clutch just in case. After chiselling the cylinder off I found that two of the con-rods had snapped, the whole engine was a write off. I started looking around the breakers again but saw an ad for a 46000 mile F1 for only £375.
I bought this machine, it had only had the one owner who had worshipped it and was in really good condition. The other one I stripped down and used what little was serviceable as spares. The newer F1 is good for 120mph on the clock, does 40mpg and uses a pint of oil every 250 miles (instead of 110mph, 35mpg and 150mpp) but seems to lack the character of the older machine. I had begun to rather enjoy the challenge of riding the heap, every outing was a great adventure with that rumbling engine and clattering chassis, but I suppose by the time this one gets around the clock it will be just the same.
Eric Gennings
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I had been suspicious that such an old motorcycle had only 17000 miles on the clock. But it looked beautiful, neither the nickel plated frame nor the original four into four exhaust had the slightest blemish.....the bike had spent most of its time in the vendor's spare bedroom! The test ride revealed why - the riding position was torture. A long petrol tank and low bars meant a huge amount of mass on my wrists. The CB needed a silly amount of effort to throw about in suburbia. Every time I braked hard the fairing screen threatened to cut my neck open.
I'm a sucker for motorcycles like this, though. Two and a half grand bought me a piece of motorcycling history. The original Honda 750 fours had such dodgy handling and excess of weight that Dresda and Rickman, amongst others, came out with frame kits to transform the breed. Rickman were later to opt for a more sensible touring rig, but I wasn't put off by the single seat nor the singular nature of this particular model.
This one had wire wheels, albeit with some juicy alloy rims and a single disc at each end. The forward mounted front caliper, a huge lump of alloy, shows how old was this era of the Rickman. The Rickman forks were stiff enough to resist both brake dive and twisting from the surprisingly powerful front brake. It needed more muscle than modern bikers might expect but I found it a basically reliable performer, well up to the 135mph top speed.
The engine was mostly a stock OHC CB750, even down to the OE airfilter. Slight rattles at low revs were the only sign of age. I knew that clutch knocking noises and transmission slop were just the same as on a brand new motor. The rearset gearchange linkage probably made the box even less precise than stock, but anyone who has spent a bit of time with old Hondas will be at home with the change. The best that could be said for the gearbox was that once a ratio was engaged it never slipped out again.
The final drive sprockets were far from stock, making first seem like third. The Rickman was maybe 50lbs lighter than the original bike, which helped with the taller gearing but some serious clutch abuse was often necessary to ensure that the engine didn't die a death. Power was never vicious, the best rev range was 5000 to 7000rpm. There was enough go to make life interesting and a relative lack of secondary vibes. The upper end of this rev range provided a 100mph cruising speed, when the screen and racing crouch began to hurt less.
The chassis also preferred speed to slouching around in town. It wasn't that it wobbled or shook, it was commendably stable at most speeds, but the suspension didn't begin to work until 70mph was on the clock. A pot-hole in town went straight up my wickedly bent spine; a quick way to end up with either a slipped disc or hunch-back.
The seat was reasonably well padded and the bum-stop was an excellent way of bracing my body at speed, although the shape of the frame dictated a high seat height which left me feeling perched way above the bike. It was the classic bum in the air, head in the clocks stance. Judging by the cat-calls I sometimes received in town it must've looked slightly absurd.
Tyres were thin Avons, the front wheel looking like it was a reject from a particularly frail moped! It actually held on to its line on the tarmac with great tenacity, although the steering never lost its heavy feel. I think the only time it would've done a wheelie was by using the engine and clutch so hard that they both broke.
In the first couple of months my main beef was with the drive chain which stretched wildly every time I used the bike. A new piece of chain went on but this was no better, needed an adjustment every 250 to 300 miles. Every time the chain went out of adjustment the gearbox became almost unusable. The swinging arm pivot is a long way from the engine sprocket which might be why chains didn't last longer than 4500 miles! Maybe there was also a bit of mild misalignment.
When the engine started to misfire I had to tear off the half fairing and petrol tank just to get at the spark plugs. The ones that came out looked so ancient they probably came with the bike. Putting the fairing back on was a tedious affair as nothing seemed to line up. It was tempting to dump the plastic as it so restricted lock that a U-turn became a seven point turn in narrow roads and it was dead easy to lose the bike. The only thing that stopped me was that there wouldn’t have been anywhere to put the clocks and light. The latter good for 75mph cruising on country roads.
Another bit of poor design was soon revealed, the plastic front guard was held on with jubilee clips that allowed it to rattle loose, dancing with the tyre. It wasn't as if it stopped any of the water from being flung off the tyre on to the engine. Five minutes in the rain had the Rickman covered with crud. The guard was too delicate to support a mudflap. The minimal rear protection similarly allowed my back to be drenched in the rain.
These minor quibbles were no more than expected. I put them to the back of my mind with fast and furious runs down my favourite back roads. The echo of the across the frame four, the feeling of supreme security and the sheer exhilaration of being free on a wide open road all combined to get me high. The physical discomfort was submerged beneath the adrenalin buzz of intensified life on two wheels.
It was only when I pulled up for petrol after a couple of hundred miles of riding that I realised the wide seat, vibration and eccentric riding position made it difficult to stand upright let alone stagger the few feet to pay the cashier. The vibes were evident in the way the fairing shook and from the tingles in the bars and pegs. It wasn't the soul destroying stuff of your average vertical twin but prolonged exposure to the high frequency buzz took its toll on my body.
Fuel, when riding on the open road, was the most surprising aspect of this bike. It turned in better than 60mpg, giving a range of over 200 miles. In town it wasn't so good, nearer 50mpg. The CB had a rather archaic oil tank which needed a pint added every 500 miles. The mill didn't leak apart from a slight weep around the cylinder. Carbs, valves and points all needed adjustment every 1500 miles. Tedious and time consuming rather than difficult.
I soon learnt that the downside of nickel plating was the way it tarnishes rapidly; a wet day's riding was all it took to make the frame look naff. The OE exhaust also needed regular doses of Solvol to stop the cans turning rusty. They corrode from the inside out but are still whole after two years and about 10,000 miles of abuse. The Rickman plastic has lots of hairline cracks but looks nice from a few feet away.
With around 25000 miles on the clock the camchain rattles rebounded off the plastic. I had tweaked the camchain tensioner a couple of times, apparently to little avail. The camchain was alright, the tensioner blade was worn down. I found one in a breaker's for a fiver. I'd had to pull the engine out to see what I was doing, so it was a tiresome business.
The chassis was made to a more robust standard than other cafe racers of the day, hasn't really caused any problems other than those which flow naturally from its riding position. The CB750 engine should be good for 50,000 plus miles until any serious attention is needed, although those that were tuned or bored out didn't last so well, mainly down to insufficient lubrication and excessive revs.
As mentioned, mileage hasn't been too high, not that I distrust the Honda, it's just that there isn't much fun in using it for the commuter chores (thank god for the step-thru) and I don't have the time for month long holidays, more's the pity. I was offered £3000 for it by some eager forty year old who reckoned he had spent his whole youth lusting after one. They are rare enough to demand a premium over the stock model. Unless I become desperate for money, I rather think I will keep it a long time.
Jake
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How about fifty quid?'' I asked, half jokingly. Received a hard stare for my pains. It was difficult to tell the true state of machine under all the grime and gunge. I tended to believe the owner's statement that in January there was no point cleaning a bike. Ten minutes later it'd be covered, once again, in filth. The engine sounded full of rattles and the exhaust puffed out little clouds of black smoke. After some more haggling the bike was mine for 200 notes.
This was all of a year ago. I don't think it was the wisest move I'd ever made. Nor was it a complete disaster. After two tins of Gunk and one jet-spray I could see what was good and what was bad. The engine cases were already bead-blasted and polished up very nicely. Even the exhaust down-pipes were okay, though not the 'silencer' which was more rust than chrome. It was welded on to the end of the 4-1, a real pain to attach a replacement. I got over that by cutting the silencer off, welding in a short piece of pipe to which the new silencer could be clamped.
Needed were new calipers, tyres, chain and sprockets, rebuilt forks, Koni shocks, frame respray (before it rusted through) and some better mudguards. The engine's rattle and smoke were down to nothing more than oil that looked like tea. As it was January I didn't mind taking the bike off the road to sort it out. Much more fun working on the bike in the kitchen than trying to brave the floods and freezing weather. I once hobbled around on a fully faired GL650; if the protection was brilliant the handling was a horror story. Never again.
Come early March I was all set for some serious riding. The bike had a new MOT and, for once, was completely legal. The Honda felt pretty solid, but then it wasn't running on the mush that passes for standard suspension. My previous bike was a VF750 so I was used to heavy steering but not to the need to rev the bike hard to get anywhere fast. The VF had blown its crankshaft, written off the whole engine and thrown me down the road. Unbelievable! One moment all was glorious, the next I was plunged into hell. I had enough fat to survive the roll without any broken bones.
Honda reckoned over 70 horses for the F1 but my own experience suggested no more than 55 gee-gees at the back wheel. I've had faster times, if a lot less reliable ones, with 650 Bonnevilles and 850 Commandos. The clock did read 69000 miles and the engine wasn't in perfect shape. As well as insufficient power to do more than 120mph there was a patch of strong secondary vibration between 4500 and 7000 revs. After half an hour of fast cruising, both feet and hands were left tingling. As annoying as an old sixties Bonnie!
Another nastiness was the transmission. The hyvoid primary chain thrashed around as if in the last few days of its life. The gearbox was an appalling mess, the selectors worn to the point where a false neutral was more likely than an engaged gear. The rear chain was more likely to strip the sprockets than transmit power efficiently. I never did become completely used to the box, tending to hold on to third or fourth.
The clutch slip that was necessary for survival at low revs in tall gears, soon had the clutch rattling and then slipping. F1 clutches are rather naff, with none in the breakers. Pattern pads and HD springs were fitted but didn't cure the slip in its entirety. At one point there was a bang from the engine area and total failure of the clutch. I thought the drum had exploded but it was only the cable snapping and the mechanism hitting something. Quick wear cables were another piece of wickedness.
The drive chain snapped twice. They are infamous for wrecking the crankcases. Mine were already broken, the chain just knocking out the Plastic Metal. I put some more in and carried on regardless. Luckily, none of the stuff got inside the engine. The thought of all the oil being pumped out of the crankcases kept coming back to me every time I did the ton or more. The solution was to continuously caress the clutch lever but the reality of the bodging caught up with me.
An even more disarming habit was for the gear lever to rattle loose on its splines. This rendered the gear lever inoperative, leaving me stuck in whichever ratio fate had decreed. Often quite hazardous if a sudden change in speed was needed. I just sat there in panic mode but luck was with me and the cages went around me. I had to pull over and set to with the spanners.
The kickstart did a similar trick, the electric boot long burnt out. A few times I had to resort to a bump-start. Best described as suicidal as cleaning a loaded shotgun. I fell off once, the bike catching my ankle, and the second time the bike fell over, leaving a large hole in the ground. The ultimate solution's to weld the levers to their shafts but I haven't gone that far yet.
Despite these hassles the bike's kept on churning out the goods for 13000 miles. I might not go as far as describing these deeds as fun but there were lots of kicks involved. Most of the problems came from the age of the machine and the fact that I tended to ride on worn out tyres (they only lasted about 5000 miles) and had the chain dragging along the ground for a lot of the time. With fuel around 40mpg, and a big squeeze on at work, I had to save money any way that I could.
A major expense involved the time the front wheel tried to fall off. The only reason for the loose spindle, that I can think of, is that some local oiks did the dirty after I reported them for trying to steal a car. I thought the front end felt a little stranger than normal (it was never too precise even with a decent amount of tread on the tyre, which was, anyway, very rare). A few hundred yards down the road it was like riding on marbles and then the tarmac reared up to smash me in the head. The front wheel ended up buckled like a piece of modern sculpture, even to the extent of cracking the hub. A troll through the breakers acquired a replacement with a nearly new tyre.
I almost went berserk when I came out a week later to find both tyres slashed. After that the bike was bounced up the pavement into the house. I was never worried about anyone stealing the Honda because it looked such a rat and the gearchange was a useful deterrent. As was the starting technique that required precise positioning of the choke and then a quick fiddle back and forth on the lever.
As it stands, I've just spent a hundred notes bringing the chassis up to scratch - on used bits naturally. The engine, whilst lacking power and making terminal noises, seems nigh on indestructible, not having gone off any since I bought the bike. F1's have a bit of rep for eating camchains, tensioners, clutches and even crankshafts but they seem to either die an early death or keep going once they pass the fifty thou mark.
The shape has aged well and there's even the odd low mileage example on offer at over 1500 notes, which is silly money but there are worse ways to blow a stack of dosh. Rats go from £200 upwards, some of them needing serious money to keep them on the road. I even saw one cross-breed - a GS550 engine in an F1 chassis. Might be fun when the Honda's engine finally blows.
F.J.
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The Honda looked quite petite to my bleary eyes (heavy night the day before...) but the grin on the owner's face as I struggled to get her off the centerstand suggested otherwise. 500lbs toppled forward and nearly broke my leg in half. The motor rattled away merrily - was the clutch or the valves noisier, and were they really like that back in 1970? The bike was best described as a bit rough and ready but all there, right down to the rusty four into four exhaust system. About right for the £1350 price tag.
The test run revealed some acceleration, about the same as my old CBX550, and a bit of odd handling from the portly old chassis - it already had a fork brace, stronger springing and damping, plus the obligatory pair of Koni shocks, so god knows what it was like standard. Very high handlebars and forward mounted pegs made it an awkward little period piece.
On the good side, the engine was oil tight, the gears engaged and the rattles didn't get worse with revs. And it was the only bike available in that price range, excluding nasty 125's and the odd 500 twin. So it had to be. Deposit down, come back two days later with the rest of the dosh and the cheap classic insurance sorted out.
The motor was stone cold when I turned up but roared into life on the choke and button with nary a moment of hesitation. It did take a good ten minutes to really warm up and surged a little until the choke could be dispensed with. As I did an hour's ride twice a day this wasn't going to be a problem - using a big four of this vintage on shorts runs, though, tends to do the oil in which in turn shags the camshaft, so try to avoid if you're just doing short haul commuting.
Its weight and width are limitations in our overcrowded cities, leaving me boxed in several times each day. It also needed more than 4000 revs before it really shifted, which meant playing with second and third gears in town rather than trying to slog it out in fourth or fifth. The combination of the excess mass it had to carry and way the engine was focused, meant there was never really an excess of torque at any revs.
Disappointing for a 750, the need to play silly buggers on the throttle could be a bit tiring after a while. There was never the compensation of mind blurring, arm wrenching acceleration, although the old thing would somehow wind itself up to an indicated 135mph! Annoying, too, was the level of secondary vibes that always buzzed my hands and feet. Not the teeth rattling stuff of yore, but an hour at the controls turned me a little ratty, whilst two hours had me shaking like an addict coming down from a fix! Yes, I did get a few weird looks from the police when they clocked me using two hands to put the key back in the ignition!
Is this an unfair comment on an aged and high mileage engine, could I expect better from a low miler, lovingly run in and maintained by some kind of mechanical pervert? As it happens, no! I was privileged to have a blast on a 6000 miler in really immaculate trim (which had cost £3500!) that went so far as to run standard suspension!
Vibration and performance appeared identical to my own bike, which ended up with 93000 miles on the clock! This at least confirms the motor as unbelievably tough as I wasn't exactly meticulous on the maintenance chores, although I will admit to doing the oil every 1000 miles. If I didn't, the Honda complained with expensive sounding noises via the gearchange and a plethora of false neutrals. Clever bit of design, that.
I say the suspension was stock but it was also like new, so not that different to my own worn out stuff that I never got around to upgrading. That tells you how bad the handling was...never so nasty as to really frighten me into spending dosh - and god knows it doesn't take much! Yes, it weaved at anything above 80mph but that was useful as my licence was close to expiring, and even at 135mph it only needed one lane in which to do its weird waltz with death.
Cornering was limited more by excessive, top heavy mass than the compliance of the suspension. Whenever the boredom of modern life became too much all I'd do was lay the monster too far over. It didn't so much as spark as lurch and dig in, but never so badly that the back wheel tried to overtake the front. I kept the huge bars for the simple reason that the leverage they afforded gave me the only chance to keep the beast under control.
In reality, performance and handling were in the same category as some early eighties 550 four, but then so were the running costs. 50mpg, 10,000 miles from tyres or chain and one set of pads at 15000 miles. That front disc was supposed to be a nasty piece of work, but as long as it was feathered in the wet, I never found much to complain about. I suppose it was all down to what you were used to, my past littered with an excess of dogs (bikes and women both!).
Not wanting this particular piece of classic motorcycle history to go the same route, I did up the paint and kept the chrome and alloy well polished. Silly money was demanded for a new exhaust system, so a brace of stainless steel cans were attached to the downpipes (which were lovingly finished in matt black - every month needing a new coating). The reality was that the Honda had a basic finish rather more resilient than most modern machines, some three year old's being in a much worse state. And I did ride her through the winter.
Which is mostly when I fell off. All down to the tyres, cheapo Avons that liked to aquaplane when the going got wet. The Honda made a hell of a racket whenever it hit the ground, costing a fortune in ruined tarmac, but bent or broken indicators aside was amazingly easy to kick straight again and ride off into the distance. Thanks to leathers and body armour I was always able to leap up and get out of there fast before those nasty men in uniform turned up.
Luckily, all these crashes were at relatively low speed, confounding the bike's reputation as a high speed accident looking for somewhere to happen. Down purely, I'm sure, to my strongly developed survival instincts, and the way the Honda gave plenty of early warning that it was about to do something nasty.
Unlike many modern bikes, no way could the CB750 be described as remote. I always knew what the rubber was doing to the road, and also how the engine was running. Regal it wasn't, but it could be safely ridden in most conditions - as long as you'd had some practice on old rats and more or less knew what you were doing.
So three years of trouble free motorcycling, lots of kicks, enjoyment and amusement, plus excess looks of admiration from the general populace, all added up to a sense of frustration. Mainly because all me mates had hot 600's which the poor old Honda couldn't hope to keep up with even if I let it barge through the corners like an out of control, overloaded wheelbarrow. In short, for all its many virtues, it had to go.
And there's the rub. I was practically trampled under foot by the stampede of eager punters when I advertised it at £1975 - okay, it was the hottest month in 1996 and decent tackle was rare in dealers.
Two grand doesn't add up to much but it was enough to make a down payment on a Yam XJR - a complete and utter dream after the Honda, though it had been slagged for bad handling in the press. Not after the CB750!
H.K.
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It was a 1976, canary yellow Honda CB750F1 with a Dunstall exhaust and 30,000 miles on the clock. The test ride on the pillion almost made me brown my pants, we reached at least 90mph with neck breaking acceleration. All I was hearing inside my helmet was "get it at all costs, get it at all costs..." The guy accepted my 400/4 and a pile of ten pound notes.
On the way home, I decided to blow off a Mini dawdling along at 40mph. I was in top gear and started to overtake when the engine began to splutter. I dropped down a gear and opened the throttle only to find that the engine didn't respond. Abandoning the overtaking manoeuvre the bike coasted on, with me absolutely stunned and numbed into silence. The motor didn't cut out altogether and providing I kept below 40mph everything else seemed to be okay.
I limped back home to Dover terribly depressed, thinking what have you gone and bought. I cried myself to sleep that night. I awoke the next morning thinking I'd had a terrible nightmare. I rushed out to the shed and there it was, that great big fat yellow impotent monster. It almost seemed to be saying, I know you hate me because I'm old and fat and gutless, but you've bought me now and you've got to learn to love me, however hard that might be.
I thought bitterly of the filthy crook who now had my beautiful Honda four in his garage. Then I noticed a strong smell of petrol in the air. Where on earth was that coming from? I waggled the petrol tap to see if it leaked. No, tight as a drum. My hand brushed the underneath of the tank and came up soaked in petrol. What was more, the petrol was stained with rust. Close inspection revealed that the bottom of the tank had several pin holes and shining a torch inside the tank showed it to be covered in rust.
Suddenly, I was interested again. Two hours spent cleaning the carbs and filters and a £50 shop-soiled tank later I couldn't believe my luck. I'd been on the point of suicide now everything was coming up roses.
I clambered on board, This bike has so much mass (500lbs), the gearchange is solid but very clunky into first and the clutch makes groaning noises which can be disconcerting when moving off, but has never given me any trouble. This was my first big bike and up until then I didn't know the meaning of torque, it will chug along at 25mph in top and opening the throttle doesn't cause snatching or jerking, the motor just powers away as if gears were an unnecessary luxury.
In the midrange, to 5000rpm, there's no dead spot, just an increase in the volume of exhaust noise which warns you to hold on tight and prepare for take off. And take off it certainly does. Each time you change up the gears, you're waiting for the forward acceleration to slacken off, but it doesn't, it just keeps on pushing more out. For me, I'd say the most enjoyable moments were taking on steep hills. All the smaller motorcycles I'd had previously suffered on long steep hills, but that's all in the past now.
I had the machine for a year and covered 8000 miles without a breakdown. Handling problems appear at high speed but you should forget about ultimate speed on this motorcycle and instead enjoy the superb tractability of the engine. It did get through quite a lot of oil and smoke came out of the exhaust when thrashing it, so I suppose something inside was a bit worn. I never investigated, though, just changed the oil filter every 2000 miles. The performance never seemed to drop.
Rear tyre wear was atrocious, but 2500 miles of sheer excitement is good in my book. So don't be a scrooge, you bare canvas riders, replace those rear tyres early. Less than perfect tyres ruin the handling. The front disc is quite good when the brake is first applied. However, it does fade rapidly if you hold it on. Wet weather braking was okay provided you never forgot the two second delay before the brakes worked. The rear brake would lock the wheel if you didn't treat it with respect.
As with most large motorcycles, petrol consumption was directly proportional to riding style. I wasn't particularly surprised with 25mpg after a good thrash but 60mpg could be attained if ridden carefully. Average was 45mpg.
I gave up motorcycling in 1982 and hardly recognise any of the latest machines on the road today. Perhaps I will return to motorcycling when I have enough spare cash and perhaps I'll be more than impressed with the exotic merchandise on offer today, but I'll never forget that year I spent with the F1, it was one of the lords of life.
Then I didn't see the machine any more. Turned up in a Bristol dealer's, a rather odd old codger. He wouldn't give me a test ride but agreed to let me sit on the machine and play with the throttle. Sad, I know! The 1500 quid demanded was a hefty price tag but the bike was standard, 19000 miles and in good nick with a new set of consumables, MOT and tax disc.
The last bike I'd owned was four years previously, a GSX250 Suzuki. Apart from sharing two wheels with an engine between them, these bikes had nothing in common. Immediately apparent from the sheer girth of the Honda when sat upon it and the fearsome impression of power it gave out. I tried to talk him down in price but my body language must've given the game away; he wouldn't budge and I had to have it.
So there I was. A slim 32 year old who'd never owned a big bike before, suddenly thrust on to an 80hp, 550lb monster motorcycle. The dealer was as gruff as ever, walked away as soon as he had his wedge. At least there wouldn't be any witnesses. Into first with a loud clunk, gently let the clutch out with hardly any throttle, the big beast moved off. Easy!
Second gear found with another clunk, wrapped the throttle open halfway to see what it was like. Quickly slammed it shut as the front end threatened to go vertical and the far off junction was suddenly a couple of yards away. Fast, then! Third turned out to be a false neutral until a bit of clunk-clicking found it. Hey, I can do a ton in third!
With my senses reeling, I finally made it home. A big grin, the whole family going totally paranoid about my chances of surviving for more than a few hours on such a huge machine. Nothing like having one's confidence shattered, is there? The bike was given a polish and put away for the night. Tomorrow was the weekend!
A non-motorcycling friend had agreed to go pillion, the camping gear stuffed in a big rucksack that he had volunteered to carry. Just about everyone I knew assembled to see us off on the big adventure. Bath to Loch Ness and back. I'd always wanted to clock the monster's home, the new bike and the summer weather a good excuse to get up there.
The Honda had other ideas. Went all sullen, then there was a lot stuttering and backfiring. Just as the electric boot was about to expire, she caught and floated up to about 5000 revs on the choke. My parents shook their heads in dismay at this earth shattering display of raw power whilst my pillion seemed reluctant to throw a leg over the seat. He was even less reassured when he was almost thrown off the bike after the engine lurched into first gear; clutch drag due to cold oil.
We were soon settled on the motorway, holding 90-100mph. Even with a brief blast to 125mph to see off the odd BMW or Merc, the Honda didn't seem to be in the least bit perturbed. Fuel stops every 150 miles because I wasn't sure how far I could go on a tank, the bike doing about 37mpg.
150 miles was about right for fast riding. There was a lot of pressure on my arms and neck, any greater mileage would've had me doing silly things to get it over with quicker. My pillion wasn't a happy bunny, complaining about fierce vibration through the pegs, sore arse and the excessive weight of the rucksack. He was a bit happier when I loosened the latter's straps so it could rest on the rear cowl.
At the 300 mile stop I gave the oil a cursory glance and was shocked to find I couldn't see any. By the time I'd bought a bottle, some had drained back and it wasn't as bad as I thought. I topped it up, added the bottle to the rucksack. There was a bit of a smear around the cylinder head gasket, and a couple of drops under the crankcase!
I worried about this for a few minutes until I began to worry about the traffic weaving all over the motorway. Needed a heavy touch on the throttle and brakes, and I soon became amazed at what I could get away with thanks to the fierce top gear acceleration between 80mph and 120mph. Left me elated and my pillion a gibbering wreck!
The day wore on, the miles ate up, until the Scottish border was in sight. I knew we were getting close because up ahead there were very black clouds. It was one of those incredibly hot days, with the same predicted for the whole weekend, the only way to survive to ride fast on a motorcycle. It dawned on me, at this point, that it was foolish optimism to leave home without any waterproofs (that was because we didn't have any).
By the time we reached the border the summer day had vaporized, black clouds all around. I pulled off the motorway on to some back lanes, decided to set up the tent even though it was only afternoon. The poor old pillion found it difficult to stand let alone help erect a tent on a bit of grassland next to the road. At least it was a big tent, which we could put the Honda in as well.
Just as well, because the tropical storm lasted for nearly 24 hours! Couldn't see through the rain let alone ride in it! Bloody Scotland! By the time a weak sun poked through the sky, all we could do was rush down the motorway at maximum speed. I didn't fancy riding in the dark, not after being tired out.
If that trip was totally farcical, trying to ride through Central London was an even bigger laugh. After riding sanely for a few minutes, I was cut up on both sides by vicious DR's, one of whom snarled at me for slowing him down. I gave the CB a big rush of throttle, promptly had to brake. The bike had big crash-bars that protected the engine and my lower legs but I'm not really into taking the sides off cars as per the DR's and many contributors.
Riding fast and ragged on a bike that I wasn't totally in control of, ended up with the Honda wedged between no less than three cars when it failed to make a ninety degree turn! Two of the cars decided to close in, see if they could break a leg or two, but I gave the Honda some very heavy throttle, the blast of raw power making them back off pronto and the car in front lurch forwards. I was a free and wiser man. I wouldn't be applying for a despatch job, at least not on a flying pig like the CB750.
My normal commute from Bath to Bristol was a lot less traumatic, plenty of bits of open road on which to get the engine roaring away. On one early morning buzz I touched 135mph before backing off to avoid the speed cameras.
The bike lived up to my adulation in many ways but it was such a porker that I never felt wholly in control. Not that the handling was outright bad, at worst it would weave heavily at speeds above the ton-twenty but just losing the speed sorted it out. I liked the upright riding position as it suited the great variety of roads on which I rode.
The triple discs never gave me any hassles, though like the engine they are rumoured not to wear well. In about 9000 miles I never had any major problems and am not giving in to all the derogatory remarks made about this series of brutal Honda fours.
Wayne Harris
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The next door neighbour sold me this ratty old Honda CB750F1 for 250 notes on the understanding that I did not coming running to him when it went wrong. That the Honda was still a runner would've come as a surprise to anyone who cast an eye over her, but she rumbled, clattered and rattled into life more or less on cue. The neighbour had ridden the bike for the past three years and never laid a hand upon either engine or chassis; the thick layer of gunge and grime that covered everything was evidence of this.
After a brief ride up the road to check that it was indeed still rideable, although I had seen the guy rush off for work every day, I rode the bike into the depths of my garage where I could give the machine some much needed TDC. After a few days work with Gunk, a high powered hose and a wire brush the machine was revealed in all its naked glory. There were three major problems - the frame was cracked around the headstock, the camshafts had lumps missing out of them and the non standard rear wheel had broken spokes, a cracked brake hub and dented rim. There were also several hundred minor problems, like replacement of all consumables, painting of all metal and a complete top end strip down. Several visits to breakers, three weeks worth of work and about £200 later, I was able to push the newly reclaimed rat out of the garage, resplendent in all its new found glory.
The neighbour, who had proudly shown me his nearly new Tomas moped, peered over the fence, telling me I was mad to waste so much money and time on a 93000 mile bike. What he did not realise was that the F1 was one of the machines that were part of my youthful dreams, not least because a friend who owned one at 17 carried around on his pillion a girl of amazing beauty, the kind of frail who if taken along to the Kent Show would cause mass rampage amongst Angels used only to old dogs.
I enthusiastically swung a leg over the F1, listened to the clatter of the engine and waved nonchalantly to the neighbour as I roared out of the street. That ride was to set the style for all the others. After 10 miles when I was congratulating myself on a good job done well, the engine stuttered, then there was a sudden whooshing noise and an explosion of flames. I must have been brave then because I reached through the flames to turn the petrol off before leaning the machine against a car and running a few yards away.
The fire lasted for about a minute before spluttering out. The fuel pipe had evidently fallen off causing the raging conflagration. I hurriedly moved the blackened heap away from the car, a nearly new BMW which now sported a black, orange peel effect on one side, and pushed her the ten miles home. The only good thing to come out of this was that by the time I reached my abode it was gone midnight and the neighbour was not around to take the piss. Damage was mostly melted paint. wire and plastic, so after a bit of work she was back on the road.
The bike seemed to rumble ominously and whenever I went through the curves too quickly something bottomed out and sent tremors through the chassis. This did not stop me from enjoying myself down the local coast roads, putting a 110mph on the clock on one fast if bumpy lane. Careering through a series of hairpins there was this horrible noise like a steamroller crushing a car, the bike pivoted around and threw me off into three foot of ditch water. I crawled out of the water, trying to shake the slime off, absolutely amazed. The first ride had resulted in the bike trying to catch fire, the second in it trying to kill me. I picked the monster up, finding it had suffered no harm and that the cause of the accident was the sidestand spring disappearing. I removed the sidestand and threw it as far away as possible.
There followed two weeks of commuting in which little went wrong. I was so disgruntled that I didn't want to take it out in the evenings or weekends, but the feeling of hatred gradually wore off, so I decided to go for a camping weekend, up to Scotland from Dungness, a long, long ride. The bike was loaded up with lots of camping junk and my 20 stone brother-in-law who was going through a bad patch with my sister and desperate for some R & R. By the end of the trip he was in an even worse state. Carting so much junk around meant that most of the performance had disappeared. Despite having the top end rebuilt with used parts even solo it had trouble seeing off things like 400 Superdreams, with so much mass aboard it could barely puff up to 80mph. Not that I would want to go that fast, the ancient rear shocks having bottomed out under the mass, the machine weaved and wobbled like a C90 on flat tyres. At the first petrol stop the pillion was ashen faced and had to to rush to the toilet.
The M1 was the usual horror story, mad motorists speeding along at 90mph - and that was only in the slow lane - the poor old Honda needing two lanes to itself if we wanted to go above a paltry 70mph. We were stopped twice by the police who complained about the layers of smoke the bike was leaving behind but pissed off when I mentioned the pillion was a lawyer. The Honda celebrated crossing the border by blowing the back tyre. Disgust turned to horror when I saw that the blow up was caused by the back wheel collapsing. We were lucky that it had done so gradually, there were about ten spokes left holding the oblong shaped rim in place.
Even if we had wanted to we would not have been able to push it. Luckily, I had joined the AA and they agreed to take us to Glasgow. Various breakers were visited until a wheel that would fit was found. This wasn't a standard F1 wheel, either, and the way the chain didn't line up had me worried for a few minutes until I realised that I could always phone the AA. It was decided not to continue north but spend the weekend getting drunk and laid....all the way home I could here the brother-in-law muttering that he had probably caught AIDS, Glasgow having more people with AIDS than any other city.
His thoughts were doubtless interrupted when the bike went into a horrible wobble at about 65mph. The back wheel slewed every which way; even when I had the presence of mind to pull in the clutch it still skidded wretchedly. We eventually crashed to a halt on the hard shoulder, the bulk of my pillion conveniently taking much of the force of the fall. The chain had flown off the rear sprocket and wrapped itself around the wheel. The AA took us the 220 miles home, much to the relief of the pillion who still walks with a limp after the accident.
I found a breaker with that rarest of objects - a good F1 rear wheel - and treated the wreck to a nearly new set of sprockets and chain. A month went by with few problems, much to everyone's surprise, then really vicious wobbles intruded again. The weld job on the headstock had failed. A lot of hassle and money produced a used but straight frame from a breaker in Birmingham. Everyone told me I should dump the bike in the fens but I was determined to keep the machine going, whatever the cost or work involved. It only took a weekend to change everything other.
With over 100,000 miles on the clock I was not that surprised when the engine locked solid at 90mph. I was, by then, an old hand at controlling bikes with locked up rear wheels and had been riding with my hand over the clutch just in case. After chiselling the cylinder off I found that two of the con-rods had snapped, the whole engine was a write off. I started looking around the breakers again but saw an ad for a 46000 mile F1 for only £375.
I bought this machine, it had only had the one owner who had worshipped it and was in really good condition. The other one I stripped down and used what little was serviceable as spares. The newer F1 is good for 120mph on the clock, does 40mpg and uses a pint of oil every 250 miles (instead of 110mph, 35mpg and 150mpp) but seems to lack the character of the older machine. I had begun to rather enjoy the challenge of riding the heap, every outing was a great adventure with that rumbling engine and clattering chassis, but I suppose by the time this one gets around the clock it will be just the same.
Eric Gennings
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I had been suspicious that such an old motorcycle had only 17000 miles on the clock. But it looked beautiful, neither the nickel plated frame nor the original four into four exhaust had the slightest blemish.....the bike had spent most of its time in the vendor's spare bedroom! The test ride revealed why - the riding position was torture. A long petrol tank and low bars meant a huge amount of mass on my wrists. The CB needed a silly amount of effort to throw about in suburbia. Every time I braked hard the fairing screen threatened to cut my neck open.
I'm a sucker for motorcycles like this, though. Two and a half grand bought me a piece of motorcycling history. The original Honda 750 fours had such dodgy handling and excess of weight that Dresda and Rickman, amongst others, came out with frame kits to transform the breed. Rickman were later to opt for a more sensible touring rig, but I wasn't put off by the single seat nor the singular nature of this particular model.
This one had wire wheels, albeit with some juicy alloy rims and a single disc at each end. The forward mounted front caliper, a huge lump of alloy, shows how old was this era of the Rickman. The Rickman forks were stiff enough to resist both brake dive and twisting from the surprisingly powerful front brake. It needed more muscle than modern bikers might expect but I found it a basically reliable performer, well up to the 135mph top speed.
The engine was mostly a stock OHC CB750, even down to the OE airfilter. Slight rattles at low revs were the only sign of age. I knew that clutch knocking noises and transmission slop were just the same as on a brand new motor. The rearset gearchange linkage probably made the box even less precise than stock, but anyone who has spent a bit of time with old Hondas will be at home with the change. The best that could be said for the gearbox was that once a ratio was engaged it never slipped out again.
The final drive sprockets were far from stock, making first seem like third. The Rickman was maybe 50lbs lighter than the original bike, which helped with the taller gearing but some serious clutch abuse was often necessary to ensure that the engine didn't die a death. Power was never vicious, the best rev range was 5000 to 7000rpm. There was enough go to make life interesting and a relative lack of secondary vibes. The upper end of this rev range provided a 100mph cruising speed, when the screen and racing crouch began to hurt less.
The chassis also preferred speed to slouching around in town. It wasn't that it wobbled or shook, it was commendably stable at most speeds, but the suspension didn't begin to work until 70mph was on the clock. A pot-hole in town went straight up my wickedly bent spine; a quick way to end up with either a slipped disc or hunch-back.
The seat was reasonably well padded and the bum-stop was an excellent way of bracing my body at speed, although the shape of the frame dictated a high seat height which left me feeling perched way above the bike. It was the classic bum in the air, head in the clocks stance. Judging by the cat-calls I sometimes received in town it must've looked slightly absurd.
Tyres were thin Avons, the front wheel looking like it was a reject from a particularly frail moped! It actually held on to its line on the tarmac with great tenacity, although the steering never lost its heavy feel. I think the only time it would've done a wheelie was by using the engine and clutch so hard that they both broke.
In the first couple of months my main beef was with the drive chain which stretched wildly every time I used the bike. A new piece of chain went on but this was no better, needed an adjustment every 250 to 300 miles. Every time the chain went out of adjustment the gearbox became almost unusable. The swinging arm pivot is a long way from the engine sprocket which might be why chains didn't last longer than 4500 miles! Maybe there was also a bit of mild misalignment.
When the engine started to misfire I had to tear off the half fairing and petrol tank just to get at the spark plugs. The ones that came out looked so ancient they probably came with the bike. Putting the fairing back on was a tedious affair as nothing seemed to line up. It was tempting to dump the plastic as it so restricted lock that a U-turn became a seven point turn in narrow roads and it was dead easy to lose the bike. The only thing that stopped me was that there wouldn’t have been anywhere to put the clocks and light. The latter good for 75mph cruising on country roads.
Another bit of poor design was soon revealed, the plastic front guard was held on with jubilee clips that allowed it to rattle loose, dancing with the tyre. It wasn't as if it stopped any of the water from being flung off the tyre on to the engine. Five minutes in the rain had the Rickman covered with crud. The guard was too delicate to support a mudflap. The minimal rear protection similarly allowed my back to be drenched in the rain.
These minor quibbles were no more than expected. I put them to the back of my mind with fast and furious runs down my favourite back roads. The echo of the across the frame four, the feeling of supreme security and the sheer exhilaration of being free on a wide open road all combined to get me high. The physical discomfort was submerged beneath the adrenalin buzz of intensified life on two wheels.
It was only when I pulled up for petrol after a couple of hundred miles of riding that I realised the wide seat, vibration and eccentric riding position made it difficult to stand upright let alone stagger the few feet to pay the cashier. The vibes were evident in the way the fairing shook and from the tingles in the bars and pegs. It wasn't the soul destroying stuff of your average vertical twin but prolonged exposure to the high frequency buzz took its toll on my body.
Fuel, when riding on the open road, was the most surprising aspect of this bike. It turned in better than 60mpg, giving a range of over 200 miles. In town it wasn't so good, nearer 50mpg. The CB had a rather archaic oil tank which needed a pint added every 500 miles. The mill didn't leak apart from a slight weep around the cylinder. Carbs, valves and points all needed adjustment every 1500 miles. Tedious and time consuming rather than difficult.
I soon learnt that the downside of nickel plating was the way it tarnishes rapidly; a wet day's riding was all it took to make the frame look naff. The OE exhaust also needed regular doses of Solvol to stop the cans turning rusty. They corrode from the inside out but are still whole after two years and about 10,000 miles of abuse. The Rickman plastic has lots of hairline cracks but looks nice from a few feet away.
With around 25000 miles on the clock the camchain rattles rebounded off the plastic. I had tweaked the camchain tensioner a couple of times, apparently to little avail. The camchain was alright, the tensioner blade was worn down. I found one in a breaker's for a fiver. I'd had to pull the engine out to see what I was doing, so it was a tiresome business.
The chassis was made to a more robust standard than other cafe racers of the day, hasn't really caused any problems other than those which flow naturally from its riding position. The CB750 engine should be good for 50,000 plus miles until any serious attention is needed, although those that were tuned or bored out didn't last so well, mainly down to insufficient lubrication and excessive revs.
As mentioned, mileage hasn't been too high, not that I distrust the Honda, it's just that there isn't much fun in using it for the commuter chores (thank god for the step-thru) and I don't have the time for month long holidays, more's the pity. I was offered £3000 for it by some eager forty year old who reckoned he had spent his whole youth lusting after one. They are rare enough to demand a premium over the stock model. Unless I become desperate for money, I rather think I will keep it a long time.
Jake
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How about fifty quid?'' I asked, half jokingly. Received a hard stare for my pains. It was difficult to tell the true state of machine under all the grime and gunge. I tended to believe the owner's statement that in January there was no point cleaning a bike. Ten minutes later it'd be covered, once again, in filth. The engine sounded full of rattles and the exhaust puffed out little clouds of black smoke. After some more haggling the bike was mine for 200 notes.
This was all of a year ago. I don't think it was the wisest move I'd ever made. Nor was it a complete disaster. After two tins of Gunk and one jet-spray I could see what was good and what was bad. The engine cases were already bead-blasted and polished up very nicely. Even the exhaust down-pipes were okay, though not the 'silencer' which was more rust than chrome. It was welded on to the end of the 4-1, a real pain to attach a replacement. I got over that by cutting the silencer off, welding in a short piece of pipe to which the new silencer could be clamped.
Needed were new calipers, tyres, chain and sprockets, rebuilt forks, Koni shocks, frame respray (before it rusted through) and some better mudguards. The engine's rattle and smoke were down to nothing more than oil that looked like tea. As it was January I didn't mind taking the bike off the road to sort it out. Much more fun working on the bike in the kitchen than trying to brave the floods and freezing weather. I once hobbled around on a fully faired GL650; if the protection was brilliant the handling was a horror story. Never again.
Come early March I was all set for some serious riding. The bike had a new MOT and, for once, was completely legal. The Honda felt pretty solid, but then it wasn't running on the mush that passes for standard suspension. My previous bike was a VF750 so I was used to heavy steering but not to the need to rev the bike hard to get anywhere fast. The VF had blown its crankshaft, written off the whole engine and thrown me down the road. Unbelievable! One moment all was glorious, the next I was plunged into hell. I had enough fat to survive the roll without any broken bones.
Honda reckoned over 70 horses for the F1 but my own experience suggested no more than 55 gee-gees at the back wheel. I've had faster times, if a lot less reliable ones, with 650 Bonnevilles and 850 Commandos. The clock did read 69000 miles and the engine wasn't in perfect shape. As well as insufficient power to do more than 120mph there was a patch of strong secondary vibration between 4500 and 7000 revs. After half an hour of fast cruising, both feet and hands were left tingling. As annoying as an old sixties Bonnie!
Another nastiness was the transmission. The hyvoid primary chain thrashed around as if in the last few days of its life. The gearbox was an appalling mess, the selectors worn to the point where a false neutral was more likely than an engaged gear. The rear chain was more likely to strip the sprockets than transmit power efficiently. I never did become completely used to the box, tending to hold on to third or fourth.
The clutch slip that was necessary for survival at low revs in tall gears, soon had the clutch rattling and then slipping. F1 clutches are rather naff, with none in the breakers. Pattern pads and HD springs were fitted but didn't cure the slip in its entirety. At one point there was a bang from the engine area and total failure of the clutch. I thought the drum had exploded but it was only the cable snapping and the mechanism hitting something. Quick wear cables were another piece of wickedness.
The drive chain snapped twice. They are infamous for wrecking the crankcases. Mine were already broken, the chain just knocking out the Plastic Metal. I put some more in and carried on regardless. Luckily, none of the stuff got inside the engine. The thought of all the oil being pumped out of the crankcases kept coming back to me every time I did the ton or more. The solution was to continuously caress the clutch lever but the reality of the bodging caught up with me.
An even more disarming habit was for the gear lever to rattle loose on its splines. This rendered the gear lever inoperative, leaving me stuck in whichever ratio fate had decreed. Often quite hazardous if a sudden change in speed was needed. I just sat there in panic mode but luck was with me and the cages went around me. I had to pull over and set to with the spanners.
The kickstart did a similar trick, the electric boot long burnt out. A few times I had to resort to a bump-start. Best described as suicidal as cleaning a loaded shotgun. I fell off once, the bike catching my ankle, and the second time the bike fell over, leaving a large hole in the ground. The ultimate solution's to weld the levers to their shafts but I haven't gone that far yet.
Despite these hassles the bike's kept on churning out the goods for 13000 miles. I might not go as far as describing these deeds as fun but there were lots of kicks involved. Most of the problems came from the age of the machine and the fact that I tended to ride on worn out tyres (they only lasted about 5000 miles) and had the chain dragging along the ground for a lot of the time. With fuel around 40mpg, and a big squeeze on at work, I had to save money any way that I could.
A major expense involved the time the front wheel tried to fall off. The only reason for the loose spindle, that I can think of, is that some local oiks did the dirty after I reported them for trying to steal a car. I thought the front end felt a little stranger than normal (it was never too precise even with a decent amount of tread on the tyre, which was, anyway, very rare). A few hundred yards down the road it was like riding on marbles and then the tarmac reared up to smash me in the head. The front wheel ended up buckled like a piece of modern sculpture, even to the extent of cracking the hub. A troll through the breakers acquired a replacement with a nearly new tyre.
I almost went berserk when I came out a week later to find both tyres slashed. After that the bike was bounced up the pavement into the house. I was never worried about anyone stealing the Honda because it looked such a rat and the gearchange was a useful deterrent. As was the starting technique that required precise positioning of the choke and then a quick fiddle back and forth on the lever.
As it stands, I've just spent a hundred notes bringing the chassis up to scratch - on used bits naturally. The engine, whilst lacking power and making terminal noises, seems nigh on indestructible, not having gone off any since I bought the bike. F1's have a bit of rep for eating camchains, tensioners, clutches and even crankshafts but they seem to either die an early death or keep going once they pass the fifty thou mark.
The shape has aged well and there's even the odd low mileage example on offer at over 1500 notes, which is silly money but there are worse ways to blow a stack of dosh. Rats go from £200 upwards, some of them needing serious money to keep them on the road. I even saw one cross-breed - a GS550 engine in an F1 chassis. Might be fun when the Honda's engine finally blows.
F.J.
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The Honda looked quite petite to my bleary eyes (heavy night the day before...) but the grin on the owner's face as I struggled to get her off the centerstand suggested otherwise. 500lbs toppled forward and nearly broke my leg in half. The motor rattled away merrily - was the clutch or the valves noisier, and were they really like that back in 1970? The bike was best described as a bit rough and ready but all there, right down to the rusty four into four exhaust system. About right for the £1350 price tag.
The test run revealed some acceleration, about the same as my old CBX550, and a bit of odd handling from the portly old chassis - it already had a fork brace, stronger springing and damping, plus the obligatory pair of Koni shocks, so god knows what it was like standard. Very high handlebars and forward mounted pegs made it an awkward little period piece.
On the good side, the engine was oil tight, the gears engaged and the rattles didn't get worse with revs. And it was the only bike available in that price range, excluding nasty 125's and the odd 500 twin. So it had to be. Deposit down, come back two days later with the rest of the dosh and the cheap classic insurance sorted out.
The motor was stone cold when I turned up but roared into life on the choke and button with nary a moment of hesitation. It did take a good ten minutes to really warm up and surged a little until the choke could be dispensed with. As I did an hour's ride twice a day this wasn't going to be a problem - using a big four of this vintage on shorts runs, though, tends to do the oil in which in turn shags the camshaft, so try to avoid if you're just doing short haul commuting.
Its weight and width are limitations in our overcrowded cities, leaving me boxed in several times each day. It also needed more than 4000 revs before it really shifted, which meant playing with second and third gears in town rather than trying to slog it out in fourth or fifth. The combination of the excess mass it had to carry and way the engine was focused, meant there was never really an excess of torque at any revs.
Disappointing for a 750, the need to play silly buggers on the throttle could be a bit tiring after a while. There was never the compensation of mind blurring, arm wrenching acceleration, although the old thing would somehow wind itself up to an indicated 135mph! Annoying, too, was the level of secondary vibes that always buzzed my hands and feet. Not the teeth rattling stuff of yore, but an hour at the controls turned me a little ratty, whilst two hours had me shaking like an addict coming down from a fix! Yes, I did get a few weird looks from the police when they clocked me using two hands to put the key back in the ignition!
Is this an unfair comment on an aged and high mileage engine, could I expect better from a low miler, lovingly run in and maintained by some kind of mechanical pervert? As it happens, no! I was privileged to have a blast on a 6000 miler in really immaculate trim (which had cost £3500!) that went so far as to run standard suspension!
Vibration and performance appeared identical to my own bike, which ended up with 93000 miles on the clock! This at least confirms the motor as unbelievably tough as I wasn't exactly meticulous on the maintenance chores, although I will admit to doing the oil every 1000 miles. If I didn't, the Honda complained with expensive sounding noises via the gearchange and a plethora of false neutrals. Clever bit of design, that.
I say the suspension was stock but it was also like new, so not that different to my own worn out stuff that I never got around to upgrading. That tells you how bad the handling was...never so nasty as to really frighten me into spending dosh - and god knows it doesn't take much! Yes, it weaved at anything above 80mph but that was useful as my licence was close to expiring, and even at 135mph it only needed one lane in which to do its weird waltz with death.
Cornering was limited more by excessive, top heavy mass than the compliance of the suspension. Whenever the boredom of modern life became too much all I'd do was lay the monster too far over. It didn't so much as spark as lurch and dig in, but never so badly that the back wheel tried to overtake the front. I kept the huge bars for the simple reason that the leverage they afforded gave me the only chance to keep the beast under control.
In reality, performance and handling were in the same category as some early eighties 550 four, but then so were the running costs. 50mpg, 10,000 miles from tyres or chain and one set of pads at 15000 miles. That front disc was supposed to be a nasty piece of work, but as long as it was feathered in the wet, I never found much to complain about. I suppose it was all down to what you were used to, my past littered with an excess of dogs (bikes and women both!).
Not wanting this particular piece of classic motorcycle history to go the same route, I did up the paint and kept the chrome and alloy well polished. Silly money was demanded for a new exhaust system, so a brace of stainless steel cans were attached to the downpipes (which were lovingly finished in matt black - every month needing a new coating). The reality was that the Honda had a basic finish rather more resilient than most modern machines, some three year old's being in a much worse state. And I did ride her through the winter.
Which is mostly when I fell off. All down to the tyres, cheapo Avons that liked to aquaplane when the going got wet. The Honda made a hell of a racket whenever it hit the ground, costing a fortune in ruined tarmac, but bent or broken indicators aside was amazingly easy to kick straight again and ride off into the distance. Thanks to leathers and body armour I was always able to leap up and get out of there fast before those nasty men in uniform turned up.
Luckily, all these crashes were at relatively low speed, confounding the bike's reputation as a high speed accident looking for somewhere to happen. Down purely, I'm sure, to my strongly developed survival instincts, and the way the Honda gave plenty of early warning that it was about to do something nasty.
Unlike many modern bikes, no way could the CB750 be described as remote. I always knew what the rubber was doing to the road, and also how the engine was running. Regal it wasn't, but it could be safely ridden in most conditions - as long as you'd had some practice on old rats and more or less knew what you were doing.
So three years of trouble free motorcycling, lots of kicks, enjoyment and amusement, plus excess looks of admiration from the general populace, all added up to a sense of frustration. Mainly because all me mates had hot 600's which the poor old Honda couldn't hope to keep up with even if I let it barge through the corners like an out of control, overloaded wheelbarrow. In short, for all its many virtues, it had to go.
And there's the rub. I was practically trampled under foot by the stampede of eager punters when I advertised it at £1975 - okay, it was the hottest month in 1996 and decent tackle was rare in dealers.
Two grand doesn't add up to much but it was enough to make a down payment on a Yam XJR - a complete and utter dream after the Honda, though it had been slagged for bad handling in the press. Not after the CB750!
H.K.
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It was a 1976, canary yellow Honda CB750F1 with a Dunstall exhaust and 30,000 miles on the clock. The test ride on the pillion almost made me brown my pants, we reached at least 90mph with neck breaking acceleration. All I was hearing inside my helmet was "get it at all costs, get it at all costs..." The guy accepted my 400/4 and a pile of ten pound notes.
On the way home, I decided to blow off a Mini dawdling along at 40mph. I was in top gear and started to overtake when the engine began to splutter. I dropped down a gear and opened the throttle only to find that the engine didn't respond. Abandoning the overtaking manoeuvre the bike coasted on, with me absolutely stunned and numbed into silence. The motor didn't cut out altogether and providing I kept below 40mph everything else seemed to be okay.
I limped back home to Dover terribly depressed, thinking what have you gone and bought. I cried myself to sleep that night. I awoke the next morning thinking I'd had a terrible nightmare. I rushed out to the shed and there it was, that great big fat yellow impotent monster. It almost seemed to be saying, I know you hate me because I'm old and fat and gutless, but you've bought me now and you've got to learn to love me, however hard that might be.
I thought bitterly of the filthy crook who now had my beautiful Honda four in his garage. Then I noticed a strong smell of petrol in the air. Where on earth was that coming from? I waggled the petrol tap to see if it leaked. No, tight as a drum. My hand brushed the underneath of the tank and came up soaked in petrol. What was more, the petrol was stained with rust. Close inspection revealed that the bottom of the tank had several pin holes and shining a torch inside the tank showed it to be covered in rust.
Suddenly, I was interested again. Two hours spent cleaning the carbs and filters and a £50 shop-soiled tank later I couldn't believe my luck. I'd been on the point of suicide now everything was coming up roses.
I clambered on board, This bike has so much mass (500lbs), the gearchange is solid but very clunky into first and the clutch makes groaning noises which can be disconcerting when moving off, but has never given me any trouble. This was my first big bike and up until then I didn't know the meaning of torque, it will chug along at 25mph in top and opening the throttle doesn't cause snatching or jerking, the motor just powers away as if gears were an unnecessary luxury.
In the midrange, to 5000rpm, there's no dead spot, just an increase in the volume of exhaust noise which warns you to hold on tight and prepare for take off. And take off it certainly does. Each time you change up the gears, you're waiting for the forward acceleration to slacken off, but it doesn't, it just keeps on pushing more out. For me, I'd say the most enjoyable moments were taking on steep hills. All the smaller motorcycles I'd had previously suffered on long steep hills, but that's all in the past now.
I had the machine for a year and covered 8000 miles without a breakdown. Handling problems appear at high speed but you should forget about ultimate speed on this motorcycle and instead enjoy the superb tractability of the engine. It did get through quite a lot of oil and smoke came out of the exhaust when thrashing it, so I suppose something inside was a bit worn. I never investigated, though, just changed the oil filter every 2000 miles. The performance never seemed to drop.
Rear tyre wear was atrocious, but 2500 miles of sheer excitement is good in my book. So don't be a scrooge, you bare canvas riders, replace those rear tyres early. Less than perfect tyres ruin the handling. The front disc is quite good when the brake is first applied. However, it does fade rapidly if you hold it on. Wet weather braking was okay provided you never forgot the two second delay before the brakes worked. The rear brake would lock the wheel if you didn't treat it with respect.
As with most large motorcycles, petrol consumption was directly proportional to riding style. I wasn't particularly surprised with 25mpg after a good thrash but 60mpg could be attained if ridden carefully. Average was 45mpg.
I gave up motorcycling in 1982 and hardly recognise any of the latest machines on the road today. Perhaps I will return to motorcycling when I have enough spare cash and perhaps I'll be more than impressed with the exotic merchandise on offer today, but I'll never forget that year I spent with the F1, it was one of the lords of life.
Brian Stophert
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Although my 1976 Honda 750F1 had only 18000 miles up, it had been owned by two cowboys and the abuse that had been heaped upon it must have been worth twice that mileage. The first owner had parked it into the side of a van at 50mph. The rebuilt and resprayed bike had then been thrashed with no maintenance for the next few thousand miles. Then for some strange reason he traded it in for a CX500.
The next owner I didn't know, but the third was another cowboy who I knew, he thrashed it for a couple of years until he decided to emigrate, leaving the F1 in place of the rent he owed.
The bike had been standing unused for nearly a year and didn't run - the original plugs were totally shot and the carbs were full of grot. The engine roared into life but was very noisy - the tappets hadn't been touched since new, it seemed to me, one gap was five times what it should have been!
I owned a Norton at that time and the Honda seemed vast in comparison. Even with its fat five gallon tank, the cylinders still jut out. It went around the block a few times and came back with steam churning out of the rear disc which was jammed on. I hate taking discs apart so dumped it on a friendly dealer.
After the Norton it felt like a lumbering carthorse out on the main roads, but it's nice to have instruments and lights that work, not to mention brakes. I'm not pushing it and I'm not used to it, but the speedo creeps up to 95mph with deceptive ease, the lack of exhaust noise almost disconcerting after the Norton. After the first ride, three spokes broke in the back wheel - I rode home very slowly. F1's have a rep for breaking up back wheels - there were three being done when I took mine in to be repaired.
As I started to use the bike more, I was appalled by the fuel consumption of 40mpg. Performance was a lot down on what I had expected with only 120mph on the clock flat out, although on straight roads I could quite happily tool along at the ton without any paranoia about it falling apart.
Handling was a different matter. I never had that much trouble with weaves but due to its mass the four liked to carry on in a straight line when the going got twisty. With a pillion, who knew what they were doing, it was far better. It couldn't stay with either Norton or 400/4 in the curves. The gearchange and transmission were okay, though a careful eye had to be kept on the chain tension to keep it smooth. The clutch rumbled and rattled but never actually gave any trouble.
The gearchange was typical early Honda - notchy but okay, although the neutral light lied a lot, especially in wet weather. Sometimes, changing from first to second would put the box into neutral.
The electrics were the best I've ever had on a bike, but that may be because I've never owned a bike newer than 1978. The only problem I had was a loose connection to the electric starter.
I marvelled and bemoaned the rate of tyre, chain, sprocket and pad wear. Rear tyres lasted 5000 miles, front 10,000 miles (Roadrunners), chains 6000 miles and disc pads 5000 and 7000 miles (front and rear). Fuel consumption seemed to stay at 40mpg.
In the dry, braking was okay, it the wet with those two chromed discs it was appalling, horrifying, pant filling.....all the nasty things you ever heard about disc brakes in the wet were there in the Honda. Different pads had little effect, in the end I had to keep squeezing the lever every few seconds and rely on paranoid anticipation.
Maintenance was a doddle, in many ways easier than a Brit twin, plus it didn't need as much. The low (for then) riding position is extremely practical. Exhaust valves were a problem on some bikes, but that showed up by 5000 miles so should be fixed by now. I never had any mechanical problems, the longest the bike was off the road was when some jerk stole the petrol tank!
I'd certainly go for another 750/4, as that engine is a gem. Due to marriage and mortgage, mine had to be sold.
Bruce Enzer
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I arrived late at the auction and the bidding was well under way which meant there was no time to look at the bikes. Lot 162 was a Honda 750F1 combo described as being in good condition with spares. It looked okay on the closed circuit TV, bidding slowed at £280 and I got it for £320. Merry images of trundling the three legged elephant home faded when I discovered that the engine was seized, the battery was missing and the brakes didn't work. Thank god for the brother-in-law's large van.
There were some redeeming features in amongst the scrap metal. It had trailing link forks and twin disc brakes on the front and a 15" back wheel, so someone had once taken some care setting it up. It had done 36000 miles.
I went to see the previous owner who said he thought the kickstart had jammed, that he really hadn't taken the plugs out when he steam cleaned it. Oddly persistent about that he was. When I took the engine out, only had to saw off one engine bolt, and stripped it down, I found two pistons rusted in.
I had to use a hammer I could barely lift to move the pistons. When I had finished the tops closely resembled an early exercise in inept pewter work. The bores, oddly, were in excellent condition. The piston rings, even those not rusted in, were in many more pieces than Mr Honda intended and jammed in their grooves. After various replacements and a quick rebuild, the engine was fitted back in the frame and I spent many a happy hour trying to kick it into life. After replacing the condensor it finally fired into noisy life.
It sounded a bit rattly but I need very little encouragement before throwing good money after bad, so like a man possessed I got the front brakes spongily working, fitted a new front tyre, a secondhand rear brake cylinder and spent many hours trying to work out the wiring to the sidecar. It had cost £510 to get on the road.
The delight of the machine is that every journey is an event. Not the sort of thing you jump in to go around the corner to the shops. Which with our finances is quite a consideration. For a while, we didn't go further than we could afford public transport back from. If you follow me. In fact, if you follow me you must be going extremely slowly. We were very circumspect about venturing on to the motorway. I'm sufficiently poor to what to keep the thing going for as long as possible. Its effect on many is to prompt a smile (of pity I suspect) and because we're so obviously no threat to anyone's prowess we get treated like the dear little doddery fools we are.
A bried business trip cum holiday to Cornwall went well until a combination of my stupidity, a faulty regulator and running out of fuel found us stranded in Bodmin. We'd started at 4am in the rain (sorry if you were among those we awoke on the site in Penzance) and broke down with all day to play with the monster.
We found a marvellous collection of helpful folk, one of whom, the foreman of the bike shop, drove me out to the bike, got it going with jump leads, followed me back to his workshop, taking about 40 minutes and charged the battery - all for £6. Others looked after my wife and children. What could have been a nightmare became almost an enjoyable experience.
We've done 8000 miles now, replaced the camchain and regulator, the clutch rattles but apparently they all do that, and it still works okay. Gearbox clunky but okay for our matronly progress. Sidecars are great for kids. They scream and fight and make friends like on any journeys, poor loves, but glorious isolation on the bike is far more restful than the front seat of a car.
Peter Bolton
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I didn't know if the CB750F2 would make it the 30 miles to my home. It was a sort of bargain buy. The £350 barely covered the cost of its newish consumables and Koni shocks. The price reflected in the grey exhaust smoke and knocking bottom end. I didn't punish it for its frailties, kept the rev counter below 4000rpm. Even then, the vibration poured out of the OHC four cylinder motor like some vintage relic.
At one point the engine clunked into silence at a junction. I thought I'd had it, but after a few minutes whirling away on the noisy starter, the motor growled once more out of its rusty four into one exhaust system. Progress was moderate but relentless, the welcome sight of my house eventually coming into view. As well as knocking main bearings, the gearbox selectors were worn out and it would even jump out of third and fourth gear to a rhythm all of its own creation.
Nothing for it but to lug the motor out of the tubular frame. Not easy as two of the engine bolts were seized in, needed to be drilled out. The same crisis went down with numerous engine screws - the Japanese obviously paranoid about replicating all the old British bike horrors, made damn sure that the bolts corroded in solidly. Ruined threads, snapped bolts and much bodging ensued.
The engine internals were not a pretty sight. Basically, every bearing in the bottom end of the 89000 mile engine was shagged. The top end only escaped a similar fate because it'd been rebuilt, according to the vendor, at 77000 miles. Visits to breakers, handing over £95 in all, secured a usable crank, decent primary drive and a slew of gearbox components. It all went together with an excess of Loctite, Araldite and brute force.
Those with long memories will recall that the CB750F2 wasn't received with rapturous applause back in the late seventies, when both Kawasaki and Suzuki offered much superior bikes. Thus I didn't expect too much of my rebuilt machine, and was quite pleasantly surprised when it came to life with a nice mechanical rustle that was far beyond what you'd expect from the meshing of its disparate and worn components. Must've been the luck of the draw.
For under 500 sovs I had an 125mph machine, that hollered down the road like a pack of Dobberman beasts were after us, turned in 45mpg and handled with reasonable aplomb, once allowances were made for its excessive weight and over-taut (nonstandard) suspension. I couldn't really fault the bike given its purchase cost and antiquity. Did my street credibility no end of good, a real steal in this modern world of rip-offs...
Oh yes, I can see you're all waiting for it. Pleasant daydreams of the fast life don't last for long in the real world of cheap biking, do they? The age and worn state had little to do with the ensuing trauma, having been reported at length in the UMG in the past about bikes that were newish and well loved. Yes, the dreaded cutting out in the wet!
I'm a reasonable enough chap. I don't expect perfection personified from an old motorcycle. Make allowances, go with the flow, a bit of Zen goes a long way, etc. But the Honda turned me into a homicidal psychopath the moment a few drops of water fell. That bastard ignition circuit had a mind of its own - cutting out, cutting in, going down to two cylinders, wham-banging the power back in without any warning, stalling at junctions...you name it, the bugger did it.
At first, I reacted as any long term reader of the UMG would. It's been reported time and time again that the cause of such horrors is often a too short front guard allowing gallons of water off the front tyre all over the engine. Buy a large mudflap, fit to guard, smile knowingly...end up cursing the UMG as it made not one bit of difference. The coils and HT leads were already coated in a smelly black substance and spraying with WD40 didn't help at all.
Down to the breaker again. He has all sorts of seventies junk and lots of esoteric knowledge. Replace everything was his obviously biased opinion. Fifty pounds worth of electronic ignition, coils, HT leads and wire later, I was all set to solve the problem. Or not. After all that effort all I got was less inclination for the engine to cut out completely.
I went back to complain. He told me to try taking the cut-out switch out of the circuit. A couple of wires twisted together, no more cutting out. If I hadn't been so relieved I could've cut his head off, as I'd suffered four months and 2000 miles of sheer animal frustration. At least I had a spare set of electrics if anything went down.
I'd expected the F2 to need a lot of muscle and effort to swing through the bends but it wasn't too bad. Not until the tyres had worn out, after about 7500 miles. Worn Avons, 500lbs of mass and rutted back roads didn't mix too well. Every time I went enthusiastic on the throttle, the back end tried to come around to meet the front. And the front would try to dig in under the bike when I went too viciously into corners. Really, you don't want to ride the Honda on tyres which have done more than 5000 miles - expensive but it makes all the difference between a pleasurable outing and a near death experience.
The brakes were something else again. Out of the ark twin front discs that re-invented the idea of wet weather lag with a vengeance. Hitting on the suddenly seized up front wheel in the wet with worn rubber resulted in a quick trip down the road. The Honda took such tarmac skirmishes with a lot more indifference than my tender flesh, losing skin and bone from my knee, thigh and elbow. Ouch! It made me ride all softly, softly in the wet. It was one of those bikes that when it finally went did so in a violent, retributive manner.
So much so that I seriously thought about dumping the bike. I wanted to use all the power all of the time, not pussyfoot around when conditions became a bit dubious. In the wet I was faster on a Superdream than on the 750 because there was just so much top heavy mass waiting to let loose on the bigger bike. This was something that became no easier to bear as time went on. Quick reflexes just didn't come into it.
Not that it was the chassis that finally did for the bike, it was the motor that went down in a big way. It had become a bit of a pain as wear had reached that point where it needed a 500 mile service to keep it in reasonable fettle (that compares with 5000 to 10,000 miles on modern fours). The carbs were real finicky bastards to balance and even the valve clearances were awkward as wear bit deep into the rockers.
I had about 11000 miles of reasonable running out of the mill, then another 4000 miles when everything became finicky - not bad on such a hack, I know! But the end, when it came, was very vile. The motor locked up at 60mph on a wet road, the back wheel skid flipping us off the tarmac. The bike saved itself from a timely end by landing on my leg.
In fact, the chassis has just added some more bruises and dents, is still rideable. As to the motor, I've just bought a couple of boxes of spare parts for £100. Should be enough for a couple of rebuilds, so once it's back on the road I'm stuck with it. Or I'll tidy it up and sell it as a real classic from a time when men were men. Or something like that. Recommended only if you're broke and a bit desperate.
Ian Newborne
The next owner I didn't know, but the third was another cowboy who I knew, he thrashed it for a couple of years until he decided to emigrate, leaving the F1 in place of the rent he owed.
The bike had been standing unused for nearly a year and didn't run - the original plugs were totally shot and the carbs were full of grot. The engine roared into life but was very noisy - the tappets hadn't been touched since new, it seemed to me, one gap was five times what it should have been!
I owned a Norton at that time and the Honda seemed vast in comparison. Even with its fat five gallon tank, the cylinders still jut out. It went around the block a few times and came back with steam churning out of the rear disc which was jammed on. I hate taking discs apart so dumped it on a friendly dealer.
After the Norton it felt like a lumbering carthorse out on the main roads, but it's nice to have instruments and lights that work, not to mention brakes. I'm not pushing it and I'm not used to it, but the speedo creeps up to 95mph with deceptive ease, the lack of exhaust noise almost disconcerting after the Norton. After the first ride, three spokes broke in the back wheel - I rode home very slowly. F1's have a rep for breaking up back wheels - there were three being done when I took mine in to be repaired.
As I started to use the bike more, I was appalled by the fuel consumption of 40mpg. Performance was a lot down on what I had expected with only 120mph on the clock flat out, although on straight roads I could quite happily tool along at the ton without any paranoia about it falling apart.
Handling was a different matter. I never had that much trouble with weaves but due to its mass the four liked to carry on in a straight line when the going got twisty. With a pillion, who knew what they were doing, it was far better. It couldn't stay with either Norton or 400/4 in the curves. The gearchange and transmission were okay, though a careful eye had to be kept on the chain tension to keep it smooth. The clutch rumbled and rattled but never actually gave any trouble.
The gearchange was typical early Honda - notchy but okay, although the neutral light lied a lot, especially in wet weather. Sometimes, changing from first to second would put the box into neutral.
The electrics were the best I've ever had on a bike, but that may be because I've never owned a bike newer than 1978. The only problem I had was a loose connection to the electric starter.
I marvelled and bemoaned the rate of tyre, chain, sprocket and pad wear. Rear tyres lasted 5000 miles, front 10,000 miles (Roadrunners), chains 6000 miles and disc pads 5000 and 7000 miles (front and rear). Fuel consumption seemed to stay at 40mpg.
In the dry, braking was okay, it the wet with those two chromed discs it was appalling, horrifying, pant filling.....all the nasty things you ever heard about disc brakes in the wet were there in the Honda. Different pads had little effect, in the end I had to keep squeezing the lever every few seconds and rely on paranoid anticipation.
Maintenance was a doddle, in many ways easier than a Brit twin, plus it didn't need as much. The low (for then) riding position is extremely practical. Exhaust valves were a problem on some bikes, but that showed up by 5000 miles so should be fixed by now. I never had any mechanical problems, the longest the bike was off the road was when some jerk stole the petrol tank!
I'd certainly go for another 750/4, as that engine is a gem. Due to marriage and mortgage, mine had to be sold.
Bruce Enzer
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I arrived late at the auction and the bidding was well under way which meant there was no time to look at the bikes. Lot 162 was a Honda 750F1 combo described as being in good condition with spares. It looked okay on the closed circuit TV, bidding slowed at £280 and I got it for £320. Merry images of trundling the three legged elephant home faded when I discovered that the engine was seized, the battery was missing and the brakes didn't work. Thank god for the brother-in-law's large van.
There were some redeeming features in amongst the scrap metal. It had trailing link forks and twin disc brakes on the front and a 15" back wheel, so someone had once taken some care setting it up. It had done 36000 miles.
I went to see the previous owner who said he thought the kickstart had jammed, that he really hadn't taken the plugs out when he steam cleaned it. Oddly persistent about that he was. When I took the engine out, only had to saw off one engine bolt, and stripped it down, I found two pistons rusted in.
I had to use a hammer I could barely lift to move the pistons. When I had finished the tops closely resembled an early exercise in inept pewter work. The bores, oddly, were in excellent condition. The piston rings, even those not rusted in, were in many more pieces than Mr Honda intended and jammed in their grooves. After various replacements and a quick rebuild, the engine was fitted back in the frame and I spent many a happy hour trying to kick it into life. After replacing the condensor it finally fired into noisy life.
It sounded a bit rattly but I need very little encouragement before throwing good money after bad, so like a man possessed I got the front brakes spongily working, fitted a new front tyre, a secondhand rear brake cylinder and spent many hours trying to work out the wiring to the sidecar. It had cost £510 to get on the road.
The delight of the machine is that every journey is an event. Not the sort of thing you jump in to go around the corner to the shops. Which with our finances is quite a consideration. For a while, we didn't go further than we could afford public transport back from. If you follow me. In fact, if you follow me you must be going extremely slowly. We were very circumspect about venturing on to the motorway. I'm sufficiently poor to what to keep the thing going for as long as possible. Its effect on many is to prompt a smile (of pity I suspect) and because we're so obviously no threat to anyone's prowess we get treated like the dear little doddery fools we are.
A bried business trip cum holiday to Cornwall went well until a combination of my stupidity, a faulty regulator and running out of fuel found us stranded in Bodmin. We'd started at 4am in the rain (sorry if you were among those we awoke on the site in Penzance) and broke down with all day to play with the monster.
We found a marvellous collection of helpful folk, one of whom, the foreman of the bike shop, drove me out to the bike, got it going with jump leads, followed me back to his workshop, taking about 40 minutes and charged the battery - all for £6. Others looked after my wife and children. What could have been a nightmare became almost an enjoyable experience.
We've done 8000 miles now, replaced the camchain and regulator, the clutch rattles but apparently they all do that, and it still works okay. Gearbox clunky but okay for our matronly progress. Sidecars are great for kids. They scream and fight and make friends like on any journeys, poor loves, but glorious isolation on the bike is far more restful than the front seat of a car.
Peter Bolton
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I didn't know if the CB750F2 would make it the 30 miles to my home. It was a sort of bargain buy. The £350 barely covered the cost of its newish consumables and Koni shocks. The price reflected in the grey exhaust smoke and knocking bottom end. I didn't punish it for its frailties, kept the rev counter below 4000rpm. Even then, the vibration poured out of the OHC four cylinder motor like some vintage relic.
At one point the engine clunked into silence at a junction. I thought I'd had it, but after a few minutes whirling away on the noisy starter, the motor growled once more out of its rusty four into one exhaust system. Progress was moderate but relentless, the welcome sight of my house eventually coming into view. As well as knocking main bearings, the gearbox selectors were worn out and it would even jump out of third and fourth gear to a rhythm all of its own creation.
Nothing for it but to lug the motor out of the tubular frame. Not easy as two of the engine bolts were seized in, needed to be drilled out. The same crisis went down with numerous engine screws - the Japanese obviously paranoid about replicating all the old British bike horrors, made damn sure that the bolts corroded in solidly. Ruined threads, snapped bolts and much bodging ensued.
The engine internals were not a pretty sight. Basically, every bearing in the bottom end of the 89000 mile engine was shagged. The top end only escaped a similar fate because it'd been rebuilt, according to the vendor, at 77000 miles. Visits to breakers, handing over £95 in all, secured a usable crank, decent primary drive and a slew of gearbox components. It all went together with an excess of Loctite, Araldite and brute force.
Those with long memories will recall that the CB750F2 wasn't received with rapturous applause back in the late seventies, when both Kawasaki and Suzuki offered much superior bikes. Thus I didn't expect too much of my rebuilt machine, and was quite pleasantly surprised when it came to life with a nice mechanical rustle that was far beyond what you'd expect from the meshing of its disparate and worn components. Must've been the luck of the draw.
For under 500 sovs I had an 125mph machine, that hollered down the road like a pack of Dobberman beasts were after us, turned in 45mpg and handled with reasonable aplomb, once allowances were made for its excessive weight and over-taut (nonstandard) suspension. I couldn't really fault the bike given its purchase cost and antiquity. Did my street credibility no end of good, a real steal in this modern world of rip-offs...
Oh yes, I can see you're all waiting for it. Pleasant daydreams of the fast life don't last for long in the real world of cheap biking, do they? The age and worn state had little to do with the ensuing trauma, having been reported at length in the UMG in the past about bikes that were newish and well loved. Yes, the dreaded cutting out in the wet!
I'm a reasonable enough chap. I don't expect perfection personified from an old motorcycle. Make allowances, go with the flow, a bit of Zen goes a long way, etc. But the Honda turned me into a homicidal psychopath the moment a few drops of water fell. That bastard ignition circuit had a mind of its own - cutting out, cutting in, going down to two cylinders, wham-banging the power back in without any warning, stalling at junctions...you name it, the bugger did it.
At first, I reacted as any long term reader of the UMG would. It's been reported time and time again that the cause of such horrors is often a too short front guard allowing gallons of water off the front tyre all over the engine. Buy a large mudflap, fit to guard, smile knowingly...end up cursing the UMG as it made not one bit of difference. The coils and HT leads were already coated in a smelly black substance and spraying with WD40 didn't help at all.
Down to the breaker again. He has all sorts of seventies junk and lots of esoteric knowledge. Replace everything was his obviously biased opinion. Fifty pounds worth of electronic ignition, coils, HT leads and wire later, I was all set to solve the problem. Or not. After all that effort all I got was less inclination for the engine to cut out completely.
I went back to complain. He told me to try taking the cut-out switch out of the circuit. A couple of wires twisted together, no more cutting out. If I hadn't been so relieved I could've cut his head off, as I'd suffered four months and 2000 miles of sheer animal frustration. At least I had a spare set of electrics if anything went down.
I'd expected the F2 to need a lot of muscle and effort to swing through the bends but it wasn't too bad. Not until the tyres had worn out, after about 7500 miles. Worn Avons, 500lbs of mass and rutted back roads didn't mix too well. Every time I went enthusiastic on the throttle, the back end tried to come around to meet the front. And the front would try to dig in under the bike when I went too viciously into corners. Really, you don't want to ride the Honda on tyres which have done more than 5000 miles - expensive but it makes all the difference between a pleasurable outing and a near death experience.
The brakes were something else again. Out of the ark twin front discs that re-invented the idea of wet weather lag with a vengeance. Hitting on the suddenly seized up front wheel in the wet with worn rubber resulted in a quick trip down the road. The Honda took such tarmac skirmishes with a lot more indifference than my tender flesh, losing skin and bone from my knee, thigh and elbow. Ouch! It made me ride all softly, softly in the wet. It was one of those bikes that when it finally went did so in a violent, retributive manner.
So much so that I seriously thought about dumping the bike. I wanted to use all the power all of the time, not pussyfoot around when conditions became a bit dubious. In the wet I was faster on a Superdream than on the 750 because there was just so much top heavy mass waiting to let loose on the bigger bike. This was something that became no easier to bear as time went on. Quick reflexes just didn't come into it.
Not that it was the chassis that finally did for the bike, it was the motor that went down in a big way. It had become a bit of a pain as wear had reached that point where it needed a 500 mile service to keep it in reasonable fettle (that compares with 5000 to 10,000 miles on modern fours). The carbs were real finicky bastards to balance and even the valve clearances were awkward as wear bit deep into the rockers.
I had about 11000 miles of reasonable running out of the mill, then another 4000 miles when everything became finicky - not bad on such a hack, I know! But the end, when it came, was very vile. The motor locked up at 60mph on a wet road, the back wheel skid flipping us off the tarmac. The bike saved itself from a timely end by landing on my leg.
In fact, the chassis has just added some more bruises and dents, is still rideable. As to the motor, I've just bought a couple of boxes of spare parts for £100. Should be enough for a couple of rebuilds, so once it's back on the road I'm stuck with it. Or I'll tidy it up and sell it as a real classic from a time when men were men. Or something like that. Recommended only if you're broke and a bit desperate.
Ian Newborne