With the purchase of a 1980 Honda CG125 for £200 I had become a biker, much to the amazement of my friends and horror of my mother. My first of several run-ins with the law were quick in coming (and this is Northern Ireland).
Once, I rode out in front of a fast moving car without giving way at a junction. It turned out to be a plain clothes patrol car - just my luck. They gave me a patronising talk and then hinted that I might be responsible for discharging loaded shotguns down the street, trying to kill his three yearold daughter, before letting me off...
I was pulled over a week later by a cop on a large police bike and asked to produce all my documents and road tax. The officer told me I had been looking over my shoulder too often. You can't win.
The bike was a godsend when I moved up to student digs at university. I couldn't get any girls to ride on the back, they claimed it was too embarrassing, but I didn't care. It was mine and I loved it. So did someone else. I had just rushed into the house with some gear from the top box and came back out to find it gone.
The police found it a few days later after it had been dented by some scramblers. Mind you, it was that sort of area. Some maniac had let loose with a rifle in the local bar and there was even a mortar attack over the house one time! An offer by a friend to put a mate and I up in Bristol over the holidays was accepted with great relief. Before departure, though, my mother was running around, practically hysterical, sprinkling holy water over the bike!
My mate was also CG mounted, we left Belfast at midnight, reached Newry where we refuelled. Crossing the border was an experience, just after the checkpoint the road suddenly ended and a sort of dirt track began. My normally pathetic headlamp was even dimmer than normal and had started going out whenever I stopped. The ride to Dublin was a valuable learning experience.
Once we entered the fair city, all road signs stopped and within five minutes we were totally lost. More by luck than anything else we finally found the correct road out. The tank on the CG's seem to do just over 100 miles and we coasted into Rosslair on vapour. Not wanting to muck around with any funny money we had bought our own fuel which my mate carried in some plastic containers in panniers slung over his seat. The proximity of the petrol to his exhaust was something that kept him awake on the journey.
After a beautiful dawn ride through Wexford we reached Rosslair at about 9am. The crossing was uneventful, apart from the curious glances we got from the bikers on their huge BMW tourers. The sight of the tiny bikes with L-plates flapping in the breeze was probably quite funny.
Riding through Wales started out quite well, but soon the nether regions were forcing us to stop every half hour. The sight of my mate sitting in some long grass on his bright yellow waterproof trousers and Arran sweater, moaning softly, was pitiful. We tried sitting on rolled up clothes and old sandwiches but it was no good. We just had to grin and bear it. My feet had long since disappeared - two pairs of thick socks and some baseball boots were insufficient.
We entered England in the late afternoon - well the road signs stopped having funny Welsh names on them - and headed in the general direction of Bristol. It appeared that the only way over was described as a motorway bridge, so we decided to chance it and hoped no-one minded the L-plates. I don't think anybody did - the sight of the two of us riding over the bloody huge suspension bridge at 30 degrees to the road in a howling gale carrying rucksacks provided too much amusement. The chap at the toll booth waved us through with a smirk.
We reached Bristol and set about trying to find our friend's house. Over two hours later we had finally tracked it down. It turned out he owned a CZ 125 which we all had a good laugh at. I had a quick go on it and almost killed myself in the process. I don't know what the controls were linked to but it wasn't the engine.
The journey back was faster and warmer since I had bought a pair of riding boots and thermal glove liners. We were separated when I took a wrong turn during rush hour traffic in Gloucester but we met up again after a wonderful ride through a Welsh forest. Once again, on the boat trip we received glances of ridicule but we managed to get off the boat first and it took a surprisingly long time for the big bikes to catch us up.
Halfway to Dublin, my mate suddenly stopped and looked worried. His headlight was at a rakish angle because one of the fixing bolts had vibrated loose. It was just a matter of tightening up the bolt, but as I had charged my mate with bringing the tools the only thing he had was a screwdriver and a huge spanner for taking the back wheel off. He managed to secure everything with a piece of wood and lots of masking tape - somehow it held until we got home.
The night ride to Dublin, and on to the border was again a terrifying experience. I prayed that my mate knew where he was going and followed his brake light. The headlights on a CG125 are for one thing only - to help other drivers see you during the day. It would have been a vast improvement if I'd held a torch in my mouth, but it was too cold to lift the visor - and besides I had left the torch in Bristol.
We entered Dublin and once again got totally lost within seconds. Some kindly Guarda took pity on us, and pointed us in the general direction of the N1. At the border the soldier waved us to a stop and then collapsed into gales of laughter when he saw our trusty mounts. We reached home early in the morning and I almost killed my father with the shock of my sudden appearance fully rigged out in all my gear.
Just recently I passed my test and have started looking for something bigger, but the CG will remain my favourite bike - it taught me a lot.
John Kennedy
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I wanted to go as fast as possible on my 1982 CG125. Don't laugh, when you're seventeen that's the thing most in your mind; especially when a lot of your mates have derestricted TZ125s.
First problem, I did not know a lot about engines. My mate told me leave out the head gasket and supplied some goo instead. He also set to the inlet and exhaust ports with a file, whilst I degutted the silencer. We visited a piston factor and spent half the morning trying to find something that would give higher compression. The piston we came away with looked very lumpy to me but seemed to fit okay.
My mate reassembled the engine, I flitted about hoping that I hadn't ruined the first big investment of my life - do you know how many paper rounds it takes to buy a CG, even an old one? When–I kicked the engine over it felt reassuringly hard. By the time it condescended to start I was drenched in sweat and not far short of tears!
My god, how could such a tiny engine produce such a terrible roar! My mate muttered something about having advanced the valve timing a notch. He had the first ride and pronounced that the carburation was too lean. A drill was taken to the main jet. Then it was my turn. I shot up the street, hanging on for dear life. It vibrated like a dodgy 747 just before take off but the speedo whizzed around to the stop and then immediately expired. My wrist watch stopped working. The cacophony of engine and exhaust noise had a pack of dogs descend upon me when I slowed for a junction. Dropping two gears and mercilessly throttling the engine saw me escape intact.
Examination of the engine mounting bolts revealed that one was not done up very tight. That done, the vibes diminished but were still much worse than stock. The engine had seemed very civilized when I first got the bike, but the power was very tame, even for a first timer like myself. Now, I had the power but at the price of needing to keep the revs always above 5000rpm and inflicting a terrible noise pollution upon the world.
The bike could still not keep up with the tuned two strokes. They reckoned that if I contorted myself over the tank, with my nose touching the clocks, I would extract a true 80mph out of it. That kind of speed was frightening because the bike wobbled and weaved all over the place. If I ever got ahead of my mates they would never dare pass unless there was at least a free lane between us.
The drum brakes were also piss poor at coping with rapid stops. They had been designed for some grandpa who would have an heart attack if he got the clock above 50mph. One hard stop and they gave up altogether. One time, a car cut me up when I was doing 70mph and I only missed his bumper by a fraction of an inch. My mates kept well away from me after that because of the pong of soiled underpants!
The bike had 33400 miles on the clock when I bought it. I did 2500 miles before tuning it up and then the engine lasted for only 3000 miles before the big crunch came. I was doing about 75mph with a pack of two stroke fanatics - if I went any slower I was relegated to the back and choked on two stroke fumes. We crested a hill and everyone went for it on the downhill stretch. God knows what engine revs I achieved but I could barely see and the bars felt like they were attached to a pile driver!
The engine locked up solid, the back tyre likewise, the bike slewing around, only avoiding doing a 360 degree turn because it hit one of the other bikes. Talk about highway carnage. At least half of the dozen bikes ended up on the tarmac. Amazingly, apart from my written off engine, damage to body and metal was minimal. The rear tyre was almost burnt down to a cinder and I was a trembling wreck.
Weird how things work out. The next day we were annoying the local breaker by hanging about his yard when I saw an old CB125 engine. This was the motor the CG was based upon, differing in having an OHC rather than OHV actuation of the valves. Surely, the CB engine would fit in the CG frame? I told the breaker a pack of lies about wanting to change my newish but slow engine for a CB motor, and probably just to get shot of us, he agreed to the swap if I gave him £20 as well.
Of course, the CB engine didn't fit straight in. Drills, welding gear and a big hammer were necessary accessories to the transplant. Learning from experience, I decided to leave this engine alone and satisfy my juvenile yearnings with just a straight through exhaust.
And it worked out quite well for the last 10,000 miles. The bike will do about 75mph flat out, 90mpg and has been remarkably reliable, if somewhat rattly. I also had a go at the cosmetics, frame and cycle parts painted a deep black. Looked at from a certain angle it seems almost classic in appearance and it's quite easy to convince myself that the looks will outlast things like RGs and TZRs. The chrome on the wheels, forks and shocks is a disaster, though.
Things like chains, tyres and brake shoes never needed replacing, so I can't really comment on consumables other than to say they are better than the strokers. Overall, the Honda had proved a good buy, was very easy to learn on (in stock tune) and extremely cheap to buy and run. True, the strokers are much easier to upgrade and just as reliable if you go for a modern one.
All good things come to an end, and after passing both my tests first time I was ready for something bigger and faster. Well, it had to be a Honda......a CD175, actually.
John Fraser
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I love my Honda CG125. It's ten years and 40,000 miles old yet still gets me back and forth to work every day. Starting's a first or second kick affair as long as I change the spark plug every 3000 miles, when the oil's also done. Being a pushrod single there ain't even a camchain or tensioner to worry about. The two valves are tweaked every 9000 miles.
I keep the bike in nice condition, a clean every week showing up any potential problems before they have a chance to develop. Despite much polishing there was no way I could stop the chrome mudguards from rusting through from the underside. One moment there were a couple of bumps in the rear guard, the next the whole thing, light assembly included, flew off the back and bounced down the road. I was alerted by bits of rotted guard being chewed up by the rear tyre.
Temporarily, I attached the light and numberplate to the large top box I'd deemed necessary for my shopping needs. Any time I went for a long run I had to remove it because above 50mph it caused large wobbles. A result of the box catching the wind and radical redistribution of the mass, working on suspension that could at best be called primitive.
The rear guard went at 25000 miles, or around five years old. I looked at the front, probed the lumps around the fork bracket. It was just about ready to fall off. A great deal of hassle was incurred trying to find plastic replacements because they were very skimpy, the OE items giving good protection from the rain. A pair of mudflaps were needed to make up for the lack of length in the replacements. Pretty pathetic but at least I cured the rust problem.
I mentioned that the suspension was primitive. That was when it was new, barely able to cope with rotted roads so beloved of our councils who much prefer to spend money on workshops for lesbians. At least the bike was light, low and narrow, allowing the same kind of control as with a pushbike. As the suspension wore the lack of damping became too much for me, it was like being on board a pogo-stick, leaping out of control from bump to bump. I don't know how they get away with fitting such crap, worse than the stuff the British factories churned out in the fifties. A couple of washers in the forks and some gearbox oil sorted out the front end and an ancient pair of Girlings transformed the rear.
If the suspension gave me a hard time, the tyres, Jap crap, almost killed me. I went back to the dealer demanding free replacements, reckoning that they slid so much in the wet that they were not fit for the purpose they'd been sold for. The dealer was outraged at this suggestion but after a shouting match that would've done Millwall supporters proud in the intensity of its potential violence he agreed to fit a pair of cheap Pirelli's at trade prices. Along with the modded suspension the whole feel of the bike was transformed; unknown angles of lean were experienced with a feeling of safety rather than wondering how soon I was going to fall off. Tyres last over 15000 miles, maybe even 20 thou if I was riding mildly.
The drum brakes needed firm action but matched the speed of the bike well, and didn't play any nasty games in the wet. Shoes lasted for so long I've only gone through two sets so far. I had a spate of breaking front cables, must've been a bad batch because I finally found a good 'un which has lasted for over 10,000 miles.
There was no easy way to fix the front light, though. The whole electrical system gave the impression of being highly marginal, never more so than in the amount of illumination provided by the pathetic front light. In the winter it's impossible to avoid riding in the dark - at times, doing the overtime to excess, I rode down a stretch of deserted road twice a day. What a performance! The slight yellow glow a few yards in front of the bike, which represented main beam, was good for no more than 15mph, which was deemed far too slow. I ran along at 35 to 40mph, eyes out on stalks, hand on brake lever for the times when I ran off the road. Eventually, the contours of the road were blasted into my brain by trial and error, and I could shoot along at 50mph!
I tried a halogen bulb but that blew first time out and using a higher wattage bulb just drained the battery, the overworked alternator unable to keep up. There were also problems with the indicator control box which failed three times and a battery was need every year. I'd give the electrics one out of ten except that the ignition side was without fault.
During the daily commute, a round trip of ten miles, lights apart, the Honda was perfectly suited to the mixture of choked up traffic and country lanes, albeit after I fixed the tyres and suspension. I can't remember an occasion when I broke down or even when the engine just stalled. It was so easy to ride and control that I didn't really have to think about it. Expect about 110mpg under these conditions.
Main road work, with speeds up to 70mph, strained the CG a bit, although it was no great problem for ten to fifteen minutes at a time. The riding position was upright, relaxed and comfortable for about an hour. The only area where it was let down was when the motor was held flat out. The vibration seemed out of all proportion to its size, much more intense than on, say, a CD175 which I'd owned prior to the CG (another marvellous bike which did 78000 miles before dying). An hour in the saddle numbed both feet and hands.
The answer was easy enough, ride slower, 50 to 60mph being very relaxed with only the slightest of buzzes. Even though the motor's still on the original engine components, the vibes have become no more intense and performance is just as good (or bad). 50 to 60mph on fast dual carriageways and motorways that aren't posing as car parks is bad news, leaving me feeling very vulnerable (lorries seem to love sitting an inch under my numberplate). I try to avoid such roads on the CG but don't always succeed.
One time, I was straining at the leash at 60mph when the back end went into some large weaves. I pulled over to the hard shoulder, shook the back wheel...loose wheel bearings. Ten miles on the hard shoulder and another five on normal roads. The bike was falling into corners so violently that I had to put a boot down each time. That was at 29,000 miles, so I replaced every bearing in the chassis to make sure I wasn't caught out again. The bike felt so bad that I thought the effort was well worthwhile.
I've just replaced a whole exhaust system with Honda OE, which might be a record, even if it spent the past four years rusted through. The rust on the wheels rims appears implacable and some coughing from the engine makes me suspect that the petrol tank's about to corrode through. All that adds up to time to buy a new bike but the lastest CG's too expensive and I've heard rumours about its Brazil-built quality. I fancy an electric start GS125 Suzuki, which looks a bit more sophisticated.
Still, there's something about my particular CG that fills me full of admiration and, yes, love. It's just large enough to make it as a proper motorcycle and its lines are, dare I say it, almost classic. I always have this great feeling when I start her up first kick in the depths of winter. The exhaust sounds strong, not like many wet-fart commuters, and the skill needed to execute a clear gearchange (the box's bad from new, wear doesn't make it much worse) would send even most BMW boxer owners' to the psychiatric ward. I'd probably find a perfect motorcycle very boring, there's something about carrying on against the odds that appeals.
T.L.
****************************************************
I love my Honda CG125. It's ten years and 40,000 miles old yet still gets me back and forth to work every day. Starting's a first or second kick affair as long as I change the spark plug every 3000 miles, when the oil's also done. Being a pushrod single there ain't even a camchain or tensioner to worry about. The two valves are tweaked every 9000 miles.
I keep the bike in nice condition, a clean every week showing up any potential problems before they have a chance to develop. Despite much polishing there was no way I could stop the chrome mudguards from rusting through from the underside. One moment there were a couple of bumps in the rear guard, the next the whole thing, light assembly included, flew off the back and bounced down the road. I was alerted by bits of rotted guard being chewed up by the rear tyre.
Temporarily, I attached the light and numberplate to the large top box I'd deemed necessary for my shopping needs. Any time I went for a long run I had to remove it because above 50mph it caused large wobbles. A result of the box catching the wind and radical redistribution of the mass, working on suspension that could at best be called primitive.
The rear guard went at 25000 miles, or around five years old. I looked at the front, probed the lumps around the fork bracket. It was just about ready to fall off. A great deal of hassle was incurred trying to find plastic replacements because they were very skimpy, the OE items giving good protection from the rain. A pair of mudflaps were needed to make up for the lack of length in the replacements. Pretty pathetic but at least I cured the rust problem.
I mentioned that the suspension was primitive. That was when it was new, barely able to cope with rotted roads so beloved of our councils who much prefer to spend money on workshops for lesbians. At least the bike was light, low and narrow, allowing the same kind of control as with a pushbike. As the suspension wore the lack of damping became too much for me, it was like being on board a pogo-stick, leaping out of control from bump to bump. I don't know how they get away with fitting such crap, worse than the stuff the British factories churned out in the fifties. A couple of washers in the forks and some gearbox oil sorted out the front end and an ancient pair of Girlings transformed the rear.
If the suspension gave me a hard time, the tyres, Jap crap, almost killed me. I went back to the dealer demanding free replacements, reckoning that they slid so much in the wet that they were not fit for the purpose they'd been sold for. The dealer was outraged at this suggestion but after a shouting match that would've done Millwall supporters proud in the intensity of its potential violence he agreed to fit a pair of cheap Pirelli's at trade prices. Along with the modded suspension the whole feel of the bike was transformed; unknown angles of lean were experienced with a feeling of safety rather than wondering how soon I was going to fall off. Tyres last over 15000 miles, maybe even 20 thou if I was riding mildly.
The drum brakes needed firm action but matched the speed of the bike well, and didn't play any nasty games in the wet. Shoes lasted for so long I've only gone through two sets so far. I had a spate of breaking front cables, must've been a bad batch because I finally found a good 'un which has lasted for over 10,000 miles.
There was no easy way to fix the front light, though. The whole electrical system gave the impression of being highly marginal, never more so than in the amount of illumination provided by the pathetic front light. In the winter it's impossible to avoid riding in the dark - at times, doing the overtime to excess, I rode down a stretch of deserted road twice a day. What a performance! The slight yellow glow a few yards in front of the bike, which represented main beam, was good for no more than 15mph, which was deemed far too slow. I ran along at 35 to 40mph, eyes out on stalks, hand on brake lever for the times when I ran off the road. Eventually, the contours of the road were blasted into my brain by trial and error, and I could shoot along at 50mph!
I tried a halogen bulb but that blew first time out and using a higher wattage bulb just drained the battery, the overworked alternator unable to keep up. There were also problems with the indicator control box which failed three times and a battery was need every year. I'd give the electrics one out of ten except that the ignition side was without fault.
During the daily commute, a round trip of ten miles, lights apart, the Honda was perfectly suited to the mixture of choked up traffic and country lanes, albeit after I fixed the tyres and suspension. I can't remember an occasion when I broke down or even when the engine just stalled. It was so easy to ride and control that I didn't really have to think about it. Expect about 110mpg under these conditions.
Main road work, with speeds up to 70mph, strained the CG a bit, although it was no great problem for ten to fifteen minutes at a time. The riding position was upright, relaxed and comfortable for about an hour. The only area where it was let down was when the motor was held flat out. The vibration seemed out of all proportion to its size, much more intense than on, say, a CD175 which I'd owned prior to the CG (another marvellous bike which did 78000 miles before dying). An hour in the saddle numbed both feet and hands.
The answer was easy enough, ride slower, 50 to 60mph being very relaxed with only the slightest of buzzes. Even though the motor's still on the original engine components, the vibes have become no more intense and performance is just as good (or bad). 50 to 60mph on fast dual carriageways and motorways that aren't posing as car parks is bad news, leaving me feeling very vulnerable (lorries seem to love sitting an inch under my numberplate). I try to avoid such roads on the CG but don't always succeed.
One time, I was straining at the leash at 60mph when the back end went into some large weaves. I pulled over to the hard shoulder, shook the back wheel...loose wheel bearings. Ten miles on the hard shoulder and another five on normal roads. The bike was falling into corners so violently that I had to put a boot down each time. That was at 29,000 miles, so I replaced every bearing in the chassis to make sure I wasn't caught out again. The bike felt so bad that I thought the effort was well worthwhile.
I've just replaced a whole exhaust system with Honda OE, which might be a record, even if it spent the past four years rusted through. The rust on the wheels rims appears implacable and some coughing from the engine makes me suspect that the petrol tank's about to corrode through. All that adds up to time to buy a new bike but the lastest CG's too expensive and I've heard rumours about its Brazil-built quality. I fancy an electric start GS125 Suzuki, which looks a bit more sophisticated.
Still, there's something about my particular CG that fills me full of admiration and, yes, love. It's just large enough to make it as a proper motorcycle and its lines are, dare I say it, almost classic. I always have this great feeling when I start her up first kick in the depths of winter. The exhaust sounds strong, not like many wet-fart commuters, and the skill needed to execute a clear gearchange (the box's bad from new, wear doesn't make it much worse) would send even most BMW boxer owners' to the psychiatric ward. I'd probably find a perfect motorcycle very boring, there's something about carrying on against the odds that appeals.
T.L.