Typical of my time with the Honda SS50 was a tour of 2527 miles, including one of the best vintage hill climbs. You may think I'm daft, for I took a moped that was over ten years old and had been thrashed and dropped several times by learners. I made that moped work hard, too. For most of the journey up to Scotland and back to Southampton, it was run flat out at over 50mph, with me and a pile of luggage on board.
The 1976 SS50 took little time and money to prepare and had already shown it could return 137mpg in the normal commuting regime. The engine was decoked, the valves ground in, the spark plug cleaned and the condensor was replaced in the flywheel generator. All my kit was stacked on the carrier, including loads of tools which with my past experience of maintaining and rebuilding Honda fifties ensured that I could handle most emergencies. The highly mounted silencer on one side prevented fitment of panniers.
My daily mileage was rarely to exceed 200 miles, I intended to stop off at any interesting places that arose during the trip rather than rush headlong through the scenery concentrating solely on the bit of road in front. In the first 650 miles to Durham neither repair nor replacement was needed. Stirling turned out to be a big problem as I couldn't find my way out of the city and ended up riding in the dark, not recommended with the Honda's puny front light. Then after a long day's run of 270 miles the engine sounded sick. A new spark plug and oil change cured that.
The bike made it to Inverness okay, after perhaps the most scenic part of the route from Dumbarton onwards, helped by the fine weather. The next day, a forty mile ride to Lossiemouth took me to the end of my outward journey and a view across the North Sea, it was time to turn back homewards.
Via Culloden Battlefields, the clear atmosphere letting me see mountains 30 miles away, back to Inverness and the A82 to Faslane by the route whence I came, along the Great Glen. Just after passing the highest mountain in the British Isles, Ben Nevis, I braked for the iron Ballachullish Bridge and found the back brake didn't work any more. The control rod had come off the brake pedal and was dragging on the road; I tied it back on with string.
Luckily, there were no emergency stops necessary until after I had bought a new pin to hold the rod in position. I rode through the magnificent scenery of Glencoe and over Rannoch moor as fast as I could because I was approaching bad roads and a setting sun. By the time I reached Arrochar on the A814, it was getting dark and the rain was pouring down.
The road wound every which way and lights of the cars made it near to impossible to see where I was going (whoever invented direct 6V lighting should be.....). To add to the fun, the road was pockmarked with manhole covers, at least one of which had collapsed at a crazy angle and whenever I slowed down the falling engine revs all but turned out the lighting.
I survived this, a few days later found myself at Rest And Be Thankful Hill near Dunoon, famous for hill climbs in times past. The Honda did two trips up the hill without problem in third gear in memory of those wild days and I took a photo just in case anyone doubted its achievement.
No more problems until I was on the Great North Road (A1) to Hexham after exiting Edinburgh, when riding flat out at 58mph, after running the bike down a slight dip, the engine seized up. Backed off, pulled in the clutch and it freed up again. Gave the engine time to cool down, put a quarter of a pint in the sump and rode on carefully, slowly, at no more than 37mph. Such lack of speed allowed me to take in the pretty Northumbrian villages, a false Hadrian's wall which in turn led to Codger's Fort and a round tower, reminders of the days when bandits roamed Northumbria.
After Hexham, I noted some slop in the swinging arm bearings, but didn't have the correct spanner to fix it so carried onwards. The journey was slowed as I got stuck behind the labour march from Jarrow to London protesting the lack of jobs in the North East. Next day, in Syston, Leics, I got my first puncture which I fixed. That was the 16th day of my tour with 2527 miles done, an average of 158 miles a day. The highest altitude had been attained at Carter Bar on the A68, 1370 feet. One continuous problem, if I forgot to turn the petrol off when I switched the engine off it would leak out of the fuel bowl (fixed later by cleaning said item out) - surprising then, that I was averaging 154mpg.
Back in Southampton, I inspected the machine, changed the oil, oiled the chain. On both oil changes I exceeded the recommended 1000 mile interval - naughty boy! Apart from the two and half pints used in oil changes, the moped had used six pints between changes - 400mpp, which is heavy for a four stroke fifty. Some minor defects were found, a flasher light cover and end baffle of the silencer had both fallen out. The top screw had again come out of the pedal chain cover, which had broken because of vibration.
These items had escaped my daily visual check for loose nuts and bolts. A dent and two cracks in the back mudguard appear to have been caused by the two extra stays fitted between mudguard and carrier in order to strengthen the latter. The play in the swinging arm was cured by tightening a loose nut. The rear chain had stretched slightly but otherwise it and the sprockets were sound. The centrestand was bent, a woefully inadequate item that often lasts less than 3000 miles.
I bought the machine as a runner in 1983 for £50. Fitment of Avon tyres ensured that it felt safe to ride even on icy roads or gravel. I have never fallen off this machine and never had any problems with the road holding. The engine blew up shortly after I acquired the bike, when I over revved it, thanks to the low gearing which I changed by fitting a larger gearbox sprocket making it impossible to get the machine into the red in top gear.
However, after a journey of over 100 miles, a month after the Scottish tour, the oil consumption increased alarmingly and the spark plug kept oiling up. The engine gave up again just outside Whitchurch in Shropshire. This was not through over revving, with this piston I had always suffered heavy oil consumption, maybe due to a high spot on the piston when fitted new. What appears to have happened is that the piston's high spot wore into the bore, allowing large amounts of oil into the combustion chamber, where it played havoc with the spark plug and exhaust valve. I had to do a top end rebuild to cure this.
Then, in 1986, a gear broke, necessitating a push home and a major strip down and rebuild, which, I am pleased to say is at last complete......the moped is very comfortable, easy to handle and kickstart, cheap on fuel and great fun. It has not been very reliable, but it only cost fifty notes and in the course of ten years it had been thrashed and abused by sixteen yearolds. I would expect more reliability from a ten year old BMW, of course, and I would expect to pay a lot more money for it.
I regret not keeping my first five speed SS50 Honda. This was the earlier motorcycle version, circa 1969. I bought it for £35 with 4500 miles on the clock from its first owner. Like me, he was over six feet tall, but he took me on the pillion of this little bike along the A6 with 60mph up without any signs of strain. Little did I realise when I sold it that Honda were going to cease production of this type of SS50 and replace it with an inferior, detuned, lower geared device equipped with pedals.
My Scottish tour showed what can be done with an old moped, but more can be done with a new one. With a Mobylette, which he bought new, a Spaniard has toured most countries in Europe, including part of the Soviet Union. He carries a comprehensive tool kit and does his own repairs and maintenance en route. His moped is much faster than a bicycle, has some weather protection and yet doesn't cost a lot more. You can't beat a moped for cheap holiday transport.
Michael Waugh
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The saddest thing about the ageing process is that very little seems exciting any more. Once you've done most of the things you always wanted to do (with the exception of getting my end over with Kim Basinger), nothing seems new. I suppose this was highlighted for me when a friend, who is a few years younger than myself, passed his car driving test and was bubbling with adrenalin at the mere thought of going for a drive. I admit to feeling envious of his euphoric state, as such a simple exercise ceased to have any such appeal for myself long ago.
There is always a silver lining to any rolling stone that spoils the broth, however, and in my case, memories of such youthful exuberance from my teenage years will probably linger for as long as my two remaining beer soaked brain cells continue to operate. My youth was probably similar to many of the people reading this magazine in the sense that many of the most memorable occasions are inextricably linked to the world of two wheels
At the age of 16, my first mount was a Honda SS50 and such was its importance, I can still recall its registration plate some 14 years and ten bikes later - PUH 824M. Perhaps it's true that you never forget your first love. Although many people will still be familiar with the later SS50, this one was the early version with only four gears and flat bars.
By the time it reached my eager paws, the machine had covered about 18000 miles and was far from new, but as it was handed down from my brother I knew it was in good condition and had been well looked after. The importance of this machine is difficult to overstate. It represented my first taste of freedom, allowed me to get my first job and provided a common cause with so many like-minded and equally spotty teenagers.
The collection of mopeds in the school's shed at that time were the inevitable Fizzies, SS50's, a Gilera and an assortment of Puch's finest. I remember going up a slight hill and being joined by one of the Fizzies whose rider slowed down and offered a race. I just shook my head and pretended that I didn't indulge in such irresponsible behaviour. How could I admit that the throttle was already straining at the stop - this was one slow machine. When the law restricting mopeds was enforced, it made little difference as my machine still had problems keeping up. It didn't matter, though, I was still king of the road in my eyes.
Nothing could hold back the enthusiasm of my friends and I. Over my first biking winter I was too impoverished to afford a pair of gloves and rode the bike day in, day out, with bare hands. On one night foray, my hands were so frozen that I couldn't use the clutch or brake levers and had to stop by driving into a wall as slowly as possible. I couldn't open my fingers and had to slide both hands off the bars - but still I was very happy.
At 24000 miles, top speed was down to a mere 25mph and it was decided that a rebore was necessary (not by me, however, as I didn't know what a rebore was). With the rebore done by the local bike shop, I was disappointed to find that top speed was even lower than before. No-one had told me that engines were supposed to be run in after such major surgery. We are, of course, talking one extremely naive youth, here.
One of the most memorable occasions on this machine was not a particularly pleasant one - this was my first accident. I was riding up a very steep hill and noticed that a car was parked by the side of the road on double yellow lines. As it was parked and my experience was limited, I didn't give it much thought. However, before I knew what was happening, the car did a U-turn without any warning and I hit it side on.
I caught my foot between the car door and my pedal, was in extreme agony, while the woman driving the car thought she had killed me and burst into tears by the side of the road. I was more concerned with calming her down than in my own injuries and despite her claiming that it was all her fault and that in the future she would Think Bike, as the advertisement of the day suggested. I told her to go home, to relax for a bit and that we would sort things out the following day.
Of course, by then she had spoken to her husband and when she phoned me she decided that I must have been doing at least 70mph up that hill and that it was all my fault - bitch! This was quite an important experience in my youth - to realise that where money is concerned people can be complete bastards. Luckily, at the time of the accident, some concerned person had collected the names and addresses of three witnesses on a slip of paper. The result was that I won the insurance claim and got the bike fixed. The other result was no more Mr Nice Guy. It's a shame to become cynical but I won't have anyone doing something like that to me again!
At the other end of the spectrum (Captain Scarlet used to rule, okay!), my sloped year taught me that people could be extremely wonderful and helpful whenever the bike gave a reason for having pedals. The first time I ever broke down I checked everything I could think of but could find nothing wrong. There was no rust and both tyres were alright - so why it wouldn't go was a mystery to me. The first person who stopped to check if I was okay must've been a mechanic as it took him only seconds to reveal the problem - I had run out of petrol.
My second breakdown occurred in the centre of Bristol just before an appointment with a dentist. Suddenly, the revs shot up to whatever heady heights they were capable of achieving (no rev counter) and after slowing down, the bike had no forward motion. No problem, I thought, and checked the petrol tank. This time it was full up and to complicate matters, there was still no rust and both tyres were alright. This time I really was stumped for an immediate answer.
A Goldwing owner came to the rescue, stopping next to me, holding something that looked suspiciously like a chain, while I sat there revving the bike and letting the clutch out, vainly hoping that something would happen. Nothing did and the Gold Wing owner handed over my snapped drive chain.
Luckily, my dentist was a bit of a bike fanatic and offered, very kindly, to take me the 15 miles home. How we ever managed to get me, him, his Labrador puppy and the moped into his MG BGT I will never know. Another advert of the day claimed that you met the nicest people on a Honda - I certainly had no reason to doubt it.
Over the year that I owned this machine it received no maintenance whatsoever. This might make me sound like an extremely lazy git, but the simple reason is that every time I did try to do something even vaguely mechanical to the suffering wee beastie, it'd invariably end up in a worse state than before. I admit that I was keen to learn, even to the extent that I took the carb off once, just to see what it was and on replacement I stripped both of the mounting threads.
Despite such abuse, it continued to run on full throttle until 28000 miles were up and I decided to sell it and move on to pastures new (a Suzuki A100). The last time I saw the bike it had covered a little over 30,000 miles and my respect for small Honda engines remains to this day.
The funny thing about motorcycles is that while very few things excite me, these days, the prospect of getting on a bike and riding a few miles takes me back to those halcyon days and always puts a smile on my face. Did Peter Pan ride a bike? I can't think of much else that still gives me an elevated feeling - perhaps Kim Basinger could help me with that one!
S.Pitt