In the garage lay a 125 Superdream, sitting there for over a year. A kindly lady cager had given the Honda a helpful push, resulting in mainly cosmetic damage but sufficient to get the bike written off. The insurance coughed up but the bike hadn't been repaired. Basically sound, would even run, it was difficult to start. For fifty quid it was mine, a cheap way back into motorcycling after a 20 year absence, my last mount a Yamaha FS1E. Yes, I was one of those snotty kids who used to take the baffle out and scream everywhere in a dense fog of pollutants. Oh, happy days.
I should say that at this point the idea was a quick tidy up and sell on at a nice profit. This is what I told the wife, anyway. This to a degree was what happened. All the consumables were in good condition, my only purchase a used horn to get the bike through the MOT.
The poor starting was cured by tightening up the Jubilee clips on the rubber inlet manifolds. What I hadn't bargained on was how much I enjoyed riding the high revving twin. Ten quid's worth of paint and some new graphics had the bike looking very smart. I only managed to keep the 125 for a month as the wife kept dropping dark hints about my original intent - she wasn't very enthusiastic about my new toy. The bike was advertised and quickly sold to the first punter who turned up.
Bikeless again, weird things began to happen. Books and magazines on bikes became compulsive...for some strange reason I became obsessed with owning a Honda Monkey bike! I could recall seeing them on the road and laughing at them. A quick look through MCN showed them to be about but at silly prices.
I spent several weeks optimistically visiting local showrooms, breakers and scanning adverts in the hope of finding another bargain. The wife had been quite impressed by the easy profit, even admitted to feeling a pang of guilt when it was sold, so when I by chance turned up one in three cardboard boxes for fifty quid, she allowed me to persuade her to let me have it with something like good grace.
This particular example was registered in 1972, powered by Honda's C50 engine...and was a total mess but appeared complete. It was marketed as a fun/commuter bike of minuscule proportions with fold down bars and sealable fuel tank to allow it to be carried in the boot of a cage.
I often thought of selling it as the ultimate Goldwing extra; a sort of lifeboat to be slung from the top-box. Anyway, having been raised in the era of Meccano, it took a little less than 20 minutes to empty the boxes and have it loosely assembled.
Missing parts consisted of the front brake lever and headstock ball-bearings. Disassembled, the frame was rubbed down and resprayed with a couple of spray cans. Bearings bought from the local cycle shop and the whole package rebuilt. Then the problems began, a distinct lack of a spark traced to dead primary coil. A used set for a tenner and the little beast roared into life.
Roared literally as the exhaust had long parted with its baffles and was rotten as a pear. A little work with a brazing torch and exhaust putty subdued the noise to a more acceptable level. Off for the MOT, at an astounding 30mph, my embarrassment hidden behind a full-face helmet.
To say that the handling matched the performance is about the greatest praise that could be offered. Despite having conventional suspension it rattled and bucked over each imperfection, the small wheels tram-lining any flaw in the road. It didn't so much corner as fall over.
On arriving at the local breakers for the MOT, a mixed reception was received. Some laughed, some stood open mouthed but the majority were all over it like a rash. A buyer was quickly found but he wanted a larger engine, having owned one before and wanting to recapture his youth. A C70 engine was obtained, which dropped straight in. I did wonder about upgrading the brakes to discs, but was reassured when the performance only increased to a heady 35mph. Quite terrifying! If the worst happened, the bike was so low that you could just stand up and let it roar off riderless into the distance!
Nothing turned up to replace the little beast for a couple of months. Then in September I was told of a Honda 750, model unknown, that the owner no longer used. A quick trip to his house revealed a non-running CB750KZ. He told me that the camchain had snapped then, once replaced, the crankshaft had gone. I was later to find out that these engines are notorious for bottom end problems. It'd been standing for 18 months and he wanted, yes, fifty quid.
It took three men to load the heap into a van. The seized front discs were freed by opening the bleed nipples but without a front brake the bike became downright dangerous. 550lbs of metal flopping about caused hernias all round. After being attacked by a Volvo on the way home, we then had to contend with rolling the Honda backwards down a plank...on a hill.
Undreamt of agonies as the front wheel bounced on to the road from halfway down the plank. Having strained every imaginable muscle, she stood proud but tatty in the garden, where she remained untouched for the next week.
Having regained the use of my body, I put the battery on charge and began a closer inspection of my purchase. The seat was torn, the tank stained by petrol, but the frame was only lightly rusted in a few places - quickly attacked with a wire brush and Hammerite. The chrome was easily reclaimed with Solvol. Although one-piece the chain's tight spots were worked out with a bit of muscle. The tyres had plenty of meat left.
The previous owner had thoughtfully replaced the original exhaust with a Marshall Deeptone which had seen little use. So far so good. Reconnecting the battery, the ignition and oil lights flashed into life. Mustering my courage, with the killswitch off, I spun the starter. I was rewarded by the engine spinning gently and a dubious knock from the bottom end. I had hoped that the diagnosis was wrong as bottom ends are rare and far exceeded my budget when available.
I pulled off the ignition housing to see if any play was perceptible whilst pulling out a ciggie to calm down my nerves. I bent down to the exposed crank, striking my lighter at the same time. I remember the bang, saw the flash and found myself sitting on the grass laughing maniacally, surrounded by smoke, the stench of singed hair filling the air. The bloody sump was full of oil, alright, but heavily laced with petrol that had seeped through the carbs and down the bores. I didn't need a shave that day.
Nothing for it but an engine strip. The clock read 24k, the bores, pistons and rings were perfect but there was enough play on number two's big end to drive a truck through, well almost. The journal was sprayed up with white-metal then machined and a new big-end bearing installed - the old one was fitted back to front, cutting off the oil supply!
After rebuilding and placing in the frame the bugger refused to start despite a new battery. Neat petrol down the bores proved effective and she burst into life with a cacophony that sent cats running and started dogs howling. Alas, the beast was only firing on two cylinders. The ignition module was dead, a used CB900 replacement fitted.
She roared into life again, refusing to tickover below 3000rpm and rattling like bolts in a tin pail. With some trepidation I wheeled the bike out for a test ride. The engine jerked, spluttered and refused to go above 5000 revs but it didn't seize and I was satisfied with that. Running in loosened up the motor, starting became less hit and miss but tickover remained elusive.
The carbs were stripped on numerous occasions and my attempts at balancing them were pitiful. By the time 500 miles were done everything seemed to settle down. Performance was only mediocre...then it dawned on me that it wasn't running on all four cylinders. Prat! A new plug turned it into a whole different machine
A total transformation was evident the first time I used the throttle in anger. Scared myself stupid. 115mph with more to come! More attention to the cosmetics and a lowered seat - I'd dropped it twice at a standstill as I'm on the short side and the KZ's top heavy. Unfortunately, the wife was on the back one time it fell over - that proved to her that I shouldn't be let loose on such a dangerous device. I'm back in the cage, now!
Sparky
I should say that at this point the idea was a quick tidy up and sell on at a nice profit. This is what I told the wife, anyway. This to a degree was what happened. All the consumables were in good condition, my only purchase a used horn to get the bike through the MOT.
The poor starting was cured by tightening up the Jubilee clips on the rubber inlet manifolds. What I hadn't bargained on was how much I enjoyed riding the high revving twin. Ten quid's worth of paint and some new graphics had the bike looking very smart. I only managed to keep the 125 for a month as the wife kept dropping dark hints about my original intent - she wasn't very enthusiastic about my new toy. The bike was advertised and quickly sold to the first punter who turned up.
Bikeless again, weird things began to happen. Books and magazines on bikes became compulsive...for some strange reason I became obsessed with owning a Honda Monkey bike! I could recall seeing them on the road and laughing at them. A quick look through MCN showed them to be about but at silly prices.
I spent several weeks optimistically visiting local showrooms, breakers and scanning adverts in the hope of finding another bargain. The wife had been quite impressed by the easy profit, even admitted to feeling a pang of guilt when it was sold, so when I by chance turned up one in three cardboard boxes for fifty quid, she allowed me to persuade her to let me have it with something like good grace.
This particular example was registered in 1972, powered by Honda's C50 engine...and was a total mess but appeared complete. It was marketed as a fun/commuter bike of minuscule proportions with fold down bars and sealable fuel tank to allow it to be carried in the boot of a cage.
I often thought of selling it as the ultimate Goldwing extra; a sort of lifeboat to be slung from the top-box. Anyway, having been raised in the era of Meccano, it took a little less than 20 minutes to empty the boxes and have it loosely assembled.
Missing parts consisted of the front brake lever and headstock ball-bearings. Disassembled, the frame was rubbed down and resprayed with a couple of spray cans. Bearings bought from the local cycle shop and the whole package rebuilt. Then the problems began, a distinct lack of a spark traced to dead primary coil. A used set for a tenner and the little beast roared into life.
Roared literally as the exhaust had long parted with its baffles and was rotten as a pear. A little work with a brazing torch and exhaust putty subdued the noise to a more acceptable level. Off for the MOT, at an astounding 30mph, my embarrassment hidden behind a full-face helmet.
To say that the handling matched the performance is about the greatest praise that could be offered. Despite having conventional suspension it rattled and bucked over each imperfection, the small wheels tram-lining any flaw in the road. It didn't so much corner as fall over.
On arriving at the local breakers for the MOT, a mixed reception was received. Some laughed, some stood open mouthed but the majority were all over it like a rash. A buyer was quickly found but he wanted a larger engine, having owned one before and wanting to recapture his youth. A C70 engine was obtained, which dropped straight in. I did wonder about upgrading the brakes to discs, but was reassured when the performance only increased to a heady 35mph. Quite terrifying! If the worst happened, the bike was so low that you could just stand up and let it roar off riderless into the distance!
Nothing turned up to replace the little beast for a couple of months. Then in September I was told of a Honda 750, model unknown, that the owner no longer used. A quick trip to his house revealed a non-running CB750KZ. He told me that the camchain had snapped then, once replaced, the crankshaft had gone. I was later to find out that these engines are notorious for bottom end problems. It'd been standing for 18 months and he wanted, yes, fifty quid.
It took three men to load the heap into a van. The seized front discs were freed by opening the bleed nipples but without a front brake the bike became downright dangerous. 550lbs of metal flopping about caused hernias all round. After being attacked by a Volvo on the way home, we then had to contend with rolling the Honda backwards down a plank...on a hill.
Undreamt of agonies as the front wheel bounced on to the road from halfway down the plank. Having strained every imaginable muscle, she stood proud but tatty in the garden, where she remained untouched for the next week.
Having regained the use of my body, I put the battery on charge and began a closer inspection of my purchase. The seat was torn, the tank stained by petrol, but the frame was only lightly rusted in a few places - quickly attacked with a wire brush and Hammerite. The chrome was easily reclaimed with Solvol. Although one-piece the chain's tight spots were worked out with a bit of muscle. The tyres had plenty of meat left.
The previous owner had thoughtfully replaced the original exhaust with a Marshall Deeptone which had seen little use. So far so good. Reconnecting the battery, the ignition and oil lights flashed into life. Mustering my courage, with the killswitch off, I spun the starter. I was rewarded by the engine spinning gently and a dubious knock from the bottom end. I had hoped that the diagnosis was wrong as bottom ends are rare and far exceeded my budget when available.
I pulled off the ignition housing to see if any play was perceptible whilst pulling out a ciggie to calm down my nerves. I bent down to the exposed crank, striking my lighter at the same time. I remember the bang, saw the flash and found myself sitting on the grass laughing maniacally, surrounded by smoke, the stench of singed hair filling the air. The bloody sump was full of oil, alright, but heavily laced with petrol that had seeped through the carbs and down the bores. I didn't need a shave that day.
Nothing for it but an engine strip. The clock read 24k, the bores, pistons and rings were perfect but there was enough play on number two's big end to drive a truck through, well almost. The journal was sprayed up with white-metal then machined and a new big-end bearing installed - the old one was fitted back to front, cutting off the oil supply!
After rebuilding and placing in the frame the bugger refused to start despite a new battery. Neat petrol down the bores proved effective and she burst into life with a cacophony that sent cats running and started dogs howling. Alas, the beast was only firing on two cylinders. The ignition module was dead, a used CB900 replacement fitted.
She roared into life again, refusing to tickover below 3000rpm and rattling like bolts in a tin pail. With some trepidation I wheeled the bike out for a test ride. The engine jerked, spluttered and refused to go above 5000 revs but it didn't seize and I was satisfied with that. Running in loosened up the motor, starting became less hit and miss but tickover remained elusive.
The carbs were stripped on numerous occasions and my attempts at balancing them were pitiful. By the time 500 miles were done everything seemed to settle down. Performance was only mediocre...then it dawned on me that it wasn't running on all four cylinders. Prat! A new plug turned it into a whole different machine
A total transformation was evident the first time I used the throttle in anger. Scared myself stupid. 115mph with more to come! More attention to the cosmetics and a lowered seat - I'd dropped it twice at a standstill as I'm on the short side and the KZ's top heavy. Unfortunately, the wife was on the back one time it fell over - that proved to her that I shouldn't be let loose on such a dangerous device. I'm back in the cage, now!
Sparky