The dealer handed me the keys with a smile whilst the mechanic wheeled the big red and white beast of a 900 down the ramp. Sitting in a corner of the workshop was my old CB650, ignored now as I turned to my new bike. The secondhand F2 was immaculate and came complete with a full fairing, covering the front end of the bike deliciously with its gentle curves, the four cylinder DOHC engine thrusting out either side.
It started first time with a roar that quickly died to a civilised rumble, the well tuned motor ticking over bang on 1000rpm. Carefully straddling the machine and knocking it into first, I rode away. And so began an intimate love affair that was to last for over a year until it was stolen.
Compared to my 650, the first thing I noticed was that it was understandably harder to ride. The extra weight - bringing it to about 550lbs - made cornering a bit more cumbersome but I soon got the hang of it. In fact, the excellent oil damped forks and solid steering head meant that the bike went around corners as if it were on rails.
Even the engine, 901cc of pure muscle, helped with the handling - it brought the power on smoothly and cleanly, no vicious lurching or snatching when coming out of a bend, the bike pulling itself upright without any fuss. In some respects this made the machine very predictable, but it also made it very secure.
The engine was a standard Honda design, steming from the 750F and still sharing the same chassis. In contrast to its little brother the engine was nearly the same width, the extra capacity resulting in a taller engine. The head was a sixteen valve job driven by double cams worked through two hyvo chains, one to the main drive in the engine and the other across the two cams. When properly adjusted the engine could rev well into the red before valve bounce suggested it was necessary to back off.
Looking back on it, it was just another well engineered Jap bike boasting nothing out of the ordinary; but that didn't stop me riding it with pride. It gave the grunt when I needed it, never complaining or arguing, the rideability being there all the way.
I remember the time I took the bike out for a blast on a Sunday morning a few weeks after I bought it. It was mid July, the sun out early and the mist burning off the roads. The bike fired up with a quick push of the starter, the choke barely on. A faint sheen of early morning dew filmed the black seat, I felt the throb of the engine as it purred like a tame tiger beneath me.
A push of a foot and it was in gear, the smooth clutch letting the engine connect to the back wheel with effortless ease. I could have ignored the throttle, there was enough grunt to pull away at tickover even up hill.
Gliding away from my house I cautiously transversed the road out of Gateshead, only too aware that when cold the oil supply to the top end takes a few minutes - this is what wrecks a bike's engine, thrashing before it has a chance to warm up. Cruising off the A69 I joined the A1M, a favourite haunt of mine, a long road of smooth tarmac curving out towards the south, only stopping when it hit London 300 miles away, give or take a few roundabouts.
The bike felt so smooth I find it hard to describe, the mirrors mounted on the fairing showing a perfect picture of the road behind. I had been riding for about five minutes, the motor's syrupy hum soothing my senses. Checking the road ahead and behind for traffic I slowed to about 5mph in the middle lane, alone on one of the greatest roads in England, alone apart from the odd bird singing in the birth of a new day. Pulling in the clutch I gave the behemoth an experimental rev, the counter swinging to four grand like a sex starved bull in sight of a ready cow. My throat dry, I decided that the time was right.
My right hand twisted the throttle to eight grand, the howl from the twin exhausts deafening. I dropped the clutch. The rear wheel screamed, snaking in a cloud of smoke before biting. My body wrenched backwards, the front wheel lifting up demonically, the fairing rising like a tidal wave before me. I fought to keep the front wheel down and the animal straight, the speedo hitting fifty before I changed up, rising through the gears as the rev counter redlined.
The bike screamed up to a 120mph, my head ducking behind the fairing's screen. Here it was still air, the only noise that of the engine not a foot away from my ears. The road was a grey blur sweeping past my feet, a fear locked smiled baring my teeth.
The engine still had more life left in it, but my courage didn't. I only trusted the Avons it came with so far; used to Pirellis and their glue like holding. The bends on the A1M are long and gentle but not at these speeds. Leaning into the bends was easy, the bike taking to them like a traffic warden to a double parked Roller. I did find the slight wallow worrying, however, the rear wheel also drifted, making the line of the curve very wide.
Before I knew what was happening I saw the Darlington turn off, slowing down enough to take the slip road up and over the motorway to head back home. I cruised back at a steady 70mph, the bike crooning like a sated lover under me. Sitting up for the first time at any appreciable speed, I noticed the wind. That the bike was designed in Japan was unmistakable. The top of the windshield must have been made for a race slightly smaller than the average Brit, my lid buffeted from side to side in the wind blast. Of all the complaints engenedered by my mechanical companion this was the worst. I suppose I should be thankful that this is the gravest problem I can throw at the machine.
Not one to waste a journey, I used the trip home to fix the handling of the bike. Flat out it was hard to notice anything other than the need to hold on tight, but slower all the faults became more apparent. The first thing I decided to deal with was the wallow. Pulling in to the hard shoulder I stopped and removed the seat to get at the tool kit. A quick twist of the C-spanner had the shocks up two turns. Back on the road the ride was harder but more secure, the evidence of the wallow gone. Even the drift seemed cured, though I shied off from the earlier reckless excess of speed. The Avons gave a good account of themselves, holding steady in the bends.
Over the months of use to follow I developed a high regard for the machine's abilities. Not least of which was the way it refused to throw me off even in the most extreme circumstances. I was taking the usual route to work one midweek morning, weaving past the queues of stationary traffic that blocked the city's roads, finding a stretch of clear road between some traffic lights. I slowed as I approached because they were red, but they changed as I got closer. Naturally, I speeded up and as I went past the lights a huge Granada estate slewed across the junction, its ugly shape making my heart stop.
Instinctively, I grabbed handfuls of brake, my foot stamping in unison on the rear brake pedal as well. The front end dipped viciously and the rear locked up. The bike twisted under me, the rear wheel dragging the machine sideways as if I was a speedway rider. Without a second thought I let off the back brake, the bike snapping straight as if nothing had happened. The Granada passed inches from my front wheel, the driver not even looking at me as he sped away....I think I needed to drain the sump in my underpants!
The entire thing happened so quickly I didn't even have time to swear, let alone sound the horn. I had stalled in the middle of the road, my heart beating like a steam hammer. Shaking my head, I tapped down from third to first and shot off, knowing that I should have expected as much from the experience years of riding gives you, but you always have to watch out for complacency.
Apart from such occasional incidents, my time with the CB900F2 Supersport (seriously, that's what it's called) was relatively uneventful. The dealer services were few and far between, the sturdy engine only needing to visit the doctor for a checkup once every six months or 3500 miles for routine valve clearance checks, etc. I complained once that the camchain was noisy, the dealer saying there was nothing they could do without stripping the engine down but that I shouldn't worry as it was normal. What? The camchain tensioner seizes up and that's normal? What a load of crap!
So, I used a trick I developed on my CB650 for just such a problem and it seemed to work reasonably well - sod the dealer. I decided to do my own services from then on. I went out that day and bought the right manuals for it, checking to see if I would need any special tools and such like.....but the next morning it was gone.
David O'Neil
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In 1990 I'd bought a 1982 Honda CB900 a week before I was due to go off on a month's holiday, which I'd decided would be riding all the way around the coast of the UK. The plan had been do to it on a CX500, but some kind fool had pinched the far from reliable example that normally loitered in my front garden. So came a bargain priced CB900 with just 14000 miles on its clock from a mild eight years of life in the hands of one aged gent who'd obviously never gone wild with his right hand.
That theory was a bit slighted by the state of the engine oil, but there were none of the rattles of a hard used example and the gearbox impressed in its precision. And, I liked the looks of the big DOHC four cylinder engine and the mildly integrated bodywork, looking more like a giant Superdream than anything else. With 550lbs and 95 horses, giant was the right way of looking at things.
I don't like travelling in a pack, so the voyage was a solo trek, a bit of a test of my endurance and a prelude to going even greater distances on the Continent. The first 500 miles revealed a voracious thirst for both oil and petrol, at 100mpp and 30mpg! The oil turned out to be due to a leaking gearchange shaft seal, the only immediate solution, albeit a costly one, was to keep filling up the sump. The fuel was down to my immature need to imitate Captain Fantastic by playing tunes on the throttle in second and third.
After the CX, the 900 appeared to have stunning, body churning acceleration, especially beyond 7000 revs. Non-standard bars that were not far off ape-hangers aided the ease with which the front wheel went airborne but obviously made the bike uncomfortable as a high speed cruiser. Frequent stops, like every 30 minutes, if more than 75mph was maintained for any length of time. Not helped any by the seat which had been flattened by the previous owner's fourteen stone.
Despite all that, I found the CB900 a largely enjoyable bike to ride. It has its own distinct character, miles away from some of the bland replicas. It's one of those motors that shrug, vibrate and growl away, as well as having a pretty stunning power delivery. By the time I'd done 8000 miles in a month, the bike and I had become old, steadfast friends.
The chassis had received all the normal mods, with an alloy swinging arm, Koni shocks, fork brace and a set of Phantom tyres that had to be replaced halfway through the trip. Their wear rate was as astonishing as the amount of grip they afforded. Thus equipped the only thing to let the bike down was the light front end, mostly as a result of the non-standard bars. That meant big wobbles exiting fast, bumpy bends and a lot of head shaking if more than 100mph was put on the clock.
With so much mass the wide bars made town manoeuvrability passable and didn't lead to excessive fatigue when swooping through country lanes. However, the bars limited top speed to a pathetic 115mph, so they had to go in favour of a narrow, flat set that I just happened to have in the garage (off, I think, an RS250). First, though, I put in a new gearchange shaft seal, which needed a chisel taken to the engine to extract, it's just as well the damage is covered by the engine cases.
Equipped with flat bars, town riding was heavy going. By then the chain was on its last legs, making the gearbox feel like it was full of marbles, which did nothing to help with the ease with which I could swing through gaps between cars. At low speeds it's all too obvious that there is too much mass, too high up - I thought the CX was awkwardly top heavy but the 900 was in a class of its own.
Greasy city roads gave the tyres, as good as they were, a hard time. I was close to blind panic on a couple of occasions when the back wheel tried to swing right around. I wasn't going to try speedway techniques on such a big brute and putting my foot down would've just broken my ankle. Backing off the power and twitching the bike upright seemed the best way out of trouble.
The flat bars did wonders for high speed stability, although it would still shake its head on bumpy exits. Top speed, with my head in the clocks, was 135mph. This couldn't be held for very long as the engine was buzzing away like a chainsaw and the chassis was waltzing all over the road. Sick bucket time. I could just about maintain 120mph for half an hour, but fuel was down to a laughable 20mpg and the tyres were red hot.
The rest of 1990 was commuting to work and the odd weekend or evening blast. As winter tried to close down the country, I became less and less enamoured with the motorcycle experience. The CB reacted by producing an excess of corrosion and when that didn't stop me riding the bike it threw me off on a patch of ice. I suppose most bikes would've done the same, but the sheer speed with which the Honda lost it, the horrible feeling of all that top heavy mass going out of control, made me think twice about keeping the machine. Damage to both of us was minimal as we'd ended up sliding down the road. The bars were bent so I put the old ones back on; it was becoming so cold that there was little hope of doing much by way of speed.
I was most impressed with the lack of maintenance that was required, but then I'd been used to old, high mileage hacks. Valves and carbs stayed in tune for more than 6000 miles, only the cheapo chain I'd fitted needed any frequent attention. It was this easy life that come the spring of 1991 made me decide to carry on with the CB, despite it now sporting 30,000 miles, which many reckon is when the motor starts to develop problems. The plan for 1991 was an ambitious 15000 miles around Europe in six weeks of free rolling!
Before that I'd fitted another set of bars, rear-sets and a comfortable seat. Tailoring a bike to one's personal needs is one of the unsung joys of riding old motorcycles. Getting to Europe proved almost as traumatic as the tour, down to so much bad weather that one of the motorcycles came adrift in the ferry, crashing into the CB. I was left with a nasty dent in the petrol tank and a bunch of seamen who rather than coming to our aid spent half an hour hurling abuse at us for not securing the bikes properly! Some elderly Beemer owner was almost in tears as we pulled off the bikes to reveal the sad state of his boxer.
The tour was a wonderful experience apart from the time the clock hit 42000 miles and the camchain started to rattle so badly it drowned out the rotted exhaust. This happened in Italy and it took a lot of effort and £250 to persuade the nearest Honda dealer to do the job in less than a day. Their first idea was that I should leave the bike with them for a couple of weeks on the off-chance that they might just be able to fit it in!
Apart from that little horror, what stands out from that trip was doing 125mph for an hour on the autobahn, nearly falling off the edge of the Alps too many times (the Honda showed its age and mass) and having a race with a bunch of French maniacs on deserted, twisty roads that were marvellously wide and smooth (and therefore ideal for the lumbering Honda). My camping antics were also worthy of note, the tent with me in it almost flying off the side of a Swiss mountain on one occasion.
By the time we were back in Blighty the clock was reading nearly 50,000 miles. There was a bit of smoke out of the exhaust, some funny noises from the valves and enough vibes above 8000 revs to dissuade me from doing more than the ton. Before I could look into this the swinging arm bearings went, causing vicious wobbles at as little as 30mph. It was a chisel and hammer job to knock the old spindle out, it really needed replacing but I filled the pits with Araldite and smoothed them down with emery cloth. Even with a new set of bearings the CB never recovered its poise, becoming wild at more than 80mph. Probably some other bearings on the way out, as the tyres were newish - down to 1mm they too could cause chassis horrors.
The rest of the chassis was in reasonable nick, except for the silencers which needed patching every other week. The calipers had surprised me by refusing to seize (pads lasted 12000 miles), the brakes always having tons of power if not an excess of feedback in the wet. I did polish the old girl every week but even the alloy corrosion cleaned up easily.
By the time 54000 miles were on the clock I'd decided that it would have to go to a new home. I'd bought it so cheaply that even in its worn state I had a pretty good chance of getting my money back. I'd placed the advert in MCN, given the bike a massive polishing session and was all set for seeing the back of it, when the CB showed it wouldn't let me ease it out of my life so gracefully.
I was taking it for a quick blast through town, enjoying a burst of acceleration in third when the motor seized solid. Before I could grab the clutch we'd skidded off the road. It was the most painful accident of my life, a huge swathe of skin torn off. Just shows you can't win them all.
Mike
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Aaaarrrrrgggghhhhh! I came out of the house to find my 1980 Honda CB900 missing. The remnants of my shackle lock were on the ground. Suddenly, the area was filled with the bellow of the Alpha 4-1. Then silence. I ran down the road towards the sound, swerved around the corner. Saw two youths fiddling with my pride and joy. Screamed my head off at them, waving the largest bit of the shackle lock above my head, charging towards the bastards with murder in my heart.
They threw the CB on to the road as if it was red hot and ran off as if the hounds of hell were after them. Coming abreast of the Honda, watching it bounce on the crashbars, I was tempted to ignore its plight and catch the thieves but couldn't bear to see the bike in such a state.
As I pulled the beast upright, I thanked god for the finicky nature of the engine, which needed much fiddling with the choke and throttle when cold. The Alpha exhaust was matched to filterless carbs, high compression ratio pistons and race camshafts. The engine didn't start to run properly before 5000rpm, really taking off at 7000 revs before I chickened out at ten grand; it would run harder but the secondary vibes persuaded me it would not last long thus abused. From cold, as the thieves found out, it was dead easy to stall the recalcitrant motor.
I'd only had it a week at that point. A week in which I'd been variously thrilled and frightened in equal measure. After a rat Superdream it seemed incredibly fast, outrageously heavy and braked with an on/off action that had me knocking my balls on the tank every other time I tried to lose speed in a hurry. Which was pretty often as it seemed to put 60mph on the clock within the blink of an eye and the ton came up so easily it made a complete mockery of the speed limits.
Within that first week I'd taken the ten year old machine on a top speed run. 140mph on the nearest motorway! 140mph on a naked machine is a hell of an achievement, as testified by the way my helmet strap tried to cut through my jugular vein even though I was lying flat on the long if narrow petrol tank.
I didn't hold the speed for more than an instant because the whole shebang was threatening to roll off the road. The CB already had beefed up forks and aftermarket shocks, as well as an alloy swinging arm and fat Metzeler tyres, so god knows what it would've been like on stock components.
Saner speeds were okay, anything up to 100mph it was stable enough if heavy going as there was 500lbs to throw through the bends. So it took me a good six months to come to grips with the Honda. In that time I had loads of near misses that were mostly caused by the rapid acceleration from the tuned motor. It was fast enough to burn off a GPZ900 up to the ton, when the newer bike would begin to power off but only, I thought, because its plastic made it much more aerodynamic.
I scared the GPZ rider silly several times by overtaking him in fast bends, the CB bouncing all over the place. If the front tyre hit a bump coming out of the bend, then the bars would go crazy in my hands, throbbing from lock to lock until I backed off on the throttle, which in turn started the back wheel off.
Put it another way, a friend who normally rode a Z1, considered by many to be a rolling death-trap, had a go on the Honda and came back full of fear at its antics in some fast and bumpy bends, although on smooth roads there was little cause for concern as long as it was set up for the bend, rather like a BMW boxer.
So after six moths I was used to the nasty beast and could keep up with most devices on most roads. No sooner had I settled into this high speed life than the engine started to rattle. The camchain blues. The DOHC engine is rather complex despite only having eight valves and aircooling, so I handed the bike over to the local Honda dealer who quoted £85 and then gave me a bill for £295! I took the bike for a test ride and never went back there so it was the cheapest rebuild in the history of the world.
A week later some yob in a Volvo tried to knock me off the road. I glanced over to see the bloated face of the enraged dealer. I scooted off down the road, the fear inspired use of the throttle and clutch getting us up on the back wheel. This is the most dangerous thing in the world, even to someone who's used to its idiosyncrasies.
I strained forward and knocked off the throttle a notch, sufficient to have the forks on their stops and us knocking along the side of a car. I could still see the Volvo in the mirrors, so hustled off through an unlikely gap, swerving off down a series of side streets until the blaring horns were but a far distant echo.
It seemed like a good time to leave town. London beckoned, with a job in a printers and a friend's floor to sleep on. M1 madness got me in the mood for the city's craziness and I had great fun racing with the DR's and taxi drivers. I could throw the 900 around like a Superdream by then and with its excess of power it took a particular combination of madness and true grit to burn me off. A DR850 got the better of me but little else came close.
I wasn't doing much maintenance to the Honda, just changing the oil every time the gearbox became full of false neutrals. With 29000 miles on the clock it seemed to thrive on such abuse. I fell in with a gang of hoodlums on big fours, who took absolutely no notice of the speed limits or the cops. Anyone who tried to pull us over was dealt with by opening up the throttle. I'd never lived so dangerously in my life but I was young enough to take the craziness.
It took six months and 7000 miles of maximum revs and throttle excess before the engine began to complain. Before that I'd had some down-pipes crack up, a numberplate fall off and complete electrical failure with everything from the alternator up burning out. Bits from helpful if expensive breakers kept her running.
After an hour long motorway blast at 130mph, the engine started knocking like a pile-driver. Vibes threatened to split the whole machine asunder. I was towed the 30 miles home behind an XS1100. Complete and utter madness. We both had our noses in the beer trough for the rest of the night before the shaking went away. Still, we scared the shit out of a couple of cagers.
A couple of mates came around to help with strip. Three of us had trouble lifting the motor out and it slipped out of our hands on to the foot of one. He howled for a good hour but had the last laugh when it was revealed that the crankshaft's bearings were all shot. The gearbox looked like it had been attacked by a maniac and there were bits missing out of the cams. Dead meat!
It's taken ages to find a good motor out of the breakers but I've just paid 400 notes for a 20,000 miler so hope to be back on the road by the time you read this.
Andy Higgins
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The bike sparkled like diamonds in the early morning sun. The exhaust snorted like a dragster coming out of the gate. Lady luck had smiled upon me for once. Bliss! A fine motorcycle and a beautiful day. The calm of the morning was further disturbed by the clang of first gear going home. The first time it happened I thought the gearbox had broken. Now, it had become reassuring! She who must be holed in one threw a stocking clad leg over the pillion...damn, that bit was fantasy. The only girl I ever got on the pillion wobbled off at the first junction and did a runner. Don't know why, she refused to speak to me again! Yet more tarmac to burn.
The CB900 wasn't exactly the cumulation of Honda's work on the four cylinder genre. But it was a fast old cruncher in its day. Could still turn a rapid wheel. It was really down to the rider's inclination and bravery. I had plenty of skirmishes with death in the early months of ownership. The CB900 owes an awful lot to the original CB750K. Shares with it the same top heavy, excessive mass. Mixed in was a massive flood of power that pushed the chassis to the limit. Dead easy to end up all over the place; a fool looking for a body-bag!
The first three months were something of a learning experience. These days, the bike and I have merged into an efficient killing machine. Replicas are my prime target. Something like a CBR600 is supposedly in all ways superior. It just so happens that the 900 has an incredible punch between 70 and 120mph in fifth gear. It's then just a matter of keeping the bike on the road!
The chassis is helped along by heavy-duty Koni shocks, stiffened up front forks with the obligatory brace, and a set of sticky Metz tyres. This all gives the bike a nice taut, glued to the road feel. Limitations include the amount of muscle needed to throw it from side to side, and ground clearance hassles from the sheer, excessive, width of the engine.
The best way to grind the Honda through the bends is to lean off whilst keeping the bike as upright as possible. Combined with some desperate cut and thrust it's possible to frighten the replicas into submission. Along the lines of making them wonder what the hell's going down, as the shadow of the lumbering monster descends. It all comes down to the rider's skill and guts. If the replica pilot's better or the same as me, then I would be burnt off. But most of the time I come out ahead, if swamped with adrenaline!
The engine has standard carbs, airfilter and exhaust, but the silencers are degutted and the jetting upped to suit. Four into one's usually put a flat spot around 5000rpm so it's better to stick with the stock stuff with the above mod's. In fact, all the silencers will be well rotted by now, so no need to actually degut them. If bigger main jets aren't fitted, acceleration above 7000 revs goes a bit hesitant. With these mod's I can put 145mph on the clock and do some fearsome standing starts.
I don't have any trouble staying with the 600's up to 120mph. Thereafter, acceleration's limited by the fact that the bike's naked, although the riding position's as good as a BMW. It's easy enough to lean against the wind force, cruising at up to 100mph no great problem for me. It does give you forearm muscles like Popeye, though. As a keen tennis player this is quite helpful.
EBC pads, Goodridge hose and a newish set of discs have sorted out the front brake - it started to go very soggy at 30,000 miles and lost a lot of its power. Now with 55000 miles up, the discs are starting to go thin and are in need of replacement. Unfortunately, there aren't any good ones in breakers, so I'll just have to hope that they don't break up on me!
The bike's best suited to sunny days, when both the machine and I seem to revel in the glorious weather and performance. Wet weather isn't much fun. Sometimes the engine will cut down to three, or even two, cylinders. Dangerous stuff on greasy roads. Worse still, even when the motor's running okay, the way it can viciously lay down the power can have the back wheel hopping off the road.
On the other hand, below five grand there is some torque, not difficult to potter around on a whiff of throttle. Which improves the fuel from an high speed average of 35mpg to 60mpg! Below two grand the drive-line lash can become pretty awful. Best to fit a new chain and sprocket set every 6000 miles. Leave it longer, the bike won't want to run below 3000 revs. I had one chain snap at 10,000 miles! Made a hell of a mess of the back of the engine and could've taken my leg out. Modern O-ring chains don't need frequent adjustment, worth the investment.
Tyres could, similarly, last for 10,000 miles before the carcass began to show! However, the handling turns naff after 5000 miles. On worn rubber the bike white-lines, skips and hops, and wheelspins prodigiously. What was a gradual loosening of grip at extreme angles of lean becomes a wild, sudden, disappearance of traction. In other words, a quick way of falling off.
All these things add up to quite high running costs, but no worse than the hot 600's. The major difference's the purchase cost. I bought my one owner, 13000 miler, for £775 some five years ago. The old chap had lovingly run the bike in and kept it beautifully polished, like it was the joy of his life. You don't often come across this kind of fool.
The upshot of such an easy early life, plus my own regular 2000 mile oil and maintenance sessions, is that the engine hasn't yet been stripped down at 55000 miles. Judging by some accounts this is a major achievement for a CB900 - tales of exploding cranks, breaking camchains and dropping valves abound. It just shows that a bit of tender loving care goes a long way.
I have recently noticed an increase in vibration. The bike was always a bit of a tingler in the bars and pegs. Nothing that you couldn't get used to. Lately, it's started to thrum quite violently at 9000rpm, mostly through the petrol tank which I always grip tightly with my knees. It may just be the tank going thin. Internal rusting means I have to clean the tap out every 500 miles. Or maybe the engine's due for a rebuild. Not to worry, I've got a spare motor!
Buying an old CB900's a bit of a gamble. A good chassis is immediately evident from the precision and stability. A good engine's a lot harder to suss, and the majority of them have had, or need, major surgery. Something fast and furious can be found for around a grand, with plenty of life left in it. The same money can buy a dog on its last legs.
Doug Pearson