There were times with my ten year old CG125 when I dearly wished I was on something else. Almost anything else. What did I hold against Honda's ubiquitous commuter single, what had caused my utter scorn? Well, I was 6’6” and weighed 20 stone. The CG was built for a Japanese dwarf and weighed only 220lbs. Judging by the way the general populace laughed, sniggered and threw bricks at our passing form our partnership looked more than a little ridiculous.
I could live with that as whenever I stopped the doubters ran as fast as their little legs could take them. Its 11hp when new felt more like 5hp after 20000 miles of abuse. Every time I crossed the 50mph barrier its little heart seemed to be tearing itself apart if the way the pegs and bars shook with the vibration was any guide.
In some ways the niggardly acceleration and pathetic top speed was all to the good. The drum brakes, even when replenished with new shoes, were prone to fade, the dangerous lack of braking disappearing to nothing. I often ended up bellowing at cagers and pedestrians to get out of the damn way, quite effective if I put a fearsome scowl on my face. The horn was the kind of squeak redolent of a mouse trying to get out of the petrol tank and far less effective than shouting and gesticulating with my arms whilst steering the little Honda with my knees.
The suspension was permanently down on the stops with my weight aboard. The seat was like a bed of nails that even my extra padding endowed by nature did little to overcome. Steering at the best of times was vague, at the worst suicidal. The CG would veer off in different directions with all the predictability of a kitten being chased by a Great Dane. At least I was never bored.
Being on the dole there was little hope of upgrading to something better. The one time I went for a DR interview I ended up destroying an office partition and breaking a flimsy chair. The boss's lack of a sense of humour was appalling and | nearly had to give him a slap when he got a bit lippy. He reckoned I'd be better off in a circus!
It was a pretty bad day. Coming home the throttle cable snapped, leaving me stranded with an engine at tick over in a stream of 30mph traffic. The only way out was to wrench the bike up on to the pavement at about 25mph. We lurched over the kerb and ran down some city types before coming to a halt, the front wheel wedged into some iron railings. I ignored the screaming from the injured, tried to pull the bike out.
After a terrifying bang, I ended up shooting backwards with a Honda CG125 in my lap, plus half a hundredweight of iron railing that had torn out of the brickwork. A few more peds were taken out as well! It took police equipped with a welding torch to free the front wheel from the railing. Had I not been penniless on the dole I would’ve ended up with a massive bill for damages but as it was they gave up when I sent them letters from the dole office and bank manager explaining my plight.
The front wheel was a bit mangled but replaced, together with the throttle cable, by a breaker in exchange for an afternoon’s work stripping down a couple of mangled bikes. The newer drum brake proved slightly better in the braking department but still provided lots of unnerving moments.
Even with my bulk aboard, the horrible Honda was ideal for cutting through congested traffic. A couple of times I even picked the damn thing up and hurled it across central barriers and other impediments to my journey. Pavement work was more trouble than it was worth as invariably some annoyed ped would run alongside whacking me about the helmet with their briefcase or handbag. Obviously, a case of pure jealously.
Where the CG became totally lost was riding into headwinds or up hills. When both of those were combined, speed was down to about 10mph in first or second and on one memorable occasion I actually ended up running alongside for a couple of hundred yards. I often ended up with no more than 40mph on the clock, the bane of frustrated cagers as there was no way my dignity would allow me to ride in the gutter.
Doing more than 50 miles in a day left me with a sore bum, shaking hands and feet, plus a brain that was numb with pain, fear and sheer insanity. Not surprisingly, the seat split every 200 miles and the base would break if I pushed my luck by patching the old one up with rags and insulation tape.
Every time it rained a little I had a wet bum for days afterwards because the saddle soaked it up like a sponge. I tended to avoid wet weather because the tyres, always bought secondhand and worn out, slithered all over the place, adding to the feeling of riding an out of control donkey. The drums filled up with water, making sure I couldn't lock up the wheels on damp roads... and removing all braking power.
A couple of times I just stepped off the bike at about 20mph! The indicators had long since fallen off and my legs were long enough to allow me to clear the bike without whacking the wedding tackle (and yes, ladies, it is in proportion to the rest of my body...). The little Honda careered off down the road riderless, which if anything improved its stability. Until some cage or other solid object ended its freedom.
Damage was surprisingly minor in these insane incidents. I did more damage to the front wheel levering on tyres, usually after I'd punctured the inner tube in a couple of failed fittings. I ended up seeing red when that happened and actually buckled one rim into an oval shape! There was always the possibility that when riding a wheel would collapse under the stress but usually it was the bearings that went. The rear wheel bearings rarely lasting more than 4000 miles. Naff or what?
The overall build quality of the CG is not very good. An English winter corrodes everything made of metal and even the plastic bits go off! The mudguards have a quaint habit of rusting away until they fall off. When the front one jammed in the wheel, the retardation was so violent that I was thrown over the bars. Slimmer builds might get away with rolling down the road but I ended up on my back with a spine breaking descent from grace. The Honda vindictively tried to finish me off by landing atop my shaken but not stirred form. A minor sensation was caused when I finally arose, clothes torn asunder, as I took revenge by tearing out what was left of the guard and stamping on it until it bore a passing resemblance to asquare ten pence coin. You can't let these bikes get the better of you!
The silencer was similarly short lived and afflicted with rust. At least it did no more damage than to send myself, and everyone else within a half mile radius, temporarily deaf. It used to half fall off the downpipe, scrape along the ground until final disintegration occurred. Riding on an open downpipe made sod all difference to the carburation, which was so worn that fuel economy was a shocking 60mpg and the spark plug would: often be flooded with the excess of fuel. For some reason, even the police left me well alone, to continue on my world weary way.
The engine would run for about 5000 miles before needing any attention. The crankshaft mounted points were so fiddly that my gorilla sized paws couldn't cope and a mate had to stand in whenever the motor refused to start. I could just about manage to pour in some oil when it went down to the minimum mark; valve adjustments weren't needed before a rebore was required! The piston proved the most precarious item in the engine, but | know people who have got 30000 rather than 5000 miles out of an engine, but they weigh about a third of my own bulk.
Invariably, it’s cheaper to acquire secondhand parts than do any serious engine work. Or it was until a gudgeon pin sheared and took out the whole motor. The bike went into a skid that my instant reflex action on the clutch did nothing to remove. I did my usual stepping off trick and watched in amazement as the bike wobbled a good 100 yards down the road before falling into the gutter. I picked up the half length of chain that'd snapped off. At least it made the bike easy to push home!
My friendly breaker put me to work for a week in exchange for a running motor, which after fitting I'd foolishly ridden home in the dark. The CG has lights that would have most push-bike owners writing to their MPs. Somehow I got back in one piece, narrowly avoiding being run over by inattentive car drivers and riding the CG into some roadworks.
I suppose you could say that I’ve got used to the bike’s strange ways and even enjoy myself for the majority of the time. They are quite tough little buggers that I can recommend to commuters; I’m looking forward to the day when I can afford a Gold Wing.
Bruce Letts