Back in about 1979 I was pottering about on a very sensible Honda CG125 with full fairing. Comfortable, economical if slow and with the most vicious gear change I have ever come across on a motorcycle. You can imagine that virtually every bigger bike I saw became an object of desire. There was one in particular...
A bloke I knew had a Dunstall Honda 500 four, which he wanted to sell in order to buy a new Honda CB900, which, by the way, lived up to its UMG write-up by later killing him! He was refreshingly honest, telling me that he had thrashed the 500. Nevertheless, it sounded alright and went well on the test run; I was, anyway, already in love with it!
The Dunstall was a cafe racer conversion. Mine came in yellow with GRP tank and seat unit with a matching fairing, though at the time this was not fitted as the screen was broken and part of its frame was missing. Rear-sets and clip-ons were the other main changes to the cycle parts. I don’t think the engine was modified or uprated, though I may be wrong, other than a four into one Piper exhaust which sounded magnificent and produced a howl that I have never heard improved upon.
The bike went well, though the clutch slipped over the ton and the battery was past its best. Fortunately, whilst being a pig to push, due to the clip-ons, it would bump after only a few yards. In fact, I soon changed the handlebars to a flat, straight bar, under the advice of my elders and betters, who told me that without the necessary stops on the forks I was going to trap my thumbs against the tank. Having done it a few times I soon complied with their suggestion.
The change in bars raised the riding position to the hunched shoulder attitude typical of the Triumph 1120.....it was, in fact, very comfortable. Which helped make the bike great fun to ride, especially as the exhaust note made it sound as though you were going about 30mph faster than you actually were.
The handling and braking were as good as I needed, and as I didn’t fall off it the tyres must have been OK - Dunlop TT100s, I think. With the rear-sets you could hang off the side of the bike going round corners and pretend to be Barry Sheene (remember him?). | found a roundabout near Rickmansworth that was large enough to go round cranked right over at about 4Omph... I would go around three or four times before taking the exit | wanted. Magic!
Doubtless, the Girling shocks out back and minor mods to the forks aided flickability, as did a weight of around 400lbs. There was none of the mush you might reasonably expect after a standard bike had worn its suspension out after the first couple of years. The single front disc worked well for its time and was tolerable in the wet, where the splendidly mild rear drum was always ready to aid retardation in a smooth and progressive manner.
I had no holiday plans that summer, so decided to do a tour based on a Land's End to John O’Groats route. Now, I’m not much of a mechanic and was even less of one then, so my preparation for the run was restricted to changing the oil and filter, adjusting the tappets and the drive chain. It’s not that I dislike working on bikes, it’s merely that I don’t know what I’m doing.
I duly loaded up the Dunstall with camping gear, strapping a tent to the pillion seat, a rucksack to the tank on a sheet of foam rubber, plus another one on my back. Well, the trip started off well enough, from West London down to Lands End and then back up to Camelford on the north Cornwall coast on the first day. The Dunstall handled all that was thrown at it, proving to be surprisingly comfortable, the large tank giving a range of over 200 miles at around 50mpg.
It has to be borne in mind that bikes of this era demanded rigorous 1000 mile maintenance sessions which included adjusting its four carbs and eight valves as well as the usual oil change. The final drive chain was helped in longevity by the smooth power production, but was relatively cheap in construction, perhaps explaining the fairly frequent adjustments required.
Rather than try to find a campsite, as it was by then getting late, I decided to stay in a pub overnight. Well, that was my excuse. The landlord was an ex-merchant seaman who took great delight in telling me the place was haunted. When I eventually rolled into bed I succeeded in convincing myself that there was a presence in the room, scaring myself shitless. Impressionable youth.
The next leg of the journey was up to the Lake District. I started on the A-roads up the coastline. Whilst these were great fun to ride on, particularly the stretch into Minehead, it took a long time to cover moderate distances, even after caning the Honda like it was a stroker... there was no particular power band and not much sign of its fifty horses, it verged on being bland. I reverted to the M5 to make up some time, top speed being 115mph on the clock.
I arrived in Windermere as darkness fell and pitched the tent in the first campsite I could find, saddle sore but happy in the knowledge that I had got there and could look forward to a couple of days scratching around the lanes with an unladen bike. Unfortunately, the weather had other ideas. It started to rain and in those days when waterproofs weren't and I had little chance of getting the wet kit dried out again, I didn’t want to get my whole supply of clothing wet. As a consequence, I spent a lot of time sitting in the tent listening to the weather forecasts.
Two days later they changed. But, as many of you will have experienced the weather in the Lake District has a mind of its own. So, instead of waking to sunshine, I woke to rain. But on the promise of clearer weather outside the Lake District, I packed up and set off. Unfortunately, the rain became very heavy, soon I was soaked right through. By the time I approached the M6 I could see the edge of the cloud up ahead and as soon as I was on the motorway | was in sunshine.
My relief was short-lived. The engine started to lose power, going on to three cylinders. I wasn’t overtly concerned, thinking that being out of the rain, the bike would soon dry out. Then it went on to two cylinders, then one and very soon I was stationary on a slight upward incline, about a mile short of the services. The cloud very soon caught up and, it seemed to me, gleefully emptied its contents on me.
The bike wouldn‘t start, so I started to push it. You can imagine, I don’t think I have ever been more miserable... pushing a heavily laden bike up a slope in the pouring rain. The hard shoulder is a noisy and, with huge trucks hurtling past spraying water and grit, an unfriendly place. After what seemed like a very long time, I saw a slip road to the service station. Needless to say, it was at an ever steeper incline upwards. I finally made it to the top, swearing, cursing, nearly crying. All in all, not a happy chap.
I was not a member of the AA. I tried to join there and then but they weren't having any of that, so it was down to me to get the bike going again. Creature comforts come high on my list of priorities, so I changed into what few dry clothes I had left. then set about checking the bike over. Plugs and fuel were OK. The bike would start, run and then die. The answer came when I pulled out the air filter. It was waterlogged. Water had soaked into the piece of foam rubber on the tank, then run off the back of the tank straight into the filter’s compartment, which had no lid. Discarding the filter made the engine run properly.
However, by this time I couldn't face riding north into the rain again, so with a mixture of relief and disappointment, I loaded up and headed south. I stopped in the Peak District for a few days, where needless to say the sun shone. But that was the end of the only time I attempted the End to End run.
I kept the bike for a few more months. Whilst being generally pleased with it, the Dunstall was far from useful in heavy traffic and I was getting sick and tired of the CG125. So, they both went in exchange for a new CX500A, which at the time was being sold as a sports bike! The CX is now long gone. The Dunstall did give me the taste for cafe racers and I could probably get on pretty well with a modern equivalent, like a CBR600.
Buying a Dunstall rather than a stock CB500 four, these days, is all down to whether or not you can enjoy its looks and can take its riding position. The stock bike is more versatile and they are so rare. on the road that the additional rarity of the Dunstall can not be worth much extra dosh.
Malcolm Fish