Working as a bricklayer, for the past three years I’ve been wandering around the country picking up work at various sites. This was the only way to survive the recession. The CB100N seemed ideal when I bought an ‘86 one at the beginning of this adventure as I didn’t expect to do more that 50 miles in a day.
That easy life was quickly blown when after a month I was offered a contract in Glasgow. As I was working in London at the time and only had a weekend to get there, my first thought was to put it on the train. That was a trifle unfair to the little Honda, as it had whirred away reliably for the first 800 miles, even with a hundred pounds worth of building tools and clothes on the back.
Its 10.5hp, from a compact OHC single cylinder engine, was good for 70mph on the clock, fuel was around 95mpg and if it was shook about by London roads it only weighed 260lbs, easily kept in line. In the chaos of London traffic there were few better devices and I was often despatched on chores by the foreman as I could cover distances in a fraction of the time of a van.
The open road beckoned one stormy Saturday morning. The A1 all the way up to Leeds, about 200 miles, seemed good enough for the first day’s ride. Unfortunately, there was a howling wind coming down the road all the way up, so cold it must've originated in the Arctic Circle. The little Honda was slogging its heart out at 40mph in third gear. A brief, mad run up the A1(M) had me weaving all over the slow lane at 50mph, still in third, with the engine trying to vibrate its way out of the frame.
Even with 13000 miles on the clock when I acquired it, the gearbox was not very precise, although once a gear was clunk-clicked into it didn't try to fall out, but the gap between third and fourth was such to lose a lot of the speed built up in the former gear, especially into a headwind when loaded up with a heavy rider and an excess of tools, clothes and other essential items.
The seat was so uncomfortable that every 30 miles I had to pull over, leap up and down, and let loose with a stream of curses. The bike just sat there ticking over ever reliably, unperturbed by my agony. Stopping so often was useful for warming my hands on top of the engine (don't try this with plastic gloves, unless you want to become one with your motor), and flexing my fingers, which were aching due to the narrow handlebars. Range, of well over 150 miles, was well ahead of the comfort factor.
Progress, then, was a series of frantic revving for about 45 minutes then 15 minutes hopping about. After 90 miles of abuse I was beginning to look for a luxury hotel for rest and recreation. Strong side winds had also knocked the bike around a lot, making us look like an accident waiting for somewhere to happen. Despite working ten hour days on building sites my muscles were given a good working over.
After an hour's stop for lunch I felt ready for the road again and a sudden decrease in the ferocity of the wind made it possible to fly along at 65mph for almost an hour. 150 miles finished then. Just another 50 miles to do before the light faded. No way I wanted to ride on the marginal lights - Honda had cut corners on the electrics. Unfortunately, the gale came back and my tired backside resisted doing more than 20 miles in a go even though the speed was down to a pathetic 30mph!
Fuel had dropped to 80mpg but that was hardly a big expense. Leeds was a welcome sight, although I could’ve done without the attentions of the widowed landlady who made Dame Edna look like a movie star. Still, any port in a storm. And what a storm on Sunday. But the wind had changed direction, so it was sail assisted all the way along the A65, which I followed overto Workingham to have dinner with an old mate. The rest of the day was hard work, the A596 and A74 taking me to Glasgow with just the lack of speed and comfort cause for any kind of real complaint.
I didn’t feel much like work the next day but had no choice in the matter. The CB100 had developed a top end rattle (with about 15000 miles on the clock) that had peds turning around wondering what was coming down the road. Probably thought it was Dan the Dustbin Man. I rode it around Glasgow, often two-up, like that for a couple of weeks until I was persuaded of the need to hand the bike over to a dealer.
I've read all kinds of horror stories about these chaps but for sixty quid they fitted anew camchain and gave the engine a full service (not difficult). The CB purred into life first kick and never seemed to have run so well before. As it happens, a whole year was spent in Glasgow, working sixty hour weeks and earning loads of dosh.
Only the occasional dash into the countryside was experienced, the Honda handling well in the curves but gasping a bit when forced past lines of caravans. The suspension was fine on smooth roads but lacked damping when subjected to a series of bumps but it never came close to frightening the shit out of me. The rest of the time it was used for city work where it, of course, excelled. If town commuting is all you want this bike is more than enough.
Eventually, it was time to head back to England, this time six months in Brum. A long run that had to be done in one day. The silencer took this occasion to finally lose its end. Hell of a racket and an engine that refused to run above 5000 revs. A slow and painful day that ended with 30 miles in the dark, the dim glow from the front light making it difficult to stay on the road.
There were 23000 miles on the clock. That meant it needed a new exhaust system, new caliper and pads, new chain and sprockets, new seat and speedo. The total new cost was more than the bike was worth, so it was visiting Brum breakers in the lunch break and fitting the bits in the evening. Both chrome mudguards were also almost rotted through so they were replaced with plastic stuff. Total renovation cost was about £50.
There weren't very many good CB100Ns in breakers but quite a few old rats; luckily other, more modern bikes in the Honda range provide bits that can be persuaded on to the bike. It could also have done with a respray but that seemed rather an extravagance for a bike that could easily be mistaken for a fading rat.
I had the dosh to buy something newer and bigger but not the inclination, my biking has always been about cheapness above mere pleasure. Brum traffic was almost as bad as London’s with some real psychotic idiots armed and loaded with huge company cars. But the tiny Honda could be shoved through and around them, especially with the renovated front brake that lately had become very dire. It was still an on/off switch in the wet but otherwise could twist the forks, losing speed rapidly and safely. The rear drum worked but didn’t inspire.
As the six months in Brum coincided with the winter I only used it for commuting. Even on snow and ice, on Jap tyres, the Honda could be slid quite nicely and if it wobbled on occasion both feet down (the seat was both narrow and low) saved me from a tumble. I'm on the large size, so totally dominate the bike, feel rather perched atop the little thing. Some mates find the sight hilarious but are less derogatory after I’ve taken them across town in a fraction of the time they would take in a car or on public transport.
After Brum it was back down to London. On that journey I had my first serious crash when some cager knocked me off the A1 into a field. Cheeky blighter, saluted me on his horn as I was thrown off and did a roll around the field. I survived, the Honda had all its levers bent and was covered in mud. I kicked it straight and carried on to London, hoping the cager had been crushed between two artics but | never saw him again. More's the pity!
The rest of the CB’s life was in London and it now sports 39000 miles. The camchain has just started to rattle again and the poor old thing doesn't like doing more than 50mph. I never bother locking it, apart from the rat looks and reluctant starting, the gearbox has become so dubious that I doubt if anyone else would get more than a few yards. If I ever get the time I might give it a good going over, I’m sure there’s some life still left in the old girl. It’s got to be better than selling it off for fifty quid as a rat bike.
John Drew