All kind of things went through my mind when I slung a leg over an H100S for the first time. In a school car park on a Saturday morning. The instructor had gone through a complex set of commands that had left me sweating. The bike felt both very small and very dangerous at the same time. I found the throttle and gave it a twist. Nearly popped my eardrums and the instructor shook his fist at me!
Was it up or down on the gearchange? How much throttle should I use? I managed to work out the front brake and clutch levers, the former reassuring. Gear, throttle, clutch... motor stalls dead! How to reduce a 32 year old man to a gibbering wreck. A few more tries, I finally hopped forward like a belligerent kangaroo right into the path of the instructor who was hurrying over to find out why I was the only one not in motion.
Judging by his expression, as he leapt out of the way, I’d been written off as the village idiot. However, an hour later I had a pretty good idea about clutch, throttle and gearchange coordination, could waltz through the bollards almost as well as the seventeen year old kids. At least 15 years in a cage meant I had plenty of road sense...
One's perspective from the saddle of a motorcycle is entirely different to that from the seat of a car. Roads that were previously benign turned into an obstacle course of bumps, potholes and wavering cages that didn’t seem to have a clue. I was soon cursing them like a dedicated biker. It quickly became evident that I had to learn the survival path through this chaos, but it wasn’t something that could be learnt in an afternoon, a week or even a month. It actually makes much more sense to move from a bicycle to a motorcycle rather than from a car. But I persevered.
Buying a six year old H100S off a neighbour was my next move. The guy was a bit notorious for selling stuff that was just about to break down but I had a mechanic friend look the 19000 mile machine over and he said all was OK. So I wasn't going to argue with him.
It all seemed very nice to me if a little terrifying when wound up to its top whack of 70mph. The main use of the bike was a five mile commute back and forth to work every day, but I soon found myself leaping on the little Honda just for the fun of it! The nearest and dearest went into full interrogation mode every time I disappeared for a few hours after telling her I was going to do a half hour run to get some practice in. The bike was rapidly becoming addictive.
Part of this was down to living out in the countryside, a wide selection of back lanes to throw the H100 through. It was summer, hot and sweaty, and a motorcycle was art ideal way to bop around of an evening. There were a wide selection of pubs to visit, many of them full of fifteen, sixteen year old girls wearing not a lot. I cursed the learner plates! But there you go.
One area where the Honda was literally in the Dark Ages was the front light. Bloody hell, the first time I rode in the dark I thought it was on pilot rather than main beam. There’s naivety for you! The long summer nights and the wife’s whining meant I usually came back before nightfall.
I don’t know if it was me or the bike, but once the engine was warmed up the gearchange was like slicing through mud, full of false neutrals and even slipping out of gear when I thought I'd engaged it! It was then I found out that there was a separate oil supply for the gearbox, so |Ichanged this but it only had a minor effect on the box’s slickness. It was quite embarrassing to find the engine screaming plaintively whilst I struggled manfully with the gearchange.
Other than that, the H100 soon became pretty easy to rip around on. The last part of my journey consisted of a mile of city work, which in the car usually took longer than the rest of the journey. On the bike, it was a case of barrelling along the gutter and doing the odd twist and turn. I saved about fifteen minutes just on that part of the journey.
The first few weeks I was so cautious that I didn’t come close to having an accident or falling off. It was when I gained some more confidence that I began to have some close shaves. Riding a little bit too fast for my level of experience, as I still had to think about my actions rather than rely on instinctive reactions. After nearly being crushed by a couple of converging cars, I decided to slow down before I was killed or maimed.
You have to be a real mad bugger on a motorcycle to ignore the signs of riding too fast too soon, though back when I was a youth |Ihad a couple of acquaintances who killed themselves on bikes... must be a matter of age making me more of a coward. Experience before age, or something.
After four months, in which I did over 5000 miles, the engine was showing signs of its age. It would coke up in town, needing much throttle work to keep it running. Top speed was down to 60mph and economy went from 85mpg to 50mpg. Decoke said my mechanic mate. He then explained the rather arcane needs of simple strokers. Head and exhaust off. Removal of the former revealed a scored bore and when the cylinder was removed the piston flopped around on its loose small-end bearing.
The mechanic friend reckoned it was shagged beyond help! I cursed my neighbour but was relieved to find the solution was an engine from a breaker for £225. It was a simple job to fit, and I was pleased to find that the gearbox was a whole lot slicker though still not perfect.
By then I was well into the motorcycle game, having developed sufficient survival instincts. I was able to string the Honda along on maximum throttle for most of the time. I was ready to take my test and move on to something bigger, before I melted the engine again.
It was ridiculous to be reduced to a bundle of nerves at the age of 32 but that was what happened on the day of the test. I wore my silly fluorescent jacket in the hope that I would be mistaken for a real commuter rather than a wannabe hoodlum. The H100S ran like a dream and I passed!
As it happened, poor finances meant that the H100 ended up as my sole means of transport. So it looks like we are going to be friends for a while longer.
Was it up or down on the gearchange? How much throttle should I use? I managed to work out the front brake and clutch levers, the former reassuring. Gear, throttle, clutch... motor stalls dead! How to reduce a 32 year old man to a gibbering wreck. A few more tries, I finally hopped forward like a belligerent kangaroo right into the path of the instructor who was hurrying over to find out why I was the only one not in motion.
Judging by his expression, as he leapt out of the way, I’d been written off as the village idiot. However, an hour later I had a pretty good idea about clutch, throttle and gearchange coordination, could waltz through the bollards almost as well as the seventeen year old kids. At least 15 years in a cage meant I had plenty of road sense...
One's perspective from the saddle of a motorcycle is entirely different to that from the seat of a car. Roads that were previously benign turned into an obstacle course of bumps, potholes and wavering cages that didn’t seem to have a clue. I was soon cursing them like a dedicated biker. It quickly became evident that I had to learn the survival path through this chaos, but it wasn’t something that could be learnt in an afternoon, a week or even a month. It actually makes much more sense to move from a bicycle to a motorcycle rather than from a car. But I persevered.
Buying a six year old H100S off a neighbour was my next move. The guy was a bit notorious for selling stuff that was just about to break down but I had a mechanic friend look the 19000 mile machine over and he said all was OK. So I wasn't going to argue with him.
It all seemed very nice to me if a little terrifying when wound up to its top whack of 70mph. The main use of the bike was a five mile commute back and forth to work every day, but I soon found myself leaping on the little Honda just for the fun of it! The nearest and dearest went into full interrogation mode every time I disappeared for a few hours after telling her I was going to do a half hour run to get some practice in. The bike was rapidly becoming addictive.
Part of this was down to living out in the countryside, a wide selection of back lanes to throw the H100 through. It was summer, hot and sweaty, and a motorcycle was art ideal way to bop around of an evening. There were a wide selection of pubs to visit, many of them full of fifteen, sixteen year old girls wearing not a lot. I cursed the learner plates! But there you go.
One area where the Honda was literally in the Dark Ages was the front light. Bloody hell, the first time I rode in the dark I thought it was on pilot rather than main beam. There’s naivety for you! The long summer nights and the wife’s whining meant I usually came back before nightfall.
I don’t know if it was me or the bike, but once the engine was warmed up the gearchange was like slicing through mud, full of false neutrals and even slipping out of gear when I thought I'd engaged it! It was then I found out that there was a separate oil supply for the gearbox, so |Ichanged this but it only had a minor effect on the box’s slickness. It was quite embarrassing to find the engine screaming plaintively whilst I struggled manfully with the gearchange.
Other than that, the H100 soon became pretty easy to rip around on. The last part of my journey consisted of a mile of city work, which in the car usually took longer than the rest of the journey. On the bike, it was a case of barrelling along the gutter and doing the odd twist and turn. I saved about fifteen minutes just on that part of the journey.
The first few weeks I was so cautious that I didn’t come close to having an accident or falling off. It was when I gained some more confidence that I began to have some close shaves. Riding a little bit too fast for my level of experience, as I still had to think about my actions rather than rely on instinctive reactions. After nearly being crushed by a couple of converging cars, I decided to slow down before I was killed or maimed.
You have to be a real mad bugger on a motorcycle to ignore the signs of riding too fast too soon, though back when I was a youth |Ihad a couple of acquaintances who killed themselves on bikes... must be a matter of age making me more of a coward. Experience before age, or something.
After four months, in which I did over 5000 miles, the engine was showing signs of its age. It would coke up in town, needing much throttle work to keep it running. Top speed was down to 60mph and economy went from 85mpg to 50mpg. Decoke said my mechanic mate. He then explained the rather arcane needs of simple strokers. Head and exhaust off. Removal of the former revealed a scored bore and when the cylinder was removed the piston flopped around on its loose small-end bearing.
The mechanic friend reckoned it was shagged beyond help! I cursed my neighbour but was relieved to find the solution was an engine from a breaker for £225. It was a simple job to fit, and I was pleased to find that the gearbox was a whole lot slicker though still not perfect.
By then I was well into the motorcycle game, having developed sufficient survival instincts. I was able to string the Honda along on maximum throttle for most of the time. I was ready to take my test and move on to something bigger, before I melted the engine again.
It was ridiculous to be reduced to a bundle of nerves at the age of 32 but that was what happened on the day of the test. I wore my silly fluorescent jacket in the hope that I would be mistaken for a real commuter rather than a wannabe hoodlum. The H100S ran like a dream and I passed!
As it happened, poor finances meant that the H100 ended up as my sole means of transport. So it looks like we are going to be friends for a while longer.
TR.