I was very lucky. I knew that the day I first called this bike my own, later I learned just how lucky. The beastie in question was a 1972 Honda 500-4. Judging by the comments in this magazine you might believe the 500/4 is pretty decent transport. You would be right. This particular example was really immaculate. Maybe it was produced in a year when Honda were putting in just that little bit more effort. The chrome was flawless, the places which normally rust were as clean as those parts that have regular cleaning.
The mileometer read 15000 and the condition of the machine said this was genuine 15000 miles in 15 years? How can anybody average a 1000 miles a year? Hmmm, well I do know the answer to this question. Most of the "prestige" machines appear destined to this kind of fate - taken out, dusted and insured fully comp for the annual pilgrimage to the TT.
Not that the 500/4 was ever a prestige machine. Imported shortly after Honda’s 750/4 had blown wide the inertia of the British motorcycle industry, the smaller fours were always rider’s machines - and sometimes suffered in the process. Not this one, though, it had been cherished. The most curious thing was that I'd bought the bike from a dealer at a pretty low price - this is what you get in Sunderland, the result of regional recession has left a grand total of one motorcycle store (I specifically exclude those whose major efforts are in retailing plastic mopeds and BMX bikes). Money is tight here, even classic machines at bargain-basement prices from a first rate dealer gather cobwebs on the showroom floor.
I suppose I have to come clean right now. This machine was put through its paces from the day I bought it. I was working 260 miles from home and wanted to get back there as often as I could. I was not about to embark on regular journeys like this with a vehicle that may or may not make it. In the year that I owned it, I added another 10000 miles to the mileometer. It never let me down, not once, and this was a 15 year old machine.
Two years before I bought the 500 I had owned its updated brother - a 550/4, so I did have something to go on. The 550 had been well used and painted a rather fetching white with a red frame. This was the first big bike I’d owned and found it a rather alarming experience; not knowing any better, I thought they all handled like that. Only later did I realise that the steering head bearings had been tightened down using a very large hammer and big chisel. Slackening off proved a surprise - it handled. Not well, you understand, but it began to feel like it wished to go around corners without landing the pilot on his elbows.
Sorting the front end did nothing for the rear, of course. A common family heirloom of both 500 and 550 was chronic instability at speeds much over eighty, thanks to those rear shocks, but I never bothered as I kept well away from the redline in higher gears.
Quite honestly, travelling for a long distance on a middleweight four, certainly a middleweight four of this vintage, can be tiring if your revs are high. Having ridden a Bonnie on the same round trip of 500 odd miles, I found the high frequency buzz of the Honda as tiring as the Triumph’s incessant thump. The difference is, of course, that I was always pretty sure the Honda would get me there in the end.
When I moved to Harlow from Sunderland (for work, nobody does this journey for any other reason) the 550 went with me in the furniture van. It did not like its new home one bit. It sulked, and the rot set in. The first summer was OK until it rained, then she became a 412cc triple or even a 275cc twin. I don’t think she ever became a 138cc single, but it was only a matter of time. A used set of coils made it worse than the originals, despite the usual rituals - silicone sealer, WD40, Damp-Start. To make things even more amusing, the ignition system was disintegrating and the cylinder base gasket began to dribble. My motorcycle had begun to exhibit all the symptoms of senile dementia.
At this time I was doing a commuting trip of eighty miles a day and I could not afford to take the bike off the road to do any complicated repairs. There was no reliable dealer near me, I had never stripped a four cylinder engine before and now was no time to begin. It was a cold and wet March and I had no garage for shelter. I crossed my fingers and did something I have never done before or since. I decided to tun her into the ground.
The oil leak became worse every day until a weep became a trickle, which in turn became a long series of spurts, like a punctured artery. I tried to keep more oil in the sump than on the road. As the short days of that long winter crept onwards, the rain turned to sleet and the sleet turned to snow. On that final morning, I awoke at 5am and squinted dazedly out onto heavy snow, more of which was falling every second. I knew I was in for a hard time. I wasn’t wrong. With hindsight, getting to work that day was a fairly amusing experience. Well, to be honest, even at the time, it wasn’t without its moments.
Starting the beast was not going to be easy. At that temperature the cheap 20/50 oil had the consistency of dough. She was as likely to spit in my eye as start. All the starter motor did was flatten the already sick battery. Jumping up and down on the kickstart wearing six layers of thick clothing reciting an utterly obscene spell and being a complete arsehole to one’s partner resulted in the beast starting.
I made my way along the ten miles of country roads, desperately searching for ruts in the snow where my tyres would find purchase. It was so early that few vehicles had started out. Lots of people stuck their head out of curtains and went back to sleep that morning. Once out on the motorway things were not too bad. The snow whirled down, but the visibility was better - still not good enough to allow use of the fast lane, but that didn’t deter the XR3i jerks. I wasn’t so interested in completing the journey very quickly, just alive, thanks. Naturally, the bike added to the fun by misfiring all the way but never actually stopped.
When I eventually slithered into work I was very pleased with myself. More so, when I learnt of all the car drivers who hadn’t made it half so far. During the day some of the snow melted and by nightfall the last of the snow formed a covering of hard polished ice. That night she just wouldn't start. No way. The snow and slush that had been whipped up and thrown onto the coils had cut her dead. No sparks.
After trying for three hours, the message finally got through - I phoned the AA telling them it didn’t need a refreshment van but a hearse. They sent a little man in a little van who couldn’t get it started. When I was eventually taken home, I collapsed into a damp, miserable and soggy heap.
The next morning the weather was better with no traces left of the snow. I went out to the bike and out of curiosity pressed the starter motor. The engine awoke with no sign of a guilty conscience. I soon sold the 550 with the carbs out of balance, a primary chain that sounded like a football rattle and the misfire and oil leak still there - after 48000 miles it needed a better home than I could offer.
It was some years later that I bought the 500 and have taken better care of this one. I rode the bike to London and happily purred around the streets for a year. A misfire did set in, but replacing suppressor caps, cutting off most of the original HT leads (part of the coil assembly so can’t be replaced) and substituting silicone equivalents did the trick. The bike was sold to someone with more money than I had arguments.
Some of the early fours can be bargains, especially when they've been well looked after (which is fairly obvious from their appearance). Personally, I find bikes like the 500 and 550 fours somewhat wearing to ride for long distances, and, given the choice, would prefer a Japanese or Italian twin of the same capacity.
If you want an early Honda four, though, I won't argue with you. They come from an age when the Japs made good, all tound bikes at a reasonable price. Check out Honda’s new 600 Revere. Similar performance and fuel economy as a 550/4 but for £3000: Hell, maybe the 500/4 is a classic, after all.
Graham Chalk