Honda made the bike from the CB550/4 when the 650cc class became popular again, boring the engine out to suit. The result was that | purchased a 626cc four cylinder, air cooled jump with only a single cam driving two valves per cylinder. The Keihin carbs gave a reasonable response and let the engine work smoothly over the full rev range. However, the over baffled standard exhaust system, a four into two, cut out a lot of the bike’s potential and seemed to smother it at times. When one of the baffles went, rather than spend the money replacing it with another unit, I fitted a four into one Micron with excellent results. The engine’s response became more perky and it revved with greater ease, but at the cost of noise - many’s the time a police car followed me about and I had to keep the engine below 2500rpm to avoid the inevitable investigation.
Honda never quite got the hang of British weather conditions, always insisting on fitting crap Japanese tyres that were about as useful as rear view mirrors are to Volvo drivers. One of the first things I did was to invest in a pair of Pirellis and let myself breathe a sigh of relief. Once I'd changed the exhaust system, like a good little boy, I checked the mixture, aware of Honda’s dire warnings of the effect on engine longevity of using non standard parts. To my surprise, however, it needed absolutely no adjustment, the plugs a beautiful light biscuit brown in colour. So, happy, I screamed the hell out of it; oh, wonderful times.
The new tyres, soon burnt in, hogged the road no matter what I threw at it. Corners that were previously worrying became long, footrest scrapers, the edges of my boots wearing down to a nice chamfered finish. The exhaust gave a new lease of life to the top end power and effortlessly whizzed me across the country. Power wheelies in first had become a reality, the front wheel pawing the air like a demented stallion trying to buck its rider.
I loved every minute of it. Honda could never have imagined the wild beast they created, timidly cowering behind so few and simple modifications, waiting to be unleashed. One summer, on a trip to Lands End, from my campsite in Perrenporth, I came upon three bikes tooling down the winding country lanes surrounding the A30. There were two Suzuki GS750s and a Kawasaki Z650. They were (shock, horror) racing each other and not paying much attention to the road behind. I came up to join the tail end of the group from around a long, sweeping right-hander, grounding my pegs all the way round. The road straightened and they started to pull away, the extra horses giving them the edge.
But the straights were well outnumbered - ten to one - by bends of every description on these roads and I soon caught them again. I flicked the bike right down to greet a bend that curved before me, sliding past on the outside of the two Suzukis. The rev needle bounced into the red with every gear change, the exhaust screaming defiantly at the fast retreating figures. Only the Kawasaki was left out front. Slowly I crept closer to its rear light. The rider laid the bike into a quick left and back for another right. We were side by side. I hunched over the black tank, legs gripping the beast in a lovers embrace. I passed him. A furtive glance in the vibrating mirror showed a fuzzy, but distinct, surprised face. I think I howled in pleasure. When we arrived at Lands End I went over to say what a great ride it was, but they ignored me; sore losers to the end.
The results of bashes like that meant the bike had to be serviced regularly. The camchain adjuster is located in the middle of the fins at the front and the spring tensioner wasn’t very strong and needed to be coerced to work. This was done by putting the bike in top gear on the centre stand and turning the back wheel a couple of times to help take up the slack. Honda don’t recommend this, but I found it to be the best way (also a few well placed hits with a spanner on the lock nut seemed to help).
The oil change was easy, the pipes of the exhaust designed to give plenty of room for access to the filter. Checking the tappet clearance involved taking the tank right off to expose the inspection covers, but the job itself was straightforward when done with the proper manual, spanners and feeler gauges. Brakes on the thing were twin discs on the front, but a drum on the back. I found that in heavy braking the drum would overheat and become spongy, but the discs always performed at peak level. Pads were only a few pounds each and I went through a lot. That was because of riding flat out and stopping on the ball all the time.
Suspension was conventional stuff, the back end needed stiffer springs to get it taut enough to throw through the bends without the bike having a fit. The machine felt well balanced indeed and with the 4-1 weight was down to 430lbs, a lack of mass that helped both acceleration and handling. It also made sure that fuel consumption was usually around 50mpg.
Two things narked me about the bike, both very minor. The first was that cornering eventually wore off the protruding lug used to put the bike on its centre stand. The other was that there was an awful lot of chrome on it - I think Honda must have had shares in Solvol Autosol. It did look great when polished, though.
As mentioned earlier, I had a spectacular crash, completely writing the bike off in the eyes of the insurance company. Except Honda had made such a rugged machine that £250 later it was back on the road again. It happened, though, through no fault of my own, at a MAG camping rally after that famous ride from Kent to Trafalgar Square back in ‘81. The site was in Upminster - it was called the First Loony Bike Rally and groups like Sam Apple Pie played at the clubhouse.
I was riding back from the bogs, travelling across a field skirted with trees lining a trench a small stream ran through. The track paralleled the trees and some complete and utter twat was jumping the stream on his 125 trials bike. As I came down the track he landed in front of me from between the trees, stopping to look at me in horror. The collision was unavoidable. I still have memories to this day of what happened next. I felt the ground rise up and hit me, dim warnings shrilling through my brain that I wasn’t wearing a lid.
Instinctively I curled up into a ball, the world revolving in a crazy whirl of blue sky and green grass, my head protected by my arms. It was then that I saw my bike. For a fleeting second, as the sky was replaced by the ground, I saw the 650 cartwheeling across the field, front wheel over the back wheel in a slow motion acrobatic display that my adrenalin charged brain calmly registered for later use.
And the damage? Well, to me and the other guy, none - but I did take a week off work and complained to my doctor of neck pains and things, letting the crash go on my medical record. It’s amazing how that simple trick bumps up the insurance claim by a good few hundred pounds. The bike suffered only slightly worse. Apart from the usual bent bars and broken bits of plastic, the worst was the forks - the bike had shortened its wheelbase by about a foot, and was a good six inches taller. It was impossible to ride and a council van took it home for only a small wedge of the folding stuff.
The insurance investigator shook his head and tutted, muttering those magic words - write off. The grand I received (only £700 until I shouted sickness and injury) let me buy the bike back as scrap for fifty quid, put it back on the road for £250 more and leave me laughing all the way to the bank. I had the frame checked by the local Honda dealer in Romford, a clean bill of health.
Despite having its roots in the early seventies CB500 four, the CB650, for all its lack of excessive cams and valves, was a jolly good bike. Easy to service, easy to ride and easy on the pocket to run, I only traded it in for a CB900F2 because my ego ejaculated when I saw one going cheap. Now that was one hell of a bike, as well.
D. O’Neill