After a BSA Bantam, with only 3 gears operated by the right foot, the G5 was amazing. You must continually bear in mind that my only motorcycling point of reference was this Bantam (for younger readers, a 175cc two stroke single that was as simple as it was reliable and totally incomparable to early Jap strokers).
As well as being bigger than my BSA, the Honda had numerous extras, like two mirrors, a kickstart that actually folded out of the way, an electric start, an ignition switch which needed a key to operate it, steering lock (the Bantam had lugs for a padlock), 12V electrics, rev counter and many more. It took a while to become used to operating the six gears with my left foot. It took months to realise I had to rev the engine to attain any kind of decent power. I’m still reluctant to rev engines, but I do now recognize that some engines thrive on revs,
The day after purchase I awoke early, decided to go for a 5am spin. It was misty and I luxuriated in the squashy handlebar grips, comfortable seat and suspension that actually worked (the Bantam was_ rock hard), I felt as if I was in a dream. The dream like quality ebbed away as a rabbit appeared in front of me, hopping from side to side, I decided keep straight ahead for maximum stability. Unfortunately, this path coincided with the rabbit and it was squashed.
The left-hand fork seal had started leaking just before the accident. After the collision the disc was covered in oil. I replaced the fork seal and fitted plastic gaiters (don’t use rubber as they perish and look awful). I had no more trouble in that area.
The bike was treated as if it was the last Norton in the world. The oil was changed every 1000 miles, the mudguards undersealed, chain cleaned and boiled in grease. In winter the bike was protected by a 2mm layer of grease (it was still ridden in the winter, although pillion passengers who grabbed the rack had no corrosion problems themselves). The engine was timed by strobe and responded by starting at the first push of the button, although I used the kickstart to save the battery when the engine was cold - I never had to change the battery.
After months of this soft life, I decided to find out just how fast the bike would go. In sixth gear it wouldn’t pull to the redline, nor in fifth, but in fourth it reached 80mph. After a mere five seconds of this unusually high speed I heard a horrible mechanical clatter and hot oil spurted out of the engine. I quickly halted, panic stricken, discovering that a rocker arm had unscrewed itself and ended up half out of the engine. After cleaning up a burred hole with a file and application of Loctite all was well again. (Honda changed the rocker design in the later CJ250T.)
It handled surprisingly well, even with a Square section Avon fitted the pegs could be scraped. The suspension was on the soft side but I could compensate for that and it was worth putting up with as it gave such a comfortable ride. After a mishap too complicated to explain here, the bike was treated to a black respray that improved the looks.
Loaded with tank bag, panniers and top box, the bike transported me to college from Norfolk to Portsmouth (not every day). On the first trip the engine cut out because of a corroded spade terminal under the front of the tank, thanks to all the winter salt. The brake caliper rotted away, requiring one complete and one partial strip down. Both ends of the silencers blew out, leaving the bike sounding incredibly sporty, although the down pipes retained their chrome (unlike those on my RS250).
For long journeys the bike was commendably comfortable and I had faith in the motor to take me to my destination. Power and handling would not impress racers but as a graduate from an old Bantam they were more than adequate.
Apart from the rocker arm, the bike had been reliable at the cost of a great deal of tender loving care (that was repaid when I came to sell the bike as the chrome still shone). Not everyone’s cup of tea, perhaps, but as my introduction to Japanese machinery, one of which I still retain happy memories.
Simon Hallet
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