Running about on an early Honda CD175

I was sharing the most idyllic accommodation with a cousin in an old converted mill house (complete with wheel) in a little village lying close to the A595. The design of the building was such that the road was on the same level as the front door. I made a couple of friends, one with a Tribsa that never ran, the other a Ducati 250 which ran extremely well. One night we heard the thumping of the Duke, then there was a bang and the door burst open - they had ridden straight in off the street, which became a regular practice resulting in a clutch of machinery sitting in the living room. Our furniture was so basic that we junked it, sitting on the bikes instead.

Naturally, I wanted a bike, so on a tour of the coast we called in on a number of dealers. Apart from an immaculate Honda CB450 Black Bomber rebuilt regardless of cost and selling for what seemed, in 1975, like the astronomical price of 4 pounds per cc, there was little available. I had a passion for these machines at the time but could not afford it on a student grant.

Just as we were to depart disappointed, one of the mechanics roared in on a spine frame Honda CD175. PAO443F was for sale, being employed to fetch fish and chips for the mechanics. It was peacock blue and apart from rotting exhausts and no chain guard I found it very appealing, especially at £70.

I was 17 at the time, so riding the bike for the first time was akin to the thrill of the first joint or the first woman. I took the most winding set of B roads I could find and by the time I arrived in Carlisle the bike was covered in Maryport red sand. I noticed that one of the chain links was broken and that the rear mudguard mountings were rusted away. The former cost £8 for a new chain and the latter the cost of a bungee cord (the ultimate bodging technique).

The one that held on the rear guard was soon joined by one at the front, after a few months there was one holding on the tank, one keeping the side covers on. If I went on a long trip carrying a lot of luggage there would be confusion over which was holding on what.

On one occasion I went visiting, no sooner had I arrived I dived into my hosts lavatory - my one piece leather was an ex-air force suit which I’d purchased for £2 and appeared designed for the Harry Secombe type build. A long zip ran diagonally from left shoulder to right hip, but was insufficient to gain access to the nether regions. Eventually, I emerged to find that not only had my hosts removed my luggage but the mudguards were sat on the wheels, the tank was hanging drunkenly by a piece of rubber and the battery cover was hanging off in sympathy - Paul, Paul, we're so sorry, all we wanted to do was unload your bike and it just sort of fell to bits as as we were doing it!

The little Honda proved to be incredibly reliable (aren’t they always?). The only time it let me down was riding home one rainy night (aren’t they always?). I was just left there in silence watching the rain being pierced by the barely adequate low beam. There was plenty of fuel, turned out the points had disintegrated. I arranged a tow home by a friend behind a Morris 1100, which the driver drove increasingly faster. I started taking corners well on my side of the road, but one bend was tight and went blind down a hill - I ended up on the wrong side of the road, rigid with fear as I saw a car coming up the hill - I just missed it. By the time I arrived home I wasn’t so much frozen or wet but relieved to be alive and well.

Another night I gave a friend a lift and was disturbed to find an unusual amount of heat and lack of power. The hub of the back wheel was red hot and after I stopped refused to rotate. Only one thing for it, open flies and pee on it. The vague reflection of the tail light showed the acrid steam rising into the air and passing cars beeped their approval. Off we went again.

Apart from oil changes, plugs, points and one tyre I never spent anything on the bike. When the silencers went I made my own out of a combination of chicken wire and scaffold pipe. The battery was installed in the top box after the side panel refused to stay in place.

I had many long trips on the bike, taking it home to Ireland as well as riding around England. The Honda’s last big trip was back over the Irish sea and down through Scotland and down the M6 to Birmingham where it was sold, for £38, to a maniac wielding a welding torch and threatening to customise and make a proper job of it. I hope PAO443F is resting in peace somewhere [long gone, probably before 1980 as it's not on DVLA - 2022 Ed.]; if anyone knows of its whereabouts I’d be happy to buy it back, for it was a great first bike that still has a place in my heart.

P Jennings