My uncle, at the grand age of 75, decided that he would give up the motorcycle game. Casting around for someone to whom he could give his 10,000 mile, 1987 GL650, I was the obvious choice. I was the only one in the family with a full motorcycle licence. Any plot I might have harboured to quickly off-load the custom cruiser was cruelly crushed when he decided that the only way I could afford the insurance, being a mere 18, was if the bike was kept in his name. Old he might've been, senile he most certainly wasn't.
That's how I got stuck with a huge Plastic Maggot with a massive Gold Wing style fairing. My mates pissed themselves with laughter, I just pissed myself with fear when I made my first top speed run. The local bit of dual carriageway seemed ideal, early in the morning it was completely deserted. What I'd forgotten was that the council louts had badly patched one bit of tarmac, which just happened to be the entry point of a fast corner.
The GL weighs over 500lbs, with only 60 horses on board it means that acceleration is stately rather than inspiring. Still, the mile long straight had persuaded the Maggot up to 110mph on the clock. I didn't know if the vibes or wallowing were the more disturbing but I quickly forgot both when I rode over the rutted tarmac. The chassis felt like it was unwinding and the bike was going to fly into a million pieces. Grabbing the brakes seemed a reasonable reaction.
That was how I ended up entering the bend at about 80mph with the suspension locked up solid from the braking. The GL didn't like this malpractice one tiny bit, showing its disapproval by shaking about all over the place. Then the ground clearance ran out, the stand prong digging into the tarmac, trying to lift the back wheel off the road.
All I could do was flick the bike upright, ride straight off the road. Gravel, bushes then grass. The bike just powered through, destroying everything in sight, until speed was down to 40mph when the front wheel dug in, the bike slewed off sideways and I kicked myself free. The grass provided a nice soft landing, the GL actually ending up on its side, the motor still running. Amazingly, nothing had broken off but its pristine appearance was ruined by bloody great big scars in the plastic. My uncle would have an heart attack if he saw the state of the machine.
After kicking straight a few bits I was able to ride back on to the road. I had quickly learnt my lesson about speed, corners and road surfaces. To be fair to the GL, up to 80mph it was quite stable and extremely comfortable. I could sit in armchair-like comfort for hours, protected even from some quite severe bad weather, listening to my favourite rock tracks on the stereo. I used to complain to my uncle about the lack of a fridge.
I was pretty blase about regular maintenance but my uncle demanded that I take the machine to his place every 2000 miles. The old bugger had converted his front room to a centrally heated workshop and insisted on giving the bike a full service. He wanted to keep his hand in. If I'd been left alone I would have neglected the armchair warrior something rotten, as evidenced by the sorry state the bike was in whenever I turned up at his house - he must've spent hours scraping and polishing, because it was always returned looking like it had come straight out of the showroom. I'd tidied it up a bit after the accident and he went to the lengths of filling and touching up the paint.
Riding the thing to work every day drove me crazy. It was so wide it was almost as slow through traffic as a cage. It was quite cosy during torrential downpours and dead easy to ride - all the controls were light and precise (even the gearbox was okay) and the vee twin engine had bags of torque in the 2000 to 7000rpm range even if it didn't have much power in the higher rev range. The huge fairing had the same kind of aerodynamics as a Sumo wrestler, the bike would probably have been good for around 120mph in naked form.
With so much mass over the front wheel, pot-holes would shake the forks until the steering head bearings rattled. The suspension recovered as soon as the road surface proper was regained, so after a couple of days I actually found this trait fun, going out of my way to rattle over pot-holes. The rear end just twitched and shook, seemed more resilient to surface imperfections. The shock had been replaced at 9000 miles, as had the bearings, so it doesn't say much for the longevity of these components.
The Maggot's engine is a bit notorious for falling apart, especially in earlier versions, but this one ran well until 22000 miles when the water pump failed. I wondered why the engine was glowing red in the dark. Uncle was unwell so, much to my disgust, I had to tear the plastic off and scar my knuckles getting the old unit out. The chisel and hammer routine on the heads of reluctant screws left deep scar marks in the alloy. Some of the tubing for the watercooling looked like it was going to crack up, so I replaced that as well. Hitting the fairing with my hammer to make it line up wasn't a good idea as it produced a vivid crack. Superglue worked beautifully and only very close inspection would reveal the hairline crack.
Listening to the motor tick over I found I could hear a faint rattle from where the camchain resided. There had always been some rattling and knocking, the plastic seemed designed to amplify it. I was a little worried about taking it on holiday but I'd already agreed to take my mate on the pillion, so I coughed up for AA membership.
I thought the ideal place for the GL was on the motorway. What I hadn't factored in was my mate's mass putting the rear suspension down on its stops. Great, anything above 70mph turned in huge weaves that turned both of us white-faced. A-roads were limited to a mere 60mph, as any bumps tried to throw the machine off the road. Back lanes were avoided with the same sureness with which I slammed the door in the face of religious nutters. Despite the naff handling we rather enjoyed our 2000 miles of tottering around the English countryside.
The GL wasn't that happy, judging by the note of the camchain rattle, but it held out until just under 26000 miles. Trust Honda to build a pushrod engine with one of their notoriously fickle camchain and tensioner duos. Uncle was dragged out of his sick bed to perform the operation, the usual corroded screws being the main restraint. I'm sure the old duffer grinned when I whacked my finger with a hammer. Brought him back to life, anyway.
More commuting horrors followed, as I moved to a house about 20 miles from work. I decided the only way to deal with the traffic was to spray the bike bright white, add some spot lights and fit an highly illegal police-type siren. This worked wonders on my commuting times, revealing that cagers were, in fact, quite aware of bikers' presence but unless threatened by a plod-type bike too lazy to give way or take avoidance action. I had great fun frightening them shitless with the siren and a quartet of flashing lights. My uncle thought the transformation brilliant and had to be physically restrained from nicking the bike.
I was a bit worried when real police bikers gave me a friendly wave. After three weeks one pulled me over, being alerted to my delinquency by an uproarious blast on the siren. He made me pull the offending item off, took it away with him after warning me that the next time he saw the bike the spot lamps had better be gone, too. I was lucky I wasn't booked as he looked like he could barely restrain himself from tearing me apart limb by limb.
The plain white fairing still worked quite well, though, it just took a bit of guts on the horn and throttle to charge through at 50mph. Quite often I had to give the front discs a dose of muscle, so I wasn't that surprised when they started to play up at around 31000 miles. The caliper rot syndrome had set in. They proved tough buggers to crack open, turned out not to be worth the effort as the pistons were egg shaped. A lot of hassle phoning around breakers followed, I ended up paying £75 for a decent set. Extortionate!
Fuel had stayed resolutely at about 40mpg, however sensibly or crazily I employed my right wrist. Oil didn't vary between changes, showing that the bores and pistons must've been in good shape. Avon tyres lasted over 12000 miles at each end and the shaft drive was obviously free of cost except for a very infrequent oil change.
Even my traitorous technique of caning the engine in the lower gears, to make the damn thing wear out faster, had no discernible effect. I only tried to pull a wheelie the once, didn't succeed, just ended up with a painful, shoulder dislocating lurch. By the time 45000 miles were on the clock I was becoming impressed with its toughness and even endeared by the relentless way it would run and run even in the most awesome of weather. But it only took a sharp series of curves to change my mind about the invincible nature of the Honda.
I don't think very many were sold, as most people who wanted this type of Grand Tourer went for the Gold Wing, a whole different ballgame of excess. They were only available between 1987 and 1989. Either ridden very mildly or subjected to huge mileages and abuse, they vary in condition from pristine to old hags, the former more in dominance than the latter. In the unlikely event that I had £1500 to splurge on a motorcycle, the GL650 would not be my first choice, but if you crave this type of excess then I can heartily recommend them.
Nick Osborne