I had seen the Honda 200 wafting around Bath almost every day. The rider's
commuting route crossed my own - I sat fuming in the cage whilst he gave
the old Honda twin some welly through the traffic gaps. When I saw a CB200
for sale in a local newsagent's, I guessed whose bike it was and I was right.
The clock read 56000 miles, the bike sporting a rebuilt top end and the
ability to come to life first kick. Still had plenty of go and didn't leak
any oil. Pretty amazing for a bike over twenty years old. 300 notes was
all it cost.
I rode home, happily exploring the bike's limits, and feeling good about
my new purchase. My last bike had been ten years ago - a GS550 - and I was
soon revelling in the freedom of the road. Note that the bike had a TLS
front drum off a CB175 rather than the notorious standard disc and a newish
set of Michelins. That added up to safe riding even in the drizzle that
had set in the moment that I bought the bike. Wouldn't like to think about
riding such a bike on plastic Jap OE tyres and a nasty disc brake.
The previous owner had the bike in his care for twelve years, only selling
up due to retirement and his moving down to the Costa. He recommended new
spark plugs every 2500 miles and an oil change every 750 miles. Ignoring
the latter resulted in a gearbox with an excess of false neutrals, and not
doing the former meant that the bike would need ten to twenty kicks before
it came to life rather than the normal first kick (the electric boot was
long gone). The valves and carbs had worn into themselves, whilst tweaking
the camchain tensioner seemed to make no difference whatsoever.
The one area where its age was shown up was the electrics. Not only were
the lights and horn at best described as pathetic, but the wiring was shedding
its insulation at a stunning rate. Fearing the bike going up in flames I
hastily made with the insulation tape, which got me out of immediate trouble.
Later, the headlamp stopped operating halfway home from work and when I
tugged and pulled on the wiring inside the shell all I got for my pains
was a fistful of wires. Some fun was had sorting it out.
One time the bike didn't want to start. Being an old hand at this game,
I shook the petrol tank, sniffed the air and kicked the engine. It still
didn't want to start. Out with the plugs. I'd forgotten that it wasn't a
good idea to hold the spark plug cap when testing for a spark; the shock
made my hair stand to attention! I cleaned the plugs, which got me back
home. New coils, points, HT leads, caps and plugs followed, which brought
back the first kick starting. Any degradation in any one element mucked
the bike up, marginal electrics or what?
During this period I'd played around with the fuel tap, the whole caboodle
pulling out of the tank with a bang! Rust and brute forced added up to a
knackered petrol tank! The back pages of MCN were consulted; the result
a brand new petrol tank for twenty quid, some old dealer selling off ancient
stock. Admittedly, the bike looked a bit odd - covered in road grime with
the exception of the petrol tank. I decided it deserved a good clean.
Silly boy. Gunking the frame and making with the brillo-pad revealed
great scabs of paint falling off, leaving a frame that was half rust. Foolishly,
I left it like that overnight in the open - the next day the whole frame
was covered in rust! My ninety year old neighbour came out of his bout of
senility long enough to rant on about the things the Japanese had done in
the war, got so wound up that he gave the shining new petrol tank a few
taps with his walking stick. The dented tank bleeded paint and rapidly began
to rust, so at least it didn't look out of place.
I was quoted more than I paid for the machine for a complete respray!
Down to Do-It-All for a couple of cans of Smoothrite in deepest black, whilst
I managed to knock the dents out of the tank and patch up its paint. Meanwhile,
the rust had spread like cancer, ruining the wheels, forks and shock springs.
I eyed the neighbour's skip but reminded myself of the horrors of public
transport.
Surprisingly, for the next three months the little twin whirred away
through the cold and wet of winter without any real problems. The need to
get a boot down when the roads went slippery was just a test of character
and the odd scrape with a cage was shrugged off thanks to the large pair
of crash-bars I'd fitted. They also shinned a couple of ped's who thought
they were masters of the universe.
Compared to taking a couple of buses, the nine mile journey time was
cut from nearly an hour to less than 15 minutes whilst a cage would take
two to three times that depending on the density of the traffic. Unlike
modern bikes, the CB was miserly in nature, not doing much damage to the
consumables and turning in around 75mpg. Combine savings in running costs
with extra overtime done, the bike paid for itself in less than a month!
I also had something to bop around on in the evenings and of a weekend.
The Honda thrived on revs, seemed to smooth out when accelerated through
the gears at maximum throttle. It wasn't quite fast enough to cause black-outs
but it got the adrenaline going and was quick enough to get into trouble
on. Handling was okay rather than inspiring, the stands digging in before
the tyres lost their grip, although the way the bike leapt around didn't
quite make this a safety feature. Overall, I found the experience highly
enjoyable.
So much so that I was soon looking for a larger set of wheels. A new
XJ600N at £3300 seemed like bargain basement time, though the guy
wouldn't take the CB200 in part-ex. The XJ600N isn't very fashionable but
I liked its lines and didn't want the complexity of watercooling. Light
of weight, it made the best use of its 60 horses and had a ride/handling
combination that was, fittingly, a couple of decades ahead of the CB200.
However, such was the chaos of traffic that commuting speeds were actually
slightly slower, as I didn't really mind scraping the CB along the gutter
whereas the slightest mark on the XJ would've thrown me into a rage. The
Honda got the short straw of daily commuting stress whereas the XJ was kept
for serious riding. The CB200 didn't seem to mind, kept running for the
next eighteen months and 12000 miles. It needed lots of minor attention
to the chassis and electrics - the dreaded rot setting in but the engine
just whirred away as if it had come straight out of the crate.
At this point I was foolish enough to teach the other neighbour's daughter
how to ride a motorcycle. Her clutch control consisted of screaming the
engine to max revs then slamming on the brakes when the bike tried to get
away from her. It didn't take long for the engine to turn molten! At this
point I'd realised that I'd been quite tender handed towards the Honda.
Not riding slowly, as such, but easing it up the rev range, giving it time
to warm up and generally not trying to take the piss. I do the same with
the Yamaha, but this is because it cost lots of money and I want it to last
for at least 20 years!
After being blasted by the neighbour, the Honda didn't really want to
know any more. Leaking oil, smoking heavily and losing half the power through
the knackered clutch. As the chassis was bursting with the need to rust
back to nature, I figured the bike had come to the end of its life. That
didn't stop me advertising it. I didn't put a price on the bike, thinking
I would be lucky if someone took it away for free. I was quite amused when
two fanatics turned up at the same time and insisted on talking the price
up. 250 notes, thank you very much. CB200's are going classic, don't you
know. And if any bike deserved such a fate, the little Honda twin is right
there with the best of them.
T.H.