So that’s what a classic looks like, thought I. Jesus Christ! The 1973 CB500 four looked like it had been dragged through a hedgerow backwards, left to rot in a ditch for a couple of months and then immersed in a vat of acid. When the vendor said he would start it up for me, I was surprised at his optimism but sure enough it stuttered into life. The straight through exhausts, which looked like something off a Vinnie, emitted a raucous row that conveniently hid any engine noises.
I took her for a reluctant ride around the block, surprised that acceleration was evident, the gearbox worked and even the single disc was able to offer retardation. Back at the vendor’s house I offered fifty quid instead of the £850 demanded in the advert, listing a whole catalogue of minor faults. Rather than come to fisticuffs, we eventually settled on £275.
The ride home was eventful, featuring such niceties as blown fuses, a seat pan that finally rusted through and fell to pieces, a lot of engine misfiring down to leaking exhaust headers, and a snapped clutch cable. The general impression gained that the machine had been stored away for a while.
However, a rev happy motor despite 32000 miles on the clock and a surprisingly taut chassis convinced me that some effort was worth undertaking. There followed a period of consolidation. I insisted on riding the bike all the time whilst doing the renovations whenever some free time was available. The most difficult, time consuming and traumatic, tearing out all the rotted wiring and replacing it with a new car wiring loom that happened to be lying around. The engine was impressive in its reliability, save for a few oil leaks and regular maintenance, being no cause for concern.
The rest of the chassis was rapidly decaying before my eyes, requiring stripping off, blasting and painting of various bits. Where chrome had turned to rust matt black paint was employed as a replacement. As the overall appearance gradually improved other things degenerated.
The front disc went from reasonable to suicidal, something to do with the fluid going black and turning as thin as water, I thought. But that was only minor as it turned out the pistons were egg shaped! The rear drum had gone oval as well, just to add to the juddering shenanigans whenever I wanted to come to a stop. Bits from dilapidated machines in breakers proved hard to come by but the front brake was eventually persuaded to function again; the rear studiously ignored.
The suspension had obviously been worked over at some time in the recent past. The usual solution, Girlings out back and a couple of washers under the springs in the forks. The only problem with this set up was that although it stopped the machine wallowing and gave good feedback off the road, the ride was very harsh and tiring for more than 50 miles.
As mentioned, the seat fell apart on the way home - I repaired this myself, robbing an old sofa for foam and an old fridge supplied the sheet metal for the base, resulting in a sore backside after an hour at the controls. Made worse, by high bars some dingo had deemed necessary to fit and which | could not be bothered to change; there were too many other bits in need of urgent attention for that kind of indulgence.
The commuting run, about 45 miles a day, was usually enlivened by some minor problem. Ranging from petrol pipes that fell off to mudguards that collapsed from rust fatigue on to the wheels. Clutch slip was also soon noticeable, limiting engine revs to about eight grand, which was OK with me as it stopped serious caning of the motor. The engine also took to stalling at the traffic lights if revs went below two grand.
After about three months of hassle things were generally in good order and the classic lines that were hidden under all the gunge began to become apparent. I even put on some flat handlebars, fitted a new set of Roadrunners and gave the engine a full service. I was then persuaded by a mate that it was an ideal device on which to spend a month touring around the UK with him and a couple of hundreds of pounds of camping gear out back.
The Honda became very light at the front thus equipped, with a violent need to run wide in corners, flutter its bars and tip over once more than a few degrees of lean were attempted. Overcome by leaning the bike one way and ourselves the other way. Failure to coordinate our movements often resulted in the machine shooting forwards in a straight line. Add brake fade to this to understand our frequent need for medicinal alcohol and several brushes with the tarmac.
The CB's tubular frame proved tough, though, never bending out of line however many times the machine rolled down the road. Essential bits of equipment were easily kicked back straight, inessential ones, such as indicators, were dumped whenever they showed signs of imminent demise. Hand signals were added to our repertoire of insane physical jerks. Our coordination eventually became so good that the two of us could stand on the seat with a leg each kicking out in opposite directions, much to the bemusement of car drivers; one Orion jockey was so amazed he drove straight off the road, taking out someone’s stone wall and half a garden
The CB did an impressive 8235 miles in that month, more than many people do on a new machine in a year. Oil changes, carb, valve, chain and camchain tensioner adjustments were all that were required. A new set of pads, chain and tyres had been fitted at the outset and none was totally worn out by the time we returned, though within another 2000 miles they would all need replacement. Fuel consumption was 48mpg, maximum speed 80mph and a litre of oil was needed ever 300 miles.
In the following months the venerable four continued to give sterling service. I added to its looks with an original exhaust system, proper seat, alloy rims and re-chromed various minor brackets. These items made the machine almost original, destroying any pretensions it was having to becoming a matt black rat bike. It was only when 57625 miles were completed that the engine needed serious attention. A camchain rattle coinciding with the need for a rebore.
The local Honda dealer tried to sell me pattern pistons at Honda prices, but I eventually managed to buy the correct items - a quick way to ruin an engine is to fit crap pattern parts. The Honda was a piece of cake to strip and went back together with new gaskets, camchain and pistons with no trouble whatsoever. Whoever said Japanese machines were complex to work on must’ve been talking through his arse. Expensive, at £225 for the bits, yes!
How did the engine run after this attention? Beautifully. There was power enough to hit an indicated 105mph on a few occasions, though there was still not much of a power band, the engine just gave more power the more the throttle was opened. Secondary vibes were all but non-existent and the engine was so oil tight that hardly any was used between changes. Unfortunately, no sooner was the engine running at its peak than the brakes, wheel bearings and battery started to give trouble; almost simultaneously.
The brakes were done for. I went to the trouble of fitting some wheels off a later CB650, which proved much more capable of reliably stopping the 500. The battery’s death was down to a burnt out rectifier, a CB400/4 item seemed to fit OK but was soon reduced to rubble. I found an original CB500 item for £30 in a dealer selling off old stock and that solved the problem. Not that the lights or horn were much use in modern traffic, the rear bulb adding to the misery by deciding to blow every few hundred miles until I made a direct earth connection with the battery.
This attention proved beneficial as the machine then decided to run like clockwork for the next year or so. The gearbox became a bit ratty, but it had not been very precise to start with. And my respray job started to flake off so I had to do that again. After a new set of carbs were fitted to stop the chronic leaks the old ones had developed, fuel economy improved to 53mpg.
So there you go. After nearly two years, 86000 miles on the clock and loadsa fun my initial distrust has been converted into full blown admiration. It's not an exceptional machine, by any means, but it is a very usable one that with all the modern retro bikes even looks the part, these days.
Gareth Dray