The 1967 Honda CB450 looked OK, had done 20000 miles and, according to the dealer, had been stored in France for over a decade. You can't believe these people but I suggested hearing the engine running before I handed over £750. Wouldn't you? Here began a great saga. However hard the kickstart was leapt up and down upon the bugger wouldn’t run. Dealer, two mechanics and I ended up knackered. The dealer recovered first, demanded to know how much I'd give him to take the damn thing away. Two hundred notes, muttered I. We agreed on £250 and that was how all my troubles began.
For those who've been asleep for the past couple of decades, the Black Bomber was a big vertical twin with DOHCs, short stroke and around 45 horses - when it was running. There was a spark of sorts at the plugs, petrol could be smelt when a plug was pulled and it turned over without making any strange noises. That about exhausted my repertoire, so I sent a letter to the Editor demanding to know what I should do next. No reply, lazy sod! I didn’t need the bike right then so left it in the garage whilst I pondered my next move.
New plugs and cleaned points no help. Coils and leads off a car next. No better. Then an old biker down the pub gave me a useful tip. Heat up the plugs over the gas-stove. I gave the wife a right ear-full when she admitted she’d gone electric and deprived me of this useful aid to amateur mechanics. My old paraffin blow-torch was dusted off and pointed at the plugs. At last, some encouraging noises. 35 kicks later the engine was running.
The choke mounted carb needed lots of juggling to keep her from conking out. When the oil cleared out of the exhausts, the engine settled down to an 800rpm tickover. The valve gear rustled away really quietly - a combination of sophisticated torsion bar springs and very small clearances. The cylinder head’s as much a work of art as any Ducati Desmo design. I never did get to grips with the starting, needed between five and fifteen kicks to growl into life from cold.
The Honda has the pistons going up and down alternatively, giving a distinctive off-beat note rather than the even firing of a 360 degree crank employed by all those British twins. The CB's arrangement’s supposed to make things smoother but you could've fooled me. From tickover up to 6000 revs the thing buzzed away like a chainsaw, the pegs and bars making my extremities go all weak.
I wasn't impressed after taking the Honda for a quick run around our council estate. It was only when I got the revs past 6000 that the motor smoothed out and had a lovely punch that yanked my arms out of their sockets. Christ, the rev counter shot up to 11000rpm in second like there was no tomorrow. a Then there was a crunching noise as third failed to engage, the needle trying to go off the end of the gauge. I shut the throttle before the engine hopped out of the frame or the dead were awoken from their graves. Those in the immediate vicinity looked skywards in search of the dive-bomber on a suicide mission whilst I tried to look innocent. The Black Bomber has one of the nastiest gearboxes in the history of motorcycles - no feel, ten false neutrals for each of its four gears and it locked up solid whenever we came to a standstill.
This was one precarious bike in town. Hitting a junction with the gearbox jammed up whilst I waited for the lights to change, caused the clutch to overheat. I had to keep twiddling the clutch cable adjuster on the handlebar to stop it stalling dead. The motor gave off waves of heat (yes, I had changed the oil), threatening to melt in the frame. I had a terribly hard time using the bike as a commuter, just no fun.
I looked for consolation on the open road. The bike was rapid up to the ton then lost all its go; that was OK, on the kind of curving roads I loved the ton was a rarity. What really annoyed me was the front brake. A TLS drum of quite large dimensions. I thought it was a neat bit of tackle at first. At least in town, where it pulled up nicely find was very sensitive in the wet, but on the open road, fade ruled. The old alloy overheated until there as the smell of burnt asbestos. Lethal.
The first I knew of this trait was coming up to a 30mph corner at about 60mph. Heave-ho on the brake lever. Retardation coming in, then nothing! Oh-my-god, the whole bike went into a huge wobble as I tried to wrench it over, lock it up and make a straight line out of the corner. My life flashed before me as the suspension turned to mush. Big blancmange time!
Just to complicate matters, survival line included wrong side of the road and some old gent came careering around in a Fiat. Silly old fool just froze up as I wobbled across his front bumper with inches spare. He drove right off the road. I should’ve done a runner but I pulled over and ran back to see if he needed help. He seemed to be having a heart attack, so I shot back to the Honda to rush to a telephone. The bike took that moment to refuse to start. Five minutes later some stockbroker type rolled up in an range Jag and did the business his mobile phone. I cleared off before he reported me!
After that little adventure I treated bike with kid-gloves, no point speeding like a madman if the brakes didn’t work, was there? I took to doing 11000 revs in second just to see how long the engine would last. Didn't seem to worry it in the least. I ended up backing off before the vibration did me in. It’s impossible to wheelie one of these bikes - god knows, I tried hard enough!
Added to vibration and brakes that didn't work were piss poor electrics. They were reputedly 12 volts, probably as a concession to the electric starter (which was burnt out) but the front light wasn’t bright enough to suit a moped, let alone an 110mph machine. The horn was a frog-like croak that was drowned out by the open megaphones (the bike sounded best on the overrun). The indicators were missing. The worst bit by far was the battery which burnt out every three months. Unlike British bikes of this era the engine couldn't be kicked into life on a dead battery. Also the leads kept falling off, causing the motor to conk out. Bitch!
Whilst I’m moaning I’ve got to mention the god-awful final drive chain (they had the good sense to use gear primary drive). I’ve never come across such an ill-designed, quick wear piece of knicker elastic. I couldn't believe that the new chain I fitted lasted only 3500 miles before the adjusters were at their limit. I wasn’t having any of that nonsense, took two links out of the chain. I felt pretty clever at getting the better of the beast. For a whole two weeks. Then the chain broke.
I thought the crankcase was broken open but the noise came from the clutch pushrod. What kind of moron designed an engine with the rod a few millimetres from the chain? The local Honda dealer just laughed when I asked if he could order one for me. The old codger made one up out of silver. steel for a tenner.
Two weeks later massive quantities of oil started seeping out of the clutch pushrod seal. You can buy these from bearing factors and they can be fitted without splitting the crankcases. Buy two, because it’s quite easy to batter them to death when knocking into the crankcase! A lot of Hondas of this era have similar problems, some broken chains knock out holes in the crankcases it’s certainly a good idea to whip off the final drive sprocket cover before handing over good dosh.
The Honda was over 25 years old when it fell into my hands. What they were like when new I can’t say. The bike had a fair turn of speed (better than a GS450E), handled OK and was economical (65mpg). But it was a pain in the arse, lots of little things going wrong, nasty brakes, enough vibration to set off my dental fillings and a complete service needed every 500 miles. In other words it was getting old and worn, in need of either a decent rebuild or a caring owner who was going to spend most of his time moaning about the way they make modern bikes.
I had a year and 9000 miles worth of biking but I had more fun on my old Honda SS50 moped. Still, it sold quickly for £450.
Alan Jennings