In December 2019 I spent a month motorcycling central Vietnam, but due to poor weather I missed riding the Ha Giang Loop. The Ha Giang Loop is a 240-mile loop through northern Vietnam. It has spectacular mountain views and roads that go up to Vietnam’s North Pole, the northern-most point in Vietnam. This loop is the best road I have motorcycled in Asia. It may be the best road I have ridden anywhere.
I started the 10-day journey from where I had previously left Hanoi. I rented my moto from the same place I had six years earlier (Tigit Motorcycles). I was familiar with the company and felt comfortable renting from them again.
Upon arriving and securing my motorcycle, a Honda XR150, the representative went over the usual rules and a few route suggestions. He informed me that my International Driver’s License was not valid. What this meant was that I would be expected at some point to pay the police “a fee.” This was news to me as I had previously ridden for four weeks through central Vietnam, and I of course had been pulled over. The police then never really seemed to care; however, now the Ha Giang Loop has become so popular that you are expected to pay the police this fee. The representative stated the amount in Dong (Vietnamese currency) I would have to pay, but my ADD kicked in and I didn’t hear the amount.
It took me two days just to get to Ha Giang, where this epic road began. During this time there was one moment that really stood out. It was getting late and I was about 30 kilometers south of the city of Ha Giang when I decided to stop in a restaurant to get some Wi-Fi and book a place for the evening. As I sat down, I noticed a group of four Vietnamese men a bit older than I was. Within a few moments they invited me over and we began passing my phone around using Google Translate as beers, a bamboo tobacco pipe (which looked similar to an Australian Digeridoo), and food begin to arrive at the table. A dish of food and a beer suddenly appeared in front of me. The conversation eventually got deeply serious about the Vietnam War and about the history surrounding the United States and Vietnam.
After an hour or so, I went to pay the waitress. I tried to be slick and ensured she knew I was paying for the entire table. She quickly waved me off. As I turned around, the men from the table all gave me hugs and nudged me towards the door. They texted on my phone “Your money is no good here.” It was probably one of the nicest gestures I encountered in all my travels, especially knowing they don’t make much money and for them it was a substantial amount.
After drying my eyes, I got on the Honda and continued to my hotel. Carefully parking my bike in the hotel’s garage, it was now time to get some local food and retire for the evening. Tomorrow was the day I was to begin the Ha Giang loop and I wanted to ensure I was fresh as it would be a long day.
After spending a couple months freezing in Nepal I was more than ready for a restful month (or three, as it turned out). I was craving warmth, a steak, and some scuba diving, and southern Thailand quenched my thirst for all three.
After a month or two in southern Thailand spending the days scuba diving and embracing the sun it was time to head north. The previous year when I was in Chaing Mai I got sick off eating elephant poop, not intentionally but it had me leashed to a toilet for four or five days and ruined my entire itinerary. It was now time to return to Chaing Mai and steer clear of the elephants.
Everywhere in Thailand there are a ton of Temples to visit and northern Thailand was no different. After a few tours and meeting a ton of new friends the road to Pai kept coming up as one of the best roads to motorcycle in Asia. I located a rental shop in Chaing Mai and rented a bike for seven days. This was a rather long time as the road to Pai roundtrip only took two or three days. I figured with the added days I may do a layover day somewhere and just blast around the northern tip of Thailand to some less frequented parts of the country and have some shorter days on the bike.
My trip to Pai ended up being delayed two days as there was a massive monsoon that blew through and needless to say it wasn’t good riding weather. Once the storm cleared I left on a Honda 500cc motorcycle ready to tear these roads up. Although it rained usually once a day at one time or another it was tolerable and outside some wet roads my first few days were going well. The roads were incredible and it was quite similar to motorcycling in Vermont, outside of driving on the left hand side of the road. There were beautiful twisties and colorful canopies of vegetation that provided a kaleidoscope of colors when the sun made it through the foliage.
As I stated most the times the roads were wet and I adjusted my speed with the ever-changing road conditions. What I didn’t factor in was an oil spill on one of the corners as I approached Pai. All I remember is “boy that slid out from under me really smoothly” and the next moment I was floating through the air. Prior to being a paratrooper is I am very proficient at playing patty cake with the earth. I executed the perfect PLF (parachute landing fall) and as I slid down the road after that execution I couldn’t stop laughing as the bike was spinning like a 600-pound fidget spinner and went off the road and settled into the grass.
As I stood up I performed a self-assessment of the damage to myself. I was very fortunate. Just a few scrapes and bruises. My shirt and pants were pretty tore up I noticed a very sharp pain in my ribs. I definitely cracked, broke, or fractured a rib. I picked up the bike and noticed one mirror was destroyed and my right foot peg was snapped off. Also my front brake handle outside of a 2-inch piece was snapped off. I had about four days left with the motorcycle so I would just use one finger on the front brake and move my leg from the rear peg to tap the rear brake as needed for the remainder of my trip. My tourism layover days were now replaced with staying in bed to nurse my injuries with Chang beers.
I ended up completing all the roads I had planned on and it was now time to return the motorcycle to Chang Mai and continue to rest the cracked rib. I am certain if this accident had happened in the United States the bill to the damaged motorcycle would have been over 1,000USD, but in Thailand it was under 100USD and I threw in a few Chang beers for a tip. The road to Pai is really one of the better roads I have ridden on, outside of the oil slick of course. Still, it was a great way to explore northern Thailand.
As the Sixes go, there have been a few: The Honda CBX, the Kawasaki KZ1300, the Honda Gold Wing, the Honda Valkyrie, the Benelli Sei, and the BMW K1600. This doesn’t include any custom engined bikes, and there have been a few. This blog is long enough already, so I’m leaving out things like bikes with three Triumph 650 Twin engines. All the bikes included here were factory offerings.
Honda CBX
The year was 1979, and I was riding a Triumph 750 Bonneville I bought new in Fort Worth, Texas. We had a Honda dealer in town that had a demo CBX, and I went over there as soon as I knew the dealer had the CBX in stock.
A 1971 Honda CBX, like the one I ruptured.
In those days, dealers of all kinds of bikes allowed unsupervised test rides. Very few dealers, if any, do that today, and for good reason. There are guys out there that will ride the snot out of them. I was one of them back in 1979. I picked up the CBX (a beautiful silver one that was essentially a naked bike; this was before Honda put the big fairing and bags on the CBX in 1981), and I headed out to Loop 820. Loop 820 (as the name implied) looped around Fort Worth. I lived on the west side of town out near the General Dynamics plant where I was an engineer on the F-16.
Loop 820 in those days way out on the west side of Fort Worth was a traffic-devoid area, and that made it a favored spot for top speed testing. My ’78 Bonneville would top out at an indicated 109 mph on Loop 820 (I think I’m past the statute of limitations on that moving violation, which is why I’m sharing this with you). Naturally, it was where I took the CBX. The bike had something like 6 miles on the odometer, but I didn’t care. The magic number? 131 mph. Yep. I was a speed demon back in the day.
When I brought the bike back to the dealer, I put it on the sidestand with the engine still running. It squirted oil arterially out the left side of the forward cam cover. It squirted in spurts, like it had a heart pumping it out. “How’d you like it?” the enthusiastic sales guy asked, and then he saw the oil orgasming out the top end.
“I didn’t,” I said. “I mean, look at it. It leaks worse than my Triumph…”
So I didn’t buy that CBX, but I never abandoned the idea of owning one.
My 1982 Honda CBX. Bone stock. Impressive. Fun to ride.
Maybe 20 years later I stopped at Bert’s, a huge local Honda/Suzuki/Yamaha/Kawasaki (and maybe a few other makes I can’t remember) dealer. He had a 1982 CBX on the floor. It was a used bike with just 4500 miles on the odometer, and he wanted $4,000 for it. It was beautiful. Completely stock, it was pearlescent white with turquoise and black accents. I stopped twice but couldn’t quite bring myself to pull the trigger. Then I stopped in a third time and it was gone. Rats. Missed it. He who hesitates is lost, and I had hesitated.
I asked about the bike and was told some rich guy from Japan had bought, and Bert’s was putting new seals in the forks, installing a new air filter, cleaning the carbs, and doing a general servicing on it. Lucky guy, I thought.
Then I stopped in a fourth time and the bike was back on the floor. The sales guy on duty in Bert’s used bike department was a nice old guy who told me he won the Daytona 200 in 1956. Did he really? Hell, I don’t know. We didn’t have the Internet yet. But none of that mattered. The ’82 CBX was back on the floor and it was now $4500. I could get my checkbook out fast enough.
Six pipes, six cylinders, six carbs, 24 valves, double overhead cams.
I had a lot of fun with the CBX, riding all over California, Nevada, and Arizona with it. I put 20,000 miles on the bike. I even road to the Laughlin River Run one year, where it drew more stares than any of the cookie-cutter wannabe rebel yuppie EVO-engined Harleys.
On the road near Bagdad. Bagdad, Arizona, that is. That’s my buddy Louis and his Gold Wing. Louis went into witness protection and has since taken to wearing a shirt.
I loved the bike, but I decided it was time to sell it a few years later. A friend offered me $4500, which is what I had paid for it and about what they were going for in those days, and I sold it. I wish I still had it.
The Honda Gold Wing
Somewhere in its history (actually, it was way back in 1988, which surprised me), the Honda Gold Wing became a flat six displacing 1520cc. I think they are up to something like 1800cc or maybe a million cubic centimeters by now. I never rode a Gold Wing Six and I never had a desire to own a Gold Wing (one short ride on Louis’ Wing, a Four, convinced me that Wings are crafted of boredominium).
A Wing Ding Six. I think there’s a bathroom with a shower somewhere in there.
None of the Wings in any denomination ever appealed to me. I know that modern Gold Wings are impressive and fast and handle well (for a battleship) and all that. The whole Wing thing just never appealed to me. Never has, and never will.
The Honda Valkyrie
The Honda Valkyrie used the Gold Wing engine and it was, I think, supposed to sort of compete with Harley. I liked the idea, and I thought I wanted one, so I went back to Bert’s and looked at one on the showroom floor. Fortunately for me and my wallet, I rode my ’92 Harley Heritage Softail there. The Valkyrie looked good, I thought, until I went back out to the parking lot and saw a new Valkyrie that someone had parked right next to my Softail. Both bikes had windshields and saddlebags, so it was a good side-by-side comparison.
The Honda Valkyrie. If you were wondering, a Valkyrie is a female warrior figure from Norse mythology. She worked for Odin and chose dead warriors on the battlefield, and then guided them to Valhalla
That visual comparison is what drove a silver stake through the Valkyrie’s heart for me. I couldn’t believe how big, porky, and bloated the Valkyrie looked next to my Softail (and the Softail was not a small machine). The Heritage Softail just looked way more svelte, nimble, and sexy. That killed it for me. No Valkyrie would ever live in my garage.
Like the Gold Wing, there were two iterations of the Valkyrie – a 1520cc initial offering and then later an 1832cc version. The Valkyries were known for their atrocious fuel economy, although I can’t imagine anyone who bought one worried about that. They were huge bikes.
The Kawasaki KZ1300
Shortly after Honda introduced the CBX, Kawasaki introduced a 1300cc, water-cooled monster they called the KZ1300 (I think that’s what they called it). Unlike the Honda CBX (whose production run lasted only from 1979 to 1982), the KZ1300 stayed in the Kawasaki lineup for several years. I don’t know why.
The KZ1300 fell from the ugly tree and hit every branch on the way down.
The Honda CBX (even though it was a Six displacing 1050cc) looked nimble, lean, and mean. The Kawasaki looked like a bus or maybe a dump truck to me. There was nothing elegant or graceful about it. I wanted no part of it. I’ve never ridden one.
Benelli Sei
Benelli jumped on the air-cooled inline 6 theme with their Sei models. They were good looking bikes, but they looked (at least to me) like a copy of the Honda CBX. As copies go, the CBX wasn’t a bad thing to use as a starting point, but to me, the CBX was a far more attractive motorcycle.
The Benelli Sei. It’s pretty, but I like the Honda CBX more.
The Sei was offered at first as a 750 and later as a 900. The Benellis were made from 1973 to 1978. I think I may have seen one or two Benelli Sei motorcycles, but I can’t remember where. I never rode one and I had no desire to. The CBX spoiled me.
As an interesting aside, Benelli is one of those interesting companies that made both guns and motorcycles. I have a rare Benelli 9mm handgun, a pistol that didn’t make it commercially but is delightfully complex and fun to shoot. Benelli also makes rifles and shotguns. Motorcycles marketed under the Benelli name are today manufactured in China.
BMW K1600
The BMW K1600 series of luxo-barges are (as the name implies) 1600cc motorcycles. They have inline (across the frame) six-cylinder engines, with the pistons at a steep forward angle.
BMW K1600. Where’s the engine?
There’s a K1600 GT and a K1600 GTL. I think the L stands for luxury. Or maybe it stands for loaded (which is what I’ve have to be to ever purchase one of these 750-pound land yachts). Like most BMW products, the K1600s are outrageously priced, a situation made worse by tariffs.
These bikes, I think, are unnecessarily laden with electronics and other silly features. A few years ago when the K1600 first hit the market, I was in a BMW dealer chatting with the marketing manager. He was multitasking during our conversation. The other thing he was doing? He was trying to figure out how to use a K1600’s electronic ignition key for a bike he had just sold. BMW North America was on the phone, and the guy on the other end was similarly perplexed. That made four of us who couldn’t break the code on how to use the key (BMW NA, the dealer’s sales manager, the bike’s new owner, and me). I was the only one of the four who didn’t care, as I wasn’t going to ride the bike. Ah, the good old days…when a key was just a piece of mechanically-notched steel that you stuck in the bike’s ignition lock and turned.
So there you have it: My take on the Sixes. So is this it? We’ve done singles, twins, triples, fours, Fives, and Sixes. Surely there can’t be more.
Hey, don’t call me Shirley. Stay tuned. Yep, there are 7-cylinder, 8-cylinder, 9-cylinder, and more cylinders coming up. Stay tuned.
Missed our other ¿Quantos Pistones? stories? Here they are:
In prior ¿Quantos Pistones? posts, I wrote about engines with which I had personal experience. When dealing with five-cylinder engines, though, I cannot do that. I don’t think I’ve ever even seen a five-cylinder motorcycle. They exist, though, and I found them by poking around a bit on the Internet. The best source was Wikipedia, which lists several. I used Wikipedia as the basis for further research, and I went beyond that to include others found online.
The Straight Fives
These fall into two categories: Custom-built motorcycles created from stock bikes, and Honda’s 1960s small displacement Grand Prix racing motorcycles.
Honda built the RC148 (the first edition of their 125cc inline five-cylinder, four-stroke engine), and the RC 149 (which was a further development effort). The RC149 is reported to have reached speeds of over 130 mph. It had an 8-speed transmission and the pistons must have been about the size of thimbles. Well, not really. This engine was originally based on Honda’s 50cc twin (can you imagine such a thing). Take two and a half 50cc twins, throw in some Honda pixie dust, and voilà, you get an inline 125cc 5-cylinder GP bike. It must have been exciting, being an engineer at Honda back in the 1960s.
Here’s a video I found of Honda techs evaluating an RC149 on a Honda test track. If you like listening to engines wail (their, um, ExhaustNotes), you’ll enjoy this one:
There have also been custom straight fives fabricated from other engines. Here’s one based on the Kawasaki three-cylinder 750cc two stroke:
Those bikes must have been impressive, too. I thought I once saw something on the Internet about a similar custom Kawasaki 900 (you know, like Gresh’s old Zed) that had been cobbled into an inline 5-cylinder machine, but I couldn’t find it again. Maybe it was in a dream.
Honda’s V-5 GP Bikes
Honda was the only player in the V-5 game, and they only did so on their GP bikes in the early 2000s. That bike was designated the RC211V. Everyone else used either a V-4 or an inline four.
The reasons are very technical, but they all boil down to two advantages:
The V-5 engine was actually smaller than either a V-4 or an inline four engine, and
The V-5 engine had an inherent power advantage over the other four-cylinder engines.
The above is explained well in the video below.
The Verdel Radial 5
Here’s one that has a bit of controversy about it: The Verdel radial 5-cylinder bike:
Some have written about it as a rare, 1912 motorcycle, but it’s not. It was built in Britain by an engineer in the late 1990s. A notable motorcycle museum bought it thinking it was a genuine vintage motorcycle (Verdel did exist, but the company made aircraft engines, not motorcycles), and apparently the museum has since acknowledged that this never was a production motorcycle from Verdel. It kind of looks the part, so it’s easy to understand how the museum fell for the vintage bike story. The ground clearance and those two cylinders hanging out from the bike’s undercarriage just scream for a skid plate.
Go Puch Yourself
Sorry, I couldn’t resist that (every once in a while, my New Jersey roots emerge). Back to the story: Here’s another interesting 5-cylinder custom motorcycle assembled by a talented builder using Puch moped engines.
Uwe Oltman (that’s the builder’s name), a guy in Germany, assembled the custom you see above from five Puch 50cc (actually, 48.8cc) moped engines.
The info I found says the bike is pretty much an unrideable showpiece due to the noise and heat from the five Puch 2-stroke engines. They’ve been poked out to 70cc each, so I guess that makes this creation a 350. As design exercises go, I think it’s cool.
Megola
I first heard of this from a friend who had a conversation about rare motorcycles with Jay Leno. Mr. Leno has a Megola in his collection. The Megolas were German bikes from 1921 to 1925 in Munich. The name is combination of its designers’ names (Meixner, Gockerell, and Landgraf).
Megolas are about as weird as motorcycles can be. The engine’s five cylinders rotate around the front axle, with a 6-to-1 transmission that cuts the axle rotation to one sixth of the engine’s speed. The 640cc engine ran at 3600 rpm, which turned the front wheel at 600 rpm, which provided a top speed of about 60 mph. There’s no clutch, so when a Megola rider came to a stop, so did the engine. The owner’s manual suggested riding in small circles if you didn’t want to shut the engine off. Weird, huh?
So there you have it: The Fives. Next up in our ¿Quantos Pistones? series will be (you guessed it) the Sixes. That one will be easier, as I owned a Honda CBX a few years ago. Stay tuned!
Ah, missed a couple! I thought I had them all, but then I found this video, and it identified a couple more 5-cylinder bikes. Take a look; it’s worth a watch!
Missed our earlier ¿Quantos Pistones? stories on the Singles, the Twins, the Triples, and the Fours? Hey, no problemo! Here they are:
Fours? I’ve owned a few, and Lord knows I’ve sure seen a bunch of them. For starters, there’s the 1931 Excelsior-Henderson at the top of this blog (a photo that graces every one of our ¿Quantos Pistones? blogs). It’s not mine and I didn’t ride it. I was so interested in photographing that motorcycle, I didn’t realize I was standing next to Jay Leno until he took his helmet off. I’ve written about that encounter before.
Honda CB 750
When the Honda CB 750 Four came on the scene in 1969, it turned the motorcycle world upside down. I thought the bike was interesting before I saw one, but I also thought I was a 650 twin kind of guy (you know, Triumphs and BSAs). The first 750 Four I ever saw accelerated past my house when I was way younger. It was a gloriously visceral and symphonic four. To a guy used to lopey Harleys and throaty Triumphs, the CB 750 sounded like an Indy Offenhauser. When I heard that high performance four-cylinder yowl, it was like walking through the jungle on a moonless night and having an unseen leopard suddenly scream a short distance away. It reached deep, took hold, and shook me mightily. I remember it like it happened yesterday. At that instant, I knew I would own a 750 Four someday soon. And I did.
Yours truly in the 1970s. Hard to believe it was more than 50 years ago. I loved that motorcycle.
Our family bought our motorcycles from Cooper’s Cycle Ranch in Hamilton, New Jersey. The CB 750 was $1539 out the door (I can’t remember what I had for lunch earlier today, but I remember that number), and my 750 was the color I wanted. Honda offered the 750 Four in four colors in 1971 (brown, green, gold, and candy apple red). I wanted a red one, and Sherm Cooper made it happen. It was a glorious bike. I rode it to Canada with a fellow Rutgers student (Keith Hediger, who had a white Kawasaki 500cc triple). That was my first international motorcycle trip. I rode it a lot of other places, too. It was a wonderful motorcycle. I wish I still had it.
Honda CB 500
I owned two Honda CB 500 Fours. I bought one from good buddy John who was a high school and college classmate. I only put a few miles on before putting it on my front lawn with a for sale sign. It sold quickly. I liked the bike (it was very smooth), but I needed the cash for something else (I can’t remember what).
Good buddy John and the CB 500 I bought from him.
A similar opportunity popped up decades later when a guy at work had a metalflake orange CB500 for sale at Sargent Fletcher (an aerospace plant I ran in the 1990s). Metalflake orange was a factory color on the CB 500 Honda. At $500, I figured I could take a chance. I bought it, rode it a little bit, never registered the bike, and sold it with a Cycle Trade ad a couple of weeks later.
Suzuki Katana
This was a bike way ahead of its time. Wow, was it ever fast. In 1982, the performance was incredible. It would probably be tame by today’s hyperbikes, but back in the early ’80s, it was something else.
Me and my Katana. I still had some hair in the 1980s. Not much, but some.
Take a good look at that photo. The ’82 Katana you see above is the only vehicle (car or motorcycle) for which I ever paid over list price. When it first came out, it was pure unobtanium. Suzuki only made 500 initially. I think mine was No. 241. I paid $5500 for it, which was way over list price in 1982, and I had to go all the way to Victorville to find one.
I thought I had something special, but that only lasted a month or two. After the initial limited release, Suzuki made another 500, bringing the total number to 1,000. I found that troubling, and I felt cheated. Those sold quickly, too, so Suzuki went ahead and produced yet another 500. Those last 500 didn’t sell well at all (Suzuki had reached all the fools like me by then and the market for a bike like the Katana had been saturated). Suzuki had to discount the remaining bikes heavily to move them. That really pissed me off. It would be another 15 years before I would buy another Suzuki (that was my ’97 TL1000S). The way I was buying and selling bikes in those days, that was a long time.
The Katana was my first ever superbike. It was scary fast in 1982, and it would probably still be scary fast today. Thanks to Joan Claybrook and Jiminy Carter (remember those two?), the speedo maxed out at 85 mph (as if that would somehow slow anyone down).
The pipes were one of the coolest things on the Katana. They were what Suzuki called black chrome and they looked great. The instrument pod was cool, too. The tach and speedo needles moved in opposite directions, which made it seemed like the two needles were unwinding as you rowed through the gears. This was my first ever bike with low bars. I didn’t like them, but the rest of the bike was very, very cool. I sold the Katana when my first daughter was born. A fat lady knocked it over in a shopping mall pulling her car out of its parking space. I took that as an omen. Time to step away from riding for a bit. I wish I still had that motorcycle.
Suzuki went on to use the Katana name (a Katana is a Japanese Samurai sword) on other models, but they were never the same at that first 1982 Katana.
Triumph 1200 Daytona
This was a fun machine. I bought when it was still brand new (but already 7 years old) on Ebay, thanks to an alert from my buddy Marty. It was $7,000. As soon as I won the auction, the next highest bidder contacted me and offered to buy it, but I turned it down.
The Locomotive. This was one of the best motorcycles I ever owned.
I’ve written about the Daytona before, and rather than reinvent the wheel, I invite you to read the more complete Daytona story here.
Honda Gold Wing
Back in the day, the initial Honda Gold Wing was a four, as they continued to be for several years. I thought I wanted one when the Gold Wing was first introduced (I was in Korea at the time and I saw the new Gold Wing in a Cycle World magazine). But I never acted on the urge to buy one and that was a good thing. I rode a friend’s a few years later and the bike had no soul whatsoever. It was boring beyond belief; I would not have thought any motorcycle could be that boring. But it was and it made me glad I never bought one.
Somewhere in Arizona on a road trip in the ’90s. That’s my CBX (to be covered in a later ¿Quantos Pistones? blog), my buddy Louis V (who went into the witness protection program), and Louis’s Honda Gold Wing (the most boring motorcycle I ever rode). All the gear, all the time was definitely not Lou’s motto.
Guys who have Gold Wings seem to love them. Emilio Scotto rode one around the world and wrote a great book about it. Today, of course, Gold Wings are sixes. I’ve read that the handling on the new ones is great for a big bike. But they’re not my cup of tea. You may feel different about Wings, and that’s okay.
So there you go: My experiences with four-cylinder motorcycles. The configuration makes sense from a lot of perspectives. They can be powerful and they are an almost universal configuration on Japanese motorcycles. But they’ve grown too big for my liking. I know there have been smaller fours out there (the Honda CB350 Four comes to mind), but as I’ve matured (read: become a geezer), I like smaller bikes better. As always, your mileage may vary.
Missed our earlier ¿Quantos Pistones? stories on the Singles, the Twins, and the Triples? Hey, no problemo! Here they are:
Originality is rare in the mechanical world. Designers build on other’s work. The clean sheet stays clean and so the Honda Dream was heavily influenced by German motorcycles of the 50’s. Just like Honda’s 305 inspired Laverda’s 750 of the mid-1960’s.
The Dream borrowed a lot of ideas from the German NSU.And then Laverda borrowed a lot of ideas from Honda’s 305 engine.
Of course, none of that has to do with the job at hand: getting the 1962 Dream running as cheaply as possible.
The running part was easy: you can’t kill these old Hondas. I cleaned the carb, squirted some oil in the cylinders and onto the valve train, rigged a battery and a hot wire to the ignition, stabbed the starter wire onto the positive-battery and the Honda fired right up.
The sprag clutch (red arrow) will need some work. It skips and grabs intermittently.
Not right-right up as the electric starter’s sprag clutch is a hit and miss affair. (I’ll work on that later) once the engine turned over it ran.
Of course, clouds of smoke poured out of the tail pipes, as all that oil I squirted in the cylinder was burning off. Then the left cylinder stopped firing. I discovered the Tytronic ignition puts out a strong spark when I electrocuted myself pulling the left-side spark plug lead to confirm it wasn’t hitting.
Next I swapped leads to check the secondary of the ignition coil and the problem stayed on the left side. Since there’s only one carb, that left the spark plug. I swapped plugs and the problem moved to the right side.
The Dream came with three boxes of parts, and inside those boxes were at least eight new spark plugs. All were the wrong ones (the reach was too long). I kept digging and found a used plug with the correct reach but a different part number. Regardless, I screwed the thing in and the Honda ran on both cylinders.
The rear fender is kind of a mess.
I shifted the gearbox through its four speeds. The countershaft rotation speed increased with each up shift. I didn’t hear any untoward noises except for the taillight. At some point the taillight cracked the rear fender. Someone, probably an engineer, welded the light to a back plate and then to the fender. Which should have been fine. It wasn’t. The welds broke and the taillight rattled like a loose roofing panel.
I like the way the Dream looks with the fenders shaved. (Photo from internet, I don’t know who took it.)
A hacksaw remedied the taillight situation. I ran the Honda until it quit smoking. The bike kept running better the longer it ran. I have something to work with, baby. Now I can move on to the running gear.
The old speedo cable took a beating.
Unfortunately, my budget-build took a setback with the speedometer cable. The cable stuck in the housing and twisted the end off near the wheel side. Fiscally, I was going to fix it. The dried grey plastic around the housing flaked off easily. I managed to get the cable out and since the speedo cable was a bit long I figured to shorten it by a 1/2-inch and re-crimp the drive tang and end piece. For the plastic cover I was going to use black, heat shrink tubing.
All was going well. I decided to wire wheel the rust on the cable housing. Long-time wire-wheelers will be able to predict what came next. I must have momentarily relaxed my grip on the housing. The wheel grabbed the housing and wound it around the grinder shaft. The loose end flailed like a weed whacker string. I was lucky to escape un-whacked. The worst part is I kind of knew it was going to happen but I kept going anyway.
Four cables for $100! Such a deal!
A new speedometer cable was around $50 on eBay. Or, I can get a complete set of speedometer, clutch, throttle and front brake cables for $100. My budget swelled with excitement. At least I won’t have to watch those other three cables wind around the wire wheel.
I’m using a generic starter relay. These are cheap and available. I’ll need to make a bracket to mount the thing to my bike.Interesting duct work on the 305’s phenolic carb spacer
Then came a bridge rectifier, a starter solenoid, a chain, some o-rings, and new spark plugs. When the stuff shows up I’ll have more work to do.
Still on the list is tires and tubes, a seat cover, cleaning out the gas tank liner crap, and all the wiring. The plan now is to get the bike operational and ride it around a bit to see if it’s worth messing with further.
For Where You in ’62 Parts 1 and 2, as well as earlier Joe Gresh Resurrections, click here.
It’s monsoon season here in New Mexico and the hard rain mixed with hail has me wasting time indoors…I mean tinkering with the Dream 305.
The most annoying problem on the black Dream was the clutch lever wouldn’t move. The cable was like a banjo string, the lever wouldn’t move and the kickstart spun freely. I guess the Dream doesn’t have primary gear start.
The clutch released after I removed the right cover. Several sessions of Gunk got it looking a bit cleaner.
I took off the right-side engine cover and that released the clutch. Once the cable was loose I slipped the cover back on and the kicker turned over the engine with a slipping gear sound.
The kickstart splines look ok but the start lever slips. I’m thinking a keyway might solve the problem.
Turns out the kick lever slides onto the kickstart shaft and is kept from turning by shallow splines in the shaft and kick lever. My Dream must have been kicked a lot. I’m not sure how to fix the problem, maybe grind a keyway?
Sprockets don’t wear out this much in 4000 miles. I suspect the white Dream is the low mileage bike. This black Dream has been around the block.
The sprocket area was a greasy mess so I cleaned it up and removed the worn out countershaft sprocket. The kickstarter and the sprockets have me thinking the 4000 miles on the odometer isn’t accurate. The white Dream looks more like the low-mileage bike.
The wiring was a snarl of mismatched colors. When things get this bad it’s time to start over.
Moving on, the wiring was a mess. The main harness looks like it was new in the past 10 years. Everything else was a tangle so I removed all the wiring to get a clear view of the situation. I’ll start fresh if the engine proves usable.
I’m going to check the valve clearances but the round rocker covers are 23mm. I started easing into the cover with a large adjustable wrench but it felt like the aluminum might round off. 23mm is a socket I don’t have. I’ve ordered a socket from Amazon and when it shows up I’ll tackle the valves.
The carb bits looked good. The Dream is a simple machine to work on and tune.63 years old and doesn’t look a day over 40. The single small venturi and two, 150cc pistons promise many miles per gallon.
I also removed the carb for cleaning. At first glance it seemed not too bad and the second glance confirms it. Everything was in good shape inside so I reused all the bits.
The Tytronic system is easy to connect once you have a diagram. I don’t like the single Allen head set-screw holding on the magnetic trigger.
The Dream came with a Tytronic electronic ignition system. Whoever wired it connected the ground side of the coil in series with the condenser then to the ignition module. I don’t see how that can work. Condensers are used with points to help with arcing when the points break so why would an electronic ignition use one?
Thank you to the internet hero who took the time to draw a diagram. Something Tytronic should have done instead of their lame, verbal-to-text description.The simplified coil/ ignition wiring. Blue and red go to Tytronic module. Battery positive to red, battery negative to frame.
Clear information on the Tytronic set up wiring was hard to find. The factory instructions online used wire colors, most of the colors didn’t match what I have. I like a wiring diagram but all I found was “connect the yellow to the blue” type of stuff. Luckily some brave soul posted a diagram of his set up. I rigged the Tytronic as the line drawing showed. Next I used a test light across the coil connections to set the timing. It’s really simple. I hope the Tytronic actually works.
Oh, how I hate tank liner. Anyone using this crap is not professional.
I’m kind of all over the map on the Dream but as issues are resolved you’ll see a more organized approach. The gas tank has that horrible tank-liner crap inside. It’s delaminating so I pulled some big pieces out. Now only 90% of the liner needs to be removed. There are very few occasions when tank liner is required. Don’t do it.
The near-term goal is to see if the engine is good. After that I don’t know where this project is going. I’m not spending any money on the bike or making a decision until I hear the engine run.
Instead of one of my usual blogs on motorcycles, I felt it was time to highlight some of my motorcycling shortcomings. Many of us when starting this magnificent hobby have had a few blunders along the way and, well, some of us have had more significant blunders than others. Being who I am, it seems when I do anything it is extreme. Over my 28 years of motorcycling, it is pretty obvious that riding is no different.
I was a young U.S. Army Specialist serving in the 82nd Airborne Division. One of my best friends was about to go through a rough divorce at the same time that I felt the call to obtain my first motorcycle. He let me practice on his bike and use it for the test if I purchased it from him. Facing an imminent divorce allowed for an extremely generous discount (he needed divorce and beer money), and being flat broke, this was what led me to make the purchase. The bike was a bright yellow Honda Magna 750 that had more than enough power (probably too much) for a first motorcycle.
The deal was pretty much done. I passed my written test and was ready to take my driver’s exam. I’m not sure if I was nervous or inexperienced (or both), but as soon as I started the test maneuvering around cones, I knew I was making a ton of mistakes. The Honda Magna was heavy and not the best choice for a new rider taking the motorcycle license test. Amazingly, though, I passed the exam. I later learned my friend had been chatting up the evaluator while I was testing to distract him. Regarding a successful test output, my friend had as much skin in the game as I did. After passing the test, I paid him $3500 in cash that I obtained by somehow qualifying for a personal loan. I became the proud owner of a 1995 Honda Magna 750!
It didn’t take me long to realize I was invincible on the Magna, even though I had no riding skills. I was a 22-year-old unstoppable 82nd Airborne Paratrooper with a fast motorcycle. What could go wrong?
Pretty much everything could go wrong. Almost every evening when leaving Ft. Bragg there would be lights flashing in my rearview mirrors. It couldn’t be for me as I was way too far ahead of them. This, of course, was because I was going over 100 miles per hour. Everything was distant in my rearview mirrors at that speed. From what others had told me, the MPs were not allowed to leave post and had to call any pursuits into the local Fayetteville police. By the time that happened and an officer would be dispatched, I was long gone and most likely home on my couch watching TV and having a beer.
This cat and mouse game went on for months. Not daily, but usually one or two times every week. I didn’t care as it was nothing but entertainment for me. These near run-ins with the law helped my ego, but did not improve my riding skills one bit. Until one day when the birds came home to roost.
Sitting at a light on Ft Bragg, I decided to teach myself how to split lanes. Not noticing an MP (a Military Police officer) nearby, and noticing even less the car driver next to signaling the MP. Instantly the lights flipped on and I heard the “whoop whoop” of a siren. This happened at the moment the light turned green. All traffic stopped to allow the MP to move forward but he couldn’t as everyone had frozen (except for me, of course). Clicking down into first gear and blasting off like a Shillelagh missile, I was out of there. Knowing the MP would be able to catch up quickly (I was in the heart of Ft. Bragg), there was no running to the safety of the post border. After a quick couple turns, I realized it was probably best to pull over.
It was no surprise that the MP was not too happy. As he was listing my charges, I asked him if I could go inside my battalion headquarters to let my team know I would be late returning from lunch. The MP agreed, and I entered the headquarters building and proudly announced “Hey, Sarge, I am gonna need a little longer lunch today.”
My sergeant asked why, and the MP promptly and quite loudly said, “His ass is coming with me to the station!” As I rode to the MP processing station and received my charges, it hit me: It was my wedding anniversary. Since my CQ (Charge of Quarters) shift was 24 hours, I hadn’t called my wife. While the arresting officer was rambling to everyone in the station about my reckless driving, I thought this would be a good time to call her. I asked and was granted permission to make a phone call. I called my wife and wished her a happy anniversary. She was quite pleased that I somehow found the time to call during my busy day. The call was going great until my wife asked where I was.
“Ummm, jail,” I said. “I am in jail.”
My wife was instantly very mad at me. Prior to that she had been happy. I’ll never understand women.
Once released from jail, I was not punished, other than receiving a written letter stating that I had embarrassed the battalion and the 82nd Airborne Division:
The letter was quite stern. I could not ride a motorcycle on Ft. Bragg until I successfully completed a motorcycle training class. The safety class was sorely needed, as my riding skills were horrendous (to say the least). The one hope I had was that upon completing the training class my new riding skills would be used for good and not evil. Sadly, there would be a Part 2, a Part 3, and even possibly a Part 4 to my maturing as a motorcyclist. For the time being, however, I was allowed back on post and I didn’t receive any military judicial punishment, and that was something to be thankful for.
Discovering motorcycles came late in life for me. My first ride was in 2014 on the back of a KTM. From the first ride I knew I was hooked, and I knew being on the back was not for me. By January 2015, I purchased my first bike, a 2006 Yamaha 225 XT. I drove from Sedona, AZ, to Denver, CO, to pick her up. On the drive home, I kept looking at her in my rearview mirror and dreaming of my future adventures. That is, once I learned to ride!
A day later I was on a quiet street teaching myself how to clutch and ride. The clutching came easy, and I had no fear as a newbie. Soon I was competent enough to go down the block, then to the store and friends’ houses, and soon off-road. Boy, I fell a lot at first, but I was surrounded by a group of guys who encouraged and taught me the basics. Many remain mentors to this day. I still have that little 225 XT and would never sell her or give her away. She will be with me till the end.
I soon added a Honda 750 Shadow to my new addiction and split my time between dirt and road adventures. It seemed a perfect balance as I gained more skills off-road with the 225 XT and could now venture further without trailering as I rode the Shadow. This led me to my third bike, new to the USA: A BMW 310 (a single cylinder in hot demand in Europe and Asia). She was a red bike far faster than my little goat, the Yamaha.
Broken Arrow Trail, Sedona, AZ.
With a bike that was great off-road while still able to handle the open roads, I set my sights on several bucket list trips, including the Pacific Coast Highway (Highway 1 up the California coast) and the Sierra Nevadas. These two trips in 2018 gave me the confidence to plan another solo ride. This time I would ride Baja, the peninsula in northwestern Mexico bounded to the north by the United States, to the east by the Sea of Cortez, and to the south and west by the Pacific Ocean. I set my plans for a Spring ride, but a trip to Hawaii and paddling the Colorado River got in the way in May, delaying my departure to June.
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Adding a new 40-liter Wolfman tail bag, I departed Sedona, AZ, heading for a small town south of Tijuana, Alisito, known to the gringos as La Fonda. This was my first time crossing the US border on a bike, challenging my skills while negotiating what seemed like 100 lanes with traffic darting between the lanes. It was soon my turn to cross at San Ysidro south of San Diego. I had done this several times in a car, but what a whole new ball game on a bike!
Turning hard to the right, I made my way to Mexico Highway 1, following the Pacific coast out of Tijuana. The air was crisp even on a June morning as I pulled into the left lane to pass a line of trucks and a group of protesters, soon finding my groove, indulging in music through my helmet speaker and enjoying the sights along the way. An hour later, I pulled into the parking lot at Dmytri’s Restaurant, well-known by locals and visiting gringos alike. It was a time to meet friends and show off my new girl (BMW, to clarify!). The margaritas and conversations flowed as I assured all of my friends that I was utterly competent to ride Baja solo in the growing heat of June.
Bravada got me thru till the morning of my departure, then a massive wall of apprehension flooded me. WTH, I was not competent enough to take on this challenge solo in Mexico! A repeated flaw as I once again found myself vacillating between the urge to push myself and my endless fear of failure and the unknown. I did what I do best, shoved the fear down, and got on my bike heading south on Highway 1 while enjoying the ocean breeze and the endless views of the Pacific Ocean. All the while, I negotiated traffic and the epic potholes that ranged from minor to “might swallow my bike” in one epic plunge.
With the efficiency of the toll road, I was soon in the traffic and mayhem of Ensenada, a port city that is a frequent stop for cruise ships. The smell of exhaust and burning trash contrasted against the street stalls grilling fresh fish and carne asada. I could not resist and soon found a place to pull over for a cold Tecate and a plate full of tacos. The local girls working the roadside restaurant were enthralled with my bike, asking for photos on it it with the sultry hotness that only a Latina could pull off while wearing an apron. I accommodated their requests for pictures and answered a soon-to-be-frequent question of “Solo?” with “Si, Solo,” followed by “No, no, where is your man?” Ha, I didn’t even have a man at home, let alone on this trip, but I had someone I was thinking about a lot on this trip (a story I will tell in another post).
A Baja Campground.
With Ensenada’s noise and challenges behind me, I headed out of town to a campground with hot springs and soaking pools. The ride getting there was all dirt, rocky as hell, with several water crossings. These were my first water crossings on my own. I was both thrilled and nervous as I gave the throttle a firm twist and flew through creating a satisfying rooster tail. It was a short day full of first-time accomplishments that felt right and bolstered my confidence for the adventure ahead. I paid my entrance fee of 200 pesos, about $10, and proceeded to enjoy the hot tubs, complete with little cabanas and a hot shower.
Relaxing in the hot springs.
The next day I found myself back on the road. My destination would be the tiny town of Cataviña, a community of fewer than 200 residents. Cataviña is known for cave paintings, colossal rocks mixed with desert vegetation, and epic sunsets. This place could be on Mars with its endless boulders stacked at impossible angles and the stark beauty of the high desert plateau.
The day called for 380 kilometers, about a six-hour ride without stops. The morning started slow and easy as I retraced my ride back down the mountain and through the water crossings of the day before. After a quick stop at the OXXO convenience store for a burrito and coffee, I was on the road heading down Highway 1. The road went into the interior, passing through several tiny dusty towns and a few newfound favorites, including San Vicente and San Quintin. One of my favorite finds is Don Eddie’s Landing Hotel and Restaurant, an oasis with comfortable rooms, sports fishing, and even a few camping spots. I settled in at their patio, enjoying the views of the Pacific and Eddie’s legendary hospitality. This place is an ideal rest spot for enjoying a perfect plate of shrimp ceviche with just the right intensity of lime and chilis, complete with Don Eddie’s legendary hand-crafted margaritas, the likes of which I’ve never found in the USA.
A Don Eddie’s Margarita.
Reluctantly leaving Eddie’s, I continued south on Highway 1, turning inland at El Rosario de Arriba, climbing up from sea level to 1841 feet. The elevation change did little to abate the day’s growing heat. I arrived intending to camp, but the reality of a 98-degree afternoon soon had me sapped. I pulled into the only commercial enterprise besides a little store across the street and a few tiny restaurants.
The Hotel Misíon Santa María – Cataviña looked like she was built in the colonial era; in reality, I learned she was built by the Mexican government as part of their tourism outreach. With a courtyard full of flowers and mature trees, I found a haven and counted my good fortunes to stay in such opulent digs (opulent compared to my humble tent). After securing my room for the night, I quickly dumped my gear, splashed some cold water on my face, and confirmed that I looked like I had ridden in the heat all day. I landed outside in the shade near the little bar enjoying my margarita. The bartender generously gave me endless glasses of water while we chatted about the heat, my bike, and his childhood in Arizona. Soon it was time to head to bed. I reached down to grab my bag and Delorme. A momentary shock as my Delorme was nowhere to be found. The little safety device would allow me to signal for help if needed and text my friends and family when off the beaten path and far out of cell coverage. The bartender and manager helped me search the grounds to no avail. I gave up and went to bed, cursing myself for my carelessness.
Catavina Sunset.
The following day bright and early I rode across the street to purchase the only available gas in this remote region from locals selling gas in plastic drums and liter-size soda bottles. Saying a prayer for the safety of my engine, I had them fill up my tank and MSR fuel bottle I always carry for the just-in-case moments.
Soon I was on the road headed to Guerrero Negro. The wind brushed over me gently with no hint of the high wind advisory posted for later that day. I left the unpleasantness of my Delorme loss behind and leaned into the joy of the ride. As it was a Sunday, I had the road to myself, with the added blessing of many commercial vehicles being home for the day. This was precisely what I had been dreaming of. As the starkness of the desert unfolded in front of my bike, I knew how lucky I was to be on this adventure! I was once again reminded to grab my dreams, ignore the naysayers, and embrace the adventure ahead.
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My Dad and I saw our first Honda ever in 1964 at a McDonald’s in East Brunswick, New Jersey. It was a 150cc Dream, the smaller version of the bigger CA 77 305cc Dream. I was 12 years old at the time. In those days, it was a fun family outing to drive the 20 miles to Route 18 in New Jersey and have dinner at McDonald’s (that was the closest one), where hamburgers were 15 cents and the sign out front said they had sold over 4 million of the things. And the Honda we saw that day…Dad and I were both smitten by the baby Dream, with its whitewall tires, bright red paint, and the young clean cut guy riding it. True to Honda’s tagline, he seemed to be one of the nicest people you could ever meet (although admittedly the bar wasn’t very high for nice people in New Jersey).
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Dad and I started looking into Hondas, and that included a trip to Cooper’s Cycle Ranch near Trenton. Back then, it really was a ranch, or at least a farm of some sort…the showroom was Sherm Cooper’s old barn. The little Hondas were cool, but the big ones (the 305s) were even cooler. A 305 was the biggest Honda available in the mid-1960s and Honda imported three 305cc motorcycles to America: The CA 77 Dream, the CB 77 Super Hawk, and the CL 77 Scrambler. The Dream was not designed to be an off road motorcycle (that was the CL 77 Scrambler’s domain) or a performance motorcycle (in the Honda world, that was the CB 77 Super Hawk).
Of the 305 twins, It’s probably appropriate to discuss the CA 77 Dream first. The Scrambler and the Super Hawk were intended to appeal to motorcycle enthusiasts; the Dream was a much less intimidating ticket in (into the motorcycle world, that is). The typical Dream buyer was either someone stepping up from a smaller Honda, or someone who had not previously owned a motorcycle.
Honda first used the name “Dream” on its 1949 Model D (a single cylinder, 98cc two-stroke). No one knows for sure where the Dream moniker came from, but legend has it that someone, upon first seeing the Model D, proclaimed it to look like a dream. The C-series Dreams first emerged in Japan in 1957. Pops Yoshimura built Honda engines with modified production parts that ran over 10,000 rpm for 18-hour endurance races, proving the basic design was robust. Some say Honda based the engine design on an earlier NSU engine, but Honda unquestionably carried the engineering across the finish line. Whatever. When’s the last time you saw an NSU? Another big plus was that Honda used horizontally split cases and that (along with vastly superior quality) essentially eliminated oil leaks. The other guys (and in those days, that meant Harley and the Britbikes) had vertically split cases and they all leaked. Honda motorcycles did not, and that was a big deal for a motorcycle in the 1960s.
There were several differences between the Dream and the other two Honda 305cc motorcycles. The Super Hawk and the Scrambler had tubular steel frames and forks; the Dream used pressed steel for both its frame and fork. The Dream was a single-carb motorcycle; the Super Hawk and the Scrambler had twin carbs. The Dream had large steel valanced fenders, the other Hondas had more sporting abbreviated fenders. The Dream was the only 305 that came from the Honda factory with whitewall tires. The Dream had leading link front suspension; the Scrambler and the Super Hawk had telescopic forks. The Dream used the Type II crankshaft (so did the Scrambler) with a 360-degree firing order (both pistons went up and down together, but the cylinders fired alternately). The higher performance Super Hawk had the Type I, 180-degree crankshaft. Like the Super Hawk, the Dream had electric starting (the Scrambler was kick start only). The Dream came with a kickstarter, too, but why bother? I mean, you weren’t going to be mistaken for Marlon Brando when you rode a Honda Dream.
The Dream’s 305cc engine had a single 23mm Keihin carb and it produced 23 horsepower at 7500 rpm (not that the rpm was of any interest; the Dream had no tachometer). With its four-speed transmission and according to magazine test results, the Dream was good for between 80 and 100 mph (depending on motojournalist weight, I guess). The Dream averaged around 50 mpg, although in those blissful days of $0.28/gallon gasoline, nobody really cared. Honda Dreams came in white, black, red, or blue. With 20/20 hindsight, I wish I had bought one in each color and parked them in the garage. My favorites were black or white; those colors just seemed to work with the Dream’s whitewall tires.
Honda built the Dream until 1969. The Dream retailed for $595 back in those days, but a shrewd negotiator could do better.
After a month or two in southern Thailand spending the days scuba diving and embracing the sun it was time to head north. The previous year when I was in Chaing Mai I got sick off eating elephant poop, not intentionally but it had me leashed to a toilet for four or five days and ruined my entire itinerary. It was now time to return to Chaing Mai and steer clear of the elephants.
