Coop's Corner: The Little Honda(s)

Saturday, February 25, 2012

The Little Honda(s)

Mike should get most of the blame, but there's really an entire cast of characters that hooked me into 'old' motorcycles and the place it all revolved around is Lucy's place, Diamond's Coffee Shoppe, located in Northeast Minneapolis. Lucy's kind enough to put up with us all most every Saturday morning (often Sunday's too) as we gather during every season, most of us of course riding there in the summer on our various motorcycles, many of the machines old, some very old. It's typically a mix of bikes from every country and era, though the most popular bikes seem to break down into two somewhat loosely defined categories, namely vintage Japanese bikes or antique British bikes.

To this day I've still not owned anything from Britain, though I was close once upon a time to owning a mid-70's Norton. As mentioned in a previous Post, I started riding on a 1964 Honda 55cc trail bike. A few years after we sold it, I approached the woman that bought it, wondering if she might be interested in selling. She wasn't. As a retiree at a lake cabin in northern MN, she and her husband used the bike to bring the mail home and do their casual shopping in the nearest town.

Thanks to the Saturday morning guys and my recent joining of the Vintage Japanese Motorcycle Club, Minnesota Chapter, some serious searching on our local Craig's began. I do my very best to avoid searches there since every time I visit, there seems to be something I absolutely need and I simply can't afford to need so many things.

Anyway, a 1963 Honda C105T was found west of Minneapolis. Based on the photos and description, it was a bit rough but the price seemed fair for its age and condition. Mike, already mentioned above, went along to make sure I started 'old' properly and to make sure I did everything right. He did and I did.

The young high school student had rescued it from a local farm neighbor, patched up a few things and got it running. It wasn't a restored bike but it had been running and that was enough for me.

Ain't she a dandy??

I rolled my Helix outside for comparison and when our oldest daughter saw what I was up to, came out to see "the cute little thing". She couldn't believe that the Helix would make anything look small, but the did what it could to live up to my designation of Big Touring Rig.

This all happened in November of 2009. In the long span of two very wintery months, I decided that one wasn't enough and found two more, a 1962 and a 1963, both C105T's. Again, Mike and this time another facilitator, friend Chris, helped me bring these home from northern Wisconsin in mid-January.

Over the next few months, I essentially made one runner out of the 3 of them. Mike (he's always around when I need him) helped me get the seat re-covered and other than a few other odds and ends easily available on Ebay, it was mostly adjusting, cleaning and lubricating to get it running again.

Here it is running, pretty un-Honda-like loud. There was a small baffle on the lower side of the upswept pipe that was open. I machined a cover for it and then the little bugger ran as quiet as a Honda should. Of course, I lost maybe 15-20 horsepower but you can't put a value on quiet.

Note the shift into road gear where conditions were warranted.......

1 comment:

AnonymousFebruary 26, 2012 at 5:11 PM
Doug needs to join the Brit club and suffer along with the rest of us... !
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Others say....

"it was auspicious to approach any situation from a deferential, inquisitive place. Conceding that there is much to learn is the best blueprint for discovering something new." ----B. Fuller

The Man straightened stiffly above the block of salt fixed to the stake and looked at the young cattle ringed about him. The pasture was holding out well and the stock was looking good. This bunch would be ready to sell in another month, maybe sooner if the market was right.

A stir among the cattle down near the river brought him round to face the swinging bridge he'd built years before. Someone was coming toward him from the bridge. Someone in breeches, but it didn't look like a man, somehow. What was a woman doing in his pasture this time of night?

He bent over the salt again; maybe if he paid her no heed she'd go on past and let him mind his own business. He heard her footsteps come nearer and stop. "Good evening," she said.

Her voice was smooth with book learning but friendlier than most, and somehow almost shy. When he made no answer she went on, "I've been sitting on your swinging bridge....I thought I'd like to say thank-you...." Her voice stumbled a little, then she tried once more.

"You are Mr. ____". His name sounded strange in her voice, but she went on to tell her own.

"That's what they've called me the last sixty-eight years," he said, looking past her face to the hills fast darkening under a single star. "I reckon the woods are free for those that like to walk there."

The unfamiliar voice laughed a little. "That's what Emerson said: the grove belongs to the man who walks in it with an open heart....On that basis I guess I've owned part of your woods for a good many years.....". She made a final effort. "I've always wanted to thank you....."

Something deeply hidden stirred in him. "There's a stump up there, in the notch of the woods", he said slowly, "that before the timber grew so tall you could stand on it and see all over this country."

He kept still a minute, remembering, then, "I used to stand up there an' look at things, an' wonder how they come to be like they was, an' how the hills was created, an' all the things in Nature.... I told my wife I guessed all the religion I ever had I got standin' on that old stump, a-wonderin'..." He turned his face away from her.

She helped him out. "I know about that, a little. This afternoon I saw......." Her account of a thing she had really taken time to look at eased him, and he answered with telling of the badger den at the foot of the swinging bridge.

When she had gone, he turned to watch her. After a moment she stood clear and unmoving against the sky. You could hear the sounds of the river where she stood. She was one that could stand still long enough, he thought, really to hear what a body was saying, or a river.

Then she walked down the farther side of the slope and was gone. ------Margaret Snyder from A Chosen Valley

Fall was the end of harvest, end of the growing season, a burst of color and sun-warmth before killing frost turned the land gray and cold. Fall was a moody time, full of both life and death, a time when we were reminded of the power outside of us, reminded that the seasons happen to us. We do not invite the change to come.-------Ben Logan, from The Land Remembers

When you get those rare moments of clarity, those flashes when the universe makes sense, you try desperately to hold onto them. They are the lifeboats for the darker times, when the vastness of it all, the incomprehensible nature of life is completely elusive. So the question becomes or should have been all along, what would you do if you knew you only had one day, or one week, or one month to live. What lifeboat would you grab onto? What secret would you tell? What band would you see? What person would you declare your love to? What wish would you fulfill? What exotic locale would you fly to for coffee? What book would you write? ------- Ben Tyler

We were also cautioned about journeying far from home. As an example of the dangers, the town had a badly crippled lady named Lucy, who as a girl had traveled to New York City. As she traveled along a sidewalk, sightseeing, she was struck by the outstretched hand of a suicide who had leapt from high above. Her spine had been shattered and for the rest of her life, she was to walk bent forward at the waist, tapping the sidewalk with two black canes. Whenever the subject of travel to a big city was raised, someone would say, "Just remember what happened to Miss Tripp." ---- Ted Kooser, from Local Wonders

"Steamboats are like wedding cakes without the complications...." ----Mark Twain

"It's not about having lots of money, it's about having lots of options......." -----Chris Rock

As the very proud father of three former ponytail wearers, hopefully I can get away with this....."For the past few years it's been fashionable for young women to wear ball caps and to snap the strap on the back under their ponytails. I like the looks of that, their shiny ponytails jauntily swinging, but it's hard not to think of the rear ends of horses. There's a piece of harness called the crupper that goes just under a horse's tail to keep its nose down. If the horse lifts its head to look for a way out of whatever predicament it's in, the crupper tightens and hurts the horse. But it's foolish for parents to think that a ball cap might keep a young woman from running away. Anybody can see they're made for running." ------Ted Kooser, Local Wonders

"I tell the guy's girlfriend that the only difference between the book's main character Phaedrus and myself is that I am neither brilliant, tortured or insane, she looks at my bike and there is an uncomfortable silence." --------ahendepe (a.k.a. Vermin)