Antique & Classic Cars Blog

Ride a classic long enough, even a giant-killer like the Honda CB750, and sooner or later the sweet sound of combustion goes still. My ‘75 has spoiled me for years. I never think twice about pointing it any direction, any duration.

She was away from home over the weekend, swapped for my ‘69 MG, which resides at my friend Suzanne’s house. For the first time following the initial post-winter start-up, the CB didn’t fire on the first hit of the starter button…. but it’s a Honda, so I had no fear.

Removing the tank takes only a screwdriver. (I don’t always sit like that.)

I was bound for Diamond’s Coffee Shop on Central Ave. for a chai and some keyboard time. Whipping a U-turn, my burnt-orange chrome spoker died. A stall in a turn can dump you if you’re braking because the bike stops on a lean and kisses the pavement before you can protest. I wasn’t on the brake, luckily, so I rolled to the curb and did some quick checks.

Fuse box area doesn’t look too bad.

The neutral and oil lights were not coming on with the key in the start position. A few years ago, I put my taillight on its own wire and fuse straight off the positive terminal when it wouldn’t work through the fuse box. Connecting the wires lit up the red lens, so it had a little juice.

Breaking down stinks but breaking down at Diamond’s on a motorcycle is bad luck of the good variety. An acquaintance, Ross, and his friend Bill were having a java. These guys know Hondas like Jet Li knows wushu. We popped the side cover and the ignition switch fuse was fried. Stuck in a new one and it survived for a flicker of the neutral light before meltdown. A Weekend Garage column was due to the paper, so whatever it was would have to wait. Bill has a trailer and offered me a lift if the 750 Four stayed quiet.

Diamond’s owner and longtime biker Lucy gave me a hand streetside. I’m holding the fuse box, whikch had corrosion, melted plastic and a bare wire.

A few hours later, Diamond’s owner Lucy and I traced the fault to a skuzzed up fuse box. Amidst the corrosion was a wire with a bare spot in its insulation. One piece of carefully–if difficultly–placed electrical tape and the ‘75 was alive again. New fuse box now on order.

Experiences like this are what the hobby is all about. If the planet’s tumult jades your eye and gets you thinking that goodness is receding in the world, never you believe it. There are kind, helpful, knowledgeable people in every town on every street who will assist a person in need: all classics enthusiasts have among our backup plans the kindness of strangers and friends.

Happy Independence Day to all.

This entry was posted on Wednesday, July 4th, 2007 at 1:32 pm and is filed under Motorcycle tales. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. Both comments and pings are currently closed.