Eager to pass on his enthusiasm for classic motorcycles to the next generation, Stuart Urquhart sought an ideal old bike for a first rebuild project. Cheap, uncomplicated and abundant: a Honda Cub perfectly fit the bill
Eager to pass on his enthusiasm for classic motorcycles to the next generation, Stuart Urquhart sought an ideal old bike for a first rebuild project. Cheap, uncomplicated and abundant: a Honda Cub perfectly fit the bill
Rewind to January 2011 and you’d see my hands thrust deeply into my jacket pockets as I waited for the show to begin. My fellow bikers crammed the hotel bar for the much-anticipated Scottish Classic MC’s winter auction – an annual event which boosts club funds by flogging unwanted motorcycle paraphernalia. To the great amusement of the room, the appointed auctioneer is traditionally hard on fidgets, coughers, blinkers and nose-scratchers. Any involuntary movement is sadistically rewarded with the lesser contested auction items – how else would the usual collection of round-robin books, DVDs and dog-eared magazines find new homes? So my hands remained firmly entrenched in my pockets and my body rigid as petrified stone. I was wise to the auctioneer’s tactics and not an itch would be scratched, nor a twitch indulged.
Two ragged-looking Honda Cubs had attracted my interest. Both were propped up ungainly against the bar. Either would be a prize to any Cub enthusiast; they were discovered festering in a shed in the seaside town of Broughty Ferry. An SCMC official was offered both brineencrusted machines for club disposal to clear them out of the shed.
Lesser items were rapidly disposed of by the auctioneer’s gavel before the main event, and it wasn’t long before an
excitedd murmur rippledild ththroughh ththe crowdd liklike a MMexicani wave. I fancied bidding for the C90 and in expectation I released my hands from their confinement. The C50 came up first and the ‘rat-a-tat-tat’ of the auctioneer’s gavel soon soared beyond the starting bid, to reach a very reasonable £60. ‘Well affordable,’ I can remember thinking at the time.
I prepared myself for the C90 – a machine which I hoped to secure to kickstart my sixteen year-old daughter Zoe’s biking career. Once again bidding was fierce and exciting, until a bellow of laughter made me realise I was bidding against myself. The gavel was down and bidding had culminated at an affordable £80 – I was well chuffed!
Thereafter, however, things progressed at a slower pace. It took Zoe and I seven years to fire up her classic Cub. It was February 2018 before we got stuck into its rebuild. Why the delay? According to Zoe: ‘Boyfriends, world travel and study demands took precedence over a bike restoration.’ And as I was sworn to teach my daughter the basics of motorcycle restoration, I could only sit and drum fingers while I awaited my summons. At least that meant I could learn about the bike’s background…
In production since 1958 and with over 100 million sales, Honda’s fabled Cub has earned the distinction of being
the world’s most mass-produced automobile – quite an
achievement. Conceived by Soichiro Honda and Takeo Fujisawa in 1956, the charismatic Honda Cub was a key product for postwar Honda Motors and their ambition to become a global manufacturer. Honda began by delivering an ‘everyman’ motorcycle to the masses – one that was technologically advanced, yet simply designed and mechanically robust. In less than a decade, the humble lightweight Cub would fulfil Honda’s ambitions. Unfortunately, the little Cub arrived during a politically turbulent time. Egypt had surprised the world by seizing the Suez Canal, embroiling Britain, France and Israel in military action. Hungary and Georgia were gripped by anti- Soviet uprisings and when America sent its first U2 spy plane over Russian territory the Cold War intensified. Petrol rationing was introduced in Britain. Japan entered a recession and the newborn Honda Cub choked. Poetically, Doris Day recorded the most successful hit of her career ‘Que Sera, Sera’: Whatever will be, will be.
However, much as Fujisawa had predicted, the ingenious concept of merging scooter and motorcycle went on to become a sales phenomenon across America, Europe and Asia. Press and industry experts began to class Honda’s Cub in the same iconic super league as the Model T Ford and the VW Beetle – praise indeed.
By pure coincidence, The Hondells released the popular song ‘You Meet the Nicest People on a Honda.’ When Honda America adopted the song as part of their marketing strategy, the humble Cub was catapulted to even higher status. The new campaign was soon to appear in press adverts and dealer posters on both sides of the Atlantic.
As the C90’s popularity grew, Honda’s innovative engineering and chic design won the heads and hearts of customers. The Cub had a pressed steel monocoque frame onto which its horizontal engine was attached. The unique frame also carried a plastic one-piece, scooter-style fairing, deeply profiled mudguards and a fully-enclosed rear chainguard – all of which offered excellent weather protection.
The model was extremely light and nimble, with large diameter
motorcycle wheels coupled to a leading-link front fork and traditional rear swinging arm suspension – design features that provided better handling than a conventional scooter. A hinged dualseat lifted backwards to access a one-gallon petrol tank that doubled as a seat support. Up front, a pressed steel cover enclosed an attractive speedometer and a round 4.5-inch headlamp.
The C90’s ohc 4-stroke 89cc engine was an engineering marvel. The compact engine had a bore and stroke of 50 by 45mm with a compression ratio of 8:1 and provided roughly 8bhp at 9500rpm – fine for speeds of 60mph and 100mpg. Power was delivered through a 3-speed gearbox coupled to a patented, semiautomatic, centrifugal clutch.
The Cub’s conventional 4.5-inch drum brakes might appear incapable of holding back a feather in free fall. But thankfully, the machine’s unladen weight of just 85kg is a boon to fine braking and nimble handling. Lightness and agility made the little Honda Cub a popular city commuter for both sexes. Zoe’s 1976 model has contact breaker ignition driven by the overhead camshaft, and its simple 6V electrics are powered by a flywheel generator, selenium rectifier and battery. Shouldn’t be too tricky to bring back to life, surely?
A plump green binder that accompanied the C90 revealed a collection of old documents and history, including the Honda’s original service booklet and owner’s manual. According to receipts, the Cub was purchased in October 1976 for £218.17 plus 8% VAT from Norton works rider Freddy Frith of Grimsby. The previous (and first) owner would appear to have moved from Grimsby to Dundee soon after purchasing the bike. With only two owners in its 42 years, and a mere 6.5k miles recorded, this C90 proved to be a lucky buy!
Covered in grime, feathers and seagull poo, it was however a very sorry sight when it arrived with us in 2011. We rolled the tired-looking Cub into the July sunshine to begin removing crud to discover what lay beneath its outer crust. Over a week we stripped and cleaned the various body parts before giving the engine and carburettor a thorough inspection. Unfortunately, the throttle and carburettor were seized solid. Removal of the right side panel revealed a missing battery. Behind the left panel we discovered the Honda tool roll, still intact and in good condition – it appeared to have seen little action.
The front mudguard had a nasty split below its mounting bracket. Both it and the dualseat were splattered with white and silver overspray
and I was unsure if either part could be saved. I also noticed that the exhaust had a gaping hole at the rear end where the swinging arm had inevitably won a punch-up with the silencer – it definitely appeared beyond salvage. The original tyres were only fit for a skip. The brakes however appeared to operate well, but the front forks resembled a creaking pogo-stick, and filth, rust and cobwebs clung to the inner suspension springs – a thorough strip would be necessary to properly assess their condition.
The electrics looked poorly, and the battery, inline fuse box and corresponding wires were all missing. As we continued our clean-up we removed damaged items such as the indicators, fairing, side panels, exhaust, dualseat and front mudguard. We soon began to appreciate how easy the C90 is to work on. Everything is accessible and in its place; it turned out to be the ideal machine for my daughter to learn the basics of motorcycle mechanics.
I knew Zoe was enjoying the experience because on every visit home she was pushing sessions in the garage. But then she landed a job and the partly-stripped Honda was retired to the shed. The months zipped by only to turn into years when a trip to Oz popped up.
At Christmas new parts arrived from the excellent David Silver, and we tidied up the frame and stripped the front forks, largely a de-rusting and oily rag exercise, before Zoe returned to her studies and then an apprenticeship with the BBC.
More time ticked by and not much happened until late February 2018 – the week when ‘ The Beast from the East’ arrived and dumped Scandinavia’s annual quota of snow upon Fife. Zoe became stuck when all public transport was cancelled. Being snowed-in for the best part of a week could have proved a real bore, but we intended to take full advantage of the big freeze...
Thermals on and hot water bottles down our jumpers, the Cub was dragged from its slumber so we could revisit the jobs abandoned two years past. One problem was that the clutch casing had proved impossible to remove, but its removal was imperative. According to the service record, cleaning a crucial oil filter that lurked inside was overdue by 36 years! Fortunately, before the Cub went into hibernation we’d had the presence of mind to spray the casing joint with anti-seize compound. Two years later with my blowtorch ready, imagine our delight when Zoe’s wellaimed tap with a rubber mallet cracked open the outer case...
But as we gently teased off the outer cover
there was a sudden rattle of tumbling metal, and out dropped a spring, followed by what we later discovered was the ‘automatic clutch adjuster cam and its ball bearing retainer plate’ (quite a mouthful!). I cursed, because I knew in my auld bones that refitting these wayward parts could prove as challenging as setting the hair-trigger on a nuclear sub’s Spearfish torpedo. However we set the parts aside and cleaned out the inner cover and the allimportant oil filter.
Cub enthusiasts will know that refitting the clutch cover is an onerous task. This is due to the imperative realignment of the above ‘wayward parts’ with the clutch pressure plate – then, simultaneously, with the clutch adjuster mechanism that resides within the outer cover. Once fitted, said device is frustratingly pushed out of alignment by its supporting spring, and thus thwarts any attempt to dock with its mating mechanism as you push the outer cover home. This would appear to mock Honda’s usual practice of simple engineering solutions. The cunning solution is to bind all in place with a magic dollop of grease. Needless to say, I bungled many attempts before the greasedup device permitted the outer cover to dock successfully with the inner crankcase.
Next, my willing apprentice mastered the art of changing tyres using a liberal smear of rim soap. This was then followed by minute bursts of cushioning air that dissuade the tyre levers from nipping the inner tubes. With the wheels back on the wagon, Zoe then oiled, fixed and tensioned the rear chain. She checked and adjusted the tappets, points and retimed the ignition according to the manual. Leaving the cub in her capable hands, I popped the carburettor over to local pros Abernethy Motorcycles for a revitalising ultrasonic bath. A clean carb is a dream carb! While Zoe was back at the nine-to-five, I tested the electrics. As expected several problems surfaced, including the absence of a neutral warning light and main beam. The indicators also blinked once, then froze. I suspected a duff relay. But once I’d cleaned
all the harness connectors, up popped the missing warning light and main beam. Only the indicators refused to fire up. Fortunately, I had a spare relay and a quick swap restored flashing indicators all round.
Before I retired for the evening I kicked over the engine and was certain of a good night’s kip when bright blue sparks lit up the plug’s electrodes. Only the carburettor, fairing and seat remained to be added to the Cub – jobs that could await my young apprentice’s next home visit.
Several weeks later, the simple job of reuniting the restored carburettor to the frame’s air intake tube turned out to be the most frustrating job of the build! The tube’s age-hardened rubber had lost its flex and stubbornly refused to slip over the frame’s air intake. It was a bit like trying to shoehorn an elephant’s foot into a glass slipper.
Another problem surfaced when I’d forgotten which way round the fuel lines should be connected to the carb’s twin outlets. Thankfully my quick-thinking apprentice suggested that a simple puff down each tank hose would identify the reserve – smart girl! After tightening the hose clips we were ready to fire her up. This honour fell to Zoe, but as much as we kicked or tampered with the carburettor’s settings, the pipsqueak resolutely refused to start. As I was practiced in kicking over my
500cc Bullet, I began to suspect that some dork had made off with the Cub’s piston, so feeble was its compression. Because we had a healthy spark and a dry plug, I suspected fuel starvation was really the culprit – but even the traditional trick of syringing fuel down the bore refused to produce any grunt from the engine. We retired for a welcome brew.
Next day was a case of déjà vu; checking valve clearances and ignition timing – all good practice for Zoe. All proved to be correct, yet still our meddling only met with an ominous silence from the engine. We tried all the usual stuff: different choke and throttle settings and even swapped over suppressor caps and sparkplugs. My instinct still whispered ‘fuelling problem’. As an act of desperation, I screwed home the throttle stop and air mixture screws, closed the choke and following a hefty kick she fired up and revved for several seconds before cutting out. Our resounding cheers raised the garage roof. Repeat attempts resulted in firing for several seconds, but the engine died every time that I attempted to open the throttle. We scratched our puzzled heads.
Next we tested the fuel lines for air blocks and free-flowing fuel, and the petrol cap for blocked airways – all seemed fine. Then I decided to return the throttle needle, air mixture screw and throttle valve stop screw to the manual’s standard settings – as opposed to my recorded settings before the carburettor was stripped. At last, encouraged by a full choke, the little Cub finally fired up for the first time without cutting out.
Once the engine had warmed we experimented with air mixture settings and fiddled with the throttle adjustment screw until the engine settled into a nice tickover. We were thrilled. As my grinning apprentice held the throttle at constant revs, I connected my multi
meter across the battery terminals to test if the generator was producing a healthy charge – and indeed it was. Now all that remained was a road test. We retired for a celebratory tipple!
During Zoe’s absence, my first sneaky road test was a bit of a let-down, if only because I’m used to clipping around Fife with many more horses on tap. The lack of any perceptible exhaust note was as disappointing as the meek power curve and I couldn’t see Oor Zoe being overly impressed. Although I’d cut my teenage teeth on the back of a 1970s C90, it took me many ‘duh’ moments to get my head around the fact that there was no clutch lever. My left hand instinctively grappled with thin air, before I’d managed to reprogram, drop the revs and crash-select the next gear – not all in a sympathetic fashion, I might add. So I did perform the occasional kangaroo hop. Remarkably however, the patient little Cub never stalled once – more a fact of its forgiving nature than my feeble rider skills.
On the move, the front forks began to develop a peculiar habit of rising when I pulled on the front brake – I am reliably informed by ‘Cubbies’ that this odd behaviour is perfectly normal for this unusual motorcycle. Otherwise, the ride is bizarrely pleasant. The 3-speed gearbox is sweet – and, typical of sound Japanese engineering, there are no false neutrals lurking inside Honda’s box of tricks. But it’s Zoe’s opinion that really matters, so over to our young apprentice for a summing up... ‘Yossarian, to use his name (as I firmly believe in naming all good bikes, skateboards, surfboards, etc), was the perfect first project and I was loathe to sell him on. I had long
harboured fantasies of zipping down cobbled streets in the sunshine on the handsome little machine, or parking him outside retro coffee shops. However, he was about 410cc short of my ideal mechanical match.
‘My favourite part of the project was timing the sparks. It felt a little like bomb-defusing, with me crouching on the garage floor, not daring to breathe until the correct feeler gauge was firmly clamped between the points at TDC. I learned patience, dexterity and, above all, problem-solving.
‘For Christmas, my old man got me a copy of Lone Rider by Elspeth Beard, the first British woman to motorcycle around the world solo. The central character is an unnamed BMW R60/6, reliable and uncomplicated with just enough kick for the occasional fast getaway. This summer I’ll finally complete my A2 licence and be looking for my next fixer-upper. Elspeth’s noble steed has got me thinking about a Beemer of my own. Who knows, maybe I’ll even try and drive it to Sydney and back!
‘I know a non-running R60/5 has been languishing in dad’s garage. Wonder if I can get my mitts on it come next winter?’