Doing stupid shit is excusable when you’re a kid. You have no experience so you try lots of things. Some of those things work out and some of those things blow up in your face. If you survive, the trick is to quit doing those things that blow up in your face and to stick to doing those things that work. If you follow that method, one day wise-old you can look back and laugh at all the stupid shit you did when you were a kid. Unless you’re a dumbass. In which case you never learn anything. You just keep doing the same stupid shit again and again your whole life.
Years ago, after attempting and failing to rebuild a Honda CBX so far gone it had a piston rod sticking out of a fist sized hole in the engine case, I swore that I would never again buy a vehicle that required repair. It was hard won experience, and because of it I stayed clear of projects for a good long while. But then, a couple of years ago, I entirely forgot about that lesson and brought home a 1994 Honda CB1000. Turns out I’m a dumbass.
The strange part is that I was done with motorcycles. It ended in a perfect storm, a succession of work-related relocations, the birth of my children, and one of the most terrifying highly modified GSXR1100s that ever put tire to pavement. I wasn’t scared, mind you, but motorcycles had stopped being fun. So, when that big angry Gixxer left my garage for the last time, under someone else’s ass, I put my helmet on the shelf, packed away my gear, and hung up my spurs. I was done and, believe it or not, I didn’t even miss it.
The CB1000 that graces my garage today does so courtesy of the Washington Metro Area Transit Authority who announced one winter day that they would be suspending rail service to my area for the entirety of the following summer to repair several long-neglected stations. I already hated being tied to the train and I was not about to ride the damn bus. There was no way I was going to subject myself to the whims of others’ schedules and join a carpool and no way I was going to pay to park in some downtown garage, either. And just like that, I decided I needed a motorcycle.
It took several weeks of watching and waiting, but when the CB1000 I own today popped up on Craigslist in April of 2020, I knew it was the right bike. I had long admired that generation of CB1000, the “Big One” as it was called, and I vividly recall sitting on one in a showroom when they were new. As much as I wanted one, however, the numbers never worked and that dream, like so many others I had back then, ended up being crushed by life. Years later, my interest in the CB1000 was rekindled when, on a lengthy TDY assignment to Washington, I snapped up a well-used example on Craigslist that I rode for several weeks before reselling it at a tidy a profit. Smooth, comfortable, and reasonably powerful, the CB1000 was, I decided, everything I could ever want in a bike. So, when the ad appeared I responded right away.
It must be some trick of the aging mind that causes a person to fixate on a certain decade and then always think of it as “just yesterday.” For me that’s the ’90s and it’s hard for me to believe that it has now been almost 30 years since I sat on that brand-new CB1000. Time is skewed and, with it, my expectations.
The bike, I was told, had sat for a few years since it had last been started but was otherwise in OK condition. The photos in the ad looked good enough to get me out to see it in person and, although I couldn’t hear the bike run, the dust on it backed up the story. It was obviously older but did not appear to be “ancient.” It was complete, relatively unmolested and was, I thought, a perfect project that would take a few days of light refurbishment.
Looking back on it, I can say now that I was overly excited. I should have had my head in the game and gone in a little more critical. I can’t say I was cheated, I am a grown-ass man who is supposed to know better after all, but I think now that I might have saved a few dollars if I hadn’t gone in primed to buy. All the guy really needed to do was offer to deliver it, which he did, and I jumped at the chance. Once it arrived, the bike went straight into the garage and the Hardbody was consigned to the driveway.
I tell my kids and anyone else who must listen to me, that it is usually better to fantasize about an old vehicle than it is to actually own one. While your old vehicle still lives in your mind’s eye, you can solve every problem instantly and effortlessly and nothing costs any money. In the real world, however, real problems take real work and old vehicles can be a huge pain in the ass. Nothing is easy, fragile parts break and replacements, which sometimes cost serious money, are usually days away. And the worst part is that, despite knowing all this, it’s easy to get ham-fisted with stuff and do stupid shit that ends up breaking perfectly good, or at least perfectly salvageable, pieces.
My initial review found that the fuel in the tank had turned to varnish and that the inside of the tank itself was coated with rust. I’ve been told that this is common these days and is the result of ethanol in our gas, but whatever the cause I drained the tank, sat it outside to dry, and turned my attention to the petcock which was thoroughly gummed up. Today I know that petcocks for 1994 and 1995 Honda CB1000s are rare and precious things. They were only used on this one model, and this model was only sold in the United States for two years. All other CBs, newer and older, use different designs and there is no cross application. But you don’t know what you don’t know and so I thoughtlessly destroyed mine trying to clean it and stupidly laughed as I chucked what was left of it into the recycle bin. I then sent the tank to Florida to be cleaned and lined while I popped on-line to order another – only to discover that there wasn’t a single one to be had anywhere in the world…
While the tank was gone, I pushed forward and covered the basics. I did a thorough power washing and overall cleaning, changed the oil, replaced the spark plugs, charged the battery and bled the brakes. I removed a well-worn aftermarket carbon fiber muffler that added nothing to the bike’s appearance and would be too noisy for my taste anyhow and, after carefully sanding and polishing out some scratches, re-installed the stock silencer, stainless steel and as big around as my thigh, that the seller had graciously included. Next, I pulled the carbs and put in a Dynojet Stage 1 carb kit that was basically a small improvement over stock but nothing extreme. After re-installing the rack, I rigged up a temporary fuel supply and fired the engine. It started easily enough but ran rough, so I pulled the rack a second time and went back in to replace all the pilot jets which, unfortunately, were not included in my Dynojet kit. With those in and the carbs re-installed, the bike ran fine and I moved on to the bottom of the bike where I swapped out all the brake pads for new high-quality EBC pieces and then replaced the chain and sprockets.
None of this happened quickly and, as I worked, the days turned to weeks and finally into months. The tank remained in Florida for the entire summer, and to be fair the reason for this is that the owner of the shop was doing his best to use his personal contacts to run down a petcock on his own while I continued to pull my hair out in a fruitless world-wide search of my own. While the days stretched on, I went ahead and installed a motorcycle drive recorder with front and rear cameras and, because I felt like the key action was bad went ahead and did the ignition key and all the locks. I did other things as well, probably a lot of small, pointless things I am overlooking now, but by this point I was mostly tinkering around the edges while I waited on the two important pieces I needed the most. Summer turned into autumn and the waiting and watching got to be a drag.
I hit my breaking point in mid-September. With the tank still in Florida and my own search for a petcock bearing no fruit, I found a used gas tank on Ebay and, after being told there was a petcock on it, agreed to pay $500 to have it shipped to me. It was a lot of money, but at that point I just needed to be done. The tank arrived as promised with a working petcock mounted and, although it had a couple of small dents that I was able to pull out, some quick work with some polishing compound and some new pinstripes got it looking good enough that I didn’t bother swapping it out when the one I sent to Florida returned. Sometimes, I figure you just need to leave good enough alone.
On October 11, 2020, my completed project finally rolled out of the garage for a real maiden voyage. The day was cool and crisp and, being from Washington state, it seems fitting that I even got rained on a little as I rode my first few miles. In the year and a half since, the bike has proven to be a reliable runner. Although I don’t regularly commute with it, when I have taken it into the city it runs out well on the freeway at up to 80mph and shows no hint of its age. It looks good, sounds good, and has been a pleasure to own.
It seems, however, like a Pyrrhic victory and I still feel pretty stupid about the entire thing. The “restoration” consumed a lot of time, effort and money and caused me a lot of stress. Maybe I am easily stressed, I don’t know, but my victory tastes a bit tainted. There is a part of me that suspects that, even though I showed that I had the skills and fortitude to complete a job of this magnitude, I was only able to succeed because I was able to throw money at the problem. Worse yet is the fact that some of the major problems I faced and overcame were problems of my own making. That leaves me feeling like a dumbass. Maybe it’s just too soon to look back and laugh, I don’t know, but I wonder sometimes – usually as I am looking at old vehicles on Facebook Marketplace – if I will ever learn.
As always, my thanks to Jack for continuing to provide this forum and for his continuing willingness to accept the articles I sometimes write. I look forward to any comments or questions below.