California's Mother Lode Country
California's Mother Lode Country
JUST PASSIN'THROUGH...
Gold Nugget Lookin' On Honda's CB750F Super Sport
D. Randy Riggs
I GUESS I'M like a kid the night before Christmas whenever we're expecting a new road test machine at the CYCLE WORLD offices. There's always lots of expectation and excitement on my part, simply because I love motorcycles just about more than anything, and a glance in my garage would tell anyone that in a blink. But I was doubly curious about the new Honda CB75OF Super Sport we were about to get, and when I spied it rolling into the parking lot by the CW shop on a big flatbed truck, I grabbed my helmet and headed out the door.
A lot of things were going through my mind just then about the metallic blue beauty sitting on the back of that truck. Because in the most recent years I've been touring on a motorcycle, there is no machine more prevalent out on the open highway than Honda's popular 750 Four. Well over 100,000 of the K series bikes have made their way into the hands and hearts of loyal owners all over the world, and many of these are used for strictly touring purposes. So when Honda introduced the new Super Sport version this spring, I was curious if the pseudo cafe racer motif would deter serious "long run" riders, or if the many improvements would make the machine a better one for crossing the country.
Let's face it. A change in the 750 was overdue. When the first big Four was introduced in late 1 969, it was fresh and exciting, a major element in the then dawning "superbike" era. But the years took the sizzle out and sheer numbers made the 750 as common and humdrum as a VW Bus in Big Sur . . . the change the new Super Sport provides is we! corned and refreshing.
Honda's remolding of its famed Four includes a new four-into-one exhaust system replacing the four separate pipes and mufflers. The fuel tank appears longer and is slimmer looking. It uses a new recessed filler opening that's con cealed by a locking lid, but the lid
doesn't match the paint color, which cheapens the appearance. Accent strip ing is decaled . . . yellow and black to accent the metallic blue of our test machine. The blue finish also continues around the seat base and onto the tail section, both molded from plastic. Plas tic is also used on the sidecovers that are painted a metallic gray and mounted in rubber grommets for easy on and off accessibility to electrical fuses and com ponents and the oil tank and dipstick. Like just about everything these days, the Honda appears to have suf fered, if only slightly at this point, in the quality department. Workmanship seems to have slipped a notch and anywhere on the bike that a few cents could be saved by easing up on toler ances and what have you . . . they were saved. The seat hinge is a good example. K series bikes had two on which to pivot the seat, the F model has only one. So when you flip up the new seat it wiggles and shakes and feels as though it's going to come off in your hands.
Taking pretensions seriously, the Super Sports are supposed to bend around corners better . so Honda came up with a new frame with revised geometry for the F; there's now a rear disc brake, the clumsy looking fork gaiters are gone and the engine's been spiced up and quieted down considera bly. No doubt about it, the 750 Super Sport is much more than "cosmetically new."
Alter tne rest or tfle LW stall flaa its fling on the new machine and provided rue with their comments, I was ready [or mine, and I had a few ideas about where Miss Honda and I would be heading. It was a run I'd had in mind for months; up the majestic California oastline to Monterey, then across the ;tate to the historic Mother Lode Coun try and famed Highway 49, running 300 miles through towns that played a lead Lng role in the development of the West. [`d be as far north in the state as Sierra ity, and I figured the mileage at trip's
end to be roughly 1 500. Time to prep the Super Sport.
Associate editor Fernando Belair had just made the run to the Laguna Seca National Road Race on the bike and turned it over to me with 2400 miles on the odometer. After a brief ride I knew three things had to go: the handgrips, the passenger assist strap across the seat and the turn signal warning beeper. With those in a proper circular file, I got down to more serious business. I called Des Bowman at Tru-Ride of Orange County, who fixed me up with some Tru-Ride for each of the Honda's tires. Tru-Ride is an amazing liquid tire bal ancer that also doubles as a puncture sealer. I use it in all my own motorcy cles and it makes quite a difference. Any imbalance is taken care of and a bonus is the added insurance of punc ture sealing. Many police departments are using Tru-Ride in their motorcycles with good results; I wouldn't be without it.
I then had to cope with some sort of a luggage carrier for my gear. Since the Super Sport is a new model, none of the existing racks on the market for the K series bikes fit. But my timing was perfect when I called Bob Hidiman at Amco. They'd just finished the first luggage racks for the CB75OF; beauti fully finished, high quality units that hold Amco's Tote Bag securely in place. The rack bolts in place in minutes and swings out of the way when the rider has to get under the flip up seat for tools or whatever. It made my entire trip far more convenient and comfortable.
The evening before departure I went over the machine carefully and per formed a routine service, changing the oil and filter and generally seeing that I had a few little odds and ends to perform minor fix-ups. Under the faired extension behind the seat, there's a plastic storage compartment with a lid that has a built in hinge; the plastic material is polypropylene and can be flexed back and forth over and over without breaking . . . the lid is an inter esting application of the material. Inside there's a clamp to hold owner's manual and documents to the underside of the lid, and the compartment itself is big enough to hold a set of metric sockets, assorted screwdrivers, a spare tube and a small roll of duct tape. The toolkit nestles in its own little shelf near the battery, and I had enough extra room next to it for a couple of my ISDT tire irons.
With the machine loaded and ready to go I headed out in the early morning coastal mist, onto a northbound Inter state, pointed for the magic of Monterey.
If the engine is cold on the SS, full choke is necessary for a couple of minutes; then it can be gradually eased off as the engine comes closer to operating temperature. The new fuel petcock is easier to figure out and the centrally located key ignition switch is a change that’s been needed for ages. The switch also doubles as a very convenient fork lock when the ignition is switched off and the key is turned one notch farther counterclockwise and depressed. Now there’s no excuse for leaving the machine unlocked.
My mind kept searching its memory banks for data on the older K series machines—on which I’ve probably logged 30,000 miles over the years—as I rolled down the freeway. I kept wanting to shift one more time even after I was in high gear; the engine was buzzing along fairly lively at 60 mph. The mirrors were vibrating images into enough of a blur that you couldn’t tell a CHP car from a KW Semi, unless the throttle was slackened off to idle or you grabbed one of the mirrors to steady it . . . and that’s a drag to have to contend with. K model 750s have a slight problem with vibration as well, part of the nature of the in-line Four, but the 750F has been geared lower by virtue of a 17-tooth primary sprocket and changes in 4th and 5th gear ratios, thereby magnifying the annoyance. But on the good side, the F accelerates harder, due in part to the new gearing. There’s good and bad to everything I suppose.
I felt more comfortable in heavy traffic slow-going on the F than on any other 750K I’ve ever ridden, both handling and engine-wise; driveline snatch was annoying but expected, and response to throttle openings instant. The bike’s silence never disturbed any of the early morning commuters’ sleep. The new rear disc brake is also a big improvement over the previous 750’s mediocre drum setup. But the disc on my particular machine was slightly warped and tended to grab and release, even with steady, constant drag on the pedal. Later, a visual inspection showed high and low spots on the disc itself, the reason for the disconcerting feeling.
Since the main part of my trip and main objective was to travel the full length of Highway 49 in the central portion of the state, some people would probably think it a bit odd to ride out of my way up the Coast Highway; there are many faster ways north from my home in Laguna Niguel. True, not the fastest or easiest way, but Highway 1 is one of those magic, two-lane curvy things that puts a smile on your face . . . kinda like a two -legged curvy thing. ’Course, the smile has to be put
there with the right kind of motorcycle for bending the bends. And I wasn’t sure just how well the new Honda would cope. At San Luis Obispo I pointed the freeway cruising scooter toward the signs with the numeral “1,” watching the Pacific melt into view once again for the first time since leaving home. The town was Morro Bay and the wind was chilling. I kept the bike at 60 mph and wished it had a throttle stop screw like the K series models so I could rest my now tired right arm and hand. Holding open those four 28mm Keihin carbs all day long turns out to be a hell of a chore. But don’t castigate Honda for the lack of a stop screw; rather, put out to pasture the lawmaker who decided a throttle stop was unsafe. Never mind the fact that he may have never been on a motorcycle in his protected and far-removed life.
With the last of the four-lane rolling underneath my tires, I thought for a moment about the old “Bronson” T.V. show, and some of the spectacular footage they shot along this same highway. It brought back good feelings, because that weekly hour of television captured the free feeling of touring on a motorcycle. Sure, there were the usual Hollywood technical mistakes, the ones we used to laugh about in the garage as we polished our machines, but I’ve never forgotton the series and this road always reminds me of it.
And surprisingly, the Super Sport takes to this damn road, the one I can’t stay away from for more than a few months at a time, like it’s on rails. I can’t believe the bike is a Honda 750 ... it feels 100 pounds lighter than what the scales say, letting me throw the heft from side to side with minimal effort on the handlebars. On the bottom edge of the folding footpegs, Honda has bolted on a metal plate with “bumps” on the ends that work as “warners;” lean over steeper and you’ll risk scraping that shiny but large muffler on the right ... I did . . . and to the left . . . well, you’ve really got to be going some before you drag anything serious.
And cornering clearances aside, the Super Sport doesn’t wiggle or wobble or do anything surprising . . . keeping in mind the slop in the drive train and the snatch that can be induced with an insensitive throttle hand. Tires are more than ample and are showing minimal wear on our test machine after 4500 miles. They perform adequately in the wet as well, as long as one keeps his head about him.
The ride on the challenging road had been fun, but the sun spent little time socializing. I was glad to arrive in Pacific Grove as daylight said “So long,” eager for a relaxing night in the comfort and friendliness of the Wilkie’s Motel, a neat little place near Monterey and the heart of P.G. In this day and age it’s hard to find people who truly care about their customers, but Wes and Joan Hodges do, and it really shows at Wilkie’s.
In the morning I checked out and did an hour’s worth of cruising around Cannery Row and the funky side streets that make up Monterey. Always worth a trip in itself, but I had to get along and head back inland. Through Hollister, I thought about pro racer Don Castro, who lives here, then got caught up in the truck traffic on Highway 152 across Pacheco Pass. You gotta wonder about those pro racers . . . how they drive themselves thousands of miles back and forth across the country . . . with all the pressure and all . . . year after year. What a contrast it is to the sedateness of many of their hometowns.
That’s part of the thing I love about long-distance motorcycle riding. You get to be alone with your thoughts and you can mull over lots of things that may have never popped into your mind otherwise. I watched farmworkers bending over in the hot sun in the flat fields near Madera and wondered if they could ever straighten up at the end of the day.
I watched a trucker driving an ancient Autocar and thought about how many engines the truck had outlasted and where it was headed on this particular trip. I wondered about an old gas station built in another era when times were different and cars were still fledglings, the broken neon and rusting pumps a memorial to what? And I was curious why, way out here in the countryside, a lady in a Ford was scowling and aggravated, with the face of a big city commuter. Lots of thoughts about nothing important ... or were they?
Finally Highway 140 terminated at Highway 49 in Mariposa; the air was laden with moisture and thunderstorms threatened on the horizon. To the east lay the towering peaks of Yosemite, to the west the flatlands of the San Joaquin Valley. The 49er Highway bends its way through the Sierran foothills in two-lane splendor at its finest; and for many motorcyclists the road itself will be enough to satisfy. Most of the road is wide two-lane with an excellent surface; only occasionally are there spots worn to the shiny tar, slippery enough to dump the unwary who’ve lapsed into borderline concentration.
The hard thing about the highway boiling with history is to know how much time to allow yourself for a trip. Most often side roads lead to the more interesting and tourist-free spots, but the major towns with accommodations are along 49. Riders interested in really exploring the area thoroughly—or even one or two selected spots—should pick up on a softbound book called Gold Rush Country published by Sunset Books. The $3 guide has just about anything you’d want to know about the entire area, but don’t take all their recommendations to heart. The book is simply a reference guide. If you’re the type who prefers sleeping bags to motels, camping sights along the route are numerous. But prepare for any kind of weather, because the route’s close proximity to the Sierra Mountains makes things quite unpredictable. I made my trip in mid-August, when it’s supposed to be the hottest and driest time of the year. But the temperature stayed in the low 80s and there were thunderstorms all around me.
By now the Honda had settled itself into a fairly stable fuel consumption rate, but it was lower than I expected, in spite of my judicious use of the throttle. The 4.8-gal. tank was going on reserve at about 108 miles; the mpg figure was hovering between 31 and 38. At trip’s end it averaged a disappointing 35 mpg, but used not one drop of oil in 1505 miles. Total fuel cost for the entire trip ran $27.35. I lubed the chain only when it began looking dry, and that was falling at about 250-300 mile intervals, with one adjustment required.
I made a stop at Columbia, a state park and restored town off the highway, where no vehicles are allowed. The buildings and artifacts are interesting, but the shops have the plastic atmosphere of your typical tourist trap. Of course you can pan for gold in a nearby spring, even ride a stagecoach with hordes of sticky-fingered kids. But I opted out and headed for some realness, of which there is lots to be had here.
There was plenty in Coulterville, where locals are obviously not that thrilled by the prospect of fat families stumbling around the settlement with loaded Brownies in hand and doubleparked Country Squires blocking the entrance to the only gas station in town. A step into the Jeffery Hotel Bar puts one back just about a hundred years, it’s that real and authentic. I truly felt like the stranger in all the cowboy movies who saunters into town and bellies up to the bar demanding a shot of whiskey. I didn’t want to make any sudden moves while being eyed cautiously by the locals, and I damn near backed my way out of the swinging doors.
Just the names of the towns surrounding the route conjure up all kinds of vivid thoughts . . . Jenny Lind, Rough and Ready, Railroad Flat, Drytown, Sutter Creek, Volcano, Mokelumne Hill, Chili Gulch, Grizzly Flats ... all are worth a trip and some time. And perhaps that’s what makes the Highway 49 country so appealing. One can return year after year and not see it all . . . the appeal is everlasting. And if you happen to be the type who couldn’t care less about history and that kind of thing . . . the road exists to enjoy in the best manner possible—on a motorcycle.
In Auburn I had spent the night and finished breakfast the next morning, only to walk out to the parking lot to find the Honda in a state of disarray. Some klutz had backed into it, knocking it over and breaking the turn signal lens and housing, and adding a couple of assorted dings. You really feel upset when something that stupid happens, but at least the culprit left a note and offered to pay for the damage. After a stop in a local Honda shop for the parts, 1 headed north to the end of 49 near Sierra City, knowing I’d return again to one of my favorite motorcycling haunts. I doubled back through Donner Pass, then went south on Highway 99 bound for the horrors of Los Angeles. In time I was home again, staring at the 750 in my garage, and thinking about the motorcycle and the trip.
The Super Sport is less comfortable in some ways and more comfortable in others than its predecessor. It handles better than any other standard large Japanese bike I know, which makes it more fun than Honda 750s have ever been. There are several other machines that make better straight-line tourers, but the CB750F does a variety of tasks well, which means it’ll satisfy a variety of riders. In my case it made a 1500mile trip a great way to clear the cobwebs, and I’d do it again tomorrow, without thinking twice. [o]
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