Art Friedman
Former editor of magazine
1961 Honda C110
"What I really wanted was a Trail 55. The now-famous ads for the basic Honda 50cc C100 step-through made the 'Nifty Fifty' seem kind of fruity, even ones that showed a comely female passenger wrapped around a geeky guy. I was a geeky guy; I didn't need a vehicle that reinforced that.
"The ad for the C105 Trail 55, on the other hand, was much more appealing to my eye. It depicted a rider apparently climbing a dirt trail, dirt flying everywhere with a murdered deer strapped to the rack of the little trailbike. (Later experience would lead me to believe that the motorcycle wasn't actually going anywhere, just spinning its rear wheel and spitting a lot of dirt.) My passion in those days was fishing, and this seemed like a perfect way to find hard-to-reach streams and lakes.
"I was about to turn 16. I had already gotten a driver's license in New Mexico during the previous summer vacation, but it wasn't valid when I came home to California. My parents were eager for me to start driving so they could quit supplying a chauffer service. The problem was the cars of that era: The brand-new '64 Chevy Impala convertible that had just joined the family fleet was enormous. It was like driving an aircraft carrier. One teensie little misstep in that thing, it seemed to me, and you could wipe out a whole city block, perhaps an entire civilization. I wasn't ready for that sort of responsibility yet.
"No one in my family or social circle had ever ridden a motorcycle as far as I knew, but then a Honda 50 wasn't really a motorcycle, was it? If you screwed up, you'd likely just kill yourself.
"The thing was, if I couldn't haul my younger sister around, my parents didn't have any incentive to sponsor my vehicle. That left me with a limited budget. Even after I sold my Con surfboard, I wouldn't be able to afford any new Honda...or Yamaha...or Suzuki...or Allstate (Sear's re-brand for Puch and other small machines). Kawasaki hadn't shown up here yet. So I started haunting the used-bike lots at the four Honda dealers within a few miles of my home. I was treated to a few test rides on C100s and a C102 (a C100 with electric start), but they were near or past the limit of my limited finances. Then I found a slightly tattered 1961 C110 for $125, which included an accessory luggage rack thrown in and the new knobby tires already installed. The helmet was extra.
"The C110, sometimes identified as the Sport Cub, had the same basic 5-horsepower 50cc engine as the step-through, but it used a manual clutch, and it was styled like a real motorcycle--no step-through. It even had a high-pipe. The then-current models had four speeds and chrome tank panels, but this three-year-old model had three speeds and cream-colored tank and side covers over a blue frame.
"There was no such thing as rider training in '64. Just 'This is the clutch; let it out slowly. Brakes are on the right. This is the throttle.' I had to learn about stuff like reserve myself. The 8-mile ride home was an exercise in abject terror. Those knobbies offered no meaningful traction, which they demonstrated repeatedly under my ham-footed braking. Every stop was a panic stop. I stalled it several time in rush-hour traffic, but somehow stayed upright. The ride was scary enough that I rode my bicycle to high school the next morning.
"However, I spent some time on quiet streets and parking lots the next day and could make acceptable starts without stalling and somewhat more graceful stops, as long as I wasn't trying to do so in a hurry. When I showed up at school, my male friends, at least, thought it was pretty cool--much better than one of the fruity models. I spent almost a year with that machine, riding it every day. I learned some basic mechanics and began to develop some sense of what I needed to do to survive. I never even crashed it.
"The Beach Boys put some shine on the bike when they released 'Little Honda' that year. Of course, there were parts of the lyrics that were outright lies. No way it 'climbs hills like a Matchless.' There were many uphill roads in my area that it wouldn't climb with a passenger, and one or two that it wouldn't climb at all. Nonetheless, Honda had sunk the hook--I was addicted to motorcycles. All I needed was just a more power. For the hills. And the freeways. By the end of the year, I was looking at Honda's new 160 with considerable lust. I traded the C110 in without a backward glance."I am afraid that decades of riding motorcycles critically has eradicated any sense of nostalgia about owning the bikes of my youth. Each time I have revisited some fondly remembered mount from my past, I am always struck by how thoroughly awful it is. So if you have a C110 that you'd love to pass on to a good home, don't call or email me. I'm not your man."
Mitch Boehm models the latest in early-'70s jeanswear while brother Matt gets ready to kno
Mitch Boehm
Former editor of Motorcyclist magazine and current editor/publisher of Moto Retro Illustrated
1972 Honda SL70
"I remember walking out into our cold, Ohio-winter garage on Christmas morning '72 like it was yesterday. I'd tore through my wrapped presents like 10-year-olds do--taking no time and barely thanking my parents--and was suddenly lost when there was nothing left to open. Dang! But then my dad, in a scene redone so well in A Christmas Story, sorta shrugged and gave me that look ... and I knew there was something else waiting for me.
"That red Honda SL70 changed my life. Instead of watching the freedom and escape potential of the older kids in the neighborhood who rode the miles of trails behind our home, I was now --part of the corps, part of the club. At the time there was no feeling like it in the world, and that jolt of excitement carried me for many, many years. Now, when I head out for a ride on my CBX or GS1000S or CB750 or Daytona Special, or roost off the line at a vintage motocross race, the feeling still bubbles up on occasion. And that's a great thing."
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