So, I got my hands on this 1969 Honda CL175. Or maybe it got its hands on me, you know how these old projects are. You figure it’s a quick weekend job, then suddenly months have disappeared, and your garage looks like a disaster zone.
Getting Started – Or More Like, Getting Bogged Down
First thing I did was just stare at it for a good while. It looked like it had seen better days, probably a lot of them, spent in a damp barn somewhere. The guy I bought it from, nice enough chap, swore it “ran when parked.” Yeah, heard that one before. It’s the classic line, isn’t it?
Anyway, I wheeled it into my space. My partner just gave me that look. The one that says, “Here we go again.” She knows the drill. The coffee cups start piling up, I start muttering to bolts. That’s me in project mode.
The Teardown – What Fresh Hell is This?
Began taking it apart. And boy, that’s when the fun really started. You know the story. One bolt shears right off, the next one is rusted tighter than a drum. The wiring? Looked like a squirrel had tried to build a condo in there. It was a mess.
- The fuel tank? More rust than actual metal, I swear.
- Carburetors were just gummed up solid. Like, completely choked.
- And the seat foam? Turned to actual dust when I touched it. Just disintegrated.
It wasn’t just one problem; it was a whole cascade of them. Like peeling an onion, except every layer you remove just reveals more grime and more busted parts. You start questioning if you’re a restorer or just a glorified parts washer at some point.
The Engine – A Greasy, Complicated Beast
Pulled the engine out. That was an adventure in itself. Felt like it weighed a small elephant, or maybe I’m just not as young as I used to be. Laid all the pieces out on the workbench. Pistons, rings, gaskets – the whole nine yards. To be honest, there were days I looked at that pile of parts and thought, “This is never going back together.” I’d stare at the workshop manual, then at the parts, then back at the manual. Felt like trying to decipher some ancient, lost language.
I must have spent weeks just cleaning bits. Degreaser became my new perfume. Found a few nasty surprises, like a stripped thread here and there. Had to get a bit inventive with some of the fixes. It’s not like you can just wander down to the local Honda shop and ask for bits for a ’69 CL175 off the shelf.
Paint and Polish – Trying to Make it Look Less Sad
Once I’d wrestled the mechanical bits into submission, or at least tricked myself into thinking I had, it was time for the cosmetic stuff. Sandblasted the frame. Now, that was satisfying. Watching all that old gunk just disappear. Then came primer, then the actual paint. Picking the color, that was a whole other saga. Ended up going with a classic red. You can’t really mess up red on an old Honda, can you?
Polishing chrome, let me tell you, that’s a true test of patience. Or maybe a sign of madness. Bit by bit, though, it started to look less like a heap and more like an actual motorcycle. That’s the carrot on the stick, right? Seeing that slow transformation.
Putting It All Back Together – The Final Push (Or So I Hoped)
Reassembly is meant to be the rewarding part. And it is, for the most part. But then you find out you’ve put something on the wrong way round, or you’re missing that one tiny, absolutely crucial screw that’s probably rolled under the workbench into another dimension. That’s when the language in the garage gets a bit colorful.
The wiring loom. I’d been dreading that. But slowly, with a ton of patience and checking the diagrams about a million times, the lights actually came on. That was a good moment, a real milestone.
Getting it to actually start, though. That was the ultimate test. Gave it a kick. Nothing. Kicked it again. Checked for fuel, checked for spark, checked for air. The holy trinity of internal combustion. Fiddled with the carb settings. More kicking. And then, a sputter… a cough… and then it rumbled to life! Okay, maybe not a mighty roar. More like a polite, old-school thrum. But it was running! Best sound I’d heard in weeks.
The First Ride and What I Reckon Now
Took it for a gentle spin around the neighborhood. Felt fantastic. All that effort, all those moments of wanting to throw a wrench across the room, it just sort of evaporated. This old CL175, it’s no speed demon. But it’s got soul. More soul than a lot of brand-new bikes, if you ask me.
Why do I put myself through this? I ask myself that sometimes, usually when I’m covered head to toe in grease and something expensive has just snapped. But then you bring something back from the brink. Something that was forgotten and left for dead. It’s a pretty good feeling, actually. Plus, now I’ve got this incredibly cool old bike to show for it. And a significantly lighter wallet, but hey, that’s just part of the game, isn’t it?
These old machines, they’re not just nuts and bolts. They’re rolling history. And this one, well, I guess I’ve just added my own little bit to its long story. And it’s probably added a few more gray hairs to mine.
