Alright, let’s talk about this Honda CT110. It’s been a bit of a journey, this thing. Not always a smooth one, mind you, but a journey nonetheless. I didn’t just wake up one day and have a perfectly running little thumper. Oh no, it wasn’t like that at all.
How It All Began
I stumbled upon this particular CT110 almost by accident. It was listed online, looking a bit sorry for itself, truth be told. The pictures weren’t great, description was minimal. Probably should have been a red flag, right? But there was something about it. I’ve always had a soft spot for these utilitarian machines. They just look like they’re built to work, no fuss. So, I made a call, went to see it. It was rougher in person. Covered in dust, a few dings here and there, and the seller, well, he wasn’t exactly forthcoming with its life story. But the price was, let’s say, persuasive enough for me to ignore my better judgment.
Got it home, and the real “fun” began. First thing was just to see if it would even turn over. The battery was deader than a doornail, obviously. So, I grabbed a spare I had lying around, hooked it up. Turned the key, hit the starter – nothing. Just a sad click. Not a great start. I figured, okay, kickstart it is. Gave it a few good kicks. More silence. My enthusiasm started to wane a little at this point, I won’t lie.
Tackling the Beast
So, the teardown, or at least partial teardown, commenced. I decided to start with the basics: fuel and spark.
- Pulled the spark plug. It was black as night. Definitely seen better days.
- Checked for spark with a new plug. Weak. Very weak. Okay, ignition system issues, great.
- Moved onto the fuel. Drained the tank – what came out looked more like old varnish than gasoline. The smell alone was enough to knock you out.
The carburetor was next. Man, that thing was a mess. Took it apart, and it was just gummed up everywhere. Jets clogged, float bowl full of gunk. I spent a good afternoon meticulously cleaning every single tiny passage with carb cleaner and a very fine wire. It’s tedious work, that. You’re hunched over, squinting at these tiny bits of metal, hoping you don’t lose anything. I remember dropping one of the jets on the garage floor. Spent a good twenty minutes on my hands and knees with a flashlight before I found it. Nearly gave up then and there.
While the carb parts were soaking, I turned my attention back to the spark issue. Traced wires, checked connections. The wiring on these old bikes can be a real rat’s nest, especially if previous owners have had their “creative” hands in there. Found a few dodgy-looking connections, cleaned them up, re-crimped a couple of terminals. Decided to just replace the ignition coil and spark plug lead while I was at it. Figured it couldn’t hurt, and they weren’t too expensive.
Little Victories and More Headaches
After reassembling the carb (fingers crossed I got it right) and sorting the ignition bits, it was time for another go. Fresh fuel in the tank, new plug installed. I gave it a kick. Nothing. Another kick. A sputter! My heart jumped a bit. Another kick, and it coughed into life! Rough, very rough, but it was running. The garage filled with smoke, the sound was agricultural, but it was a running engine. That was a good moment.
Of course, it wasn’t smooth sailing from there. It would run, then die. Idle was all over the place. Spent ages fiddling with the mixture screw and idle adjustment. Then I noticed an oil leak. Then another one. It seems like every time I fixed one thing, another problem would pop up. It’s like whack-a-mole, but with oily bits and skinned knuckles.
I had to replace a bunch of seals, the drive chain was shot, tires were perished. One thing after another. Each little job was a learning experience. Sometimes I’d get stuck on a bolt that just wouldn’t budge. I learned the value of good penetrating oil and sometimes, just walking away for a bit before I threw a wrench across the garage. Patience, I’m learning, is key with these old machines.
Got it to a point where it was rideable, or at least, I thought it was. Took it for a short spin around the block. It was clunky, the suspension felt like it was made of wood, and the brakes were… suggestive, let’s say. But it moved under its own power. And honestly, it was a blast in its own way. It’s not a fast bike, not by any stretch of the imagination. But it’s got character. Loads of it.
Where It Stands Now
So, that’s pretty much where I am with it. It’s still a work in progress. It runs reliably now, which is a big win. I’ve sorted most of the major leaks. The brakes are better, after a lot of cleaning and adjustment. I even managed to find some decent-ish looking replacement plastic bits because the old ones were cracked and faded beyond belief. It’s never going to be a show bike, not with my skills and budget. But it’s mine, and I sort of brought it back from the brink. Every time I take it out, even for a short trip to the shops, it puts a smile on my face. And usually, someone will stop and ask about it. These CT110s, they just have that effect on people. It’s a simple, honest machine, and I guess that’s what I like about it. Still got a list of little things I want to do, but for now, I’m just enjoying the ride. Or, you know, enjoying the tinkering between rides.
