If you have a great story email it to us. The rules are: It must concern a 1975 or earlier Honda motorcycle, be a page or less in length, and be reasonably believable (no, we won’t believe that you dusted a Triumph Bonneville on your C110 at the Saturday night drag races). Include pictures if possible. We’ll post it here if we think it is entertaining.

Crazy George

Crazy George was a high school dropout who rode an old white Honda C110 back in the early 60's. He got the name "Crazy" because on weekend rides on curvey mountain roads he would hold the throttle open going through turns, drift off the road, and ride up the embankment to make the turn. He did this to keep up with those of us on slightly bigger bikes

George liked to hang around the motorcycle shop and his C110 was often parked in front of the showroom with other bikes. One day George moved up in the world and bought a 1949 Dodge with the external sun visor for the princely sum of $25. Like he had done in the past he parked in front of the showroom. The motorcycle shop owner asked George to park his Dodge in the rear with the other cars as it blocked the view of the showroom from the street and disrupted motorcycle parking in the front. George ignored this request even though the owner had reminded him about it several times and had finally warned him not to do it again. Next Saturday morning George's behemoth was again parked in front of the shop and George was nowhere to be found. The owner decided to teach George a lesson.

In addition to other activities the shop sponsored a fuel dragster at local events. The owner of the shop went to the backroom where he filled an empty milk shake cup with nitro methane that was run in the dragster. He then removed the air filter from Crazy George's car and poured the contents down the carburetor. After a few hours had passed without George's return the owner repeated the process because he figured the original batch had probably evaporated. A few more hours passed and the owner decided to add a cupful of sand to the mixture.

George returned shortly thereafter and to no one's surprise his car wouldn't start. He enlisted the help of a friend who was universally disliked because he only dated other men's wives and made a good living by creating reasons to sue innocent people. George's friend decided he would push start the old Dodge with his ill gotten newer baby blue Ford (you could do that back then because cars came with heavy chrome bumpers). They proceeded down the highway with the Ford pushing the old Dodge. George let out the clutch. A very loud explosion rocked the roadway. A few moments later the old Dodge actually started and they returned to the shop. The old Dodge seemed none the worse for ware but the front of the shiny Ford had been sand blasted and was now covered in what looked like a permanent nasty black residue.

The owner of the shop was really a pretty nice guy who liked George so he bought George’s Dodge for what George had paid for it. He did however decline to accept any responsibility for the damage to the Ford. George went back to his trusty old C110 and the old Dodge was still running fine when the owner gave it away several months later.

Epilogue (fiction, but something like this probably happened)

George dropped the nickname “Crazy” and went to work for a local bank as a teller. Through hard work and diligence he rose to become the CEO of well known financial institution where he cashed out for several million via a “golden parachute” when the firm declared bankruptcy in 2008.

George’s friend gave up suing people and found an easier way to make money; he entered politics where he became a California state senator. He resigned in 1999 with full retirement benefits rather than face an ethics committee investigation.

The shop owner got out of the motorcycle business and became very successful in real estate arranging adjustable mortgages for unqualified borrowers through George's bank.

Anonymous

When you least expect it!

Back in the early 60's I raced a CL72 Scrambler at local events. I wasn't very successful so I spent what for me was a great deal of money trying to improve my bikes performance. I added a fiberglass tank and seat, custom TT pipes, a race cam, milled head, and legal overbore. Still I had no luck at bringing home a trophy so, after a year of trying, I reluctantly switched to a more purpose built bike, a Bultaco, to continue my career as a racer and sold my CL72. Several months later my Bultaco was down waiting on replacements parts and a big race that I really wanted to ride in was coming up. A friend of mine had given me a basket case CL72 when he went off to college with the proviso that I return a functional bike to him when he came home next year. It was my only choice if I wanted to make the race. The bike was well used and in sad shape. At one time a Webco 350 kit had been installed and the tank had received a coat of house paint. On the day before the race I reassembled it with used 250cc jugs, pistons, rings and gaskets as I had no money for new parts. The head had been enlarged for the 350cc pistons so the resulting compression ratio was less than a stock 250. With crossed fingers and a collection of begged and borrowed parts I started it up late Saturday night. It ran but wasn't going to beat anyone in a drag race.

On Sunday at the race I lucked out and was put it a slow heat race allowing me to finish high enough to ride the semi-main. In the semi a couple of guys fell down in front of me so I transferred to the main event. There were over 100 entries in the 250 class that day so trophies would be awarded to the top 5 finishers. I got off the line good in the main event and actually managed to pass a few guys in some tight corners. When the checkered flag came down I knew I hadn't won the race but I wasn't sure where I had finished. I checked the results on the chalk board in the pits. There was my number in the 5th spot. It turned out to be the only trophy I would ever win riding a CL72. I would go on to win many more races and achieved some success dirt tracking before Uncle Sam and a nasty little country called Vietnam put an end to my career. I don't remember much about many of the bigger more import events I rode in but I'll never forget that day and the old reliable, indestructible, CL72.

Mike Gould