So, you’re asking about that old Honda 185 I had? Yeah, that thing. It wasn’t exactly a speed demon or a looker, let me tell you. Most folks these days, they want the big shiny bikes, the ones with all the computers and stuff. Me, I ended up with this 185, and it was a bit of a journey, my own little practice session in patience, you could say.
I picked it up for next to nothing. Saw it listed, figured, “eh, how bad can it be?” Famous last words, right? The idea was just to have something to potter around on, maybe run some errands, save a bit on gas. Simple. Or so I thought. First thing I noticed, it was rough. Not just cosmetically, though it had its share of bumps and bruises, bless its heart. No, this was deeper.
My “practice” started almost immediately. Getting it to consistently start, that was week one. The carb, of course. Always the carb on these old ones. Spent a good few evenings taking it apart, cleaning jets so tiny you’d need a magnifying glass, putting it back together, then doing it all over again because I missed something or it just decided it wasn’t happy. You get real familiar with the smell of old gas and carb cleaner, let me tell you.
Then came the electrics. Oh boy. It was like a lucky dip in there.
- Sometimes the headlight would work.
- Sometimes the indicators would blink at their own weird rhythm.
- Sometimes, well, sometimes you’d just pray.
I got myself a cheap multimeter and started tracing wires. Found a few anateur repairs from previous owners, you know, wires twisted together with electrical tape that was half unraveled. My practice involved a lot of re-wiring, soldering in tight spots, and a fair bit of muttering under my breath. That was a real test of character.
But you know what? Through all that fiddling and fixing, I actually started to, well, not love it, but understand it. It was simple, in a way. No fancy electronics to go haywire. If something was wrong, you could usually trace it back to a mechanical part or a dodgy wire. My hands got dirty, yeah, but there was a satisfaction in figuring it out. Each little fix, each successful start, each ride where nothing fell off – those were small wins.
I remember one time I was out, miles from home, and it just died. Middle of nowhere. My practice kicked in. Pulled over, tools out (I learned to carry a basic kit, believe me). Turned out to be a loose connection on the coil. Five minutes, tightened it up, and she fired right back up. Can’t say I wasn’t sweating a bit, though.
So, the Honda 185. It wasn’t a showpiece. It wasn’t fast. It was, for a long time, a source of constant tinkering. But my practice with it, all those hours in the garage, all those little roadside fixes? It taught me a lot. About engines, about patience, about not giving up on something just because it’s old and a bit troublesome. It was a basic, honest machine once you got past its tantrums. I eventually got it running pretty reliably, for what it was. Ended up selling it to a young lad who wanted to learn mechanics. Seemed fitting, really. He was about to start his own “practice,” I guess.
