Satisfied with modified

It's pretty rare that I can keep anything bone stock. Rarer still is the time I actually complete a modification project.

With this in mind, I spent my Father's Day working on a motorcycle I bought from a neighbor down on Frost Road about 2 years ago. He bought it for someone special who decided to go with a pretty sweet Burgman super-scooter. I think she's real pleased with her decision and, honestly, I'm glad she didn't want this bike. It's my kind of bike. Sort of. I'll explain.

Piglet, 1974 Honda CB125

For a long time I was a Harley guy. I so, so wanted a Harley. My Dad had some in his lifetime and I've always turned my head at the sound of those bad-a## twin pipes. Harley bikes seem to embody what I love about motorcycles; machine, man, wheels, period.

One day, a bicycle mechanic, bored or otherwise, looked at the rudimentary machine before him and found it fit to endow with a gasoline powered engine (did you ever notice it was bicycle mechanics that came up with the neatest stuff?). Why? You couldn't exactly carry your groceries or transport your family to church on Sunday. Essentially the confounded contraption was useless for anyone other than the rider. The tractor received a power-plant and fed a nation. The boat, a boiler and piston and the oceans were conquered. The glider took wing and under power of an internal combustion engine (at the hands of two bicycle mechanics, no less) and shrank the world. The motorcycle remained selfish. Singular, solitary, useless for mass transit.

All at once the sound of the motorcycle punctuates with gleeful exclamation the phrase, "No back seat driving". The bike, by virtue of engineering and design, is free of editorial sighs of disapproval from the traveling companion customary with other means of transportation. It's a machine, that's pretty much all there is to it.

Back in the day, the bike resembled the mechanized dinosaur it was. The Harley, before it's popularity with the silver-haired, comfort seeking CEO's of the baby-boom generation, remained true to this archaic design.

It was with great joy that I realized my love affair with the Harley was only skin-deep. It was the look I wanted, not the label. And, I found the look in the Brit. brat "café racer".

The café racer is a return to the selfishly styled dinosaur of years gone by. A machine with two wheels meant for nothing more than moving through space, often at remarkably dangerous speeds.

Classic café racer styling isn't hard to spot; a typical commuter bike stripped of it's fairings and dressings that hide it's meat-eating heart of iron, hidden wires and tight, down-turned handlebars (oft referred to as "clubman bars").

For more on café racers check it out here...

Now, I'm not fully smitten with café racers. But, the do personify much of what I love about a "real" bike. Really, what I love is the derivation of the café; the "rat bike". Specifically, a child of a marriage between rat and café.

Hence, how I came to spend my Father's day. Piglet, our beloved bike from down-the-road (so named because I couldn't afford a Hog, so I got the piglet...), underwent the beginnings of a great and worthy transformation from street bike to a rat/café cross.

With the help of my trusty sons and some wrenches we began the transformation. Fenders were the first to go.

The 'Before'

After the fenders, the seat, side covers, and just about anything else that isn't needed for the bike to actually run.

Teach them to modify at an early age...

Slowly, piglet was beginning to look like the bike I've always wanted, a dinosaur. With the removal of every accessory, every amenity, we stood back and smiled at our glee-filled destruction of the mediocre.

"Hey, Papa, what about this, uh, whatever-it-is?"
"Remove it."

Yep, the goal, a bare bones machine. Trouble was, I hate the handlebars. Elijah's light went on, "How about the bars off that old bike behind the house?" Such words rang as much music in my ears. With the twist of a few screws we had the set of bars we needed to give Piglet that low-profile look we were so desperately seeking.

Poor-man's clubman bars.

Joy of joys, the rat bike was now in sight. and it was only 5:00PM. I love this. The obvious question arose, "What about a seat?". Indeed, the rat bike or café racer is a solo operation. With this in mind, I had been toying with the idea of using an old tractor seat Jalet traded for some years agone. How perfect would that be? Tracing backwards on the time-line of development to the tractor for the saddle on our stripped down horse. The seat is a perfect fit.

The picture-perfect posterior placement mechanism

It's about as far as we could take it for one day. With a few hours' work and some clean-up, I found myself back "in like" with my bike. The modifications were cost free at this point. Next on the list is to have some machining done on the handlebars, place the battery and hide the wiring.

We've put our thumbprint on this machine. Like it or not, it's our Piglet.

Piglet, 1974 Honda CB125

Anyone looking for some vintage CB 125 parts?