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The Superhawk Cafe
by Gary Charpentier |
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Those
of you familiar with my previous work in this magazine will
probably not recognize what is to follow. In the past, I
have written about my own adventures, on my own bikes, in
the first person and with as little embellishment as
possible. But as the demands of my REAL job began to
encroach upon my life as a cafe racer, this column became
more of a "Diary of a Crazed Commuter". That culminated in
the infamous incident in March of 2000, when I was arrested
by the highway patrol for riding over 120 mph through rush
hour traffic, trying to beat the clock and get to work on
time. Game Over! I have taken a
year off to rethink my approach to riding, and life in
general. In these days of extreme everything, I have decided
to buck the flow once again and just slow down for awhile.
My wife and daughter would like to have me around for the
next several years, and I have decided that I would prefer
that to life behind bars, or death on the
highway. So, I have decided
to revisit the roots of my two-wheeled obsession: Cafe
Racers. Shawn Downey has covered the British, or more
specifically Irish end of things in this respect, so I
thought I would concentrate on the bikes many of us grew up
on and, as our incomes and egos grew, left
behind. Vintage Japanese
motorcycles are enjoying a bit of a renaissance these days.
With the advent of the internet and instant worldwide
communication, enthusiasts from everywhere can trade parts
and information which allows many of these former
"barn-fresh" relics to be dug up, dusted off, and restored
to some semblance of their original glory. Since my
intention is to cover these bikes in a series of columns, I
am going to start with the first Japanese bike to really
spark the imaginations of many wannabe roadracers: the once
ubiquitous Honda CB77 Superhawk. Dave Richter built
one of these into a cafe Racer back in the `70's, and he
sent us this story, along with the photos you see
here. Dave Richter,
1965 Super Hawk Cafe Racer "Mariah" The project came
to me as a rolling chassis with a number of neat
semi-completed trick pieces and many boxes of disassembled
parts. The production Super Hawk was designed with footpegs
and controls for the rear brake and shifter that could be
quickly and easily repositioned by moving two bolts and
replacing the shift rod with a longer part. To complete the
conversion of the project to a more racer like appearance I
fitted standard Honda CB72 Hawk flat handlebars. The gas tank was a
CB350 - 4 unit. It was a perfect fit and with the emblems
and graphics removed its neat racer styling and subtle knee
indents became apparent. An oil cooler adapter was
fabricated by heli-arcing aluminum plugs to the old filter
cover. Holes were drilled and tapped and the appropriate
passages plugged. The oil cooler was mounted in place of the
electric starter. I rarely used the awkward forward thrust
kick-starter as I knew from experience that it was prone to
crack the engine side cover. In practice I found it very
exciting and racy to The standard Honda
sheet metal covers were removed from the forks, and were
replaced by Honda CL350 rubber gaiters to protect the fork
seals and legs, and give the bike a European flair. Black
anodized CB350 handlebar controls were used, matching the
black engine trim and providing a headlight and "kill"
switches. The tach and speedo were also black Honda CB 350
units mounted on an aluminum bracket. Nice used Honda parts
were inexpensive and plentiful, and they seemed to fit the
theme of keeping the project entirely Honda. The Super Hawk
Cafe project was completed in the spring of 1975. The bike
performed flawlessly from the start. It was extremely
reliable and not a single component failed during the time
that I owned it. The silver Cafe racer was my sole transport
as I attended classes at the University. The route I took
daily affirmed the legendary Super Hawk handling and power
characteristics, and it instilled in me a sense of
confidence on a bike which I have not known
since. Near the final
weeks of my relationship with the Honda a friend, Gary Winn,
and I had a most memorable adventure on our bikes. My friend
had a very nice stock Honda 500-4, and having similar
interests and riding styles, we often rode together. Our
wives understood our need to ride and the fact the season
for comfortable riding was coming to an end. When we phoned
our homes one late summer evening pleading for time off for
a greater adventure, permission was granted. We discussed a
destination and after a lengthy elimination process we
decided to head up to Gary's boyhood home, and present home
of his parents, in Old Kinderhook, New York. The road was
twisty and hilly and I was unfamiliar with it. The pace was
brisk but not at all intimidating. The road surface was dry
and good, and most importantly, there was virtually no
traffic. I recall vividly following the beautiful music of
his four pipes blending with the mellow sound of my own
megaphone and sucking of the carbs. My instruments were lit
with a pleasant greenish glow and at times I became almost
mesmerized by the rise and fall of the tach, the exhaust
note and the rush of scenery through the plexiglas of the
fairing. It's a neat
sensation to wake up in the morning in a new place after
arriving there in the dark. We stepped outside and squinted
at the rising sun. We were surrounded by luscious greenery.
Our bikes were covered with dew, and our gas tanks had a
curious pattern where insects had slid through it. A spider
web glistening with moisture was suspended across my
windshield. The morning air was refreshingly cool and clean.
We stretched and breathed deep. We languished in the sun
against the southeast cottage wall and smoked cigarettes as
we warmed up and cleared our heads. When we were
sufficiently awake and ready to ride, we headed to town for
coffee. The harmonized sounds of our combined six cylinders
shattered the clear, cool air and I noticed a more than few
heads turning as we rode slowly through this sleepy little
town. I can't recall
exactly why I began to think about selling Mariah, but at
some point it seemed like the thing to do. We had a splendid
run together and my family and career was becoming more
important to me daily. The decision was made in the fall of
1975 and the price was set at $600. In retrospect that must
have been a lot of money for a decade old bike that cost not
much more than that new. I began to feel that maybe I had
made a mistake when the first perspective buyer, almost
without discussion, reached for his wallet and handed me six
big ones. I knew then that I had made a dreadful mistake, as
I watched him pull the red rubber balls from the velocity
stacks, stuff them in his leather jacket, don his helmet,
and run and bump the Super Hawk Cafe to life. At that moment
my heart sank as I realized that the many good times we had
together were over. A lifetime has
passed since that day, and after years away from motorcycles
as I raised my children, I have again immersed myself in the
sport. Recently my married son has become interested in
vintage Hondas. He has shown a keen interest in pictures of
Mariah. I am currently in the process of trying to locate my
former Super Hawk cafe racer, but of course I realize the
chance of finding it is very slim. Therefore, my son
and I are in the process of accumulating and fabricating the
necessary bits and pieces to build a pair of wonderful,
reliable CB77 cafe racers in the memory and likeness of
Mariah. M.M.M.
The
bike was purchased used in the early 70's by my best buddy,
Harry Bosyk. As found it was a beautiful box stock, scarlet
and silver 1965 Honda CB77 Super Hawk. Harry paid $300, and
I helped him bring it home in my VW bus. I remember looking
back at it in the rear view mirror and thinking how
absolutely beautiful and functional it looked, and how I
wished that it was my own. Harry rode the bike for that
first summer, but almost immediately he began stripping off
cosmetic parts.... He had a cafe racer in mind. One day he
appeared in my driveway on the Super Hawk sporting a bobbed
rear fender and a thin stubby home made racer seat. He
talked wildly about some parts he was fabricating.
Eventually, however, before the bike was fitted with any of
the trick pieces he mentioned, my friend began to pursue
other interests and progress on the Super Hawk
stalled.
yank
the leather thong-connected red rubber balls from the
velocity stacks, stuff them in my jacket and then run and
bump start the bike in true period racer form.
Eventually
we turned down a side road and pulled into the dirt driveway
of a small guest cottage on his parent's property. As I
stepped off the bike my legs were wobbly. I reached into my
jacket and withdrew the red rubber balls that had begun to
make my ribs ache. I stuffed them in the velocity stacks and
turned off the gas. I stretched and pulled off my gloves and
helmet. I was immediately overwhelmed by the brilliance and
abundance of stars in the inky black sky. We found the
hidden key to the cottage and spent the night.
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