Bike Restoration Projects
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No. 1
SS 50 - The Little Honda
that changed... everything
A short story by Steve Cribbin
Gleamingly restored
At sixteen, most boys in his town dreamed of 125s—fast, loud, and just within reach of legality. But Jamie wasn’t like most boys. He’d grown up listening to his dad talk about the old days: the smell of four‑stroke in the morning, the freedom of empty country lanes, and the unmistakable charm of the small‑capacity Hondas that carried a whole generation into adulthood.
So when a 1970s Honda SS50 5‑speed appeared on a local classifieds page—non‑runner, no MOT, bring a van—Jamie didn’t hesitate. He spent every penny he’d saved from washing buses at the depot on Saturdays. The bike arrived on a cold February morning, dull green paint faded to a pastel hue, chrome pitted, and the engine locked solid. His mum called it “scrap.” His dad just smiled and said, “You’ve got your work cut out.”
Jamie didn’t flinch.
The Resurrection
The garage became Jamie's world. After school, after homework, after dinner—he was out there with a cheap socket set, a borrowed Haynes manual, and a determination that surprised even him.
He started with the tank. It was rusty and leaking, the paint faded from a dull green to a pastel hue. "This tank's seen better days," Jamie muttered, running his fingers over the rough metal. He carefully stripped it back to bare metal, revealing years of wear and corrosion. "Gotta seal the leaks before I can paint it."
His dad watched from the doorway. "You sure you want to take that on?"
Jamie looked up, eyes bright. "It's not just a bike, Dad. It's a challenge. And I’m learning."
The forks were next. Rusted solid, seized tight. Jamie frowned, pulling them apart with effort. "These'll need a full rebuild—new seals, springs, and gaiters."
"Sounds like a lot of work," his dad said, stepping closer.
Jamie nodded. "Yeah, but it'll be worth it."
The seat was rotten, the foam crumbling beneath the cracked vinyl. "This needs a complete re-cover," Jamie said, poking at the foam. "I’ll have to find some good material.
"Brakes were worn and sticky". "Brakes need renewing too," Jamie added, making a list in his notebook.
There were setbacks. A snapped bolt that needed drilling out. A missing circlip that meant a trip to the parts shop. A week waiting for a gasket set from a bloke in the Midlands. But each problem solved made the bike feel more like his.
One evening, Jamie's dad came into the garage, arms crossed, watching silently. "You sure this old thing's worth it?" he asked, sceptical.
Jamie wiped his hands on a rag, not looking up. "It's not just a bike, Dad. It's a challenge. And I’m learning."
His dad nodded slowly, then surprised Jamie by picking up a wrench. "Alright then, show me what you’ve got."
Together, they worked late into the night, father and son side by side. Jamie showed him how to carefully dismantle the forks, replace the seals and springs, and fit new gaiters. His dad, once doubtful, found himself enjoying the work.
The day Jamie kicked it over and the little 49cc engine coughed, spluttered, then settled into that unmistakable Honda thrum, he felt something shift inside him. Pride. Achievement. Independence.
His dad came running out, wiping his hands on a tea towel. "You’ve done it," he said, shaking his head in disbelief. Jamie just nodded, eyes fixed on the engine as if it might stop if he looked away.
"And the seat?" his dad asked.
"Got some vinyl and foam on order," Jamie replied. "Gonna make it look as good as new."
His dad smiled. "Looks like you’re not doing this alone after all."
The restoration was no longer just Jamie’s project—it had become theirs.
Before the restoration - bought as a non-runner
A Helping Hand from a Legend
One afternoon, as Jamie was struggling with the pedal system—stuck and rusty beyond his skill—he mentioned it on a local biking forum. To his surprise, a message came from a well-known engineer and TV celebrity in the biking world, Mark Reynolds.
"Heard you’re working on an SS50," the message read. "I’m also a friend of the Honda Owners Club and I’ve got some parts that might help with those pedals. How about I meet up with you and bring the parts along?"
Jamie was stunned. "You’d do that?"
"Of course," Mark replied. "Keep the old bikes alive."
A week later, Mark arrived with a box of new pedal shafts, springs, and clips. Jamie’s dad shook his hand firmly, impressed.
"Looks like you’ve got a proper team now," he said.
Together, they rebuilt the pedal system, the mechanism clicking smoothly for the first time in decades.
"That’s the sound of progress," Jamie said, grinning.
Freedom on Two Wheels
With the restoration complete, Jamie felt the pull of the open road like never before. The little four-stroke engine thrummed beneath him as he set off beyond the familiar lanes of his village, the wind crisp and fresh against his face.
His first real ride was down to Brighton, the coastal air salty and sharp, the sea stretching endlessly to the horizon. The road wound through rolling countryside before opening up to the bustling seafront, where Jamie parked the SS50 among a cluster of bigger bikes. "Nice bike," called a rider nearby, a grizzled man with a weathered leather jacket. "Not many of these little Hondas still running strong."
Jamie smiled, wiping a smudge of grease from his cheek. "Restored it myself. Took a lot of work, but it’s worth it."
The man nodded approvingly. "You’re part of a good crowd. We all love the ride, the challenge, the freedom."
They talked for a while, swapping stories about bikes, rides, and the simple joy of the open road. Jamie felt a sense of belonging he hadn’t expected, a community bound by engines and adventure.
On the way home, the sun dipped low, casting long shadows across the lanes. Jamie’s heart was light, the little bike humming steadily beneath him. This was freedom—slow, steady, and full of promise.
"One day," he thought, "I’ll ride even further."
On display at The Kickback Show Malvern
The Competitions
By summer, the SS50 looked like it had rolled straight out of 1977.
At the Classic Honda Owners Club meet, Jamie parked between immaculate CB750s and pristine C90s. People wandered over, surprised to see a teenager standing proudly beside a bike older than he was.
The judges liked the authenticity. They liked the attention to detail. They liked the fact he’d done the work himself.
He didn’t win that first time—runner‑up in the “Best Small-Capacity Honda” class—but he went home buzzing. A month later, at a regional classic show, he won Best Restoration Under 100cc. Then another runner‑up. Then a win at a local village festival where old boys crowded around, telling him stories of their own SS50s, FS1Es, and AP50s.
Jamie never bragged. He didn’t need to. The bike spoke for him.
Centrepiece at The Bristol Classic Show
A Legacy in Motion
By the end of the year, the SS50 had become more than a project. It was a symbol of what he could do when he put his mind to something. A reminder that hard work pays off. A connection to a past he never lived but somehow understood.
On crisp autumn evenings, he’d ride it through the lanes, the little engine humming beneath him, the world opening up in front of him. Not fast. Not flashy. But perfect.
And every time he parked it up, he’d glance back at it with the same quiet pride he felt the day it first fired into life.
A boy, a bike, and a bit of determination. Sometimes, that’s all it takes to change everything.
The End.
Not fast. Not flashy. But perfect.
No. 2
CBX550 F2 - Full Circle
A memoir by Stephen Cribbin
Prologue - The Sound of Memory
Prologue - The Sound of Memory
Certain sounds stay with you for life.
A laugh.
A voice.
A song from a moment you didn’t realise would matter.
And for me, the crisp bark of a Honda CBX550 F2 firing to life is one of them.
It’s strange how a machine can become a marker in your life — a before and after. I didn’t know it at twenty. I didn’t know it when I let her go. I didn’t even know it when I found another one decades later.
But looking back now, I can see it clearly:
Some machines don’t just take you places.
They take you back
Chapter 1-The Bike in the Window
I was twenty years old in 1982, stuck somewhere between youth and adulthood, working hard, earning little, and dreaming big. I walked into the Honda dealership that day with no intention of buying anything. I just wanted to breathe in the smell of new machines and imagine a life where I could afford one.
The bell above the door gave a dull little ring. Warm air washed over me — petrol, rubber, fresh paint. And then I saw her.
Blue and white.
A sharp red stripe like a heartbeat.
Compact, muscular, confident.
I stopped walking without meaning to.
A salesman noticed.
“Beautiful, isn’t she?” he said, strolling over.
I nodded, trying to look casual. “Yeah… she’s something.”
“Go on,” he said, smiling. “Have a sit.”
I swung a leg over, and the world shifted. The bars fell into my hands like they belonged there. The seat felt made for me. I didn’t say anything — I didn’t need to. Something inside me had already decided.
Epilogue — Chapter 1
Some moments don’t announce themselves. They just happen, quietly, and you only realise years later that everything changed right there.
Chapter 2 — The First Ride
Chapter 2 — The First Ride
Picking up the CBX felt like stepping into a new version of myself. I remember signing the paperwork with hands that buzzed under the surface. When I wheeled her out, the sky was dull, but she seemed to glow against it.
I pressed the starter.
The engine barked to life — crisp, confident.
I couldn’t help smiling.
I eased out the clutch and rolled onto the road. Within seconds, I felt it — that connection between rider and machine that can’t be taught. The CBX didn’t just respond; she anticipated.
I took the long way home.
Of course I did.
Through winding country lanes, past hedgerows and open fields, the bike moved with a grace I hadn’t expected. Every bend felt like a conversation.
When I finally reached home, I switched off the ignition and listened to the engine tick as it cooled. I sat there longer than I needed to, letting the moment settle in.
Epilogue — Chapter 2
You only get one first ride with a bike that changes you. Mine stayed with me long after the engine cooled.
Chapter 3 — Freedom on Two Wheels
Chapter 3 — Freedom on Two Wheels
Those eighteen months were golden.
My girlfriend would climb onto the pillion seat, her arms slipping around my waist.
“You ready?” I’d ask.
She’d tap my shoulder. “Always.”
We’d head for the coast with no plan beyond let’s go. The wind whipped past us, carrying her laughter into the open air. Sometimes she’d lean forward and shout over the engine, “Faster!” and I’d laugh, twist the throttle, and feel the CBX surge beneath us.
We’d stop at little seaside cafés, helmets on the table, steam rising from mugs of tea. She’d brush hair from her face and say, “I love days like this.”
“Me too,” I’d reply — and I meant it.
The CBX made every journey feel effortless.
Country roads became playgrounds.
Even commuting felt like freedom.
Epilogue — Chapter 3
You don’t realise you’re living the good days until they’re memories. The CBX was part of every one of them.
Chapter 4 — The Hard Goodbye
Chapter 4 — The Hard Goodbye
Life shifted.
The puppy we’d brought home — tiny at first — had grown into a solid lump who could no longer perch between us in his box. And my car, which I relied on for work, was dying.
I tried to ignore the inevitable.
But reality doesn’t wait.
The new owner arrived one afternoon.
He walked around the bike, nodding. “She’s a beauty.”
“Yeah,” I said quietly. “She is.”
He swung a leg over, fired her up, and the sound hit me like a punch.
“Take care of her,” I said.
He smiled. “I will.”
I watched him ride away, the exhaust note fading. I stood there long after he’d gone, hands in my pockets, feeling something close around me.
Epilogue — Chapter 4
Letting go is harder when you’re not ready. I wasn’t ready.
Chapter 5 — The One in Pieces
Decades passed.
Life filled up — work, responsibilities, different machines. But the memory of the CBX never faded.
Then I saw one for sale.
A CBX550 F2.
Rough, tired, needing work — but unmistakably her shape.
I bought it instantly.
Stripping it down felt like reconnecting with an old friend. But when I discovered the frame needed serious attention, the project stalled. The bike sat there in pieces — not forgotten, just waiting.
Epilogue — Chapter 5
Some promises take years to keep. This one waited patiently.
Chapter 6 — The One That Stopped Me in My Tracks
A few years passed, and then one evening, while scrolling through Marketplace more out of habit than hope, I saw it. A Honda CBX550 F2. Blue and white. Red stripe. Clean. Suspiciously clean. I clicked the listing expecting the usual disappointment, but the photos were crisp, the paint gleamed, and the chrome shone. It looked like it had stepped straight out of 1984.
I borrowed my sister’s van the next morning and set off. The address took me to a quiet suburban street, the kind where the gardens are tidy and the neighbours know each other’s routines. The bike was already outside, waiting.
A woman in her thirties stood beside it, arms folded. She gave a polite smile.
“You must be Stephen,” she said.
“That’s me,” I replied. “And this must be her.”
She nodded. “Dad’s bike.”
There was a pause before she continued. “He passed away last year. He couldn’t ride anymore, not for a long time. But he wouldn’t let her go. Said she was part of him.”
I looked at the bike again, and suddenly it wasn’t just a machine. It was someone’s pride. Someone’s memories. Someone’s story.
“She’s been in the garage for twelve years,” she said. “Covered up under a blanket. He’d go out there sometimes, just sit with her. Mum used to tease him about it.”
She handed me a thick folder. “All the paperwork’s here. Every MOT certificate. Every service invoice. Even the original bill of sale. Dad kept everything. Cam chain replacements too — he had them done properly.”
I opened the folder and felt a rush of respect. Decades of care, attention, and pride were documented inside. This wasn’t just a bike. It was a life’s companion.
The tyres were soft, the battery flat, but the bike itself looked immaculate. She handed me a small cardboard box.
“New battery,” she said. “Dad ordered it before he got ill. I thought… maybe you’d want to fit it.”
I knelt beside the bike, fitted the battery, pulled the choke, and pressed the starter.
She fired instantly. First press. That crisp Honda bark — the same sound I’d heard all those years ago — cut through the quiet street.
The woman smiled, eyes glistening. “Haven’t heard that in a long time.”
“She sounds perfect,” I said.
“She is,” she replied softly. “Dad would’ve liked you. He always said these bikes deserved riders who understood them.”
I didn’t need to think. “I’ll take it.”
She nodded, relieved. “Good. I didn’t want it going to someone who’d flip it or break it for parts.”
“No chance of that,” I said. “This one’s staying with me.”
We shook hands, and for a moment it felt like something passed between us — not just a sale, but a kind of trust—a continuation.
As I loaded the bike into the van, she stood watching, arms wrapped around herself.
“Look after her,” she said.
“I will,” I promised. “I really will.”
Driving home, the van felt lighter somehow, as if I wasn’t just carrying a motorcycle — I was carrying a legacy. A machine loved by one man, passed on by his daughter, is now finding its way back into my life like a missing piece returning to its place.
Chapter 7 — Back Where I Belong
Chapter 7 — Back Where I Belong
The mileage was astonishing — barely ten thousand miles in thirty-seven years. Once home, I fitted new tyres and took her for an MOT. She passed with no advisories.
I’ve had her for years now.
And I’m not letting this one go.
Ever.
Every ride takes me back — the coast runs, the country roads, the feeling of being twenty and unstoppable. And the best part? Even modern bikes struggle to keep up.
She’s still quick.
Still eager.
Still, everything I loved.
Epilogue — Chapter 7
Some machines don’t just carry you. They carry your memories too.
Closing Chapter — Full Circle
Closing Chapter — Full Circle
I didn’t know, back in 1982, that a motorcycle would become a thread running through my life. I didn’t know that letting her go would stay with me. And I didn’t know that decades later, I’d find my way back to the same shape, the same sound, the same feeling.
But that’s the thing about life.
You don’t always see the circle until you’ve travelled all the way around it.
The CBX550 F2 isn’t just a bike to me.
She’s a reminder of who I was, who I became, and the parts of myself I never lost.
And every time I press the starter and hear that crisp bark, I’m reminded of one simple truth:
Some things — the best things — never really leave you.
And here they are...Restorations Nos. 1 & 2 together!
No.3 Nick Taylor's
1988 NSR250
'Friends Reunited' -
Second time round the block
on a 1988 NSR250 2 stroke
For various reasons we all have items that we can’t part with and cling onto them under the premise that one day they might come in useful. However, more often than not, you soon forget them and life moves on and this is kind of what happened here.
Here’s a picture of my starting point, naively I thought it would still look like it did last time it was ridden back in 1997…. Dunno why I thought that – I sure as hell don’t look 26 anymore, nevertheless after a careful inspection it was still a viable “vanity” project and a route to reliving the latter days of my carefree youth.
QR Code for rebuild journey
As if starting a project weeks before covid / lock down occurred wasn’t enough, To complicate things further Honda only produced the NSR for the Japanese Domestic Market so even old favourites for vintage spare parts like David Silver or CSMNL drew a blank, however there is thriving following for stinky 2 stoke Hondas in the UK (NSR WORLD) who proved an invaluable resource pool for companies and individuals able to refurbish worn or corroded parts
The corroded Carbs were stripped down and vapour blasted before being rebuilt
Whilst the motor turned over and had reasonable if unequal compression it was very tired and lacking a qualified doctor in the house to perform full on engine surgery along with cosmetic makeover of the covers. And so it was outsourced and duly packed off to GT Performance engineering literally a few weeks before Boris announced lock down
Strip down clearly revealed one cylinder had a major problem. The crank was in equally bad condition and due to corrosion on and pitting had to be largely rebuilt along with all the seals and bearing being replaced.
When you live in Northern Europe corrosion is one of those gifts in life that just keeps on giving and so callipers were cerakoted and fully rebuilt by Powerhouse
Having had the engine rebuilt I had natural concerns about the 30yr old radiator. However, after watching Car SOS who went to West Mercia Radiators I had a quick chat with them about the recore, and it was the next best thing to an OEM factory replacement
Fast forward 4 years and countless hours later including teaching myself to paint panels I ended up here with its first MOT in 27 year
Out enjoying the sun and twisty lanes around the Cotswolds
...and here is Nick stealing the Kickback Show with his NSR 250
No.4 Steve Fox's
CB500/4
This CB500/4 hasn't always looked this good...let's rewind and read how Steve got to this stage in his own words...
'In Oct 2021 I saw an advert for a non-running heap of rust on the Isle of Wight. I collected the ‘old banger’ in a van.'
When my wife saw it she said – ‘what have you bought’
Steve's Concours winning bike...but see what it used to look like...
I was very soon on the case to try and get the old girl running, as I knew I had to get her running before I throw any money at it.
First mission was to run a compression test, and to my surprise it registered at 170 psi, so I knew at this point that I was onto a winner. I then started to clean the carbs and made my first purchase of many from David Silver’s which consisted of coils, condensers and points. The wiring loom was also burnt out, so I had to spend time repairing that coupled with a new rectifier, I managed to get the bike going with the exhaust off and a fuel donor tank.
Restoration had begun and the ‘Old Banger’ was going to be reborn. I proceeded to strip every part off the frame, the tank was so rusty inside and out and after lots of research on the web I decided to clean the inside of the tank with soda crystals and electrodes connected to a battery charger. I was amazed at the results and before long she was like a new pin, I cleaned all the rust off the outside of the tank too. I decide to change the bike to blue as I have always loved this colour. The tank then went off to be sprayed at Monkey Nuts, Reading.
I spent hours in my garage polishing every nut and bolt and anything that I could shine was soon shining like a diamond. Day after day I came into the house with a black face after hours of polishing. I then discovered a company in Alton who did all the chroming for me - Silver Bronze. Then the wheels, I wanted to lace them myself and called into a local charity shop enquiring about knitting needles – a few curious glances from the assistants! These were to use as a guide pointer when I checked the lacing was even. I purchased the spokes from Central Wheels in Birmingham.
The first time my new oven was used in my newly fitted kitchen was to ‘bake’ the head so that I could remove the valve guide seals, my wife was not too impressed!!
Over a 2-year period and hours of perseverance the ‘Old Banger’ came back to life and gives me a great sense of pride and joy every time I ride her. Even the wheels going round and catching the sunlight makes me smile.
In July 2024 the Old Banger won HOC Best in Show at Sammy Millers Museum.
Then in April 2025 I was blown away at the Kickback Show in Malvern to win Honda Best Classic in show - and at the same event, I was awarded The Best Original Classic Bike Winner.
I am extremely proud of my achievements.
Steve Fox
And finally...here's Steve admiring his bike captured on our HOC pull-down Banner at our Sammy Miller Classic Show...in fact he's even cleaning the pic of his bike 🙂
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