Robert Clauss

When I was 17, I thought I should have some wheels of my own. I’d sold a boat that my father and I built together and so I had some money to spend, but $300 would only take me so far. My cousin, Patrick, had a Honda 175 motorcycle, and that seemed to be a good idea that could work for me as well. I ran the idea by my parents, and they said that since my father had been a motorcycle rider, they really couldn’t say no. 

My father was a motorcycle patrol officer in the New Jersey State Police. I’m not sure if it was by choice or just by assignment – he was never a fan of motorcycles after that, and never had one of his own. Anyway, I started watching the ads in the newspaper – that was how you found anything for sale in those days. A Honda 160 came up for sale in Camden, NJ. We lived about 20 miles north of there. My Dad said he’d run down with me to take a look at it, so we made plans to meet with the owner and took a drive down there. 

The guy who had it had bought it new in 1965, and this was 1970. He took me for a ride, and I decided I wanted it. After paying him the $275 he wanted, we now had to get it home. The ’69 Plymouth Fury III my father drove had a huge trunk, and the three of us lifted it in and left the front wheel dangling outside. It wasn’t a CB160, the street version, and wasn’t the CL160 scrambler – this had the high exhaust of a scrambler, but lacked the gaitered front forks and skid plate. I later read about a CK version that was a hybrid and think that was what I had. 

I rode it all summer and the following winter before selling it to my younger brother and buying my cousin’s 175 – mmm, five speed trans and aftermarket shorty mufflers that had some bark! I spent that summer working at the local Honda dealer, where I worked the parts counter, did go-fer duties, and got a discount on parts. Even better, in New Jersey every vehicle had to go to the inspection station to get the required sticker – even brand new ones. So, somebody had to ride the new 750 Hondas that were selling very well to get the inspection sticker. The well heeled guys dropping a few thousand for this hot new toy wanted theirs ready to go. I was tapped for that duty more than a few times. 

Since then, I got into and out of motorcycles a few times, even dabbling in racing for a while, and did half a dozen east coast Motogiro USAs. But, that’s another story…