'Twas the night before Christmas, its cold out, you bet; Not many bikes stirring, so you're glued to the net. Batteries are stored up off concrete with care, In hopes that next spring some volts will be there.
Your bikes are all tucked in garages and sheds, Brakes pistons siezing, oil weeping from heads. Alternator won't keep up with the electric vest, So the bike is settled down for a long winter's rest. The ol' 400's camchain emits such a clatter, Loosen the lock bolt, but it just doesn't matter. Pull the access cap, and push the rod once again, Its a pain in the butt, but quiets the din. Off comes the tank, hey, what do you know, You can now pull those round caps found below. With bent feeler gages and all the patience you can muster, Its time to tackle eight little valve adjusters. Two at a time, then crank it around, A happy valve is one that makes a little sound. Set the timing, idle mixture, someone told me, I think, That the last thing you do is get the carbs into sync. Our bikes have some features that make us a clan, Four cylinders, chain drive, eight valves, single cam. First a 750, then a 500 and a 350 too, Then 550K's and Super Sports in orange or blue. The 400 is neat, I sure like mine, Then a 650 SOHC, the end of the line. A new bike would be nice to just ride around, But none of the challenge when parts can't be found, I'd want a new bike if I rode for a living, But an old Honda is a gift that keeps on giving.
