Alright, let’s talk about this 900 cbr, the 2000 model. It wasn’t exactly a planned project, you know? More like something that just… happened. I stumbled upon it, really. Saw an ad, looked a bit rough around the edges, but the price, well, the price made me look twice. Thought to myself, “How bad can it be?” Famous last words, as they always are.
So, I went to see it. The seller, bless his heart, probably hadn’t touched it in years. Dust everywhere. Tires flatter than a pancake. He spun some yarn about how it was a “runner when parked.” Yeah, right. Every project bike is a “runner when parked.” I should have walked away then and there, but there was something about it. Maybe I was just bored, looking for a challenge. Or maybe I’m just a sucker for lost causes.
Got it back to my garage. That was an adventure in itself, let me tell you. And then the real “fun” began. First thing I did was try to get a proper look at what I was dealing with. Pulled off some of the fairings, and oh boy. It was like peeling an onion, and every layer made me want to cry a little bit more. Wires going nowhere, bolts missing, other bolts cross-threaded. You could tell someone with more enthusiasm than skill had been “fixing” things. Classic.
The engine, thankfully, wasn’t seized. That was my one ray of hope. But getting it to actually fire up? That was a whole different story.
- First, the fuel system. Tank was rusty inside. Lines were brittle. Carbs were gummed up something awful.
- Then, the electrics. Looked like a rat’s nest. Half the connectors were corroded. Spent days just tracing wires with a multimeter.
- And don’t even get me started on finding parts for a bike that old. Some bits are easy, sure. But others? You’re hunting on forums, eBay, calling up people who might know a guy who knows a guy. It’s a proper treasure hunt, except the treasure costs you an arm and a leg.
There were moments, plenty of them, where I just stood there, staring at this heap of metal and plastic, thinking, “What have I gotten myself into?” My better half would pop her head into the garage, see the despair on my face, and just quietly back away. Smart woman. She knows the signs.
But, you know, bit by bit, things started to come together. Cleaned those carbs until they sparkled. Replaced the fuel lines, treated the tank. Rewired half the loom. Found a decent set of replacement plastics from some fella a few towns over. It’s like detective work, figuring out what the last guy messed up and how to put it right. It’s mostly patience, and a lot of swearing under your breath.
The first time it actually fired up, coughed, sputtered, and then settled into a rough idle? Man, that was a good feeling. Like, a really good feeling. Suddenly, all those late nights, all the skinned knuckles, all the “why am I doing this?” moments, they sort of faded away. For a little while, anyway.
Took it for its first proper ride. Tentative at first, listening for every strange noise, feeling for every wobble. But then, as it warmed up, as I warmed up to it, it started to feel like a real bike again. That old 900cc engine still had some poke, let me tell you. It wasn’t perfect, not by a long shot. Still a few gremlins to chase. But it was alive. It was mine, in a way that a brand new bike never could be. I’d earned it.
So yeah, the 900 cbr 2000. It was a pain. It cost more than I thought it would, took way longer than I planned. But would I do it again? Ask me in a year. Right now, I’m just enjoying the fact that it runs. And maybe, just maybe, looking for the next “runner when parked.” Some habits, they just die hard, don’t they?