The Ghost of CB750 Past

Legend has it, if you kickstart your bike three times in a full moon while whispering “Soichiro, forgive me,” the spectral echo of a CB750 will rumble through your exhaust pipe—and your soul.

He appears only to true believers: riders who’ve owned at least one questionable denim vest, repaired something with zip ties, and shed a tear when they saw an old Honda parked alone in a rainstorm.

The Ghost itself? A misty blur of chrome and righteousness. No license plate. No emissions. Just a faint smell of carb cleaner and dreams long lost.

Those who’ve seen him say:

• He leaves perfect crescent-shaped skid marks on freshly paved roads.

• He once beat a Harley in a race by riding through a cornfield.

• His idle hum harmonizes with vintage rock ballads.

• He rides only at dawn, dusk, and emotionally charged montages.

If you ever feel a sudden breeze and hear a whisper say “Four cylinders, infinite spirit”—don’t be afraid. That’s just the CB750 reminding you: you’re part of something legendary.