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I said goodbye to my little Honda Superhawk this week. I sold it to a fellow who seemed really enthused about it.

That’s understandable. I was enthused whenever I looked at it, and contemplated the model’s history: it was the bike that Robert Pirsig rode on the cross-country trip that inspired “Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance,” Al Pacino rode one in the movie Serpico; Steve McQueen had one.

The Superhawk was the bike that broke the back of the British motorcycle industry. Manufactured between 1961 and 1968 (mine was a ’67) It was reliable, it didn’t leak oil, the electrics worked, and at 305 ccs, it was almost as fast as the 650 Triumphs and BSAs of the day.

All of those things weighed into my decision to buy the Superhawk in the first place. I found it in a Modesto Bee classified ad, an orphan sitting on a porch with a number of other aging motorcycles.

It had some problems. It apparently had not been licensed since 1975. It was missing the speedometer cable, mirrors, air filters and a workable ignition switch. Someone in the distant past had reupholstered the seat in leopard skin plastic, which was now cracked and peeling. The tires were old and cracked, the chain rusty, sidecovers were loose and needed repainting.

 But almost all of the parts were there, and underneath the coating of dust was a gem with little rust and lots of potential.

There was so much potential that I forgot a few key facts. Like my lack of mechanical skills, or the difficulty of finding parts for a 40-year-old motorcycle. Or the fact that I had limited funds for an expensive restoration.

I ran into a professional Japanese motorcycle restorer at a bike show, who told me he could make it a showroom new bike – for $8,000. Ouch.

My friend Roy came to the rescue. An ace mechanic and bike customizer, Roy took the Superhawk for a couple of months, and spiffed it up and made it roadworthy. It got new tires, chain, sprockets, ignition switch and air filters. The seat was reupholstered, fenders and sidecovers were straightened and repainted, the gas tank was cleaned out and coated with rust inhibitor.

Roy understood the appeal of the bike, and kept everything looking showroom stock.

Best of all, it ran. I put about 30 or 40 miles on it, riding around Stanislaus County last summer. It was a blast – small, robust for a 300, with an authoritative bark from the mufflers.

But reality intruded. Forty-year-old brake technology is frightening for anyone used to modern motorcycles. The Superhawk still needed a suspension rebuild. And I never did find a speedometer cable.

Then, one day, after sitting for a couple of weeks, it didn’t start. I had two other motorcycles to divide my riding time, and didn’t get after whatever gremlin had invaded the Superhawk.

Weeks turned to months, and eventually, the little Honda was moved from the garage to the back patio, underneath a cover..

While I still enjoyed looking at it occasionally, I’m philosophically opposed to owning vehicles that aren’t ridden or driven. I don’t understand those rich folks who buy dozens of beautiful cars or motorcycles and stick them in a warehouse.

So I reluctantly decided to sell the Superhawk to someone who would continue the restoration and actually ride it.

My classified ad drew a quick response, a brief negotiation, and a sale. The buyer assured me he had an ace mechanic, and intended to ride.

Now I have to avoid cruising the want ads for fear I will find another loveable orphan and forget all the lessons I just learned.