Let me take you back to a crisp summer day in 1968.
Soichiro Honda, founder of the company that gave the world scooters as cute as puppies and motorcycles as smooth as jazz, is on a trip to Switzerland. He’s sipping espresso (we imagine) when a police officer rides by on a Triumph 750 — all grunty, growly, and very, very British.
Soichiro stares. Not in fear, but inspiration. That cop’s rear end (and more accurately, the thumping roar of that Triumph) sparks something. "Our bikes are too small," he mutters. Not an insult to dimensions, but ambition.
This was the moment. The divine spark. The CB750 was about to be born.
Project 300: Or, How to Make Motorcycling History With 20 People and a Dream
Back in Japan, Honda’s engineers huddle like a team of caffeinated wizards. They’re told to build something to blow every British big bike out of the water: faster, smoother, and more reliable — and most shocking of all... affordable.
Meet Project 300 — no, not a gladiator movie, but the top-secret codename for the CB750 development. Twenty engineers, a vision, and a corporate mandate that sounded something like: "Make a four-cylinder motorcycle so cool, it’ll make grown men weep."
And they did.
What They Built: The First Superbike (That You Could Actually Afford)
When the CB750 launched in 1969, it wasn’t just another motorcycle — it was the Beatles of bikes.
A 736cc inline-four SOHC engine, front disc brake (first in the world on a production bike), electric start, five-speed gearbox, and four pipes that looked like a spaghetti monster of performance. And all this for just $1,495?
British bikes blinked. Riders cheered. Dealership phones rang. Honda had just made a superbike for the masses, and the masses showed up.
Honda expected to sell about 1,500 units a year. They sold more than 3,000 a month.
Behind the Specs: Engineering Decisions With Swagger
Even the brakes told a story. Honda's engineers insisted on a front disc brake despite internal pushback. It was noisy, hard to manufacture, and made sales guys twitch. But Honda wanted to be ahead, not equal. So, they risked it.
Disc brake haters? Silenced.
And those iconic four-into-four exhausts? Aesthetic and acoustic genius. CB750s didn’t just go fast, they sounded like mechanical poetry. Riding one felt like conducting an orchestra of explosions.
Real-World Wins: From Suzuka to Street Legends
This bike wasn’t just a garage queen.
Just months after launch, the CB750 won the 10-hour Suzuka endurance race — not with a factory team, but privateers. Then it conquered the 24 Hours of Bordeaux. Suddenly, this "production bike" was trouncing hand-built racers.
And on the streets? It was smooth, powerful, and — unlike its leaky British cousins — it didn’t mark its territory with oil.
Soichiro’s Philosophy: Build It Right, Or Not At All
Soichiro Honda’s approach wasn’t just about horsepower. It was about understanding the rider. That’s why the CB750 wasn’t just powerful — it was approachable. Fast enough for veterans, smooth enough for newbies, and reliable enough for your neighbor’s cousin who knows nothing about spark plugs.
As Soichiro himself said:
"I knew our bikes wouldn't sell in foreign markets if we kept building them according to Japanese perceptions... so I told them to develop a bigger model as soon as possible."
Translation: Size matters. Especially when your competition is a Triumph with a badge-wearing butt on it.
The Legacy: Still Revered, Still Roaring
Fifty-plus years later, the CB750 is still celebrated as the first true "superbike." Museums display it. Collectors hunt early "sand-cast" models like treasure. And riders? Riders still love them.
Because once upon a time, a little team with a big dream (and one great quote from their boss) built a bike that forever changed what a motorcycle could be.
So the next time you see a CB750 purring down the road, remember: it all started with a cop’s motorcycle, a founder’s pride, and the boldest bet in motorcycle history.
And yes, that exhaust still sounds like magic.