Craigslist is like the Wild West of Internet classifieds. It’s full of promise, opportunity and killer deals, but injury, death, and questionable women lurk in every nook and cranny. And of course, sometimes it can be flat-out entertaining! Join us for a stroll through some of the motorcycle division’s lowlier alleys, and if you know of an ad worth featuring here, send it over to firstname.lastname@example.org.
Do you have any idea what a wombat is? Is it a burrowing, plant-eating Australian marsupial that resembles a small bear with short legs? What about a Combat Wombat? Is it an animated personality that goes to war against evil rabbits? Is it an Australian hip-hop group from Melbourne? The answer to all three questions is yes, but in this case it’s a motorcycle, although it looks to be living in what the natural habitat of an actual wombat might be.
In even sorrier shape than this motorcycle is the condition of the brains that were in charge of assigning model names at now defunct Hodaka. Judging by the fact that they named a bike after a fat, burrowing animal, they were taking the whole mind-expanding vibe of the era a little too seriously, and entirely too often. About the only thing a dirt bike should have in common with a wombat is the destructive nuisance caused by tearing up fields and pastures.
From the rotted out seat to the rusty metal that should prompt a tetanus shot if you brush an open wound against it, there’s just not much to be happy about with this bike. But the silver lining is there. If you ever find yourself running late for an appointment but trapped in a conversation with old school moto dudes, just loudly blurt out the words, “Combat Wombat.” They’ll stop for a moment and chuckle, and one of them will say, “Oh yeah, I remember the Combat Wombat. Had one myself, kept it in the garage right next to my Road Toad. Hey Chuck, you still got that Dirt Squirt?” “Yep, still got it. Still got my Ace 90 too; it’s tucked away with my Super Rat in the back shed next to the whiskey still.” Yes, these are all actual names of Hodaka motorcycles, and the conversation will go on like this for several hours, allowing you to slip in and out at will, undetected.
A while back our own Jordan Roberts did a story on the young talent that’s concentrated in the unassuming town of Bakersfield, California. For whatever reason, some very fast kids (do the names Ryder DiFrancesco, Ryan Robertson, Jett Reynolds, Tyler Blankenship, and Brock Bennett ring a bell?) all call the town home, leaving outsiders to think there must be something in the water there. This bike, however, is a sign that whatever’s in Bakersfield’s reservoirs ain’t responsible for the town’s talent. This thing’s got as many problems as Whole Foods Markets have Subarus parked out front.
The seller claims there are no issues with this machine, but we beg to differ. He extols its vast power by talking about how hard it rips despite being held back by his ample, 250-pound frame, but we say the seller himself had to have been held back a few times in grade school if he doesn’t think the rear shock is blown out now. A good portion of the plastics is also missing. Perhaps he was trying to counteract his heft by lightening the machine itself? And like every classic junker should, this one’s received a healthy dose of flat black paint. The only advantage of flat black paint is that it alerts any potential buyers to the likely case of an engine that’s likely to melt down.
The Silver Lining
It’s pretty rare that we aren’t able to come up with something for this, especially after we stretched so hard for the Combat Wombat. We’d say the full tank of gas that’s promised by the seller is promising, but judging by the condition of the bike you’d just have to drain it anyway and pour in actual premix. The seller says it’s got a kill button, so at least this chunk of mini-cycle madness has that going for it, right?
Swapping is never good. It often seems like an inexpensive way to get your ride on with a fun new toy, but before you know it you’re finding fault with your new baby and missing all the fun tricks you took for granted with your old gal. Then you come crawling back to your first love, dropping a stack of cash just in order to repair the damage done by your other relationship in order to get to a point where you can hop back on, only to suddenly remember the things you hated about this one in the first place. We are of course talking about taking parts off one bike to fix another, as the seller suggests in this ad. What were you thinking?
Take a closer look at the picture. Is it just me or is that dark room a little creepy looking? Hang that poor gutted Honda from the ceiling, drip a little tranny oil on the ground, and you’ve got yourself the motocross equivalent of a gnarly torture scene from a low-budget horror movie. Either that or a room where this future chop-shop owner hones his craft like an iconic 1970s movie character preparing for battle.
Have you ever wanted to see what it was like to launch your motorcycle off a huge ramp and into a lake? Of course you have, but you haven’t because nobody not named Travis Pastrana, or just about anyone from the Crusty movies, has the money or resources to do that. This is your chance at flight, and after you demolish the first bike, you might even have enough parts from the donor to get it running again for a second attempt.
What is it with the trikes these days? Who would take a perfectly good (and we use the term loosely) motorcycle and ruin it by coupling it with the weight and lack of maneuverability of a car? At least the danger excitement of an open cockpit is retained, right? Check out the flaming skull on the side—that’s actually not a graphic—it’s an angry grim reaper just waiting to claim whomever climbs into this rolling slaughterhouse.
The seller mentions that this tangible slice of motorsports blasphemy belongs to his daughter, but is quick to point out that she’s not included in the sale. Surprisingly, her omission from said transaction doesn’t increase the asking price—no way any sober sole wants a trike-riding, shenanigan of a woman in their lives, right? After making it clear he’ll retain ownership of his offspring, the seller then says that the price could be lowered if potential buyers have guns to throw into the deal. We don’t advise this—anyone who buys this thing is going to want to have a gun lying around afterward to use on themselves when they come face-to-face with crushing, inescapable buyer’s remorse.
There’s a shift lever located right between the legs of the operator, which means in the unlikely event that the rider miraculously survives his first ride, his reproductive organs will be shot to hell the minute he has to sharply apply the brakes. Either way, the questionable genes are mercifully removed from the pool.