The mid-eighties were a weird time for motorcycles. You had the "Tariff Wars" going on, where the US government slapped a massive 45% import tax on any bike over 700cc to protect Harley-Davidson from the "Japanese Invasion." Honda didn't flinch. Instead of complaining, they just shrunk their 750 down by 50cc and created the Honda Nighthawk 700S. Honestly, it turned out better than the original would have been.
It wasn't just a commuter. It was a statement.
If you walk up to a 1984 or 1986 model today, the first thing you notice is that bikini fairing and those chunky, small-diameter wheels. It looks fast even when it’s leaning on its kickstand in a garage covered in dust. Honda called it the CB700SC, but to everyone who spent their weekends carving canyons or riding to work in a leather jacket, it was just the "S."
The Engine That Refused to Die
The heart of the Honda Nighthawk 700S is a 696cc inline-four. It’s air-cooled, which some people think is old-school, but Honda added an oil cooler that looks like a miniature car radiator right up front. It’s functional. It’s also beautiful in a mechanical, no-nonsense sort of way.
What really set this bike apart—and why you still see them on the road with 80,000 miles—was the hydraulic valve lash adjusters. Basically, you never have to adjust the valves. Think about that for a second. Most bikes of that era required you to tear half the engine apart every few thousand miles to shim valves. Not this one. You just change the oil and keep riding. It made the bike nearly maintenance-free, which was a revelation for riders who wanted to spend more time on the asphalt and less time on a greasy garage floor.
It produced about 80 horsepower. That doesn't sound like a lot by today’s liter-bike standards, but in 1984, it was plenty to get your heart racing. The power delivery is smooth. It’s linear. You twist the throttle and it just goes, screaming up to a 10,700 RPM redline with a sound that’s more "jet turbine" than "lawnmower."
Shaft Drive and the Anti-Dive Mess
One of the most controversial parts of the Honda Nighthawk 700S was the shaft drive. Usually, shaft drives were for heavy touring bikes—the Goldwings of the world. Putting one on a sport-standard was a bold move. It meant no chain lube, no greasy mess on your rear wheel, and no adjusting tension.
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Purists hated it. They said it caused "shaft jacking," where the rear of the bike rises under acceleration.
You know what? They were right, but only if you were riding like a complete maniac. For 95% of riders, the convenience of the shaft drive outweighed the slight handling quirks. Then there was the TRAC (Torque Reactive Anti-dive Control) system on the front forks. It was designed to keep the nose from diving under hard braking. It worked, mostly. It’s a bit complex by modern standards, and many restorers today actually bypass it, but it showed that Honda was throwing every piece of tech they had at this 700cc "compromise" bike.
Why the 16-Inch Wheels Matter
If you look at the tires, you'll see something strange. The Honda Nighthawk 700S uses a 16-inch front wheel. Back then, GP racers were using 16-inchers because they made the bike turn in incredibly fast. It feels flickable. You think about turning, and the bike is already there.
The downside? Modern tire selection is a nightmare.
Most tire manufacturers have moved on to 17-inch standards. If you own an "S" today, you're basically married to the Bridgestone Battlax or maybe a Shinko if you’re on a budget. But that quick steering is part of the bike's soul. It makes the 700S feel lighter than its 511-pound wet weight would suggest. It’s a physical bike, sure, but it’s a dancer.
The ergonomics are surprisingly human. You aren't hunched over the tank like a shrimp, and your pegs aren't tucked up under your chin. It’s a "Standard" in the truest sense. You sit upright, your hands fall naturally to the bars, and the seat—well, the seat is actually comfortable for more than twenty minutes. You could actually tour on this thing if you didn't mind the wind hitting your shoulders.
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Gear Ratios and the "Six"
The gearbox on the Honda Nighthawk 700S is a six-speed, but Honda did something clever with the display. Instead of just a "6," the digital gear indicator (very high-tech for 1984!) shows an "OD" for Overdrive.
It’s a highway gear.
Cruising at 70 mph, the engine is just humming along, not buzzing your teeth out like some of the smaller fours from Kawasaki or Yamaha at the time. But drop it down two gears, and the bike wakes up. It’s got that classic Honda "two-step" personality: civil and quiet in the city, but a total banshee once you pass 7,000 RPM.
What to Look for if You're Buying One Today
If you're scouring Craigslist or Facebook Marketplace for a Honda Nighthawk 700S, you need to be careful. They are rugged, but they aren't invincible. The biggest Achilles' heel isn't the engine—it's the fuel tank.
Because of the way the tank is shaped, water tends to settle in the bottom corners if the bike sits for a long time. They rust from the inside out. If you see a "cream" coating inside the tank or pinhole leaks near the bottom seams, walk away or prepare to spend a lot of money on a professional radiator shop repair.
Check the exhaust, too. The original black-chrome 4-into-2 system is gorgeous, but it rots out at the crossover pipe. Finding an original replacement is like finding a unicorn. Most people end up putting a Mac 4-into-1 system on, which sounds great but loses some of that balanced, symmetrical 80s look.
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- Check the starter clutch: If it makes a horrible grinding noise when you hit the button, it’s a big job. The engine has to come out and the cases have to be split.
- Inspect the instrument cluster: Those digital gear indicators often fail. It’s usually just a cracked solder joint, but it’s a pain to fix.
- The side covers: They are made of plastic that gets brittle. People snap the tabs off all the time. If the side covers are original and intact, the owner probably cared for the bike.
The Cultural Legacy of a "Tariff Buster"
There is a reason the Honda Nighthawk 700S has a cult following. It represents a specific moment in motorcycle history where engineering overcame bureaucracy. Honda was told they couldn't sell 750s without a massive penalty, so they built a 700 that could outrun most 750s anyway.
It was available in three iconic color schemes: the red, white, and blue (the "RWB"), the black and red, and the rarer blue and black. Each one had those color-matched engine fins that looked so sharp. It wasn't just a bike; it was a piece of industrial design that actually worked.
Even today, park one at a local bike night. You’ll have guys on $30,000 Ducatis walking over to ask you about it. It has "street cred" because it’s authentic. It’s not trying to be a race bike, and it’s not trying to be a cruiser. It’s just a Nighthawk.
Actionable Steps for the Aspiring Owner
If you’ve decided you need a 700S in your life, start by joining the Nighthawk forums. Specifically, look for the "Nighthawk-Forums" community or the various dedicated Facebook groups. These bikes have a loyal following of "old heads" who know every bolt and torque spec by heart.
- Budget for tires immediately. Expect to spend around $300-$400 for a set of decent 16-inch rubber, as they aren't as common as standard sizes.
- Verify the charging system. Use a multimeter to check the battery voltage while the bike is running at 3,000 RPM. It should be around 14V. If it's not, the stator might be fried—a common issue on older Hondas.
- Flush the fluids. Since it’s a shaft drive, don't forget the final drive oil. It’s often neglected because it’s "out of sight, out of mind."
- Keep it stock if possible. The value of these bikes is climbing, especially for clean, unmolested examples with the original exhaust and paint.
The Honda Nighthawk 700S is a rare bird. It’s a vintage machine you can actually ride every day without needing a degree in mechanical engineering. It’s reliable, fast enough to be dangerous, and looks better than almost anything else from the mid-80s. Ride one once, and you’ll understand why people who buy them rarely let them go.