Text submitted by Igor Nikitin.
I believe that whatever attracted us in childhood, whatever we were obsessed with, is still going to be a thing for us in our adult life. My childhood drawing albums were filled with motorcycles: every single page contained a person or two riding a motorcycle. This is what I saw around me growing up in the USSR, when I lived in a small town located a mere 60 km away from one of the largest Soviet motorcycle factories; ZID (Zavod Imeni Degtyareva). A 175-cc Voskhod was their only motorcycle brand, and over the course of 30 years in production starting in 1965, there were several generations of Voskhods.
Now I realize that most of those Soviet riders did not choose a Voskhod for its outstanding characteristics. In most cases, they purchased it because it was the cheapest new bike that was always in stock. Having enough money to buy something in the USSR did not guarantee a purchase – goods were out of stock frequently. In other words, people used to buy Voskhod because they could not afford a bigger bike with a sidecar, which would have been a lot more practical in the household. Yet, I was fascinated with them.
My favorite was a 3M Voskhod model. My uncle owned one, and my happiest childhood memories were of him passing through our street, stopping at the playground where I was, grabbing me and placing me on a motorcycle in front of him almost on the gas tank, and, without saying a word, taking off with me somewhere through the unpaved streets of our small town. I still remember that feeling: I’m a little scared of a loud motorcycle engine, but at the same time I want to ride it, and this desire is a lot stronger than my fear.
It took me a quarter of a century to buy my first motorcycle, and obviously that was a Voskhod 3M. By that time, the 3M had been out of production for a couple of decades (last one built in ’95), and it took me some time to find a decent example. Now, unlike my childhood memories, a Voskhod did not seem big for the 6-ft-tall guy I became. Just like with any older machinery, it took time to start a Voskhod. First, I turned a lever below the gas tank to allow a free flow of gasoline, then I pressed a small button on the carburetor a few times until I saw gasoline flowing through it. I then made sure the bike was in neutral and worked with a kick-starter, simultaneously controlling the throttle handle.
Playing with a kick-starter could last a while, so in most cases, I used to push-start the bike – sometimes by sitting on it and pushing it off with my feet, and sometimes by running while pushing it and jumping on its seat as soon as I could hear the engine – just like the cool guys of my USSR childhood did.
Voskhods were also built tough; they allowed riding even when they’re broken to a certain degree. Thus, riding and shifting without a clutch is possible long enough to get you home or to a repair facility. That’s been tested by me.
The 175-cc engine is nothing crazy, but for a beginner rider it was sufficient. In my opinion, Voskhod is somewhat heavy for its class – it weighs 125 kg, so whenever I was caught up in rain or just after the rain on an unpaved muddy road, my speed used to drop down to 20 km/h as it became increasingly hard to keep it straight and prevent it from sliding. Voskhod was created to be used in the villages and small towns where the roads were far from perfect; therefore, I was disappointed with its performance on those roads. However, for me it was a hobby bike; I did not have to use it to get to work or run errands like people in the USSR did.
I ended up having 3 Voskhods at different points in time, and even shipped one of them to Canada. Unfortunately, I did not get to ride it in Canada, not counting a few rides back and forth along my street. I kept the bike at my parents’ place and when they decided to move, I had nowhere to keep it. I sold the Voskhod to a friend of mine who is fond of Soviet stuff. I’m sure that up to this day, my orange Voskhod 3M is not just the one and only in Ontario, Canada; but in all of North America. Aside from mine, Cuba would be the closest place where Voskhods likely live.
Love this! Ural sidecar rigs I am familiar with but not these! Not dissimilar to my ’71 Kawasaki 350 twin 2 stroke (pic). In 57 year of motorcycling I’ve never seen one of these for sale or otherwise.
’71 Kawa A7 350
I’ve a nephew who also likes to pick up his nephew on his large Honda from school. Unfortunately, he’s been reported to the police for endangering them. Such is life today. Lovely article.
This “Planeta” which I saw in Turkey ten years ago looks very similar – single cylinder two stroke with dual pipes. I suspect they were all DKW copies.
From what I read Voskhod started off building DKW 125’s after the war, just like BSA and Harley did. Sometime later in the 50s they made an unauthorized copy of a Jawa 175 which was twin port. The Czech’s were not amused but helpless.
CZ famously made twin port motocross bike in the 60s. The reason is piston rings at the time could not reliably span a large port. Jawa-CZ made some good bikes. I’m going to say this bike is Jawa based as well.
Yes, undoubtedly a CZ copy. Here’s a 175 from the ’60s that looks quite similar.
Glad to hear you achieved and loved your childhood dream bike ! .
I too am a Russian Motocycle enthusiast, I have three Urals but am getting too old to tend for them in case anyone here on the West Coast of the U.S.A. is interested….
One is a 2001 750 that has less than 2,000 KM of it, the fuse box needs replacing, I have the fuse box and other N.O.S.parts to go with it, I’d like to sell all three plus parts, books and so on as a package deal .
-Nate
An excellent story about childhood dreams and adult reality. Nicely told!
I used to see our neighbour come home in his brand new 3A hillman Minx, Ive owned more than half a dozen of that Audax body Rootesmobile under various badges, images imprinted on a toddlers memory, car sickness memories in my dads then 54 Vauxhall have kept me away from that model though I have owned several others that didnt do that.