Copyright (c) umgweb.com 1998
What is it, I mused, as I sat amid the plywood splendour of Wimbledon magistrate's court waiting room, having had a slight difference of opinion with the Met over the finer points of the Construction and Use regulations and advisability of running two inch open drag pipes in snoring suburbia, that leads grown men into debt, despair and near dereliction but still provides more crack than a Kings Cross hooker on overdrive?
Well in my case it was a '72 T120 Bonneville. Candy and chrome with high bars, four inch over forks, peanut tank and a couple of feet of chromed drainpipe hanging out of the cylinders masquerading as an exhaust (dead quiet m'lud, honest, can't see what all the fuss is about....). All tacked on to a lump that when used enthusiastically, would have the front end airborne in the first three of its five gears. Oh, and it had a special two position throttle too - open and shut.
I won't bore you with the history lesson - enough fatuous folklore and wild eyed bullshit has been written about these bikes to fill a telephone book already. Suffice it to say that when you're eighteen and eager and you're standing in a back yard in Wembley having just seen 110mph on the clock on the North Circular and the bike still looks like it's doing a ton now that it's standing still, the Legend comes to life and the wedge leaves your back pocket about as fast as Hitler cycling through Golders Green on a sunny afternoon.
It does matter that the dead fork seals have allowed the forks to retch glutinous slime all over the front of the engine, that the chain's fucked and the MOT runs out in about half an hour. It's a Triumph and it's bad, and you know it'll get you into a deal of trouble one way or another, so you might as well get on with it, right?
Having done the deal, I found myself once again on the North Circular in the blistering bank holiday sunshine, £550 lighter (well it was 1983), heading home with a grin from ear to ear, if not 'ere to there. I had the world at my feet and only a fine oil mist clouding my vision.
This dreamlike state lasted only ten minutes before the swine died on the Chiswick roundabout with a chronic sense of overheating. Well, I wanted a fag break anyway and it seemed the beast was merely in sympathy with my habit, even at this early stage in our relationship.
A quick check revealed that the timing hadn't slipped, nor was the head gasket blowing, so I put it down to the unusually hot weather and resolved to change the oil (if oil was the right word for the black and boiling bitumen bubbling in the main spine tube below the seat) when I got home.
Half an hour later, large areas of West London were treated to the rasping staccato beat of a horny British twin as we roared off once again, only to be sidelined a little later by a mystery misfire - eventually traced to dodgy coil connections....ho hum.
Once back at my bijou hovel, the old nail was subjected to a rigorous and thorough service, leaving no nut or bolt unchecked in my quest for perfection before setting about discovering the true nature of the beast on numerous summer sojourns around the leafy lanes of the Home Countries. To put it another way, I changed the plugs and polished the tank badges and then thrashed the bugger everywhere. Mechanical sympathy, essential if harmony and oil levels are to be maintained, had not yet entered my vocabulary.
Needless to say, before the summer was out I had been introduced to the gentle art of pushing British bikes home and being jeered at by spotty Herberts on mopeds whilst doing it on a number of occasions. Call it justice, or cause and effect if you like, but I bet it's the way most of us learn.
To be fair, most problems tended to be electrical as the previous owner's idea of a rewire had been more macaroni than Marconi. The wires to the ignition barrel situated in the right-hand side panel were the usual culprits with the Lucas connectors slithering off their terminal posts with an eagerness matched only by a coach load of lemmings on a day trip to Beachy Head.
The push-in adaptor sleeves mating the oversize exhausts to the cylinder head also provided hours of enjoyment as they rattled back down the pipes, leaving flames shooting out of the ports in all directions. I never minded too much as the resultant glow supplemented the feeble five inch headlamp (off a Triumph Adventurer) and I was able, on night runs, to see the front mudguard, if not the road ahead, a little more clearly.
Similarly, the longer forks whilst great for cornering due to the increased ground clearance, were no fun on wet roads as all the rain, salt and other crud was directed straight into my face, cleverly bypassing the skimpy US spec mudguard on the way. But what about the consumables, I hear you cry. Obviously, it depends how you ride but mine went like this - front tyre bloody ages, rear 7-8000 miles. I ran Roadrunners front and rear, finding that the handling did not deteriorate so dramatically, as with the TT100s, as they wore down.
A gallon of four star could get you from London to Brighton with restraint or only somewhere very much closer without.....but I always ran mine on the sooty side and with a main jet you could stick your head through. Oil was changed every 1000 miles and rarely needed topping up.
This Trumpet, like most others at some time or another, shed bits, fractured brackets, cracked its seat pan and blew bulbs if I dared go over 70mph, had a pair of carbs that wouldn't stay in sync for more than a weekend and a huge appetite for wheel bearings, but I could live with such minor irritations (or character if that's your definition) due to all the fun provided by its simple but poky power plant.
Someone, somewhere, had known what they were doing when they put this lump together. I could never work out why, when we went to rallies or on Sunday runs, all the other Triumphs held back, until I was told that they'd all been going flat out trying to keep up. And I thought they all went like mine! Even after I sold it and the new owner gleefully told me that it possessed a fancy close ratio gearbox, we found no other clues as to why it went so well.
The 650cc pushrod twin probably knocked out around 50hp and with its fairly low gearing and light weight could rip your arms out of their sockets as it pulled like a train through the gears. None of this keeping it in the powerband stuff, just wind it open and hang on. It started to run out of steam just after the ton, of course, but by then you would be more concerned with whether it was about to self destruct or if the comical hub brakes would do the business when the next torpid Volvo driver decided to take a detour across your line of flight. More often than not they did and it was only on a few particularly heart stopping occasions that I was forced to take up religion very quickly - and God being a Harley rider himself and therefore well used to iffy anchors, usually answered my rapid prayers.
The frame, so often criticised for being too tall, not holding enough oil (about four pints as opposed to Triumph's original intention of six) and cracking a lot was never as bad, in my experience, as some people like to make out. Sure, things could occasionally get a bit hairy on bumpy bends but that was usually down to the ancient Girlings that had long since blown their seals or swinging arm bushes that ran drier than a rally beer tent on a Sunday morning because you could never quite get the grease gun to reach the nipples under the pivot with everything else in the way.
In those days, however, such matters were of more interest to the local Old Bill than myself and I often took advantage of their generous offers of a free roadside MOT and maybe a nice trip down to the court to explain to a wrinkly old beak exactly why, when observed doing a tad over thirty down Fulham Palace Road, I had taken so long to reach a halt and why there was six inches of play noticeable on the high US bars. And, why, if I wasn't a housebreaker, I was carrying so many bloody tools, a number of which had freed themselves from my toolroll and bounced down the road, bruising a random selection of the good residents of SW6 in the process.
Still, we live and learn and I would always mitigate such harmless antics in the name of pursuing the passage of a misspent youth, pleading poverty and rampant insanity in the family for good measure. Bonnevilles, although excellent workhorses, have that extra sparkle about them, inspiring throttle opening and a bit more nonchalance in their owners than might occur whilst riding more mundane machinery. Even limping home on one pot with half a con-rod hanging out of the crankcase has a degree of tragic style to it.
You can usually drink free for at least a week on the sympathy, anyway! So, if like me, you've wanted one since you were knee high to a chaincase, you've got a reasonable chance now that prices have stabilised a bit, of picking up a runner at least, without too much strain on the overdraft. I've just brought home a T120/140 bitsa, in lots of bits, for £400, so it can be done.
You'll swear at it, kick it, plead with it to start some days, and as I was told when I bought mine, you'll probably get into a lot of trouble with it but you'll have a lot of fun doing it all - even if it doesn't always seem so at the time. And that's the crack. Sure beats a trip to Kings Cross, any day.
Jon Williams
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I was a reluctant recruit to British biking. It just so happened that a 1972 Triumph 650 Tiger was on offer. The owner was a close acquaintance, quite open about the machine's 80,000 plus miles, regularly rebuilt engine and stack of modifications. The frame, with the oil in the top tube, had been rewelded where it had fractured. The whole bike was rewired after dud insulation caused it to catch fire. At one point the main bearings had gone, writing off the crankshaft. The owner was amazingly sanguine about the machine's problems but assured me that there was not much left to go wrong with it.
I had the Tiger for a day, an extended test ride to see whether or not I could live with the machine after a decade's worth of Japanese hacks. Immediate worries were the gearchange and back brake pedals on the wrong side, a heavy, abrupt clutch and a seat that sagged on to the frame rails. The Tiger is the mild brother to the Bonnie, with a single carb cylinder head, although the cams and compression ratio were the same. I initially scoffed at its 43hp at a mere 6500rpm, but was pleasantly surprised by the gutsy nature of the engine from tickover onwards.
Doubtless, weighing in at only 380lbs helps with the heady dollop of torque, the Triumph quite happily powering off in top gear (fourth) from as little as 25mph. With a 0 to 60mph time of around seven seconds (at least when new), the Tiger proved no slouch against most other vehicles. I soon found myself able to power up to 90mph in third, although at those kind of revs the machine was blitzed by vibes and relieved when booted up to top. A brief sortie on the motorway revealed top speed around 105mph, and relatively vibration free cruising at 75 to 80mph.
In that first day I did about 200 miles, was impressed with the general usability of the Tiger and even more pleased when I worked out the fuel economy at 65mpg! The chassis has a light but taut feel, although the apparently original shocks did let the back end twitch slightly over bumpy going. The engine had been assembled with modern liquid gasket so there were only a few smears of oil, rather than the puddle that used to be par for the course for British bikes.
Thanks to the electronic ignition fitted by the owner, starting was less difficult that I had expected. The kickstart lever was perfectly matched to my inside leg and the 9:1 compression ratio did not cause any hassle. The carb had to be tickled but the choke could be ignored. It was also necessary to free the clutch, by sticking the machine in gear and kicking the engine over with the clutch pulled in (before starting the bike). Failure to do this meant clutch drag would cause the machine to leap forward a couple of yards and stall the engine. I usually managed to light the fires on the first or second kick.
The bike had been painted quite well in black and, er, black, looking rather neat in its stripped down and cleaned up way. Nearly as much street cred as a Harley, I thought, after handing over 600 sovs. The owner had warned me that the valves needed doing every 500 miles, the oil changed every 1000 miles and that the TLS front drum brake worked either brilliantly or diabolically, depending on how well it was set up.
The Tiger has those conical hub brakes that look so pretty but the front used the cable as part of the operating system (the outer being compressed), and there is an adjuster in the hub that needs tweaking every few hundred miles. The shoes don't last much more than 5000 miles. When well set up they are very powerful stoppers yet extremely sensitive, you can haul ass with the front brake just short of locking up the wheel. Fade hasn't been a problem and they have saved me from a dose of tarmac rash on too many occasions to note.
The brakes are part of the surprisingly integrated feel that the 650 possesses.....or perhaps it isn't so surprising given the long period of evolution that went into these Triumph twins. The huge 19" front wheel gives the machine reasonable stability for the straight road circus, whilst the relatively low mass and centre of gravity (from the narrow engine aspect) ensures it can still be flicked through the corners as easily as most Japanese 250 twins.
I did find the centre-stand scraped through the more outrageous bends, but the solution was easy - tear it off. The stand was, anyway, difficult to use. The bike came with Dunlop tyres, which wore well (over 12000 miles at either end) and provided no cause for concern even in the most vile of weather. Although the bike had caused many problems for its past owner he had gone out of his way to ensure they did not reoccur - for instance, the coils and exposed ignition wiring were covered in a thick layer of black bitumen-like substance that insured the bike did not falter when drenched.
Other minor mods abounded - extra rubber mounting to the lights, hugely powerful horn, wired in bolts and nuts just about everywhere, etc. I know a lot of people have a great deal of trouble from Triumph twins, especially when they have been rebuilt a few times, but my bike did over 20,000 miles in less than two years, breaking through the 100,000 mile barrier in the process, with the kind of reliability that you'd expect from a newish Honda Superdream (no, that was a compliment not an insult).
It wasn't perfect. At this kind of price and age level nothing ever is. Oil started weeping out of the frame, rather than doing a welding job I bought a new frame - yes, they are still available. It was a weekend's work to rebuild the bike. Then the back wheel's spokes started breaking up, which did really weird things to the handling. I had both wheels rebuilt with alloy rims and stainless spokes - with polished hubs a significant improvement in appearance, but putting tyres on alloy rims is a horrible business.
Third gear also decided it did not like working any more, which means I have to spin the motor up to 60mph in second before bumping the box up two gears to top, if I really want to make waves. Probably my own fault as I did not realise the gearbox had its own oil supply until it was about to run dry! Prior to this the change was surprisingly precise, although of a firmness to demand heavyweight footwear.
The new seat I proudly fitted to the machine, days after purchase, fell to pieces after about 2000 miles, so I made up my own using a GRP kit to make a new base and raiding an old sofa for foam. It's more comfortable than it looks. Other bits affected by the vibes, always present to some degree even in this most mild of vertical twins, were the ignition switch (in the side-panel), an exhaust downpipe (which fractured) and the front mudguard which spat off at high velocity!
The nature of the vibration is rather strange and not at all like that produced by Japanese machines. The engine is always grumbling away to itself but after a while the vibes produced by the long stroke motor fade into the background, unless you do something silly like try to spin the motor past 6500rpm in the lower gears. I have gone wild in the country a few times, but high revs (in Triumph terms) leads to excessive consumption of both oil and fuel (40mpg!), as well as a petrol tank that feels like it's ready to leap off the frame. I soon dropped my, Japanese inspired, rev it until it dies philosophy in favour of a more laid back approach - Zen and the art of riding a Triumph, Man!
With good fuel consumption, minimal wear of consumables and more than enough power for even modern roads, the Tiger copes with just about everything I've thrown at it. From the daily commute through a congested city centre to 500 miles a day touring on the Continent. My friends are continuously amazed at the way the motor keeps on running. But be warned, one was so impressed that he went out and bought a T140V, but sold it after three months as it broke down every time he used it. I've evidently got a good one and I intend to hang on to it!
H.K.
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I first saw the Triumph parked in the street. Only five years and 15000 miles old, the big twin shone in the bright sunlight. None of that crap Jap alloy, plastic or chrome. Here was the real thing in all its black and red glory. The first time I saw the Triumph I wanted it with almost sexual lust. I couldn't stop myself swinging a leg over her!
'Here, mate, what the f..k do ya think yer doing!?' The owner, all worn leathers and denim, had to take that exact moment to come out of whatever sewer he was lodging in. Well, it seemed like he just popped up out of nowhere and the smell was more disturbing than his appearance. I muttered an abject apology and asked if he wanted to sell the bike. He did. A brief if terrifying blast on the back convinced me that all was well and a day later 1500 notes changed hands.
Being a trusting kind of chap I didn't test the bike again before handing over the money and didn't suspect that the name in the logbook bore no relationship to the person I bought the bike off! What I think had happened was that overnight he'd taken all the good parts out of the engine and replaced them with near wrecked bits. That's the only way I can explain the churning vibes and lethargic performance. On the test ride I'd been impressed with the way the bike had hit 90mph, now it didn't want to do more than 60mph!
After a five mile ride I came back home with shaking hands and wrecked vision. When I put the Tiger on its sidestand the stand broke off at its mounting and the bike bounced on my driveway. Putting it on its centrestand was a back breaking affair and it felt rather precarious, as if that stand was going to break off as well. Huge gobs of oil dropped on to the drive, sending my wife into a frenzy of abuse. I was close to breaking point by then, but kicking the cat had to suffice as the wife was bigger than me!
I played around with the ignition and the plugs, pulled the fuel pipe, ever hopeful of an easy solution. I tightened up the engine bolts as they were loose but two bolts snapped off and one stripped its threads. By the time I'd found some replacements the drive was covered in an oil slick!
The Triumph uses a large diameter frame member running from the headstock down to the swinging arm, curving gracefully over the engine. It's a neat bit of design that even survives in the new Triumph triples and fours. However, in the twins it contains the engine oil and under the influence of the chronic primary vibes from the big vertical twin engine it can crack up.
After I'd taken off the cycle parts and removed the engine, some very nasty looking cracks were revealed in the frame. Things turned even more ominous when I stripped down the engine - cracked cylinder head, burn out exhaust valves, bent pushrods, ruined bores, loose big-ends, elastic primary chain, wrecked clutch and a few other minor things. In effect, the bike was close to being a complete write-off!
The wife had a grand old time abusing me for being a total sucker, so I sold off her Mini for 500 notes and started visiting autojumbles. It's surprising what you can find here. One chap wanted to sell me a 'new' frame, still wrapped in cardboard. When I pulled some of this off it revealed even more cracks than my own frame. I was determined not to be ripped off twice and over three months I managed to buy most of the parts secondhand at lowish prices.
The rebuild took just a week. I'd paid for a rebore to match used pistons and rings, and bought a pattern gasket set. Total cost was £525 which included a good secondhand frame. Tigers in immaculate condition do fetch over £2000 so I wasn't yet too much out of pocket.
Of course, the engine refused to start for the first five days. The Tiger, despite its mild tune, needs one hell of a kick and more than twenty attempts left me knackered. Brand new plugs, heated to near melting point over the gas-stove, did the trick and left me with bandaged hands from handling them - the things we do for wheels!
I feared that the bad starting was the result of a poor rebuild, but the bike had plenty of guts up to 90mph, would even put 115mph on the clock. Alas, using more than 5000 revs brought in incredible levels of vibes. A taste of this was seen in the way the Triumph shuffled across the tarmac when at tickover on the centrestand. The front guard also twitched away in rhythm with the buzzing.
The seat was remote from the vibes and was very comfortable, almost armchair-like. Just as well, because the stiff suspension only had a couple of inches of travel that did little to remove the bumps and potholes. The steering was steady and on Roadrunners the chassis was secure. At around 400lbs it was quite flickable but always heavy going. It was the kind of bike you could grow into and learn to love.
If it wasn't for the engine. Okay, the components weren't brand, spanking new and I'm not the best mechanic in the whole world (but the motors are supposed to be easy to work on, aren't they) but it took less than 800 miles for some major traumas to turn up.
It happened at the beginning of the winter, just as I was congratulating myself on my choice of machine - the Tiger felt really secure on the slimy road surfaces. Crunching noises started to come from the engine, sounding like metal was breaking up. The primary chain had broken up, mangling the tensioner and then wrapping itself around the crankshaft.
That was bad enough but the sudden loss of speed allowed a car to back end me. The bike and I slid down the road in different directions. I'm sure the cager swerved at me, or perhaps he was just avoiding the bouncing bike. Anyway, I sort of threw myself off the road, rolled into a ditch and then head-butted a large rock. Fortunately, my helmet was cracked rather than my skull. I was a bit dazed as I pulled myself back up on to the road. No less than six cars had skidded into each other and the bloody bike had no more damage than a few bent ancillaries - I was hoping it was written off and I could claim on the insurance.
The end result of that little incident was that the insurance company refused to renew my premium, doubtless putting a black mark against my name for the rest of my life. A newish primary chain and tensioner were duly secured and I was back on the road within a week. I had absolutely no faith in the Triumph, though, even if it wasn't too expensive on fuel, about 60mpg. 500 mile services and daily bolt tightening were tedious, especially when clowns on Superdreams, and the like, kept screaming past at unlikely speeds.
After one vicious effort with the throttle, to see off a CX500, I pulled over to have a much needed cigarette. The cylinder was jumping up and down because its retaining nuts had started to come undone. The vibes really were insidious, short of installing the mill in a Commando frame there was no easy way of eliminating them. I couldn't take any more, after 1300 miles wanted shot of the bike.
There is a happy ending to this tale of dread. The Triumph looked beautiful, an excess of gloss, despite everything. Some suited gent turned up and insisted on giving me £2500. I almost got down on my knees to give thanks for my good fortune. The wife almost smiled at me until I went out and bought a '68 Bonnie...
V.N.M.
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A friend was off on holiday and asked if we would look after her Triumph while she was away. This meant nothing particular to me but I understood it was a 650cc Trophy of late sixties vintage. According to all those who knew the bike it was a good one. All original, nothing more than a set of rings and the odd primary chain changed in the engine since it rolled off the Meriden production line.
Seeing a faraway look in his Lordship's eye at this offer, I said yes. I knew he owned a Triumph of some description in the past and still pined for it in unguarded moments, so I thought he might appreciate the chance of riding one again. I'll never know because he didn't get a look in. It was love at first sight.
This was what I had been after all along. Physically small with low mass coupled to a decent power output, it even looked wonderful. Actually, it looks a bit rough around the edges to the critical eye, but to me the original, if faded paint and patina of age gave it an air of dignity. Sad isn't it?
There was one teeny problem, though, starting the thing. Now, I knew how a kickstart worked in principle because I was awake during the maintenance classes for the test and because all my earlier bikes had had one. However, it was all I could do to get the kickstart to budge, far less fire the bike up. The Greasy One made knowledgeable noises about high compression and clutch drag then promptly kicked it over first time, wearing nothing more substantial than a pair of trainers. A real Renaissance Man.
Suffice to say, I eventually got the hang of it and even occasionally remember the starting drill first time: clutch in, kick a few times to free the plates, choke on full, petrol on, the kickstart just past compression and then boot the bugger. Every now and then it'll kick back just to let you know who's in charge but I'm getting good at moving my knee out of the way of the tank badge when that happens. Like all good things in life it's down to practice.
When our friend returned I broke it to her gently that the Triumph would be staying with me, and here's a pile of cash to ease the parting. As it turned out this was painless on her side as she was planning to sell it, anyway, but couldn't bear the thought of it going to a bad home. One happy ending and one happy beginning.
Let's get the boring bits over with first, okay? Tyres are Roadrunners at either end and give about 20,000 miles at the front and 15000, or so, miles at the back. Final drive chains call it a day at 15000 miles but the sprockets just go on for ever. Having checked out the price of a rear sprocket (it's also part of the brake drum) this is no bad thing.
Oil gets changed religiously every 1000 miles and the tank filter gets cleaned whenever I can persuade someone else to do it. No, there are no oil leaks whatsoever. Strange but true.
Brake shoes give about 20,000 miles use on the front and about 25000 at the other end. There is a noticeable falling off in braking performance when they get towards the end of their life. Compounded by the brake cable being on the way out. Wet weather will reduce braking efficiency to almost nil. If you're unlucky enough to get caught out on a motorway, or on a long trip, in the rain and don't give the shoes a chance to stay dry. Not nice at all.
Fuel goes through the single carb at around 60mpg in my hands but he with the heavy throttle hand reckons 40mpg is nearer the mark. Mind you, he also reckons the pegs, centrestand and silencers ground out too easily, so maybe the difference isn't too surprising. These figures are only estimates because I suffered a spate of speedo cable breakages and couldn't see much point in rushing to replace them. Anyway, no doubt those awfully nice police chappies will let me know if I'm going too fast.
So, enough fact and figures, what was it like to ride? First impressions were good. There was loads of low down grunt, which meant keeping up with traffic around town was no longer a problem (compared to restricted learners). It soon became a question of how far in front I felt like riding instead. Much better. Motorways were an unknown quantity at this stage, their joys were to come later. It was certainly light enough for feet-up trickling through traffic when necessary and, even more important, low enough for the odd emergency dab when the need arose.
My only real problem was a tendency to over-brake on gravel from time to time. Always at walking speed or lower but an annoying habit, nonetheless - well, annoying for himself that is, I just don't have the muscle to kick things straight. Yet!
The headlight had been modified to a halogen unit at some point in the past and this seemed to match my preferred nocturnal velocities very nicely. In fact, the only duff point in the electrics was the horn. I know it wasn't the original but it seemed a waste of space all the same. You could hardly hear it over the engine at tickover, far less if you were on the move. It was much more satisfying, if a little less socially acceptable, to just scream abuse at whoever was causing you problems.
Overall then, it was simply a confidence inspiring piece of kit on which I felt totally at home. Even the gears on the right seemed easier for me to use than a left-handed set up. I was beginning to see why people got attached to them.
Other people's first impressions were equally favourable. The only gripes I heard voiced were that the seat was rock hard, the front end was undersprung and the transmission was a bit rough. The first two I can honestly say I have never noticed and the last was cured by fitting a new primary chain and tensionser - even I could feel a difference. Truly biking bliss.
The next year or two were filled with me blatting happily round the place with a big grin on my face. I'll own up here to being a fair weather rider (brought up in the tropical bit of Australia, I have a really low tolerance to the cold) but that's not to say the Triumph got off lightly. Oh no! As soon as the winter muck descended it was commandeered by you know who when his decomposing Jap four became too much of a handful on icy roads. No matter what the weather, the Triumph just plodded on regardless.
1993 saw me and the Triumph face up to the last challenge - touring. The previous owner had taken it all over Europe so I wasn't in any doubt that it would be okay for a jaunt around Ireland, but would I? I decided against the DIY rear-sets that had come with the bike as the stock riding position was just fine for me. Concessions for touring were therefore limited to a pair of throw-overs and a rucksack. Fairings? Top box? Tankbag? Panniers? Don't make me laugh.
My touring buddies were armed with a dog-eared Honda CB750FA and an equally tired Yam XJ650. As such, their bikes were deemed more suitable, by me anyway, to carry the heavier stuff, such as tool and spares. As things turned out, we didn't need the half a workshop we were carrying, spanner bending being limited to tightening the odd nut or two on the Triumph, adjusting the chains once and ripping out the Yam's killswitch. Mind you, if we hadn't had all the tools, no doubt something would have blown up big time.
Motorway cruising turned out to be pretty uneventful in the end. I'm not sure I'd have been so happy if I'd known what speed we were doing but, as there was only one working speedo between the three of us (it wasn't mine), 75-80 didn't cause me or the Triumph any hassles. No, it was a turd brown Escort which did that.
I never had any real feelings about Hereford as a place before the holiday but now I associate it with wet roads, arseholes in Escorts and no small degree of pain. It was the usual pull out, don't look, oops, what was that bang? Damage to the Triumph was minimal, in fact it didn't even stop running despite lying on its side with petrol pissing everywhere. I was more shocked than hurt, I suppose, but that didn't make me feel any better because I still had a long ride in front of me and I really didn't feel like it all of a sudden. But a girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do, right? Needless to say, it was a slow and painful ride to the B & B but we made it eventually.
The usual application of brute force saw the Triumph put to rights and a few brandies fixed me up. The Escort owner got a surprise when he found out how much damage he'd done. Well, how much damage I reckoned he'd done anyway (classic motorcycle mate, parts don't come cheap for those). The resultant readies just about made up for the inconvenience, and paid me for agreeing to keep the insurance companies out of things, and certainly made our stay in the Emerald Isle a little more upmarket.
In fact, the only other hassle I had on the whole holiday was a filling coming loose. Everyone claimed it was the crap dentistry. I certainly seemed to suffer less on the dead finger syndrome after any long blasts than the Jap pilots, so who knows? Despite all warnings to the contrary I really don't think the Triumph is that bad a shaker. Certainly, things like bulbs can be relied on to last for years rather than days and, to date, I've never lost anything worse than a footrest bolt.
And there you have it. I've succumbed to the charms of an inert piece of machinery and I wouldn't have it any other way. Or, there again, maybe I would. An electric start would be nice, so would a fifth gear for motorways and a bit more bite to the brakes wouldn't go amiss either. I couldn't bring myself to change the Triumph, so maybe another bike is on the horizon. Ducati's 600 Monster looks like it would fit the bill but the cost of such exotica is out of my reach for the moment. Give me a few years, though, and maybe I'll be drivelling on about one of those. And an update on the Triumph, of course.
Jo O'Brien
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What can you say about old Triumph twins? You either like them or hate them. Simple as that! Or maybe you can hate them and love them at the same time. Indifference doesn't come into it! I'd owner a couple in the seventies, when they were cheap but not particularly cheerful. Most of the problems came from the neglect and bodging of previous owners. Those hassles and the sheer performance of the Jap's made me move on. Current offerings are too expensive and complex for me, so I went back to the Brit's.
There are two distinct worlds in the British bike movement. There's the collectors, who like the big stuff like Bonnies, 650SS's and Vincents. Then there are the real bikers who go for a state of mild tune, sensible mod's and practical updates. What to buy then? Around two grand to spend. Had to be a Triumph twin, I knew the breed so well, less likely to be ripped off.
After viewing a couple of right dogs, I found a nice 1968 650 Trophy. Not too shiny but no rust and the motor was exceptionally quiet and oil tight. The owner listed lots of mods, amongst them upgraded main bearings and electronic ignition. The Trophy's the single carb version of the Bonnie, extra grunt at low revs, smoother and better economy. Lacks go above the ton but by then the vibes were teeth rattling, no great loss.
I was sold on the machine despite some misgivings about riding it every day. It was soon in my garage. It was fun. A big 650 twin in its day but considered a lightweight, now. Only 360lbs and narrow, easy handling whether in town or on the open road.
The clutch was very heavy but the bike would run down to 25mph in top and pull off on the throttle without any need to hustle on the heavy but precise four speed gearbox. Running around town in second gave enough acceleration to burn off middleweight Jap's but it was left standing by the replica's, which reared up on one wheel almost completely out of control. Rather silly!
The engine put out a mere 40 horses at 6500rpm, a point beyond which it wasn't really worth revving, though it'd touch 7500 revs in second or third when I was in a hurry. Vibes poured in above 5000 revs, which made such revs suitable only for brief bursts of acceleration, but below those revs the engine was much smoother than I'd expected. My recollection of Bonnies included bits falling off and the time a filling actually fell out, but I had every reason to believe the previous owner's assertion that the motor had been rebuilt with a lot of tender loving care. Easy to check from the lack of noise, vibes below five grand and oil tightness. There's no reason to accept anything less, these days, if you're paying thousands for one.
Its short 56 inch wheelbase, and lack of mass, made it dead easy to throw around, yet the suspension was taut enough for the bike to hold a decent line. Many Triumphs weave nastily in bends but later bikes had the benefit of using extra plates between frame and engine to support the swinging arm.
A decent set of Avons and effective maximum speed of 100mph, meant I had no problems with the handling. In fact, I felt a damn sight more secure than on most Jap's of my recent acquaintance that put down the power so viciously that not even ultra sticky modern tyres could keep them in line in the curves. In the wet, I was faster than most, lacking totally the feeling of imminent disaster that, say, a ZX-10 gives out.
Weeks, then months, went by without much trouble. Even the chain didn't need adjusting. In case you're wondering why Jap chains last so poorly compared with the Triumph's 25 to 30,000 miles (on non O-ring types!) the answer is very simple. Jap motors run 14 to 16 tooth engine sprockets which in their small diameter stress the chain. The Triumph runs a 19 tooth engine cog! Okay, you've got to take half the engine apart to get at the bloody thing, but as it rarely needs replacing this isn't the disaster it might be. A new chain can be threaded through on the end of the old one, by the way.
With electronic ignition and a single carb all I had to do every 500 miles was set the valves. They were always close to being out of their limits so not something to neglect! Triumph valvegear was always a bit dodgy, not so much bad design as poor quality materials or machining. Valve guides can fall out and rockers wear rapidly. But good modern components assembled properly do last reasonably well, at least 20,000 miles.
I changed the oil every 2000 miles. The separate tank wasn't a good idea, as it's all too easy for the oil pipes to crack or fall off. A wet sump would've been much better. At least the gearbox oil is separate, allowing thicker oil better suited to the cogs. Explaining the excellence of the gearchange and, perhaps, the heavy action of the lever. Neutral was a bit elusive at times, especially when the engine got warm from riding in town. The oil pump's not the strongest in the world, but, again, there are better after-market items available.
The combination of single carb and electronic ignition gave the bike exceptional economy. The four gallon tank lasted for well over 250 miles unless the motor was really pushed. Run above 5000 revs - as mentioned not a good idea, but I had a few 90mph motorway drones - fuel was a poor 50mpg. But general riding, whether in town or country, gave 65 to 75mpg! In other words, as good or better than the vast majority of modern 125's! Where, you might well ask, has modern motorcycle design gone wrong?
Obviously, the Jap's concentrated on making their engines as oil tight and reliable as possible, which basically meant the widespread adoption of the across the frame four. Then they got into performance above all else. The result, incredibly fast and expensive bikes that have worse fuel consumption than the vast majority of cars. No wonder more and more old British twins are being put back into use!
To be honest, I didn't use the Triumph over the worst of the winter months. I liked it too much to subject it to constant acid rain and salted roads; though its finish was probably better than most Jap's. Nope, I had an old Bantam for the messy stuff. I'd junked a lot of surplus metal and it'd fly along in town, though was a bit useless out of it. But as my commute was across town this wasn't a problem and it was generally reliable. I had been offered a Tiger Cub, but they are, in my experience, real little thugs that are okay for throwing off cliffs... er, sorry, off-road use...but hell as a sensible set of wheels. Sorry, if you don't agree but I've fallen off and broken too many Cubs to get that whacked by the rosy glow of nostalgia.
I do about 5000 miles a year on the Trophy, without any real hassle, just giving it a bit of tender loving care as and when necessary. Not only was it trouble-free but I've enjoyed each and every mile I've ridden the bike. I know a lot of people don't want to give up their Jap's for the unknown and unpredictable world of old British twins but sometimes it's worth taking a chance.
So what's so good about the thing? It's just the way it all works together to give a relaxed, safe and fun ride. Vertical twins have been much overlooked by the excess of fours but the way they make their power, even if there ain't all that much of it, is kind of cool, laid back. The trouble with modern fours is that it's easy to get bored with them, moving on and on until you end up with a 180mph piece of madness that you can't really use. Much better to buy an old Triumph and enjoy what it has to offer. Suppose I'm getting a bit more mature in my old age. Still, I wouldn't mind the new Triumph Daytona.
Dave Rollands
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