Copyright (c) umgweb.com 1998
There's nothing quite like sticking to a marque come what may. I've been a Triumph man since the sixties. Started off with one of those nifty Tiger Cubs and rapidly moved up to the big twins. Two machines from that period have stayed in my garage all this time, a neat Tiger 500 and a rather wayward Bonnie, tuned to the hilt but only sometimes the better for it.
It needed to be with all the high performance Jap crap of the seventies and eighties on the road. I got my own back, in the end, by buying one of the new Triumph 1200 Trophys. Now I can be proud to ride British iron and keep up with just about everything else on the road. The older Triumphs have not been neglected, as they each have their own particular tune to offer.
The 1969 Triumph T100C quickly found a special place in my heart. It was practically brand new when I acquired it, in beautiful condition, having done less than a 1000 miles. From a distance it looked pretty much the same as any late sixties Bonnie, to my mind always the most beautiful looking Triumph. The engine was the single carb version of their then ubiquitous OHV twin. Displacing a mere 490cc with a 9:1 compression ratio, power was a very mild 35 horses at 7000rpm.
At the time, a hard ridden Honda CB250 twin would have given the Tiger problems, they both sharing a 95 to 100mph top speed and the ability to gallop along at 80 to 85mph. However, the Tiger's willingness to rev was combined with a lot more low speed punch than the rev-it-until-it-dies Honda.
Other benefits included chassis components that were basically set up for the 120mph Bonnie model, so coped well with the milder Tiger, although by modern standards the suspension travel, or lack thereof, is very crude, but it still manages to hold a line and the 350lb machine can be tossed through the bends with all the ease of most Jap 250s.
What endeared the T100C to me more than anything was the effortless way it ate up the miles and the sheer versatility of its nature. As happy pottering around town as it was blasting down motorways or cutting a path through the back lanes. Unlike my other Triumph, vibes were not too intrusive and maintenance chores confined to 1250 mile sessions. One or two bolts did show a need to come undone in the early days, but once wired in position they started to behave themselves.
Although the Tiger is equipped with speedo and tacho there's hardly any need to consult them - the bark of the motor always indicates how hard pressed is the engine and how fast the bike is going. The Tiger is always communicating its state of health to the rider.
I am quite meticulous about maintenance and oil changes, don't use more than 7000 revs (only an idiot would as the harshness of the vibes indicates the motor does not like it), and try to keep the machine looking smart. Thus, in twenty years I have done 38000 miles without having to do anything serious to the insides of the engine (alas, I have a car for the family which takes up too much of my time).
The great appeal of the Tiger is its simplicity, both in its engine and its lines. A friendly and reliable nature more than makes up for any lack of speed. The Bonnie is the complete opposite, with a highly tuned motor running in a similar chassis to the Tiger. If the two bikes did not look so similar they could easily be the products of two different factories.
The Rickman top end consists of an eight valve head and new cylinders plus high compression pistons that increase the capacity from 649cc to 680cc. Over 60 horses at 7000rpm were claimed for this conversion. The bottom end was basically stock, although I eventually uprated the oil pump.
The machine was basically a standard 1968 model to which I'd fitted the Rickman bits in 1973, becoming tired of being burnt off the road by youths on Japanese rubbish. The bike weighed in at about 370lbs, so the power to weight ratio was better than anything the Japs had on offer, even up to the early eighties.
Even a stock Bonnie is a gutsy machine up to about 110mph, so after carefully running in the new engine for 3000 miles, I was not that surprised to find that the acceleration was scintillating enough to put those enormous CB750 fours in their proper place. It was real arm straining stuff.
As was the handling. Both the swinging arm and the suspension objected to this new found energy. Rolling on the power in corners had the back end waltzing in a way that made a mockery of all the myths surrounding fine handling Brit bikes. Even on the flat the bike went into vicious weaves come 120mph!
One thing that did surprise me was that the mill was appreciably smoother than the old one, despite the increase in capacity. What had been a filling threatening 90mph buzz turned out to be a nice and smooth cruising speed.
The one initial disappointing area of the Rickman engine was fuel economy which was for then a quite heavy 32 to 45mpg. The stock motor did 40 to 60mpg, whilst the good old Tiger did an exceptional 55 to 80mpg!
For about 6000 miles I had the time of my life on the Rickman. I'd fitted some better shocks and heavier springs, which tamed most of the chassis nastiness. Both the Tiger and the Bonnie share TLS front drums which are powerful and sensitive, but though more than adequate for the 500 and passable on a stock Bonnie, was a bit lost on the Rickman, as it faded from speeds greater than 90mph something chronic. Racing linings were tried but proved so vicious in the wet that I could not tolerate them, so had to suffer the fade in silent bouts of horror.
After the euphoria of the first few months, I was annoyed to find that the main bearings had failed, rumbling like an old washing machine. That was when I put in a better oil pump, because the rockers and cams were also showing signs of wear. I went to the trouble of having the rebuilt crankshaft dynamically balanced which made the motor smoother still, but if all the performance was used it still demanded a rebuild every 8 to 10,000 miles. As the whole point of the bike was to see off the Jap challengers in a heroic fight against the mass invasion, performance was used all the time!
At times I was forced to seek refuge in my car (British, naturally), whilst the Bonnie was being rebuilt. There was nothing wrong with the Tiger, just that I liked it so much I didn't want to risk thrashing it, so sometimes had problems holding off screaming 125s!
I could have blown a wedge on an 850 Commando or 750 Trident but neither of these bikes appealed, the Trident as overweight as most Jap fours and the Commando so unreliable when tuned that not even the most patriotic could make excuses for its eccentricities.
By the end of the seventies and beginning of the eighties I was beginning to tire of the fight, but absolutely determined not to buy any foreign rubbish. The car got used more and more, the Triumphs kept for pleasurable weekends and occasional holidays. When prices went crazy I was even tempted to sell both machines, only a couple of friends who were British bike fanatics persuaded me to hold on to the twins.
It wasn't until the late eighties that I started using the bikes seriously again. The roads had become so congested that going to work on a motorcycle suddenly made a lot of sense.
Then, of course, rumours about the new Triumphs started to appear. I was not convinced that any machines would ever emerge, having heard too many times of the rebirth of the British Motorcycle Industry. Then, suddenly, as if by magic, there were Triumphs for sale in the showrooms. They were modern, the factory was actually doing some hard engineering rather than just assembling other countries' bits and I liked their looks. I have never bought a new bike and had no intention of starting, however much I wanted a reborn Triumph, so I stalked the used market for about a year until a Triumph 1200 Trophy turned up for a reasonable price.
The huge watercooled four cylinder engine developed a mind warping 125hp at 9000rpm. Which in itself was a massive step for me to take. Even more worrying, the bike weighed in at about 560lbs with some fuel in the tank and oil in the engine.
The test ride had consisted of being taken for a wild blast on the pillion. The owner had taken one look at me and decided there was no way he was going to entrust his pristine machine to an emaciated ancient, whose arrival on a Tiger 100C did not impress one tiny bit. He agreed to ride the machine to my house a few days later where I handed over a huge stack of fifties much to the wife's dismay.
Early the next morning, when there were no witnesses about, I set out on the magnificent Trophy, my ears still ringing from the rather shrill way the nearest and dearest had threatened to dial 999 if I wasn't back by eleven. Within moments I felt right at home on the bike, everything felt so smooth and controlled that as soon as there was a little bit of momentum gained the massive mass faded into the background. The only thing I objected to was the racing poise of the riding position, which hurt both wrists and neck.
I soon forgot all about that, having lost myself in the six speed gearbox I came to a long, deserted straight, where I wrenched on the throttle, expecting to be rapidly hurtled forward. My whole body was viciously jerked backwards as the gentle growl turned into a terrifying wail, what had been a long straight suddenly disappearing to be replaced by a rather sharp left-hander. I was unsure if I should have been grinning or screaming.
As can be imagined, used as I was to sixties' drums, the power of the triple discs was almost as alarming as the acceleration (in what turned out to be third gear). Still, they lost a huge amount of speed, almost scorching the tyres. I knew that after that experience the Trophy would take some getting used to, but also that the process would prove to be a most enjoyable one. Wrenching my back, trying to reverse the machine into my garage later that day, gave pause for thought, although the centrestand proved relatively easy to use.
The main problem was every time I went to use one of the older Triumphs, I had to get used to their characteristics all over again, not particularly helped by having the gear and brake levers on different sides. On a couple of occasions, overtaking cars, I've managed to think the older bikes would cover the distance only to find that I'd misjudged their power, so used so quickly, had I become to the Trophy's abundance.
In a way it's made me realise all the fun I could have had on some more modern bike in the eighties, but I'm determined to make up for lost time. Already, I've done a Continental tour of about 4000 miles. The bike ran fine, except that it went through a set of tyres and needed a couple of oil changes (I'm still doing them at 1250 miles despite what the handbook might suggest). I blasted the bike up to 150mph on a German autobahn, revelling in its stability and smoothness. It still wasn't flat out at that speed but I didn't have the bottle to try for more.
If I had to sell one of my bikes it would be the Rickman Bonnie, mostly because I don't need its speed and am tiring of its need for constant care and attention - the more time I spend on the Trophy, which can be thrashed with apparent impunity, the less I am inclined towards weekends sorting the older Triumphs.
The 500 Tiger, on the other hand, has been so durable that I can't ever see myself parting with it; it's still a lovely way to spend quiet weekends exploring the back lanes. Whichever bike I use, though, I always come home with a big grin that sets me up for whatever may follow during the rest of the week.
Henry Wilson
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Some nasty things have been said and written about Triumphs in general and Bonnies in particular, but I would venture to suggest that most of these have been perpetrated by those too young or silly to know a good thing when they see one. The analogy between bikes and women comes to mind yet again. It takes a wise and mature man to recognise and appreciate the value of a grand old tart with a heart. But she'll outlive all the flash, brash young scrubbers and, into the bargain, give you a far better ride.
But enough of that. This isn't yet another grey-beard's nostalgia trip, nor is it a review of a bike which is beyond reviews. This is a brief and painful lesson in the mysteries of Brit electrics, and it might even be of some practical use to someone.
First, though, a bit of scene setting. I've had this Bonnie for five years. She was made at Meriden, presumably by the Co-operative in 1979, and when I got her she was fully functional but just a bit rough all round.
There were a few teething problems, of course. A couple of head gaskets imparted an early lesson or two. Don't use those awful bloody composite things, use copper and check the head bolts' torque after 50 miles, 500 miles and whenever you're anywhere near the top end.
Contrary to popular myth, things don't fall off all the time. I don't know how many miles we've done because the speedo's usually non-functional, but in all this time only two components have actually come adrift, and these clearly demonstrate the cunning and foresight of Triumph designers. When the pitifully thin bracket sheared, causing the horn to fall off somewhere between Bath and Peterborough, it caught and held on the front engine mounting.
Likewise, when a similar bracket holding the rear brake fluid reservoir met a similar fate, the reservoir itself lodged perfectly on the mudguard and frame member. It was probably there for weeks. A pair of pliers and a drill replaced both in minutes.
These are, of course, exceptional failings. I could go on to extol the virtues of this magnificent machine ad infinitum, but I'll content myself by telling you that it was chosen as 'Bike I'd Most Like To Take Home' by a young lady at a recent MAG rally. Fair enough, she looked like anybody's prop-forward but the fact remains.
Down to the serious stuff - the electrics. Early last summer the previously almost unblemished performance was marred by occasional missing under load. The Bonnie started as easily as ever, with no more than the usual leap into the air antics, and went fine up to 4000rpm, but then a splutter and cough came in.
Switching on the lights had an adverse effect, too, so an electrical investigation resulted. I could feel the icy grip of electrical gremlins, the dreaded intermittent fault. Please god, let it be something obvious, anything obvious. We made a fair start. There were some pretty ropy connections in the headlight itself - there's a whole bagful of wire in there - and, joy of joys, an exposed bit of wire in the headlight switch allowing shorting on to the handlebars.
A natty bit of soldering by Steve, who knows about these things, and off we go on a test run. Horror. Only someone who has been in that awful situation, where you really think you've found the answer and suddenly find you haven't, will appreciate the feeling. No improvement. 4000 revs equals the stutters.
And this was only the early stages, so the cursing and cider consumption were still at pretty low levels. Next? Plugs, of course. No messing, two new ones despite the fact that the old ones looked fine. Result? No improvement. Plug leads, likewise. In fact, the bike was becoming worse, almost imposssible to ride any distance.
Next? Coils. Expensive stuff but fortune just occasionally smiles on Triumph owners, and did so in the form of Kev. A bearded, leather jacketed fairy godmother with an armful of electrical bits, including a coil or two. The name of the game being substitution and elimination. The first coil made no difference, the second cleared it up - 4000, 5000 and up. All I had to do was buy a new coil.
Alas, this was not to be. We thought a bit more coil juggling might be a good idea, just to be sure. For a start it ran fine with the two original coils, then failed with the substitute. On the final run it conked out altogether. This had to mean that both coils were buggered (they weren't, as subsequent bench tests showed) or something more central was at fault. This could easily have been cursing, swearing and throwing things about time, but being scholars, gentlemen and Triumph owners we just left it, hit the cider and came back another day.
The ignition amplifier seemed like a fair suspect, so we went for the substitution trick again. This would have been quite straightforward had the connectors all been the same. As it was, the combination of spades, bullets and blacksmith's solder needed some sorting. Sods' Law is a familiar companion to anyone who tangles with Brits, so the hair-raising pillion dash to the auto-electrical shop (why are they such sullen, unhelpful bastards?) and the subsequent connector swaps were a mere trifle.
The replacement amplifier had no effect at all. The bitch still started perfectly and ran up to about 4000, then died. Luckily, the death was at the top of the test hill, cunningly chosen so that the predictable failures allowed a free-fall glide down the hill and back to the garage. Free-wheeling down a twisting, near vertical, grass centred, cowshit splattered lane can be as exhilarating experience as anything on two wheels.
My electrical guru suggested the ignition timing unit as the next step. Bonnies went electronic some time before 1979, so the unit's simply a transducer/reluctor set up. These should be more or less immortal, but the winding in the transducer is a possible source of intermittent failure.
Unfortunately, Kev's spare transducer was ever so slightly different and wouldn't fit. Amazingly, the local Brit spares shop had a used one, which he let me have for a fiver and he'd have it back if it didn't do the trick (Stuart Motorcycles, Highbridge, Somerset).
And, of course, it didn't do the trick. Time for a progress check. We'd looked over the wiring for breaks and doubtful connections, changed the plugs and leads, and substituted coils, amplifier and ignition unit. What was left? Helpful suggestions included earth connections, carburation (done that) and complete rewiring. Less helpful ones featured matches and cliffs. As it was, desperation and lack of two wheels had driven me to buy a Jap and to start smoking again. Things were certainly looking very bad.
Then, with the support of Steve who'd guided and encouraged throughout the painful saga, we attempted a final once over to try to find something, anything. Somewhere beneath the battery, in a jumble of once multicoloured leads, lurks a three lead plastic connector. It joins the amplifier to the coils and battery earth. The bugger was loose. I couldn't believe that we hadn't seen it when we subbed the amplifier, but it was on the earth side and pretty unobtrusive. A few minutes work with the long-nosed pliers made the connection secure. I still can't really believe it, but the beautiful bitch started first kick and ran like the roaring, snarling brute she really is.
After all those weeks, all those missed runs, all that fiddling about... words are inadequate. There are a few morals to this tale. First, good friends are the most essential requisite for successful motorcycle maintenance, especially if you're a half-assed mechanic like me. Second, when confronted with that evil of evils, the under load, intermittent electrical fault, check every inch of wiring and every connector - twice! Third, as long as you've sufficient supplies of friends and cider, don't give up. If nothing else, you're learn something, perhaps about yourself.
Postscript: You may've noticed that in this tale of woe, misery and eventual triumph, there are no accounts of the road burning, cager paralysing, macho heroics usually favoured by UMG contributors. You will appreciate, I hope, that we connoisseurs of fine old tarts just don't need 'em. Besides, I've got a GPz1100 for that sort of nonsense.
Paul Hending
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I don't know whether to start this tale with a disaster or one of the highs that come from riding a classic British twin. Any extended exposure to a Triumph Bonneville will turn up lots of horrors that are usually compensated for by the sheer on the road bravado. A well set up 750 twin, ridden within its limits, can be sheer joy, with its thumping torque, narrow, stiff chassis and, er, live feel.
The latter can be confused, by those not used to its ways, with vibration. Not even the most ardent Triumph twin fan would say that the engine was smooth at 7500rpm, but between 2000 and 6500 revs, where most of the power and torque is packed, the sensation coming from the motor is more a communication of the progress of the combustion cycle that the gut churning, eyeball popping buzzing so well defined my those rotters who can only find praise for Japanese iron.
There are ways to make the long stroke engine emit frightening levels of vibration, the easiest being merely neglect of balancing its twin Amal carbs, adjusting its two pushrod operated valves per cylinder and refusing to go over the bolts every week; an act that any long term owner views as the closest a motorcyclist can get to religious communion with their machine.
There are certain mods that are mandatory for smooth running and long engine life. The most obvious being electronic ignition, which as well as removing a maintenance chore dramatically improves starting and fuel economy. The latter also benefits from fitting sixties silencers and airfilter as over the years emission controls emasculated the engine, dulling its performance edge and efficiency. A stock T140 might only manage 40 to 45mpg and 110mph whilst one modified as above does around 60mpg and 115mph - it'd probably go a touch faster but the vibes above 7500rpm are a real limitation on throttle abuse. The old style silencers also look and sound much neater.
There are lots of stories about Triumph twin engines blowing up in a big way. It may well be that some Friday afternoon specials did fall apart rapidly but in my experience a well built Triumph twin engine, using good quality components, should last for 25 to 35000 miles before needing a full rebuild. It's possible for a crankshaft, in an engine that hasn't been revved excessively, to go twice that distance and it's still easy enough to find used spares in good condition, so that a rebuilt top end can be done for a few hundred quid. There seems no reason to me why these bikes can't be endlessly recycled.
The first signs of wear will be found in the bores or the valvegear, evidenced by either smoke out of the exhaust or an increase in vibration. Being immersed in Triumph twin lore I can usually tell the state of a motor just by revving it at idle and going for a brief test ride - if you've never owned a British twin it's a good idea to take someone who knows what they are doing because it's all too easy to buy a real dog that only has a few hundred miles of life left. The tales of rip-offs could fill even a whole edition of the UMG!
My own on the road failures in seven years of hard riding that has put more than 100,000 miles on the clock (though not one clock, speedo's expire every 30,000 miles or so), have been limited to five occasions. Two partial engine seizures (worn oil pump), one clutch drum explosion (it was whip-lashed by a wrecked primary chain that in turn had eaten its tensioner), one burnt out exhaust valve (unleaded petrol or poor quality valve material) and one burnt out wiring loom (old age, vibration and rotten insulation).
Doubtless, had not 500 mile maintenance sessions been done with religious devotion, then there would've been many more minor misfortunes - also three engine rebuilds have been done as preventative maintenance. But I can't, in all fairness to the Triumph, complain too loudly over its indiscretions given that in return I've had lots of fun and done many, many miles.
The chassis was altogether easier to keep in shape. Many Bonnies came out of the factory with a poor finish, shedding paint and chrome the first time a bit of bad weather was encountered. Over the years they can decay quite majestically but it's mostly just a matter of upgrading the cosmetics because the dynamics of the chassis are right on, that unique blend of stability, flickability and light weight that the old British factories did so well.
The frame can be a weak spot as the main spine part, which carries the oil, can crack up - the excess of leaking lubricant that results is pretty obvious. Welding usually suffices although I never had this problem - it's probably a symptom of engine neglect or wear or thrashing producing too much vibration for the frame to bear.
Early versions of the frame had a tall seat height that left the rider perched high above the bike, even if you have long legs these are best avoided. The geometry's good and the stock suspension taut until wear takes ahold. I run mine on more supple Koni shocks with progressive springs in the forks (gaiters are necessary unless you want to change the seals every 5000 miles), which suits the 400lbs of metal well, giving a good compromise between comfort and stability.
The riding position I've altered to a slightly more sporting stance, which with a re-upholstered seat, allows about 300 miles in a day before my hands and feet decide that they've had enough of the engine's thrumming. I have done as much as 600 miles in a day but I wouldn't recommend it as a regular occurrence.
The only limitation on cornering was ground clearance but with modified exhaust, pegs and stands the old girl could be taken over to the edge of the Avon tyres, when bumps made her squirm around a little but it was so far from being dangerous that I would often open up the throttle, let the torque thump through the machine and exit the bend with a bit of tail wagging. It looked impressive and confirmed my status as a mad bugger but in reality never came close to letting loose.
The bike came with cast wheels and a disc brake at each end, but after a couple of years I went for spoked wheels with a front disc and rear drum; a combination superior in braking and a bit cheaper on the consumables. Brake pads, tyres and even chains all lasted for more than 15000 miles, which with the fuel consumption made the bike as cheap to run as many a Japanese 125 (oil consumption was high but I used cheap 20/50). The bike, by the way, remained stable on tyres with a mere 1mm of tread.
Such frugality does endear the Triumph to me, making up for some of the other expenses. At least its life is predictable, I can count on at least 25000 miles from a rebuilt engine, which gives me the time to buy the bits I know I'm going to need from autojumbles. I also have a second engine undergoing reconstruction with a couple of trick parts that should take the Triumph twin experience a little further.
It's not the kind of bike you can ignore and thrash mindlessly, it needs a lot of tender loving care along the way. Given that, the payback is a neat bit of engineering that can be modified to suit your personal tastes and needs, which is always fun to ride on the open road and whose slight lack of predictability always gives an edge to every outing.
David Redstone
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Come on, you old brute, I muttered at my 1977 Triumph 750 Tiger. The rain was pouring down, I was 60 miles from home and the engine was stuttering away like it had holed a piston. That was a trick it had done three days after I bought the bike about two years before. Not a nice introduction to British biking but one that was fixed cheaply enough. The cause was the points advancing the ignition timing by about 30 degrees. Itself a function of the vibes produced by my immature need to take the engine to 7500rpm. Those were very early days!
Prayers often worked wonders on the Triumph, so I muttered some as speeding cars roared past, huge plumes of water drowning both myself and the machine. But no joy, the Tiger began to lose its motive power. The road was busy with traffic, forcing me to slew off on to the grass verge. The Triumph usually handles well but not off-road. The front wheel skidded away from me.
The grass did provide a soft landing, neither bike nor I seriously injured. I picked the Tiger up, worried by the burning smell coming from under the seat. I turned off the ignition and tore the saddle off. A bunch of wires had shed their insulation, were shorting out on each other. Only a mad optimist would ride a Triumph any distance without a full complement of instant cures. So soon sorted.
I was absolutely drenched through by then, shivering with the cold and damp. Having just done a 3000 mile tour without any incidents I figured I had got away relatively easy. The last time I did a long tour both ends of the silencers rusted off, baffles shooting out to threaten following vehicles. The tremendous noise thus produced caused the police to go wild every time I came within a mile of them. Carburation was also adversely affected with flat spots and a deal of excessive vibration even at lower revs.
The Tiger was usually okay up to about 5000rpm, which was good for 80mph on the clock, thus 70 to 80mph cruising was surprisingly easy. The single carb set-up did not seem to affect the performance too greatly, compared to the Bonnie, as a mate with one of these was so afflicted by vicious vibes at higher revs that he could not use his extra power.
Besides, my Tiger usually did 60 to 65mpg. The lack of carb balancing was much appreciated because the rest of the motor needed attention every 500 to 600 miles and a daily tightening up of all the bolts! Neglect of this had bits falling off or such poor running that my feet were left numb from the vibes after as little as 10 miles.
Early horrors included a clutch lever that should have come with a Bullworker and cables that snapped with horrifying ease. I once had both the clutch and throttle cable go on the same run! Nylon lined cables provided an eventual solution, although spare ones are both taped alongside and kept in the toolkit.
Another nasty was a set of Lockheed discs that whilst powerful had such a wooden feel it was dead easy to lock up the wheels in the wet. I fell off six times until I got used to them. The good side of this was pads that lasted for 18 to 20,000 miles. Tyres (Avons) were nearly as good at 12 to 15000 miles, although once down to 2mm the usually good handling became very squeamish when white lines and the like were encountered.
The Tiger gets its handling finesse from a relatively strong tubular frame, reasonable mass (under 400lbs) and stiff suspension. What this adds up to is good stability all the way up to the ton (the most I ever got out of the bike) and a flickability that brings a big grin to my ugly mug down the back roads. Apart from the brakes and occasional poor running, the Triumph feels very secure on wet roads, much helped by the controllable power output.
As mentioned, the engine is limited to about 5000rpm by the vibes, but this is fine as a large lump of torque comes in from just past tickover. As useful for roaring around town as it is for back road hustling. Once under way, the bike can be bunged in third or fourth for most of the time.
The box has always stayed smooth but the action is heavy enough to destroy trainers. The only thing that upsets the change is the drive chain being on its last legs. The chain only lasts about 5000 miles, but the sprockets never seem to wear and the chains are ridiculously inexpensive.
One nasty bit of engine design is the chain primary chain - I've always found it better to replace them every 10,000 miles. It's probably possible to get twice that mileage but it's living dangerously as they quite often snap! One mate had his go at 70mph, throwing him off and wrecking his motor. Better safe than sorry.
The engine had done 12000 miles when I bought the bike and I've added another 37000 miles. Perhaps, surprisingly, given all the horror stories I've read about British bikes, apart from a valve job at 29000 miles, the holed piston and countless primary chains, the motor is still basically as it came out of the factory. Helped by fitting Boyer ignition after I holed the piston. Guess I must've got one of the good ones!
Hard riding often causes the Tiger to sulk, refusing to start until it's kicked about a hundred times and I'm slumped helplessly over the bike. This is actually a sign that the coils are on the way out - they rarely last more than 12000 miles. I did try some out of a foreign car but the vibes caused them to disintegrate in less than a 1000 miles. I could have sworn that the dying exhaust note chortled in Triumph at destroying these awful foreign components.
The lights could also provide moments of fear and loathing. They were 12 volts but defective wiring would either cause them to dim or blow. Invariably, the lights failed when they were most needed on deserted roads with no street lighting. Several times I suffered from massive eye strain and near misses riding home for miles in total blackness. Even rubber mounting the lights and directly connecting them to the battery didn't provide a complete cure. So insidious were the vibes that a total solution appeared impossible.
This tendency became most pronounced when I tried to take the Tiger despatch riding. My finances dictated a quick infusion of cash but the Triumph did not take too kindly to being thrashed mercilessly through city traffic. Apart from electrical bits exploding, and the need to kick the bugger into life, the bike would have been an ideal DR hack - cheap to run, easy to throw through traffic, secure over greasy roads and an easy going nature. After a month of frantic madness I'd cleared a thousand notes and decided that I'd had enough. The rainy season had started and I knew the Tiger was as reluctant to get drenched as myself.
It was after the DR debacle that I decided it was time for a minor refurbishment. The chrome was in a parlous state, most of the frame paint replaced by rust and the engine covered in corrosion. A week off the road and careful application of Hammerite solved most of the horrors. A mate did the cycle parts in British Racing Green to good effect.
I know someone else with a Tiger 750 who has done over 60,000 miles without any great trauma so hope that there is plenty of life left in my engine. I can see that all the hassle involved will not be to everyone's taste but the flip side is very low running costs and loads of on the road fun.
P.L.J.
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Having reached the age of cheaper insurance, I thought at last my dream of owning a Triumph could come true. I studied MCN each week and eventually found a dealer with a reasonably priced (as in dirt cheap) 1980 T140E. So, I eagerly went over to view it.
She was hauled out from the back of the shop where I was told the mechanic had been borrowing it for a couple of days. But when I went to try it, no go. Hindsight now tells me I should have given up there and then, but I was already feeling sorry for the poor purple and oily, rust heap. I was promised that by the next weekend she would be running okay and have an MOT, so I put down a holding deposit and went back home.
The following Saturday, a mob of us went over with the cash and then I was the proud owner of an UK spec Bonnie. Once home it was general viewing time and even the neighbour gave it the thumbs up, he once having owned a Matchless combo. My brother then tried sprinting it up and down the road to find out the neighbours' tolerance level and at what speed the oil leaks started (about 30mph).
I started out with all the good intentions of sorting her out and going back to original spec. I also thought I was going to keep a log of all that happened. Both ideas ran out of steam very quickly. I was too busy fixing her to write up a log and I even became quite fond of the purple colour.
The next day in a fit of enthusiasm I cleaned the bike - I don't think it knew what the soapy stuff was. The engine appeared to run better without a year's worth of oil and mud covering the alloy. My first really irritating problem occurred at the end of the second week when, just as I was about to go blasting off into the distance, the throttle broke. It was not long after this that I purchased a parts manual which made life a lot easier.
I soon found that the battery needed constant care to keep the beast from refusing to start. Then the switches fell apart and the first light bulb blew. A new set of switches and the first of many bulbs later and we were back on the road.
I met an old school friend who had owned a Bonnie for ages. He was able to instruct me on the finer points of tappet adjustment and carb balancing. It made the bike run that much better. Then, on possibly the wettest evening for years, I took my girlfriend home on it - 30 miles all in the rain. After dropping her off it was quite late and dark. Part way round the North Circular I plunged through a huge puddle, only for the whole bike to stop. With the rain pouring down, I tried to get her going. An hour later and I'm soaked to the skin, she decided to play again, only for the front light to fall out at Hanger Lane and eventually for the bike to stall not far from home.
One expensive dealer service later it was all systems go, although I was warned that it would soon need an engine rebuild. A new Roadrunner meant it now went around corners without the back wheel doing a 10" slide. I decided that it was time for a good long run - Lincoln and back. It rained all the way there but the bike ran without a hitch.
On the way home, crunch, grind, bang. No power, so I coasted into a layby with the clutch in to find the rear chain in two pieces. It had also jammed around the front sprocket. A guy on a BSA gave me a split link but the chain was locked solid. The bike had to be brought home in a van. As the sprocket is hidden behind the clutch, I took the opportunity to fix the clutch slip at the same time as replacing the chain.
The Kent show was next and after chasing around the M24 at far above legal speeds (I'm not sure of the actual speed as the speedo always wavered violently), when on the M20 the exhaust fell off - luckily we recovered it only slightly scarred but the footpeg was lost for good. Fortunately, I found one at the show that fitted.
Many a happy month then passed. The odd front bulb blew and the indicators were removed by a Renault 5 - but surprisingly all seemed to hold together well. So it was then the Rockers Run to Portsmouth with the girlfriend on the back. No problem, we kept up with most and even overtook some. The clutch started to slip on the way back until eventually changing gear was a real effort and finally she would not start. On investigation, the locknut had fallen off the clutch adjuster and was happily rolling around the primary chaincase.
By now the tales of woe were beginning to get the boss annoyed, and the fact that the bike was making me late for work could no longer be accepted. I bought my mate's 1976 T140V off him - the theory being that two Triumphs can't break down at the same time.
Despite what had happened on the last run to Lincoln I decided to repeat the trip. I set off once more north to find that the speedo broke, the rear brake pipe sheared and just about every gasket in the engine blew. I managed to limp home, though, even meeting a fellow Triumph owner who was having an even worse day, ending in the recovery services taking him home.
This final trip made my mind up, the bike had to go. I had the chance to buy one of these newfangled Kawasaki 650s dirt cheap. So, after asking around, I found someone willing to buy the bike without a test ride or owt like that. He paid me and rode off. The last I heard the bike was undergoing open heart surgery and was in a 1001 bits.
The other Bonnie has since had her fair share of problems, mostly electrical, and is currently sitting in the back of my garage. Luckily, I still have the Z650 to play on, though it's not half as much fun. Doesn't quite get the same looks and is boringly reliable. Running a Bonnie is fun as long as you have the time to play with it. The disease is catching as my brother now has a 650 Triumph chop, which is a totally different kettle of fish. My Bonnie will probably undergo major surgery this year. It's great fun when it actually goes.
Bosun
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Back in 1980 I was an innocent youth whose pride and joy was a seven year old GT250. I'd always fancied owning a British bike, though, and when in September that year I came into some money I looked around for a Bonnie - at that time the only British bike in mass production. A 1978 model was advertised in the local rag by a nearby dealer so I went round in my lunch break to take a look.
The dealer was just finishing his dinner when I got there and reluctantly strolled out to start the bike. At the twentieth kick it started up, by which time the dealer was suffering indigestion and I was worrying if I'd have to go through this procedure every morning. The throaty roar from the exhaust convinced me I had to have the bike and next day I paid £995 and rode off on it.
A Bonnie must be the absolute antithesis of a GT250. Riding it home that first day, I was amazed to discover engine braking (sure that shouldn't have been breaking? - Ed) - a concept unknown on a GT. As soon as I eased off the throttle it felt like something had jammed the anchors on. The controls felt very stiff and the switchgear primitive. The indicator switch, in particular, was very fiddly to get right which I cured by junking the indicators.
The Bonnie felt much heavier than the Suzuki, although in reality it only weighed a little more. It was also much harder to kick up - I soon developed much larger right leg muscles; real man's bike, I told my mates. A week after buying the Bonnie, I decided to test it out by doing the 100 mile run to Nottingham University.
I'd never done a long trip by bike before and was a bit apprehensive, particularly as it was pouring down and I had a habit of throwing bikes up the road in wet weather. The journey began well but as the engine warmed up the clutch began to drag and I had problems in one traffic jam. No way could I get neutral (trick is to find it before you stop) and I was having to rev the bike to keep the engine running, whilst simultaneously applying the brake to combat clutch drag.
I needn't have bothered; soon as the traffic started moving the damn thing stalled anyway. I arrived at a Godforsaken place called Duffield at the same time as a blizzard and, when braking suddenly, threw the bike up the road in a big way. I was aware of a great pain in my left wrist when I picked the Triumph up.
The bike was ridable - just cosmetic damage really, indicators gone and a bent footrest. I kicked it into life and pulled the clutch in. Ow! That hurt! After stalling it about four times trying to start off and having to let the clutch out prematurely I eventually resorted to mind over matter and forced myself to hold the clutch in until the bike was moving.
Once mobile I used clutchless gearchanges the rest of the way. I parked in the centre of Nottingham and got a taxi to my friend Hawk's digs. After tea and sympathy he drove me to the campus. As it happened the whole weekend was a disaster as my better half was in a foul mood the entire time and I ended up catching the train home as my hand swelled up like a balloon - turned out to be a broken scaphoid so I spent the next six weeks in plaster up to my elbow.
That was a frustrating time with my new bike stuck in Nottingham and me on Merseyside, both wounded. Luckily Hawk had the situation there under control and arranged for a dealer to collect the bike and repair it, so the time wasn't entirely wasted. When I did eventually get the bike back it had been transformed - the controls seemed much lighter and easier to operate, it started first time and ticked over perfectly. Even the clutch worked.
Apparently, it had been way out of tune and the cables had never been oiled since leaving the factory. I gradually got to trust the bike's reliability and in '81 it completed the End to End run without undue hassle (see UMG 19). Later that year a fellow Bonnie owner introduced me to the local Triumph Owner's Club and soon I was a regular at rallies and runs.
To anyone who isn't in a bike club, take my advice and join one - you get more enjoyment from biking when you do it in company. There's also expert (and otherwise) advice on hand - I soon made the acquaintance of a friendly bike mechanic which was handy with my abysmal mechanical knowledge.
In 1982, after I visited the Meriden factory (now turned into a housing estate with roads named after various Triumph models, I think) the bike went through a spell of bad behaviour. It seized a couple of times and the crank sheared, all for no apparent reason. My mechanic crony had a lucrative time.
One incident stands out. After 250 miles of rain the bike stalled and wouldn't restart, so my pillion gave a push. The only problem was that when it started the silly bugger forgot to let go and was dragged along on his knees. I pulled up and looked around, expecting to see him running up to jump back on the pillion, and instead saw him picking himself up off the road with a queue of bemused car drivers looking on!
I got a new job in Leyland, Lancs, in '84. It was 40 miles away and for six months until I bought a house there I commuted daily. With leisure trips I reckoned to average 500 miles a week - not bad for an old Bonnie. Mind you, I give it a full service every month. I wouldn't like to guess what the total mileage the bike's covered in its lifetime would be (speedo/mileometer hasn't worked for many a year) but it must be pretty horrendous.
One day in May '85 I'd been working on the bike in the road opposite my house until dark and couldn't be bothered wheeling it into my back yard. Next morning I went out and there it was - gone! Real sinking feeling inside as I rang up the Old Bill to report it stolen.
Two weeks later it was found in a ditch, looking very sorry for itself. The clocks and ignition switch had been smashed off and the headlight broken, plus the odd dent and scratch here and there. Having said that, it had degenerated into a bit of a rat anyway before the low life pinched it, so I decided to strip it down and do a full restoration.
By this stage in my evolution as a spannerman I could put a motor back together no problem, but I had trouble taking them apart and the bike was in my yard for two years whilst I struggled with seized studs, mounting bolts, etc. Gradually it was transferred, bit by bit, to my spare bedroom for renovation. I did the full works. Frame stoved, new loom, motor rebuilt with new valves, pistons, bearings and bushes. I found the factory parts manual very useful for this type of job. The restoration slowly took shape. As it neared completion we heaved it down stairs for final assembly, adding wheels, mudguards, etc.
In March '88 the great day dawned and we poured some juice in the tank, switched on and kicked it over. It started about the sixth time with three years worth of rust and dead insects splattering out of the exhaust and all over my kitchen. Took a bit of tinkering to get the carbs and timing right but soon I was mobile again.
It felt really strange to be back on the old steed after a three year layoff. The bike didn't seem as smooth as I remembered it, but I had been riding a borrowed VF400 immediately before, so, I suppose, any Brit bike would seem like a boneshaker after that. I went to a couple of Triumph Owners Club rallies that year but the longest run was to the Riders Rights demo in Hyde Park.
That was a scream - 25000 bikers bringing London to a standstill. Later that year I acquired a Cage and the Trumpet began to get a bit neglected, partly because I was now back living with my folks and therefore banned from working on the bike indoors.
My lack of maintenance backfired on me, literally, on a run to Manchester. First, a silencer fell off - I went back for it and strapped it to the rear rack. Further on, overtaking a van, there was a bang, smoke everywhere and sudden loss of power. I noticed the carb inlet balance pipe had come off, allowing a weak mixture to the right-hand pot.
Sure enough, a stripdown later revealed a holed piston. At the time I carried on with one cylinder as we were nearly there and I didn't want to miss the party. I took the whole motor apart to clear out any swarf. Once again, made a few cock ups while dismantling, most of them too embarrassing to mention. Getting the crank out of the cases, I put the whole thing in the oven to loosen off the bearings. Took it out, expecting it to come apart easily but it didn't. I stuck a centre punch in the crank and hit it with a hammer. Bang! End of centre punch broken off and wedged firmly in the crankshaft oilway.
Oh dear, I thought. Turned out mum had got one these new fangled slow burn ovens which never get very hot. Asking around for help, I found a guy at the bike club whose firm possessed a spark eroder machine, only problem was he had to sneak the crank in when his boss wasn't looking and it was about three months before I got it back.
Once I'd collected all the new parts it went back together easily in a few days and has been behaving itself ever since, though the perennial oil leaks are still there. Over the years I've carried out a few mods to make life easier. One is a heavy duty 630 chain and sprocket kit which has doubled the mileage between chain adjustments. Another is fitting a handlebar choke instead of the naff carb mounted item which was always going wrong. A sealed beam headlamp from a Mini will fit straight into the Bonnie's headlight shell, so I buy them from a car breaker to save cash. Also, Mini Cooper brake shoes fit the Lockheed calipers.
In todays' traffic I can still keep up with the commuting hordes okay. I'm usually first away at the lights unless some inadequate wimp with an XR3i or similar decides their fragile ego needs boosting. On the motorway it's a different story - Bonnies don't like them, but then neither do I, so it's no great hardship to avoid them.
Brakes are nothing like as good as the latest Jap stuff but you learn to anticipate well in advance - proof of the risk compensation theory as riding Jap stuff I storm up to obstacles and haul the anchors on at the last minute. The top speed is supposed to be around 110mph, though the fastest I've done on mine is a straight ton. I slowed down out of mechanical sympathy. Average mpg is around 50mpg. I did once get 74mpg by sticking to 3000 revs (50mph in top) everywhere. I'm continually advised to lock the bike away and flog it in ten years time for a fortune, but I'd miss riding it too much.
A lot of people are amazed I've kept the same bike for ten years. However, a basic tenet of philosophy is that change is indicative of unhappiness with the status quo. The fact is, I'm perfectly happy with my Trumpet, so why change it?
Dave Pearson