Copyright (c) umgweb.com 1998
I'd quite happily owned a Triumph T150 750 Trident for over a decade. Some little weasel stole the triple from my garden. He was caught, given a warning and the bike returned to me. It looked exactly the same, even the screwdriver in the ignition lock hadn't caused extreme damage. But the engine never ran properly again, like it had been taken into the red and the metal had become so warped by the experience that it never worked well again. Shortly after the theft I sold the Trident for a large bundle of money and was on the look out for a new form of kicks.
This was 1994, the new Triumphs well established. Everything I read indicated that the 900 triple was the one to go for; that the motor was even tougher than the Japs. Laughably, some journalists complained about the tubular spine frame being old-fashioned, completely ignoring that the big chunk of alloy engine was a stressed member. The weight was comparable to a T150 so unlikely to provoke any problems.
New prices were reasonable in comparison to the Japs but too much for me. I had an open mind as regards to the model, going for whatever was on offer in MCN. Sometimes you get lucky, the first bike I saw was a two year old Trophy. 35000 miles on the clock but in excellent fettle. A brief test ride was all it took to make the sale - I had to add 500 smackers to the money obtained from the old Trident.
Three cylinder engines sound good. There's no two ways about that! The Trophy was no exception, a lovely drone below 5000 revs then an eerie shriek as the power really flowed in. It made the old 750 feel like a moped; I was cruising at the ton without even thinking about it. Smooth and sophisticated with just enough rawness to avoid the blandness of a typical Japanese four.
A bit of a heavy feel at lower speeds and not particularly accurate when going for it; maybe some wear in the still OE suspension. The forks fluttered when I used too much pressure on the twin discs, which had come along so far in power compared to seventies stuff that I had to re-educate my right hand. We're talking a couple of fingers on the lever rather than a Bullworker grip. The Dunlop tyres screeched a bit until I became used to the brakes.
The one poor element in the bike was the gearchange. This was worse than the old Trident, the selectors seeming to have worn away and an excess of pussy-footing needed to execute a clean change. The clutch was rather strange, vague and violent, but not needing much pressure and I learnt to use it smoothly after a month or so. Slop in the transmission was at odds with the new chain and sprocket set, much worse below 3000 revs than above. I never had much trouble from the old T150's gearbox so it was a bit bemusing to find the Trophy's hassles. New ones are supposed to be a lot better but then I also found a CBR600's gearchange pathetic.
Top speed runs were, of course, indulged almost immediately. 140mph without too much effort but a lot of wind in my face from the low screen. 145mph was a long time coming and 150mph needed a long, straight, deserted piece of motorway. Stability was a bit doubtful above 120mph, the front end feeling queasy, as if the tyre was slowly deflating. But nothing much happened, even hitting a bump didn't throw the chassis into a weave or wobble.
Within a month the Trophy and I were old friends, fond memories of the T150 fading fast. It was about then that the owner of the latter turned up, hammering on my door. His engine had blown its crankshaft, effectively ruining the whole lump. He was gibbering about the bike locking up solid at 70mph, giving him a hell of a fright. The least I could do, according to him, was take back what was left of the bike and return his money.
We tossed insults back and forth until he went away without any redress.....about three weeks later he made the front page of the local paper, bracketed by a couple of cops. He'd gotten into a fight with a pack of skinheads. A lucky escape for me.
I don't know if the next event of note was related or not, but suspect that it was. I came out of my local pub to find the paint of the cycle parts bubbling away. It was like someone had thrown a bucket of acid over the bike. Plastic was melting, alloy was burning and even chrome was yellowing before my eyes. After a panic attack, some mates and I ran into the pub to fetch some buckets of water - the landlord, a bit of a nutter, insisted on letting loose with the fire-hose. Both bike and everyone within half a mile ended up dosed in water!
It took about six months to sort out the finish. New parts, used bits and painting gradually got the old girl back to her prime. I was close to tears at the time, felt like someone had raped me rather than the bike! The finish was pretty good, acts of vandalism apart, the only area of concern was that some of the fasteners would turn rusty when attacked by the British acid rain - no wonder there are so many bald men in this country, I'm sure its the acidity of the rain causing hair to fall out. Said he, looking furtively in the mirror.
I liked to ride the Triumph early in the morning, down some deserted country roads, hard as I could, with no crash hat! Yep, a real hero. I could position myself so that the screen deflected the howling gale just above my eyes; one hell of a breeze rippling through my hair. I could hear the whine of the engine's gears and that mellow, haunting three into two exhaust. The odd car driver encountered would often go into wild contortions, as if I didn't know that the helmet was slung on the pillion perch.
I was gripped by a peculiar madness, extended my bare headed sorties into town. It took two weeks until I was pulled over and then got away with a severe dressing down. I don't know what got hold of me, suspect it was just the overwhelming character of the bike. Yes, the 900's look a little staid but underneath there's the bubbling, anarchistic engine that insists the Good Times are finally here.
I have, in the past, owned a few Japanese machines. I've always found these middleweight fours very superficial. Thrilling performance for the first week or so then boredom sets in. There's just no communication between engine and rider. The old T150 always felt alive, if a bit like a grumpy old man who was way past his prime. The new Triumph had the exhilarating performance of all but the most exotic Japanese iron, and plenty of that elusive character that both old Brits and Wops always had. Even more so than modern Ducatis, the Triumph presents its uniqueness without any of the horrors of the past.
You always had to pay a high price with old Brits - love 'em or hate them - that involved lots of roadside maintenance stops. The new Triumphs give the best of the past adventures without any of the costs. Of course, there are costs involved with running a big, heavy bike like the Trophy. Fuel's poor, expensive tyres don't last much more than 5000 miles and.......well, that's about it really. Carbs and valves need sod all attention whilst the engine's as close to bullet-proof as you can get.
For about a month I had the dubious pleasure of running from one side of London to the other. That traffic's really mad, all those screwed up cagers going berserk in jams. Under such duress the Trophy turned out to be too wide and heavy to be much fun, though the motor would pull from tickover in third (once I'd become inured to the drive-line grumblings). One time I lost it all, a sharp turn when the length and mass caught me out. Over we went, my leg and a couple of cars suffering most of the damage.
Or so I thought, about a week later there were some small cracks in the one side of the fairing. I tried to ignore them, in the hope that a miraculous cure might occur. No such luck, some tremor of vibration got through the chassis, caused them to spread so far that I ended up riding along with the plastic flapping all over the place. One innocent if patriotic ped rushed out into the road to advise me of the potential demise. I braked so hard to avoid hitting him that I whacked my nuts on the petrol tank. Half the fairing took that moment to fall off! That wasn't one of my best days.
I repaired the fairing myself - bit of alloy riveted behind the cracks and some GRP filler. The latter threatened to melt the plastic at one point but rapid action saved the day (I threw a bucket of murky water at it). Yes, I know I could've paid a pro to do plastic welding but what the hell, after a couple of cans of paint it looked quite good. From a safe distance!
I did have some problems from the silly rear disc corroding up during a really wet spell. It would free up if I emptied half a can of WD40 over it and never gave any hassles in good weather. A potential headache in the future. I call it silly as I just happen to agree with the Ed, that a good rear drum takes some beating and needs sod all maintenance as well as having shoes that last for ages. It's disappointing that Triumph hasn't gone that route on the cooking Thunderbird model. Nice bit of styling, though.
One of the most awesome sights was watching my nephew have a go. This was against my better judgement but the little bastard had the goods on me, with regards to a certain adventure. Anyway, this RD350 jockey proceeded to do a massive wheelie down my bit of suburbia. A Triumph triple flat out in first gear sounds really awesome, but that didn't stop me tearing my hair out and throwing a wobbly. The engine made some dreadful noises when the bike was returned ten minutes later but the tough old git staged a full recovery. Something very wrong with today's youth, thinks I.
Anyway, there's now 49,500 miles under its tyres and all seems well with the world. More than that, really, as it remains a very intoxicating ride - in every sense of the word. I wish it were a bit lower, shorter, lighter and cheaper on tyres and fuel, but there ain't anything out there that goes so well that can boast such virtues. Doubtless, Triumph have worked out which way to go all by themselves and in two or three years time I'll be on the lookout for a new generation of 900 triple - nearly new, naturally.
Mike Wilson
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I like big bikes. Always have, always will. There were lots of Triumph fours on offer. Within a week of looking I'd found an ideal bike. A 1992 1200 Trophy, then two years old and looking as bold as brass. 8000 miles in the hands of a singular mature owner. For some reason, he flexed his muscles at me when we started talking money. It didn't put me off and I walked away with the Triumph for 4000 notes. Rough ones, whose finish has gone off, can be found for less than £3500. Great bargains, as except for a few oil leaks and graunchy gearbox they are tough old things.
In reality, no-one would walk a big Triumph more than a few inches. It's a stout bugger with the kind of top heaviness that scares the shit out of anyone, like myself, who weighs under ten stones. Feels like once it get a few degrees off the vertical it's going to hit the deck in micro-seconds. Luckily, I have long legs with which to fight for support and a pair of decent boots to stop my ankles snapping under the stress. With a seat height of under 31 inches it ain't as excessive as it feels. The Trophy's the kind of bike where every little bit of edge helps.
This isn't immediately apparent when ridden between 10 and 100mph. Then it's a big relaxed four cylinder plot (do I need to mention watercooling, 16 valves, DOHC's, etc?) that needs surprisingly little effort to control. The bars suited my body perfectly and gave good leverage under moderate going. The engine's torque peaks at a mere 5000 revs (nearly 80lbft's worth - yum, yum) whilst over a 100 horses come out at 9000 revs. That all adds up to putting the bike in any of the six gears and just whacking open the throttle to go. Go fast enough to strain arms and distort vision.
The gearbox wasn't the slickest I'd ever come across, though better than some big Hondas. The breath of torque and power would've allowed a four speed box rather than five or six - it's typical that the marketing people haven't caught up with the engineering yet and that we are still burdened with excessive gears. Triumph should know better.
The trouble with the Triumph's box was that during fast downchanges it'd lock up for a while. Until I went wild with my left boot and throttle hand. There was some wear in the gearchange linkage, so expect new bikes to behave better. It was also dead easy to become completely lost as to where I was in the ratios. Slow and steady changes, as if aboard a vintage horror, worked best. The spread and momentum of the power meant there was no discernible effect on forward motion. These gearchange joys could be put down as part of the great British character. Old Triumph twins were full of that, needing someone to run behind picking up the parts that vibes had made fall off.
Neither were the ratios perfectly matched to road use, sixth being a bit tall for my taste. I usually got her into fifth as soon as possible. Left the motor there except when speed went below 40mph. Then a certain wantonness in the transmission disturbed my peace of mind, if not the Triumph's transmission components - maybe there was some wear in the cush-drive. Felt just like the chain was dragging on the ground. In fact, the massive OE O-ring chain didn't need much attention. As usual, the back end was plastered in chain lube. Ugh, not good enough on what's supposed to be a quality grand tourer. Full chain enclosure, just like MZ, would've made all the difference. Shaft drive would've made an already heavy bike way over the top.
Don't get me wrong, I'm not some doddery old fool yearning for the days when Velocettes and Vincents ruled the roads. Far from it. As soon as I was used to the Trophy, and sure it wasn't going to fall apart under me, I hit the open road with serious throttle violence in mind. The first bit of deserted, early, morning motorway revealed that top speed was a life threatening 160mph! That was hard work to achieve, though it went up to an easy 140mph without too much effort. That final 20mph required me to get my head down and my left foot doing an unlikely shuffle with the throttle held relentlessly to the stop.
160mph! That's a scintillating speed but not one the Trophy seemed to like. A lot of wallowing from the single shock back end made me pull into the first services. I turned the preload and damping up from the lowest to highest setting. A much firmer ride but still a bit of weaving above 140mph. Also, the plastic fairing tried to flap around, traced to a loose fastener. I had one hand hovering over the clutch just in case the engine seized. The other caressed the brake lever in case a patrol car or cage appeared from nowhere. The stunning front discs were reassuring in both their feel and power.
Any kind of curve, when riding at ten-tenths, was hard work. High speed motorway curves were easier going than country lane hairpins, even though the back end was shuffling around on both. The harder I pushed the chassis, strangely, the more secure I felt. I knew there was a hell of a lot of mass waiting to let loose but it never came close. The bike was as predictable as an English Christmas day.
Some bikes begin to fall apart when loaded up and dragged through 500 mile days. Not the Trophy. With an unlikely sized lass on the pillion, massive tankbag, outsize panniers and camping gear tied down on the rack, the Triumph shrugged off the excess mass and just rock and rolled along as normal. Doing a 1000 miles in a day strained my backside and eyes (the screen funnels up a fury of wind at speed) but the motor just ticked away as if it'd just been started. The only signs of wear were a slight smear of oil running out of the head gasket and a spark plug that went.
That caused a lot of misfiring, lurching back and forth between being a triple and a four. I kept going, not wanting to strip off the petrol tank in the middle of nowhere just to replace a spark plug, not that I had one on me, anyway. I replaced a full set as I wasn't sure which one was cutting out. As that was at 14000 miles it was about time they were done!
The four cylinder motor turned out to be exceptionally tough. In a year I did over 30,000 miles, putting nearly 40 thou on the clock. All the engine received by way of tender loving care was regular oil/filter changes. The mere thought of trying to adjust 16 valves left me perspiring with dread, these are ultra complex motors in the best tradition of Japanese engineering. Amazingly, the four carbs were never touched, the engine ticking over perfectly with no increase in vibes (a sure sign of carbs out of balance) nor increase in fuel consumption.
The four cylinder motor goes to the extreme of fitting a balancer to eliminate secondary vibration. Modern technology in Japanese engines, these days, does this by using pistons and con-rods of such minimal mass that the secondary vibes never have a chance to reach a crescendo. The Triumph's design ain't quite up to the latest developments, preferring to err on the side of caution, using heftier components for longer life (though that doesn't necessarily work with reciprocating parts). Anyway, the balancer works well, leaving my hands and feet free of tingles even after extravagant mileages. The pains just come from the weariness of the human body rather than any fault of the machine, although a rather squat friend reckoned it was a piece of effluence after only 50 miles. Test ride to see if it suits you.
So the Trophy's a brilliant tourer and consumer of high miles? Well, not quite, for there's the minor matter of the way it tears through rubber in 3000 to 4000 miles. The last thing I wanted to do was ride such a massive and powerful behemoth on worn out tyres. The handling, especially in the wet, becomes as diabolical as a Dobberman let loose in a kindergarten. That's to say, it's all over the place, skidding with a vengeance towards self oblivion if the otherwise excellent disc brakes are used in anger. Like riding on ice after taking a dose of acid.
I was forced to do it a couple of times when I ran out of money on the continent. Poor foreigners, they just didn't know what had hit them, a speeding projectile going out of control. Don't know how I avoided causing pile-ups. Even more mortifying, on bald tyres below 40mph the steering went so heavy I was left sweating and swearing, just off exploding into total throttle craziness.
It's not just the expense, though that's bad enough, added as it is to fuel at 35 to 40mpg. It's the inconvenience of rushing around like a lunatic trying to find a shop that sells and fits tyres at a reasonable price. If I'm going solo for a week or more I often strap a down a pair of tyres on the seat, but I have to find a tyre shop to fit them as modern tyres are impossible to fit by mere human hand. This problem's common to any number of big Jap fours, so Triumph shouldn't be signalled out for abuse, but going through a set of tyres every week always seemed a bit much to me. I've probably picked up Scourge-like habits from excessive reading of the UMG.
The original O-ring chain lasted about 17000 miles but subsequent ones didn't do much more than ten thou. Perhaps I should get around to replacing the sprockets. When I fit a new chain I take the opportunity to clean up the rear end and grease the mono-shock bearings. With the rear shock on the way out it's the least I can do. Chain replacement is the usual tedious business on a big four and not recommended in the middle of a Grand Tour.
Part of the ill-treatment the Triumph received was that it wasn't cleaned very often. To be honest, there seemed very little point because as soon as the bike was shining it'd only piss down with more acid rain. Overall appearance after a year's abuse was not good. Faded paint, alloy rot, rusted fastener and bits of lacquer coming off the engine. Had I been a 3000 a year, summer only, kind of rider then the Trophy would've survived much better. But it's not a fair world, only those with the money can chose their partners.
British winters took their toll on the calipers but not until after 18000 miles and three sets of pads. The squeaking noises gave me plenty of warning that it was time for the emery cloth and axle grease - only joking. The calipers weren't too finicky, just liked to have all the accumulated brake dust blown out of them. Brilliant four piston calipers that were worth a little bit of effort. Of late, they've become a touch vicious in the wet, making me rely on the rear disc, which had so little use that it was still on its original pads.
Some tests describe the 1200 as bland but that's not a feeling I get from the Triumph. Any bike that does 160mph with handling that's a bit hairy surely can't be bland! It's tremendously fast, outrageously heavy, improbably expensive to run and dangerously inspiring to ride fast. The Trophy's the least popular Triumph, therefore one of the cheapest to buy and has an engine that's just as tough as any other in the range. I'm keeping mine for another year!
Phil Stirling
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Saturday July 1991. My wife Sue and I set off for the Superbike Centre near Newport, for a test ride on a new Triumph 1200. We took the 25 mile trip on my CB900. The seat was one good reason for getting rid of it. Luckily, the trip from our Forest of Dean home was fairly direct.
Having first seen the new Triumph range at the 1990 NEC Motorcycle Show, I'd vowed there and then that I was going to own one of these stunning machines, and after reading rave road test reports on the 1200 my mind was almost made up.
As we arrived at the dealers I immediately spotted the Trophy demo bike parked outside, ready and waiting. I was overwhelmed at how physically large the bike was. Much has been written about the tall seat height of the earlier Triumph models but, it has to be said that I'm only 5'9'' and yet had no trouble getting both feet firmly and flatly on the ground. After a few friendly words with the salesman I was given the keys and told to enjoy myself for an hour.
I fired the big 1200cc four cylinder engine, was immediately struck by the smoothness even when revved hard. Sue climbed aboard commenting on how high up it seemed, although by now she's well used to it. I snicked the bike into gear, let out the clutch and set off. Gingerly, at first, but I soon settled into it. 40 minutes later we returned and I was totally transfixed. Here was a motorcycle that was, to be honest, big, heavy and also very powerful yet it had proved to be incredibly smooth and relaxed in its power delivery. Torque being the optimum word here. And extremely well balanced and very easy to ride. I had to have one.
The big question was, should I buy the 1200 Trophy or the Daytona 1000. Or even wait a few months for the 900 Trophy to be available. The 900 would, after all, have been a good choice from the view of running costs. I only had to sit on the Daytona for a few seconds to realise that I couldn't get on with it. I suffer from a slight back problem, enough for the clip-ons to hurt a bit. Funnily enough, l later sat on a Kawasaki ZXR400. Jesus, I needed a winch to get off that one!
Sue could see that I really wanted a new bike. And here was a chance to own a British built 125hp Superbike. The trouble is I'm easily taken in by salesmen and it nearly cost me. They made me an offer of £850, which at the time I thought was quite reasonable but before I could say yes Sue stepped in. Now Sue is a different matter, she will haggle with anyone when it comes to money, and usually wins. Anyway, by the time she'd finished hassling these sales guys the trade in price was £1300. The deal was done and I'd just signed away four years of repayments. Must be mad. I was to pick the bike up on Tuesday evening and I was lucky because I got the last grey 1200 they would have until November.
I asked my brother-in-law, Paul, if he wanted to come along to collect the bike as my wife was on the evening shift at work. He agreed, mind you by the time we'd arrived at the dealers, he'd also discovered how painful the dreadful padding was in the CB900's seat. My bike was ready, reading three miles on the clock. Paul, not a regular motorcyclist, thought the Triumph looked great even though he looked a little apprehensive.
The ride home was incident free. I kept the revs to within 5000 for running in purposes, but again the engine's incredible midrange punch was showing itself, as by the time we got home Paul was already complaining that his arms were aching. And that was after I thought I'd taken it relatively easy. Mind you, 5000rpm equals 80mph, at which point the passenger tends to get blown about a bit due to the relatively high pillion seat. Still, he did enjoy the ride.
Talking about the engine, I've now found, as I think most owners do, that you get used to the power output. Even so, it still amazes me just how easily the front wheel will leap into the air in the first two gears. Two up, flat out acceleration in first gear is, to say the least, very unwise if you wish to avoid going airborne. It'll also flick left to right through the twisty bits very quickly with little effort.
Remember the road tests that said Triumph brakes weren't much cop...Well, one little trick's to approach a recently introduced set of traffic lights at about the ton, with the wife on the back. At which point grab the front brake just hard enough to slam Sue into my back. This results in the back wheel jumping in the air. Okay, I know it's not very mature but worth it for the ensuing giggles and back patting that always follows. Anyway, believe it or not, Sue moans like hell at me if I ride too slowly.
About a year into owning the Trophy, Sue and I decided on a day trip to my father's in Rugby. The route we took was the old Fosse Way. Now, I'm not very good at remembering places and names, but about 15 miles the other side of Stow-on-Wold there's a very long left-hand bend which, on this occasion, I happened to go around at a leisurely 120mph. I couldn't believe it, and yet I'd glanced at the speedo and that's what it said. I didn't stop shaking for about an hour afterwards. Still, I couldn't help but admire the way the bike had made it seem so easy. Amazingly, yet again Sue didn't show any concern at all.
I had the Trophy about two years when the first real problem occurred. I had just left the mother-in-law's place, which is where I have to keep the bike, due to a lack of a garage. Approximately one mile had been achieved when everything came to a complete stop. I was lucky enough to roll long enough to reach a local phone box. I checked the bike over, could find nothing wrong. I called the RAC out. A cheerful bloke turned up and we stood over the bike discussing what could've gone wrong. He eventually suggested trying to start the thing once more. Bingo!
I decided to ride back the way I'd come with the RAC fellow following. No sooner had I got back than the bike died out again. The chap from the RAC admitted he did not really know what to suggest, except that it was obviously electrical. After spending a couple of days trying to find the answer, I was advised to take the bike to the nearest Triumph dealer, Claremont Motorcycles in Gloucester. These guys have been superb regarding servicing and all other matters. They had the bike for five days, discovered a fault with the electronic ignition. Not common on Triumphs but mine needed coils, pick-up and the PGM unit. I phoned the factory direct and was pleased to find that the work and parts would be free, despite the guarantee having finished for a year. Triumph have also sent a Xmas card for the last three years, not much, I know, but a nice thought all the same.
At the moment of writing, my Trophy has covered 9700 miles and is on its fourth set of tyres. I decided to opt for Michelin radials, the second set of which has only covered a 1000 miles. The originals were Dunlop Sportmax, worn out at 3000 and 2000 miles. The Michelins are a bit cheaper. The chain simply amazes me as it only usually needs adjusting every 2000 miles. I'm hoping to see the best part of 20,000 miles out of it. Because I use it so much, the rear disc's brake pads only last 2500 miles.
General maintenance of the Trophy is dead easy. Cleaning it is even easier still because the finish and build quality is generally excellent. It basically looks after itself. Having said that, I've spent a fortune on polish and cleaning rags just so the bike is always spotless and shiny. One big surprise's that it still has the original chrome on its silencers - very different to your average Jap bike. I lock the bike up like Fort Knox; there have been two attempts at stealing it.
As you've all gathered by now I have basically heaped nothing but praise on my Triumph Trophy. Well, one, I'm a little patriotic, and, two, I think they're brilliant. So there. Okay, they're not perfect but any real niggles are minor ones. On the plus side they are fast, reliable, handle well and stop well. What more do you want? Let me finish this by admitting that it's not really a secondhand test, but I felt it was time that someone put the record straight on the Trophy. It has recently become the road-testers' job to pick holes in Triumph motorcycles. Well, my advice to you out there is, whether buying new or used, give the new generation Triumphs a look. I doubt you will regret it, I know that I haven't.
Richard J. Sear
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