Copyright (c) umgweb.com 1998
I have, dear reader, been using a Tiger Cub for the past five years as a means of cheap and cheerful transport. With the depression in the classic market it has never been easier to pick up one of these 200cc Triumph singles for well under 500 notes. In fact, I know people who have picked up perfectly good runners for less than £200 recently.
My machine cost even less than that, mainly because it was put together from two non- runners. It is mostly a 1961 T20 with a few modifications to make it more reliable. The 199cc OHV engine is a bit of a period piece but manages to produce more than the restricted 125s, with a claimed 14.5hp at 6500rpm with a new engine in perfect running order, which is rather different to the state of my own machine.
Average mileage is just under 17000 miles a year. I have found that a rebuilt motor lasts about 25000 miles until it needs major attention. Fortunately, over the years I have acquired a large pile of Tiger Cub bits and have been able to have a second engine ready for insertion as soon as the old one shows signs of abuse. Because I pay attention to engine noise I have never had a major failure on the road and not had to do too much work during the rebuilds.
When the engine is rebuilt quite a few parts need attention - valve rockers, exhaust valve, piston and bore, big and small ends, main bearings, primary chain, oil pump and gear selector forks, not to mention the clutch plates, carb and alternator. Engines can be rebuilt to an oil tight standard using modern gasket liquids and a great deal of care. Engine removal and replacement only takes a couple of hours. The rebuild costs about £75 in total and a few evenings work a week for about six months.
In addition to the rebuild, maintenance is rather frequent, every other weekend or 600 miles. Valves, carb, distributor and too many loose bolts need attention. I have the whole process down to two hours, which given its subsequent reliability on the road is reasonable.
The engine requires a certain technique to fire up, but once mastered it comes to life first kick even on cold mornings. At tickover it shakes the whole machine gently but smooths out once you're into first and are doing 15mph or so. The bike is very light at 220lbs and has a tendency to wander all over the road if you don't keep a firm grip on the very wide bars. The bike feels very small, the rider perched atop it - I'm six foot two and have been told I look a little ridiculous on the machine.
Power delivery is not in the least peaky but it prefers second in town (good for up to 35mph) and fourth as soon as the space is available to do more than 45mph. Top speed is usually 70mph, but in the right conditions it will hit the 80mph mark. Like the good little thumper that it is, once the motor gets hold of 65 to 70mph it does not want to let go - I've held that speed up hills, against strong winds with a pillion on board.
At times the handling is a little weird. It doesn't scratch as well as you'd expect from such a light and narrow machine. Over bumpy roads the lack of suspension travel and nonexistent damping means the whole machine gets flung around. It can be a very invigorating experience if you hit a rough patch of road with the bike strung out in third, the vibes and bumps combining to keep you very much awake.
Up to about 60mph on smooth roads it's not half bad on the stability front, but any faster allows the machine to weave. This is not very surprising given the antiquated design of the frame and the wretched state of the suspension (which was dodgy when brand new). The frame is a single loop held together by lugs into which the various tubes are welded. The rear subframe is bolted on and it does not take a very talented engineer to realise that the swinging arm does not have much support.
The Girling shocks are original, although I have sorted the front forks to a certain extent - they have stiffer springs. Were I willing to spend the money, I could fit a front end from the big twins and a new set of shocks, but I'm not, so I haven't. Another essential mod would be to fit some proper brakes because the half hub SLS units fitted at each end, even with new shoes, linings and cables, are awful. Engine braking is good and the straight through silencer warns cars of my presence.
The bike went through a disturbing period of cutting out and refusing to start but I cured this by rewiring the electrics. Power comes from a Lucas alternator, ignition is by a distributor (rather more reliable than later points system) and no battery is fitted, a large capacitor is used instead of the battery. The 6V lights are fed directly from the alternator, consequently they don't work very well - below 25mph they are a faint gleam, above 60mph they blow! It is possible to fit a battery but I have found they don't last for more than six months despite copious quantities of rubber mounting. The solution is quite simple, I don't ride out of town at night time.
Despite these defects I find the bike very enjoyable to ride the 25 miles to work and back, mostly through heavy urban traffic. The Cub is extremely narrow, very punchy in second gear and easy to manoeuvre between the rows of congealed traffic. I only wish I could still go bare headed rather than wearing my ancient pudding basin, but you can't have everything.
Perhaps the most exceptional attribute of the T20 is its fuel economy. The engine is most economical in town with speeds between 25 and 35mph. The best I've ever done is 130mpg, the more usual average is 115mpg. Considering that the engine design is out of the ark and the carb is far from new in either components or inspiration, this must come as revelatory compared with modern machines.
Admittedly, faster riding, cruising along at 65mph does bring it down quite drastically and it has been as bad as 70mpg, although it's usually a lot nearer 90mpg than that. Over the five years the average has worked out at 105mpg, which is indicative of the type of use the machine gets. As the two and half gallon petrol tank has no reserve it pays to keep a watch on the level and mileometer - I've had to push the bike a few miles several times.
Oil consumption is not so good, naturally. When just run in it needs a pint every 275 miles, towards the end of its life it goes down to a pint every 125 miles. As the tank contains less than three pints a careful eye has to be kept on its level. As noted before, the engine is oil tight so it must be burnt off. I don't do regular oil changes because it all seems to get burnt off before it's needed.
The other consumables don't need much attention. I bung on the cheapest Taiwan rubber I can find to the 19" front and 18" rear wheel. It doesn't seem to make any difference to the handling. Chain wear is quite reasonable given the notorious way singles rip their final drives apart - about 8000 to 12000 miles depending on the type of chain fitted. Brake shoes never seem to wear probably because they don't work!
I have done some long trips on the Tiger Cub, the longest 375 miles in a day. It's obviously a lot better down the back roads rather than the motorway, although I have used them on occasion. With a usual maximum of 70mph I find that cars kept crashing past trying to push me on to the hard shoulder. Took me right back to my Raleigh Wisp days (but riding in town, I hasten to add). On the back roads you have to get into a certain frame of mind, try to enjoy the scenery and let the vibration pass straight through you.
For a while Tiger Cub prices went through the roof, but they are gradually coming down to sensible levels. If you are willing to do some work you might even find a non runner for under a hundred notes. They do need a bit of love and care to keep running, but they are lots of fun, very different to most bikes on the road and extremely cheap to run.
Dougie Jones
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I thought, as I rode home on the 1970 Trophy, that it would take a bit of getting used to. Brought up on a strict diet of Japanese commuters this was my first foray into British stuff. The Triumph was 20 years and 60,000 miles old, but had been recently rebuilt from the ground up. I had helped my cousin with the reconstruction effort so was pretty certain that all was well within the polished alloy engine cases.
Mind you, thumping along the motorway at 70mph in top, the mill gave out so much vibration that it felt like there was something terminally amiss. I reassured myself with my cousin's tales of losing his fillings, having watches fall apart and suffering from white fingers. They all do that, mate, were his parting words when I complained about the vibes after my test ride. I wouldn't have bought the Triumph had not 450 notes seemed ridiculously cheap for a working piece of British history.
About twenty miles into the forty mile trek home, there was a sudden flurry of car horns, screeching tyres. The mirrors were useless, so I had no idea how close I came to being the cause of a pile-up. I was about to let loose a volley of curses as the car crept past, along the lines of questioning the parentage of blind cagers, when the car driver got in something about my rear light not working. The tenor of the message was far too repulsive to repeat here.
Anyway, I pulled over to the hard shoulder. Sure enough, no rear light. No problem, tighten up the brake light switch until it was on permanently. Lasted for another five miles. Luckily, I soon found a service station and bought a replacement. The Trophy was sufficiently modern to have 12V electrics. My cousin reluctantly admitted that he had never had a rear light that lasted for more than a week. This despite copious quantities of extra rubber mounting.
The only other electrical peculiarity that I could find was a Zener Diode with a habit of going up in flames every six months or so. Both the front headlamp and horn were surprisingly effective. The battery was not stressed by an electric starter but my right leg was most certainly traumatised by the pressure needed to overcome the 10:1 compression ratio. Once I'd mastered the knack, starting was a third or fourth kick affair from cold.
With a hot engine it was easier, which was just as well as the Triumph showed a mild tendency to stall during low speed work in heavy traffic. The first time it happened caused me to panic a bit. Well, it was in front of a long line of irate cagers who were raring to go when the lights changed to green. In my haste to kick the bike back into life from the saddle I messed up the kick. Received a fierce kickback that nearly broke my leg. Screaming in agony, I toppled over. One cager took pity, pulled the bike off me and moved it into the gutter. Talk about being red-faced with shame.
In the 9000 miles I did on the bike the vibration never became any worse but I was never able to convince myself that it had faded into the background. Vibes were the bane of the machine, causing bits to fall off or actually break up. Amongst those that did a disappearing act were the rear numberplate, a sidepanel and the indicators. Superglue, Araldite and wire were all used to keep things in place, but not even a combination of all three was entirely successful in securing the more susceptible components.
Had the vibes been less intrusive then the Trophy would've been a big winner in the useability stakes. For a bike that weighs around 320lbs it feels much bigger and very secure on the road. The stiff suspension combined with the hefty frame made smooth, curvy roads a real pleasure. A surprising amount of muscle was needed to throw the thumper through tight corners but I could forgive that in exchange for the safe feel. However, the age of the bike's suspension was quickly revealed - no, it wasn't a soggy mess just so taut and lacking in travel that each and every road irregularity played a fearful tune on my battered spine.
Not helped any by the tall handlebars my cousin deemed necessary to his image. The seat perched me high above the bike, the bars leaving my arms splayed wide out in the wind. With such a narrow OHV thumper engine it seemed silly to have yard wide bars but I wasn't going to splurge out on the new set of cables that a narrower set would have needed.
The engine has been basically reliable, but only if you discount things like points that fall apart and duplex primary chains that do a self-destruct act. Triumph claimed 24 horses (for what is basically a BSA motor) but to obtain that 8500 revs are needed. This is certainly possible if the bike is caned in second and third before changing up to fourth..... giving a top speed of around 85mph. As might be guessed, vibes become so furious once past 6000rpm that anything other than once a year would mean such abuse would quickly blow the engine.
The motor is rather notorious for wrecking its valvegear and gearbox, but my machine was well put together and certainly not thrashed. My cousin reckons a new piston and rebore every 12000 miles with the crankshaft lasting around 20,000 miles before the bearings are shot. He's had to take the head off in less than 5000 miles in the past, but ended up making some mods to the rockers and doing some careful work on the valves, so I haven't had the pleasure yet. Don't know what he did to the gearbox but it is very smooth and precise. Much superior to old Hondas.
Despite being quite heavily tuned (by the standards of the day) power delivery is quite punchy in the lower rev range. Top gear won't pull less than 30mph without going all snatchy but acceleration from 40 to 70mph is quite adequate for passing traffic on the open road. First gear drags are a good way of upsetting fancy cages but the clutch is weak, prone to both slipping and dragging. Conversely, it took about two months for my left wrist to stop aching from the pressure at the lever. Not helped any by the length and complex route of the clutch cable. I recently had to buy some glasses, I'm sure the Triumph's vibes had something to do with this.
I can forgive a bike a lot if it is cheap to run. The Trophy has cost next to nothing. Still on the same chain, shoes and tyres that it came with. Plenty of wear left in them. Fuel hovers around the 60mpg mark, which is better than most Jap 250s. Really gentle riding will give better than 75mpg but the ever present danger of falling asleep from boredom at the controls usually rules this out. A wild blast will bring it down to a still acceptable 50mpg. My cousin used to get 35 to 40mpg until he replaced the Amal carb.
Wet weather riding would've been almost a pleasure did not water occasionally get to the electrics. It wasn't so bad that a dose of WD40 before an outing would preclude the engine stalling dead. Sometimes I forgot, once ending with a locked back wheel going into a vicious slide that threw us down the road. I was quite thankful that the chassis was so tough and the engine tucked out of harm's way. Nothing a few kicks couldn't sort out.
Actual crashes with other vehicles have been avoided. The TLS front brake is surprisingly effective whilst the sure-footed feel makes it relatively easy to avoid the more obvious machinations of blind cagers. Both the horn and almost straight through silencer means most car drivers are aware that a nasty bit of British engineering is about to cut them up.
The vibes do limit long rides to not much more than 150 miles in a day. With a three gallon tank and plush seat this is a pity but as most of my riding is commuting to work not that great a liability. My old Japanese commuters have had such wrecked suspension that they have not been able to better the Brit.
500 mile services have meant that the bike can't be ridden and neglected like an old CD175 but the Triumph is much more fun to ride out on the road. It all comes down to whether or not you can live with the vibes. I use the bike every day, admittedly for short distances, so my answer's pretty obvious.......anyone willing to part with 1500 sovs for the delight of my life, though, will be met by a very happy ex-owner.
Jerry
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My 1963 Triumph Tiger Cub is a stripped down field bike that occasionally makes it on to the road. Everything not necessary for forward motion has been dumped. Not that there's all that much to strip off, despite their classic acclaim they were really basic commuter bikes.
The 199cc OHV thumper pumps out about 14 horses as stock, but my much modified cylinder head has added a few horses. I've opened the exhaust and inlets ports as much as possible. A 32mm concentric Amal carb is combined with an almost straight thru, high-rise exhaust of my own manufacture. Sounds really beastly, too!
The big carb makes the engine stutter a bit below 3000rpm, but beyond that it pulls well to around 8000 revs. It might well go higher up the rev band but by then the engine is trying to tear itself out of its meagre engine mounts. It's bad enough to bounce my feet off the footrests (home-made alloy jobs without a smidgen of rubber).
Various past reports on the Cub would suggest that such engine abuse soon reduces the engine to a trillion bits of metal. Well, yes and no. Bitter experience has taught me the necessity of rebuilding the bike every 5000 miles. This isn't as bad as it sounds as it equates to once a year and gets done over January when it's too cold to ride. Not too expensive, just a bagful of bearings and a lot of work.
I usually ride with a mate who owns one of the early XL250s, similarly modified. This doesn't last much longer than the Tiger Cub and goes no faster. It might manage slightly more power but it can't match the stripped down mass of about 180lbs.
The Cub has later 500 Triumph forks and wheels fitted, the stock stuff falls apart under off-road abuse. The tubular frame looks pretty naff with bolted up sections but actually hangs together quite well. A slight amount of flexibility helps when leaping off the tops of hillocks - even the uprated suspension can bottom out when subjected to such abuse.
It's interesting to see how the two dissimilar bikes react to different terrains. On mud the Honda tends to dig a big hole for itself, whereas the superior torque of the Cub lets its growl over the surface. The XL is better at wheelies, but sometimes flips right over. I found this so funny the first time it happened that I pissed myself with laughter and ran the Triumph straight through a cluster of bushes.
The only other advantage of the XL was starting. The Cub has a Lucas alternator and coil ignition, but the battery has long been dumped in favour of energy discharge ignition. Riding the Cub through a shallow stream was sufficient to make the ignition cut out. About two trillion kicks are required if a running engine is needed before the chassis has had a chance to dry out.
Racing the XL on tarmac roads is great fun. Top speed of both machines is about 90mph, but to do that kind of speed on the Cub leaves the oil frothing in the tank and the engine shaking in the frame. The XL is much more civilised. Handling is, er, interesting. The best description, or at least the kindest, is lively. Each and every road imperfection is fed through to my hands and feet. Throwing the bike into bends requires hardly any muscle but a lot of input is needed to stop it going all over the place. Outrageous angles of lean were possible (no stands or exhaust to grind down), which made the knobby tyres crawl all over the tarmac. The quick nature of the handling meant that outrageous changes in direction could be made.
I scared the Honda rider out of his mind by riding inside his line, then hitting the throttle in second or third, causing the rear tyre to see-saw a foot each way as I flipped the buckling Cub upright. This may sound very dangerous but the Triumph was so light that even when the wheels were way out of line it was still very controllable. Most of that down to the excessive amount of feedback coming from the road.
As I live deep in the Pennines, most of my riding could be done off-road, with only the occasional bit of tarmac thrashing. Every year I put on some lights, horn and proper exhaust to obtain an MOT but soon dumped these bits. It was dead easy to lose the plod by going off-road, things have not got so bad out here that they can justify summoning up helicopters to pursue errant motorcyclists!
My mate and I used to have a fine old time harassing ramblers who got in the way. Well, they blocked up track-ways that were perfectly feasible 70mph bits of race track to us. One guy stood in the middle of the path with his hand held out in front, expecting us to come to a halt so we could receive his verbal abuse. Some hope, I changed down a gear to make a really fearsome row, held tight on the bars, my hair streaming behind me and a wild grin on my face. He soon got, the message, flew on to the side of the track, which I knew from past experience was a mud filled ditch. My XL riding mate was some distance behind and reckoned that he was covered from head to foot in mud.
I must admit that I've become a bit more sensible of late, even to the extent of putting some baffles in the exhaust. I know it's bad for our image to do that kind of thing but these ramblers strike me as such plonkers that they deserve what they get. I also had a run in with some serious trail types who weren't exactly overjoyed when I crossed their path by flying through the air about a foot above their heads. I guess the noise the Cub made caused them to think the end was at hand. Some ex-army type had to be physically restrained from kicking the shit out of me.
The British fanatics are just as bad. I mean, when the Cub is given a good wash it looks quite neat in its stripped down way. Okay, there's sod all that standard but at least it's a working British bike that still gives its owner hours of furious fun. The way they react is as if I've taken their children and done something really nasty to them. I give up!
I've had the Tiger Cub for nigh on ten years. It cost £50 as a non-runner when I bought it and has been run in various forms - the current one is the only one that makes any sense to me. I would not risk it for more than a 100 miles - either the points go way out, bits fall off or the engine gets so tired that it becomes very temperamental. I don't know what it's worth, probably not much more than a few hundred quid but I doubt that I will sell the old heap. We're dear friends, now.
Big Jack
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'Oh-soffa-what?' I asked the Doc.
Oesophogitis. There's no cure. You just learn to live with it. No heavy lifting that uses your stomach muscles or your food'll come back faster than you can eat it.'
I already knew the last bit. If my Triumph Bonneville, a 1976 T140V, didn't start in the first couple of kicks, or I had to heave its great bulk on to the centrestand, there was a fair chance I'd throw up. That's why I'd come to the surgery in the first place.
'You'll have to change your lifestyle.'
I didn't like the sound of this but he went on,
'Look at you. In a year or two you'll have your bus pass. Do you intend to continue this juvenile practice of riding that overweight, overpowered antique of yours?'
I nodded. He was just warming up. 'Shattering the early morning and late evening peace of our village? Breaking the law every time you go out?'
I must've passed him in his cage at some time. I nodded again.
'In your state of health it's too heavy. It's got to go.' I know he meant well but then he committed the ultimate blasphemy.
If you must ride a bike why don't you change it for something lighter? One of those quiet Japanese things where you just press a button and off it goes.' Me! The archetypal Brit with every prejudice to match. I wouldn't be seen dead on Jap iron! It then occurred to me that it might be better to stay alive with some Suzi-Yam-Hon-Kwack, or other, than die kicking a reluctant Bonnie into life.
German or Yank stuff was too heavy and expensive. Italians had style but too much temperament. I even thought about an MZ but it was no use - it had to be a Jap. I sat at the phone with the Yellow pages open and my shopping list to hand. I was looking for something that would do the ton, weighed under 400lbs and cost about two grand, which was what I thought I'd get for the Bonnie.
One of the dealers put me in touch with a customer who was Bonnie hunting. He was a nice young guy who found the exhaust note and simple classic lines irresistible. He bought the Bonnie two days later. The dealer then said would I like to look at this little Kawasaki he had with less than 100 miles on the clock. It seemed the original owner - poor chap was about my age - had died shortly after buying the Kawasaki (nothing to do with bikes) and his family had only just put it on the market.
Feeling sorry for myself over the loss of the Bonnie, and even more sorry for the guy who'd never had a chance to enjoy his new bike, I was introduced to the GPz305. Exactly what you're looking for, the dealer intoned enthusiastically as I rolled it effortlessly on and off the centrestand, marvelling at the instant electric start.
The next impression was that I was riding a highly tuned sewing machine with no exhaust note and steering designed on some other planet. Riding over smooth roads at sub 70mph speeds, I didn't know what I'd done to get round corners. It was like telepathy. Of all the bikes I'd ever owner or ridden I'd never met anything so easy and so completely user-friendly. And, much as I hated to admit it, it was fun!
Back at the dealers I admitted it was just what the doctor ordered but where was the ton plus performance? Had I used the gearbox and high revs? No. It was so new I'd kept it down to about 4500 revs. Then why didn't I take another spin and let it go a bit. A brief flip round the clock wouldn't do a modern motor any harm.
It was welcome to the nineties time! I discovered in a few short miles what the rest of the bike world had known for decades. Anything else I'd owned, with two wheels or four, had usually given its all by 5000 to 6000rpm. When the Qwack hit 7000rpm, a whole new world opened up. Despite its basic spec, the little motor made me feel I was hanging on to the Starship Enterprise as it moved into warp speed. This wasn't just fun it was exhilarating.
Next came an insanely happy few minutes during which I played tunes on the gear lever to keep the revs up where things happened. I was concentrating so much on the tacho I didn't spot the imminent arrival of a T-junction with no escape routes. It was at that point I discovered how good the brakes were. We came to rest with the front wheel just peeping over the white-line.
I felt rather than saw the glare of a frightened middleaged pedestrian beaming the unspoken message: It would've served you right if you hadn't been able to stop. With my heart pounding like the Bonnie on an uphill climb, I struggled to find a gear in which I could make a dignified departure. I wondered how much the irate ped could see through my visor. I wondered if he realised what he thought was an irresponsible juvenile on a speed induced high would soon be an OAP - that's if he learns to keep his eyes on the road instead of clock watching.
I took the bike back at a more sedate pace, but couldn't keep an ear to ear grin off my face. You've just sold a Kwack, said I. When can I have it?
At this stage, it hardly seems fair to compare the 18 year old lump of British brawn with nearly new Jap technology, especially as the Bonnie was losing Brownie points like Group Four loses prisoners. The Kwack was winning all ways - ease of handling, at rest or on the move; it's half the size engine almost as quick but no vibes, all on unleaded petrol. An added bonus was 76mpg as opposed to the Bonnie's 53mpg on four star. Modern brakes and lights were superior. Starting was child's play. And there's no way any Bonnie's going to be as reliable as a practically brand new machine. But instant infatuations can have short honeymoons. By the time the GPz went in for its 500 mile service the Bonnie was pulling back a little lost ground.
Although the acceleration of the two bikes was similar - sub wheelie, but more than good enough to deal with average traffic - that vital surge from 50 to 70mph was always instant with the Triumph. All you do is open the throttle. By the time you've dropped a couple of cogs on the Kwack the gap might have gone and the sparkle definitely goes if you're carrying a passenger, whereas the Bonnie didn't seem to notice the difference. What I really missed was the low down grunt and that reassuring bellow from the exhaust. But it's nice not to have vibes as the limiting factor on top speed.
The sheer lightness of the GPz, one of my reasons for buying it, can become its worst enemy. Every little breeze deflects it from the straight and narrow. I soon began to miss the way the heavier Bonnie sat on the road, especially at speed (at least once a set of TT100's was fitted). Hit a coarse surface, like newly laid gravel, and the Kwack's uncannily light steering disappears. Suddenly, it's like tip-toeing on eggshells. The front wheel takes on a life of its own and feels liable to go anywhere without notice. The only solution is to hold your breath and keep the bike straight up until the terra became firmer. The Bonnie didn't like loose gravel either, but at least I felt I was still in control.
On the sort of long, sweeping 70mph plus bend we all know and love, there's a whole lot of twisting goes on at the GPz's back end. At least that's what it feels like. I haven't figured it out yet but the chassis looks too solid to twist. Perhaps better tyres would fix it. The smooth belt drive seems a gem of an idea. Expensive to replace but lasting three times as long as a chain.
On a motorway, which I find boring, it's swings and roundabouts. The Kwack sits there quite happily at 75 to 80mph but gets blown about whereas vibes spoil life in the fast lane on the Bonnie. It's worth saying that, like the poor, the Bonnie's vibes will always be with us but are no worse that those regularly reported in the UMG, and elsewhere, on big, old Japs. They can, however, be greatly reduced by spending a quiet Sunday afternoon synchronising the fall of the carb slides into just one click as they hit the bottom - I've no idea why but a pair of new tyres also seemed to smooth out my Bonnie.
Regarding this strange business of image and owning a glamorous piece of history, the GPz305 comes nowhere. I'm totally ignored. And never again will I be as proud as when a lovely old fella shook me by the hand and thanked me for keeping such a beautiful old bike on the road. Turned out he'd been one of the Meriden workers and he gave me loads of useful tips. Altogether now, .....Awww!
If this seems an odd way to enjoy biking there are thousands of like-minded souls who prefer to drive about in troublesome old MGB's when the same money would buy and run a faster, more reliable GTi. They probably like antique furniture, too. It takes all sorts.
If anyone's being seduced by all this sentimental talk - be warned. Bonnie ownership's an expensive and mixed pleasure. If you're determined buy the best you can afford. Avoid hybrids, they're a lot of trouble and don't hold their value. Around two grand gets you one that's well sorted. Even then, keep £500 back as a contingency fund. Three years running cost me £1500, including a £600 gearbox rebuild.
A properly rebuilt Bonnie doesn't leak oil and I've a clean garage floor to prove it. Electrical problems do happen. It's worth changing any one or all of the three electrical switches at the first sign of trouble. The oil light switch (everything dies if it fails), the ignition switch when badly worn causes erratic running which is difficult to diagnose, and the handlebar cluster drivers you bonkers if you try to repair it. Even the metal seat base can short out the electrics over rough roads!
So which costs the most? GPz servicing's cheap, fewer parts will be needed, excellent economy - in the short term it shouldn't cost much to run. But the Bonnie retains its purchase cost much better, I expect to lose a grand when I sell the Kwack. The GPz's loads of fun but being a sentimental old slob I'll never learn to love it, not like the unreliable but beautiful old Bonnie.
Stan Barrett
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There are some bikes you just fall in love with. That's the only reason I bought a Tiger Cub. I already had a seventies Bonnie for the serious stuff. It was while at a classic meeting that I spotted the Tiger. A 1963 Sports Cub in standard trim. The alloy glowed and the chrome shone. I wasn't an idiot, knew that a shiny surface could hide all kinds of trouble.
A five mile test ride reassured. The engine made a bit of a din, mostly from the top end. The 200cc OHV single pounded out the power. 70mph on the speedo came up without too much of a struggle. I was used to the big twin's vibration, so the Cub seemed smooth by comparison. There weren't any oil leaks and no smoke out of the silencer. A sure sign, along with the lack of excessive vibes, that it was a good 'un. £750 changed hands, the owner quite happy to ride with me to my house and then suffer a lift home on the back of the Bonnie.
The one thing I didn't like about the Tiger Cub was its front end. The forks were spindly and the tiny SLS drum brake pathetic. I can't think that it could have been adequate in 1963 and was a quick way into a grave in the mad old nineties. This worried me not one jot, because I had a 1969 Triumph Daytona front end in the garage. I was going to sell it but it went on to the Cub without any great effort. I sold the T20's front end instead - good riddance. Upgrading to better forks and brake is obligatory for any hard used Tiger Cub.
The Daytona forks and brake when fitted to the original 500 Triumph twin were just about adequate. On the Cub they were perfect. I could stop on the proverbial dime and the bike went exactly where I pointed it. Not even the largest bump would distract its course. The Triumph liked to be hammered along on the throttle, something that would've made the old drum overheat with the resultant braking but the TLS drum took all I could throw at it. After all, the Cub only weighed 250lbs.
I fell off within a week of buying the bike. I'd become a bit overconfident, laying the Triumph right over in the curves without a care in the world. The bike would twitch a little if I hit a large bump, probably down to the minimal support for the swinging arm. But I could throw the bike upright in an instant when it threatened to go completely out of control. One time I did that after the back wheel hit a rut, but the tyre wouldn't free. I had the front end pointed in one direction whilst the rear wanted to go off at another. The result was that we slewed off the road on to the grass verge.
It wasn't too painful a clash with mother earth. The soft landing helped. The major damage was to the silencer, which had jumped off the downpipe as the bike ground into the grass. I tried to kick it clear of the tyre against which it was resting. By the time I'd moved it there was a great gouge taken out of the rubber. I hoped it would last the distance home.
I was in a pretty bad mood. My hand was burnt from shoving the silencer back on the pipe. My mind was still recovering from the crash, full of paranoid thoughts on the dangers of motorcycling. The rear tyre seemed to be going flat as we wobbled along, the bent bars not making control of the Cub easy.
A hundred yards from my house the tyre went off with a massive detonation. I jumped a yard in the seat, the Cub swerving up on to the pavement just as my neighbour was walking by with her poodle. The mutt was knocked unconscious by the front wheel. The old dear was sobbing insanely by then. Being scared out of her skin by the tyre's explosion and then having her dog run down before her eyes was too much! She collapsed, crying hysterically.
By the time I'd pulled the bike back on to the road I was surrounded by irate neighbours. They were already pissed as I never bothered to cut the garden. Now they obviously had an excuse to string me up for viciously attacking an old lady and killing her dog. Some old codger in front of whose house the incident occurred tried to spray me with his hose but lost control. The dog and neighbours were given a dose instead. The poodle shrugged, leapt up and tried to take a bite out of my leg. In the circumstances I refrained from kicking the shit out of its head.
I managed to return to my own house without any other incidents, except for some muttering about Hells Angels. I found a spare tyre and inner-tube, spent an amusing two hours getting them on the rim. I went back out on the bike that evening, not too enamoured with the front light, which was only just marginal for making sure people knew I was there. I made sure I returned home at one o'clock in the morning, making a hell of a racket in the entombed street.
The big twin blew its crankshaft bearings the next week, making the Cub my main bike for a month. This involved a nine mile trek to work, the odd evening outing and one 250 mile Sunday journey. The town work was no problem as long as the motor didn't stall. Then the engine needed several hefty kicks before it'd fire up. There was a bit of clutch drag that made waiting at junctions a little nasty. Revving the throttle like a juvenile on his first moped was the most immediate solution. Not one that'd engendered the Cub with a long engine life.
Power was more than sufficient to see off most cagers. The bike would thud along in fourth gear at 20mph. Acceleration up to 40mph in that gear felt like the ground was shaking but in reality wasn't too rapid. Even in Sports Cub form the mill didn't put out much more than 15hp. From 40 to 70mph in top acceleration was quite spirited. I was able to see off most derestricted 125s, much to their disgust and annoyance, judging by the way they tried to get past.
The long weekend's ride was another matter. I hadn't really worried about the vibes on short journeys but after the first 50 miles it began to get to me. Fifty miles later my whole body felt like it was in the throes of a panic attack. I pulled over, determined to check the engine bolts. I couldn't hold the socket wrench in my hands for about ten minutes until the shakes had abated a little. The bolts were as solid as gold. I rode on, taking a rest every ten minutes.
With a three gallon petrol tank the Cub had a range of well over 200 miles. Fuel fluctuated between 65 and 80mpg, the best figures coming from slogging around town and the worst from riding flat out at 70mph. Not something you'd want to do for more than 5 miles.
The engine seemed to hold together extremely well, with nothing coming loose or falling off. I'd become used to daily spanner sessions on the Bonnie, so was a bit astonished that all the Cub needed was 1000 mile points, valve and oil maintenance. The only thing to give in the first six months was an oil pipe nut coming out of the tank. The thread had gone, the nut just twirling around with great gobs of oil dripping out. It meant draining the oil, taking the tank out and putting a new joint into the tank. I used Araldite as a seal as I knew it would last for ever.
With the winter closing in I didn't use the Cub too much. Starting from cold was the main difficulty. Some icy days it needed as many as twenty kicks, which with the 9:1 compression ratio was damn hard work. The Bonnie had electronic ignition, started first kick however bad the weather. By the time I got the Tiger Cub going I would've been in work already on the twin. I think the Cub was just playing up a bit, as soon as the weather improved she started easily.
Tiger Cubs were popular for trials work in their day. I had a pair of suitable tyres in the garage and the nearest bit of off-road track was only two miles away. What I hadn't realised was that it'd be full of bloody great horses with sexy young girls spread-eagled over their haunches. It was damn painful keeping the Cub out of their way; riding over the real hard stuff with suspension as stiff as my erection! I kept gawping at them, managing to fall off about twenty times.
The Cub was easy to twist around rocks, would romp up hills and would do some really neat rear wheel slides. It was as reluctant to wheelie as I was to abuse the clutch. I had to sit way back to aviate the front wheel over large logs and even then it was an arm wrenching experience. One of the horse ladies actually came to my aid when I fell off in the middle of a stream. Unfortunately, I was rendered speechless by this act of charity and let her get away. The soaked Cub needed an hour to dry out before it'd start.
After that day's riding I was quite impressed with its off-road abilities but sore all over. The next day the front mudguard fell off. Whether this was age or a result of the off-road caper I couldn't say. The way it broke off on the stays sent it flying through the air like a lethal weapon. The car that had half its paint torn off stopped its flight quite well. I picked up the mangled remnants and thumped off down the road. I didn't get too far as the remaining stays decided to try to rip the tyre apart. I tore the stays off and stuck them inside my jacket with the guard slung over my shoulder. A night's worth of hammering, welding and filling resurrected the guard.
The rest of the chassis had been repainted a few years previously and resisted the effects of time and weather. There is a certain minimalism about the Cub that appeals. It's as if there was metal rationing and the designer had pared everything down to the bare necessity. More likely cost-cutting to turn a decent profit for the shareholders. It made the bike dead easy to understand and work upon.
The top end had always rattled, pinging away as if the tappets were clouting the casting, but I've never heard a quiet Tiger Cub and the din didn't become any louder with revs. The exhaust is gruff rather than loud, disappearing into the windstream above 65mph. I became so used to its flat note that when it changed slightly I knew there was going to be some trouble with the engine. I took the head off to check it over, found that the top ring had cracked. The slight graze on the bore was removed with emery cloth. A new set of rings, gaskets and polish of the components completed the rebuild.
The exhaust note regained its tireless note and all was well with my world. For two weeks. Then some idiot in a cage ran through the red light just as I was passing in front of him. For once the acceleration had been the bike's undoing, if it had been a bit slower I wouldn't have been in the car's path. Bike and I were flung apart. I in front of the car I'd just burnt off from the lights. The Cub under the car that had caught its front wheel. The poor bike ended up twisted and battered. I ended up being run over, with broken arm and ribs, along with a screaming fit that lasted for about half an hour.
When I was able to saunter around again, I fetched the Cub from the police pound. The only bits that I could extract from the crushed bike that were any use were the engine and the electrics. I eventually got about £3000 in damages from the insurance company. That came after I'd bought a rolling chassis for £300 and fitted in the Cub's motor and electrics.
Somehow, this bitza didn't seem the same as the old one with an excess of vibes and only 65mph flat out. The sudden jolt the bike had received in the accident might've caused some internal damage. Every week there was a fault. The primary chain broke, the points fell apart and a pushrod broke, tangling up the valves and mashing the camshaft lobes.
When I took the motor down the crankshaft bearings felt like they were on the way out and there was a dirty big crack in the cylinder head. Sometimes British bikes go like that. They run and run, slowly wearing out until all at once every damn component goes simultaneously. I was only thankful that the motor hadn't seized up solid and thrown me off the bike - as has happened a couple of times on the bigger Triumph.
Despite the wrecked state of the engine some mad bugger came along and gave me £475 for it. That just about sums up the state of British classics. I also decided it was time to sell the Bonnie, as it was threatening another engine blow up. Along with the insurance money I had sufficient to buy myself a modern Trident. True happiness!
Bob Griffin
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I should've been suspicious but the immaculate 1972 Triumph 250 Trail Blazer stood before me in all its single cylinder glory. Making me forget all those horror stories about its OHV engine, which wasn't that different to the even more notorious B25 BSA mill. The owner was a typical British bike fanatic with a garage full of old Triumph twins and who looked upon my hack CB250K4 with total disdain. Despite the fact that it was over twenty years old and still running strong.
The Blazer was a rival of sorts for the Honda back then but it never caught on. But these days they have a certain retro funkiness and the guy only wanted £995. He only agreed to let me buy it after I'd concurred that I was pissed off with Jap crap and not out for a quick profit. Luckily, I'd worn my ancient leather jacket that day, had enough credibility to get away with the lies.
The Blazer wasn't really meant as a trail bike, it was just following the craze of the day that saw enthusiasm for road bikes that looked like trailsters. That did mean that the Triumph had huge ape-hangers that felt well strange after the compactness of the Honda. I felt precariously perched upon a rather narrow machine that rumbled with the tickover vibes - the front end pattered away viciously from the buzz.
The CB250 has been described as rough and ready (by the UMG, no less) but in comparison to the Great Thrummer it was suddenly smooth and sophisticated. Torque the Blazer definitely had in excess, allied to a minimal mass, meant it shifted up to 70mph in an impressive manner - better than the Honda and many of the more moderate modern 250 twins. Thereafter it was a waste of time. Not only did power dissipate but vibes poured in so fiercely that it felt like the whole bike was breaking up.
This is pretty much what you should expect from an old British single. More impressive was the lack of knocks or rattles and an exhaust that stayed resolutely clear even on the overrun. (By the way, on old Honda's the first sign of ill-health comes from the engine breather not the exhaust.) Handling was much better than the Honda, though, especially from the front end, the Triumph having a directional accuracy far in excess of the somewhat loose Honda, which often felt as if it was working through rubber bearings.
After the deal was done, I was soon beginning to wonder what I'd let myself in for. Less than five miles before the clutch cable broke. These engines have a bit of a reputation for disintegrating gearboxes; judging by the grating noises during clutchless changes it was a far from a myth. Several kangaroo hops later, I managed to roll up to my palatial mansion (sick joke). I make up my own cables, so soon fixed up the Triumph.
Looking the machine over I found a couple of bodges. The large silencer chamber was patched in several places. The seat base was cobbled together with disparate bits of sheet metal. And the electrics were a mess but managed to work okay.
One good point was the economy. 70 to 80mpg (just as well as the fuel tank was small), thanks to a newish Amal carb and the kind of lean running that made the motor quite temperamental for the first ten minutes until the engine was fully warmed up. Of course, it was impossible to thrash the engine because revs were effectively limited by the amount of vibration that poured out of the mill. But under normal riding down country lanes and through town, the bike could push along faster than the CB250, which itself would turn in around 55mpg. So one up for old British bikes - the lack of frugality of modern Jap's is appalling!
Handling and braking were more than adequate. Conical hub drums, originally designed for the big twins, had both power and feel (though the front's difficult to set up correctly), were better than the Honda's. Handling was heavier than you'd expect from this kind of bike but easier than the CB, with a degree of security and stability which that era of Jap machines could only dream of.
I was mulling these things over when the second problem occurred. I was blatting through town, grinning inanely at the joyous bleat of the exhaust, when the revs suddenly rose to a frightening level as second gear became neutral. I went wild on the gear lever, ended up in fourth! There was enough torque to pull from 25mph but below that the final drive tried to imitate a chainsaw. By the time I reached work I was left with only first and fourth gears! The engine could just about cope with the huge gap between these two ratios but the resulting vibes, flat out in first, had my eyeballs whirling in my head. This happened some 770 miles into my ownership.
It was then I discovered that the lack of oil leaks was down to the previous owner bonding the engine cases with something like Araldite. It reminds me of the one-liners in Haynes manuals - remove cover...three hours, two broken hammers, bruised fingers and much hollering later I finally had access to the gearbox. Teeth were missing off the cogs and the selectors were bent. Spares are still available but expensive new. Luckily, there was a local autojumble a week away and some hard bargaining secured a large pile of engine bits - not just the gearbox, I wanted to be prepared for the worst.
The gearbox never really worked well after being rebuilt. I had all four cogs but engaging them was a major hassle, even compared to the Honda which had as many neutrals as working ratios. I hate gearboxes, didn't want to do another strip down to sort it out. I always felt that the mill could run taller gearing, as well, but the sprockets and chain showed absolutely no sign of wear. Amazing, compared to the junk on the Honda.
I didn't really trust the motor for long distance work whereas I'd quite happily go off touring on the Honda. Both needed 500 mile maintenance sessions and regular oil changes, but given their age you wouldn't expect anything else. The BSA needed its bolts going over every 100 miles whereas all the screws in the Honda had permanently corroded in their threads!
The bikes were very different in their character but I enjoyed riding both, although, economy aside, the Honda was much more practical and has outlived all those nasty Superdreams (the K4's faster, hurray!). My joy with the BSA did a runner when the cylinder head began to rattle after a mere 3200 miles. Mileage on these old bikes is pretty meaningless because of frequent rebuilds and short-lived speedo's.
The cylinder head came off without recourse to the hammer. Rockers and valve guides were shagged. I already had used spares. Worse still, the bore was scored and the oil ring gummed up in its groove. The big-end was a bit loose...ohmigod, the main bearings were about to start knocking. This is pretty typical of British engines, start taking them apart, all kind of horrors revealed...which is why many old British singles end up running Japanese thumper engines!
Not having a crankshaft (about £475 for a rebuilt one!) and knowing that a rebuilt engine from disparate parts wasn't going to inspire much faith in its performance or longevity, I rebuilt the top end, polished up the bike and went the rounds with a couple of British bike dealers. £800 was the best offer (it was advertised at £1950 with main bearings about a 100 miles off going knock-knock!).
The big problem with these kind of bikes is that there's no real way of knowing the state of the engine internals and even when properly rebuilt they ain't going to last for huge mileages. As a riding experience they are quite interesting, exciting even! I was tempted to keep the chassis and fit a Jap engine (I wanted a DR350 bored out to 441cc!) but in the end the £800 in used fifties won out. I bought a tatty CB450 Black Bomber; much better value for money.
Dave Hills
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For such a small bike, the 200cc Tiger Cub makes a hell of a racket out of its marginal silencer. Just to get her off the mark it's like a massive fight is taking place between the combustion process and the tarmac. And it feels a bit like the interacting forces are tearing the whole bike to pieces. People look around, expecting to see some massive brute of a machine, if not a marauding tractor, only to find the diminutive Triumph struggling up to 10mph, before it's time to find a semblance of quietness, smoothness and civility by getting her into second.
Primitive's the major impression anyone will get when trying out a Cub for the first time. But it grows on you after just a little time until it becomes accepted as part of the nature of the machine. As well as the exhaust noise, even good engines rattle and tap quite a bit (though knocking is a sure sign the dodgy main bearings have gone, but most of the bikes have by now been upgraded with modern bearings - don't panic), especially frenzied when going above about 5000 revs!
The bike has a certain amount of charm! It's the sheer directness of everything that gets into your soul. The springing's so taut (probably because there's naff all damping) that each and every road tremor is fed direct into my body. No way I don't know what the tyres are doing, some compensation for them being ancient, square section Avons - why change them when they haven't worn out yet?
Equally, every ounce of combustive force makes itself felt, the whole chassis trembling, throbbing with the explosion of the petrol/air mixture. Boom, boom, boom. Only in top, when trolling along at 40 to 60mph, does the engine really settle down, feel assured rather than as if it's trying to tear itself apart.
Whilst the gearbox's quite fluid the final drive is rather harsh, when the revs go too low in top it feels like the chain is trying to whip itself into an early death. Clank, clank, clank. Oddly, it rarely needs any adjustment and lasts for more than 20,000 miles! I can't figure out what's wrong with it, misalignment would surely tear the chain apart in short order. It's easy enough to live with, just change down a cog.
Another strange thing is that the clutch is very heavy, despite there being a paucity of horsepower for it to fight. It definitely needs a strong left hand to command it and I can imagine that someone brought up on modern bikes would soon be complaining about it in town. Also, too much use caused it to overheat, drag, make the bike creep slowly forward unless the brake was applied when it would stall.
Which brings me neatly enough to the starting. There's a definite technique to starting my Cub, which I'm not going to reveal because it's the perfect anti-theft device! I was so sure that no-one else would ever start it that I took out the useless ignition switch before it fell apart again and left me fighting a mass of wires in the middle of nowhere.
In fact, my bike runs a very simple electrical circuit from a modded alternator and big capacitor. No battery, but nothing works if the engine ain't running. Tickover can be a bit precarious if you switch the lights on without blipping the throttle but otherwise it's a very reliable system - just make sure everything's well insulated from the vibes.
There are a lot of myths about British bikes leaving a trail of parts behind them. All I can say is use Loctite on every nut and bolt on the machine. And go over it once a week just to make sure. Modern gasket goo also stops the engine leaking oil, so there's no real excuse for leaving an oil slick or valuable chassis parts in your wake.
Having said all that, I have to admit that a number of metal parts have split or fractured - the numberplate, front guard, oil tank and chainguard. We are talking about a 1962 machine here, that's 35 years old, so something has to give even if it was thoroughly restored 6000 miles and four years ago.
Rust wasn't the problem. Everything's made out of nice thick steel that can be bashed back into shape, welded up, sanded down and painted up until it's as good as new. As I have all my own equipment, this cost next to nothing. Just a bit of time, but I would probably have only wasted it watching TV.
Like anyone else I wanted to know what the Cub would do. No danger of its speed ending up in a massive fine or ban...75mph flat out on a five mile straight! 65mph was relatively easy in terms of power but getting a bit nasty in terms of vibration. 70mph had me grinding my teeth and hoping my watch wasn't going to fall apart. 75mph was when my vision started to go and the engine felt like it was going to pop right out of its mounts, straight through the tank and whack me in the face for my mechanical insensitivity.
I only did it the once, rarely ventured beyond 65mph, though to be fair to the old girl, up hill or against a strong headwind she'd still hold 60mph on just a modicum of throttle - it was the magic spot where torque and power met in harmony. So much so that it'd regularly turn in 80mpg at such speeds. Not bad from such an ancient hack.
In case you think I'm entirely biased in favour of old Brit's, I should point out that the garage also holds an excellent little Suzuki GS125. This runs beautifully, is in every way better than the Cub except that it totally lacks any blood and guts, is as bland as a ham sandwich. This is as it should be as I do forty miles a day commuting on the Suzuki, and the last thing I want is to have to pay too much attention to the bike when I have to suss what all the mad cagers are doing.
Occasionally, I use the Triumph for the commute. It does the job, gets me there in the same time but sometimes I have a close shave with a car when I forget that the Cub's tiny drums, though refurbished, can't compare with the sheer ferocity of the GS's single front disc.
Here, more than anywhere else, does the bike show its age and ancestry, designed for an era when cars were rare and very slow moving themselves. Also, there's the matter of potholes. The Suzuki's bad enough, but the Triumph comes close to breaking my arms if not my spine! Put it this way, if I take the Cub on the route one day I won't try to repeat that trip on that bike for a couple of weeks!
All very unfair to the old Triumph, no doubt. But worth making the point in case the reader's blinded by the tales in the glossy classic press. The point isn't that the Cub is superior or inferior to the Jap's but that I'm totally indifferent to fate of the GS, will just buy another one when it wears out. Whereas, with the Triumph it's an old friend who I lavish a lot of tender loving care on. And I get it all back in the splendid way it blats up the road, causing general mayhem amongst the civilians.
I bought my bike as a runner five years ago. It was all there but close to becoming a rat. At £300 it seemed like a good deal. I then sorted out the motor, about £500 for mostly new parts to get it running really well. The chassis renovation I did myself, just cables, consumables, paint, etc. By the time I finished the whole lot cost me around a grand.
True, you can buy some very good Tiger Cubs for that kind of money but you don't know what condition they're in under the gloss, do you? If you go to a dealers for a concours example and a guarantee expect to pay £2000 to £2500! Not that bad a buy if you don't want the hassle of a rebuild, although to me it was fun!
Don't buy a pile of boxes with bits of Cubs in them. A friend did that, spent ages trying to sort the mess out and finally gave up; sold them to me for spares. The cheapest I've seen a non-runner's £250 and you'd have to pay that again to get something useable but not very pretty on the road. Lots of fun and joy to be had...
Ian Fuller
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