The Triumph triples and fours have been around long enough to establish themselves as serious motorcycles. The 900, in particular, emerging as the bike to have. I'd wanted one ever since they were launched. Problem was, I couldn't afford the new price and for the first couple of years depreciation wasn't that huge. With the launch of the new 900 triples, the Trident series looking just a touch old-fashioned, prices of the older ones took a bit of tumble. I set my heart on either a 900 Trident or Sprint, the major difference the latter's useful half-fairing. I had three grand to burn.
A 1994 model was advertised in the local (Manchester) paper for £3250. Sounded like a bargain over the phone but I forgot to ask the mileage - 79000 miles. The guy had used the bike for blasting all over Europe. The finish wasn't brilliant, lots of corrosion on the engine screws and the wheels looked well faded. The gearbox was a bit agricultural, the clutch heavy and jerky, but the motor still had a frightening amount of power and torque. The machine was basically stock, a little bit faded but appeared sound enough. How long would such a high mileage engine last, though? I suggested the clutch might be on the way out and as the second owner in less than three years its history might be a bit dodgy. How about two and a half grand? Only joking mate, no need to go all nasty. Three grand, then? Right oh!
I rode home well chuffed. The big watercooled 900cc triple gasped out an incredible amount of torque that had me literally grinning from ear to ear even after the front wheel came up and the bars hammered from lock to lock. The 500lb machine was high and wide, felt like it wanted to lurch down to earth but after a few miles I seemed more in control than an accident looking for somewhere to happen. Manhandling the Triumph at a walking pace requires a lot of effort, but most wimps will manage once more than 10mph's up.
Having said that, reversing the bike into my garage, up the very slightest of inclines, left me gasping for breath. As I cautiously worked my way around the machine, I felt it going to the left and nearly tore my arms out of their sockets getting it back upright. The stands, though, are easier to use than on many much lighter machines. If you're long of leg and wide of chest the Sprint won't cause many problems. Once on the stand in the comfort of my garage, I gave the bike a thorough going over but found no new problems. An oil change revealed lubricant in reasonable shape, the owner's claim to have changed it 500 miles previously probably true.
There then began that great experience. Learning to love a new motorcycle. In my 26 years of riding I've gone through an awful lot of machinery. Or should that be a lot of awful machinery? No, there was always something good in even the most basic of transport, even if it was just the ability to whack through the traffic at a tremendous pace. The Sprint turned out to be much more good than bad, as might be expected of a modern motorcycle.
There then began that great experience. Learning to love a new motorcycle. In my 26 years of riding I've gone through an awful lot of machinery. Or should that be a lot of awful machinery? No, there was always something good in even the most basic of transport, even if it was just the ability to whack through the traffic at a tremendous pace. The Sprint turned out to be much more good than bad, as might be expected of a modern motorcycle.
First, the engine's absolutely brilliant for real world riding. Its surge of midrange torque's exactly where it's needed. I don't know why it was equipped with so many gears, I could do most of my riding in top gear. In fact, I found the acceleration a little too fierce in first and second, the front wheel going light and the bars slamming around all over the place. There was enough strength in the combined engine and spine frame to stop it turning really nasty, a built in propensity to damp down the shakes, but it was a bit unnerving to end up emulating the clowns in the glossies with wheelie madness!
The chassis is competent rather than brilliant. Its limits defined by excessive mass and a top heavy feel. In no way is it bad like, say, a Z1 Kawasaki (I've owned one, I know!). It's not so much limited by its dynamics as by my own disbelief that something so heavy and unwieldy won't flop off the edge of its tyres if I get too exuberant. Definitely a case of the more you ride it the better it becomes. There are limits, easily found when riding with a friend on an FZR600 on swoopy roads - I haven't got a hope in hell of staying with him.
Especially true in the tighter bends. Going in too fast was a sure way to have the front end (quite worn, remember) shuddering, reluctant to get its head down and go with the curve. The twin front discs showed their age with a reluctance to pull up the sheer bulk in a hurry. Rather grabby stoppers, the discs having some quite deep score marks as if a past owner had run the pads down to the metal. Pad life proved to be short-lived, less than 5000 miles, though the scored nature of the discs might well have contributed to their rapid demise.
The back brake was even worse, the minimal mudguarding allowing loads of crud to contaminate the caliper, which became very temperamental. Sometimes grabbing the back wheel viciously, other times refusing to work at all! I never knew where I was with it. Given the mileage, perhaps understandable but a nice rear drum would've been just as good as a new disc and kept that effectiveness for a few hundred thousand miles. There was a modicum of engine braking, the three cylinders having an eerie bark on the overrun as well as an evocative exhaust note under acceleration. I often ran it up and down the box just for the aural kicks. The engine braking was useful in the wet when it was the only reliable way to gradually lose speed but the bike didn't feel too assured on damp roads - too much weight and that top heavy feel allied with the dodgy set of brakes.
A pity as I had good protection behind the fairing. In the dry the maximum cruising speed was merely what I thought I could get away with. 100mph's nothing to this kind of machine; 125mph not really pushing it. 150mph on the clock possible. In the wet I didn't want to go anywhere near that fast, perhaps 90mph on relatively clear motorways. Had the brakes been better I might not have slowed down, but I'm still not convinced that I could trust so much weight and power in the bends on slippery roads.
The bike came with newish Metz's (nearly two hundred quid a set including fitting) which were pretty good for the first 3500 miles. Once the tread was down to 3mm, though, they lost a lot of their grip, unable to balance the huge amount of torque that the triple laid down. By 5000 miles it was like riding on ice, though the tyres had a millimetre of tread left. No fun, that! Further expense was added by fuel being in the 30 to 37mpg range. Only the O-ring final drive was at all sanguine about high mileages, not needing much attention in the 9000 miles I've done since buying the bike.
I took the hint from the previous owner, hit the Continent, doing as much as 700 miles in a day. The Triumph complained a lot less than my backside and wallet. The roads in France and Germany were much better suited to the Sprint's size and speed, though some of the ruined back roads in Spain had the bike shuffling all over the shop on its aged suspension - maybe I should've gone for the Tiger version! As a tough, long-lived, high speed cruiser, though, it was right on the mark - except for the amount of dosh I had to spend on fuel and consumables!
With the winter months such ventures are heavily curtailed, though it does the daily 30 mile commute without any problems, the fairing keeping me relatively warm, these cold and wet days. I've been keeping an eye on the breakers, hoping to pick up some newish discs and calipers, which is really my major complaint - no real fault of the Triumphs, just the combination of high mileage and British weather doing for them. Other than that, it looks like I'll be sticking with the Sprint for the next couple of years. Should go for well over 100,000 miles if the current, bullet-proof, feel of the motor's anything to go by.
F.H.J.
****************************************************
I wanted something a bit different from my past legion of UJM's. A newish Triumph seemed ideal. After looking the range over I settled on a 900 triple. A couple of weeks studying MCN found a three year old Sprint. One owner, 9400 miles, new tyres and as new condition. Yes please!
These Triumphs are big old things, none of the latest high tech lightweight Jap engineering. Despite this, I was soon at home on the triple. Revelling in the easy torque and exciting exhaust howl! The clutch was a bit abrupt, the gearchange needed effort and concentration, and the bars a deliberate, planned action to keep the flow smooth.
On the second day of ownership I grazed the side of a car. I was running the Sprint through Central London traffic when one of the cages veered into the narrow conduit. I put too much, panicked, input into the bars and hit the car on the other side. Or rather the large engine bars tore into the car's thin metal side. Again, I overcompensated with too much force on the bars, whamming into the car that had originally veered into my path.
The idiot was still aiming for a nonexistent gap, the Triumph becoming wedged between the two stationary cars. Fortunately, the speed of all the vehicles was low and the crash-bars took all the force from the cages! I had a ruined Beemer on one side and a wrecked Jaguar on the other. This all caused a massive traffic jam, that even a BMW bike mounted plod couldn't get through.
I was tempted to use the enormous low rev torque of the Triumph to fight my way out of the mess. Both cagers appeared to be psychopaths out for vengeance and I decided my relatively safe position wedged between their cages would be the safest option for the moment. Took a couple of hours for the plod to sort out the mess.
I was very annoyed to find that the previous pristine red finish of my fairing lowers had been scratched in the incident. More than made up for, I decided, when the whole side of the Jag fell off as the cops towed it away! Later, some touch-up paint and fervent polishing sorted the fairing, whilst I left the battle-scars on the crash-bars as a sign that I wasn't to be trifled with.
The Sprint turned out not to be a brilliant commute across Central London. Too heavy and slow turning, also no narrower than many a large four. Plenty of low rev torque meant it thundered along nicely in third or fourth. Gearchange slack and notchiness meant I wasn't too keen on playing childish games through the box. The triple discs, though far from leading edge and having to fight an awful lot of mass, were at least powerful and predictable - even on wet, slimy roads I knew how far I could take the braking; no unpleasant surprises lurking unseen.
After the first week's commuting I was in two minds about the machine. The chassis didn't exactly inspire but I loved the torque and sound of the watercooled, DOHC three cylinder engine. Head for the open road, a little voice insisted. She who must be obeyed was persuaded on to the pillion, and despite an unlikely combined mass the Triumph still performed magically in terms of sheer grunt.
The rear shock, despite being cranked up to its firmest setting, felt a bit on the wimpy side, allowed the undercarriage to dig in on the more furious bends. This produced some grating noises that had wifey shifting around nervously but the big, fat tyres still stuck like glue to the tarmac. She was already battered by the turbulence produced by the aerodynamics of the half-fairing, though most of the airstream whipped right past my own body. She got very wet when it rained; I didn't!
The bike felt happiest with around the ton-ten on the clock! The engine smoothed out and the chassis felt firmly planted on the tarmac; there was still loads of power available for acceleration to downright indecent speeds. The way motorways are policed, these days, the bike was an open invitation to loss of licence. At 70mph in top the engine didn't really feel settled and the chassis was quite susceptible to white-lines and the like. 90mph was a good compromise between the machine's abilities and my own fear of being the centre of a police chase.
However the bike was ridden, fuel stayed firmly in the 35-40mpg range. About what you'd expect from a modern, high performance motorcycle but it was worse than my car. Tyres also held no joy for those miserly of heart - about 2500 miles from the sticky Metz's, though so inspiring I didn't try any of the cheaper, longer-lived but less adhesive alternatives. The O-ring chain barely ever needed any attention, just the odd wipe with a bit of oil-soaked rag. Brake pads lasted about 10,000 miles - I'm not a last moment brake junkie, instead often just used the gearbox and engine braking to pull up.
Hardcore cut and thrust riding didn't suit the Sprint's nature, though I know the odd youth who pulls wheelies and gets his knee down on one! He has the scars to prove it, too! I always had the impression that taken to extreme limits the bike would bite back in a rather vicious manner. All that heavy, highly mounted mass coming home to roost!
Despite the battering received, the wife was reluctant to let me go off on my own - she reads the UMG, which explains all! The summer of 1998 saw us two-up heading for the channel tunnel. Most civilised after past bruisings from the ferry. The French weather was a notch hotter than the already burning London, making for a foolhardy derobing of essential motorcycle clothing. Especially as we soon hit the autoroute down to the SOF and thence Italy.
The only way to keep moderately cool, to pound along at an unlikely 130mph. The Triumph didn't object and the wife stopped squirming around as the turbulence disappeared. The fairing made for good protection except for a bit of a battering to the visor. I could crouch down but the resultant wind lashing received by the nearest and dearest didn't go down too well!
Pushed a touch harder, some vibration seeped out of the triple cylinder engine and the forks began to flutter. To be honest, at that kind of speed any indication of the slightest malfunction had me soiling my breeches; push it further and harder I didn't, though no doubt more youthful and hardy riders would come up with some fantastical speed readings. The autoroutes and main roads were ideally suited to the Triumph's ways
Used to lurking plod everywhere in the UK, it was a bit surprising to find so few Frog porkers. They tend to set up radar traps in unlikely corners of the land, just when you think it's safe out they leap. About forty miles to the border, one maniac suddenly popped up out of the woodwork, waving his hands around in a typically French manner. By the time I'd clocked him and had time to react I was too far away to pull over. A mad dash into Italy followed. A deliberately misplaced strap from my bag did a good job of obscuring the numberplate, making sure that there was no chance of radioing ahead! The border guard waved me through without bothering to check anything.
Italian car drivers all start on manic mopeds and it shows with their total disregard for the size of gaps they want to charge through. Even on the open road some madmen just charged into my space without the slightest regard for my existence. The Sprint's horn could've done with doubling in volume and it was far too slow turning to cope with the sudden necessary changes in direction.
Riding through city centres was akin to a death sentence. The same could've been said for past UJM's, too, but there was a certain low speed truculence to the Sprint that made it damn hard work to avoid immolation on some cage's bumper. So bad, that wifey and I usually parked up for the day and did the town on foot!
Somewhat later, we made it into Spain, where the condition of the roads was of more concern than that of the drivers. Main roads were often perfectly surfaced for a stretch then suddenly degenerated into a rough, corrugated terrain that had both of the Sprint's wheels twitching in dismay. The first time it happened I thought a wheel spindle had come loose. Nevertheless, the bike didn't flip us off - I'm sure if I was on one of the old UJM's I would've ended up in the nearest ditch.
Coming home, the tyres were down to the carcass. The bike not safe much above 70mph and absolutely diabolical on wet roads. So much so that we planned our return after listening to the weather forecasts on the radio. Blighty was, for once, a very welcome sight. The engine was about due for a service, too, the clutch clattering from the mis-balanced carbs and the top end making pinging noises. No permanent damage, ran as well as before after a service.
As a long distance tourer I could've done with better fuel, a lighter clutch (rolling into town after gripping the bars for a few hours made it quite truculent), longer lasting tyres and longer intervals between oil changes and services. General comfort was good, speed was never a problem and even when tired out I could roll the bike along in top gear without having to worry over manic gearchanging. With half decent tyres the Sprint was reassuring in even atrocious weather - in the same way that makes BMW Boxers popular.
Not a perfect tool, but used ones are available at good prices and the engines last for ages - mine has now done 29000 miles with no sign of any problems. Around the clock? Yeah, why not!
John Whitley
****************************************************
I wanted something a bit different from my past legion of UJM's. A newish Triumph seemed ideal. After looking the range over I settled on a 900 triple. A couple of weeks studying MCN found a three year old Sprint. One owner, 9400 miles, new tyres and as new condition. Yes please!
These Triumphs are big old things, none of the latest high tech lightweight Jap engineering. Despite this, I was soon at home on the triple. Revelling in the easy torque and exciting exhaust howl! The clutch was a bit abrupt, the gearchange needed effort and concentration, and the bars a deliberate, planned action to keep the flow smooth.
On the second day of ownership I grazed the side of a car. I was running the Sprint through Central London traffic when one of the cages veered into the narrow conduit. I put too much, panicked, input into the bars and hit the car on the other side. Or rather the large engine bars tore into the car's thin metal side. Again, I overcompensated with too much force on the bars, whamming into the car that had originally veered into my path.
The idiot was still aiming for a nonexistent gap, the Triumph becoming wedged between the two stationary cars. Fortunately, the speed of all the vehicles was low and the crash-bars took all the force from the cages! I had a ruined Beemer on one side and a wrecked Jaguar on the other. This all caused a massive traffic jam, that even a BMW bike mounted plod couldn't get through.
I was tempted to use the enormous low rev torque of the Triumph to fight my way out of the mess. Both cagers appeared to be psychopaths out for vengeance and I decided my relatively safe position wedged between their cages would be the safest option for the moment. Took a couple of hours for the plod to sort out the mess.
I was very annoyed to find that the previous pristine red finish of my fairing lowers had been scratched in the incident. More than made up for, I decided, when the whole side of the Jag fell off as the cops towed it away! Later, some touch-up paint and fervent polishing sorted the fairing, whilst I left the battle-scars on the crash-bars as a sign that I wasn't to be trifled with.
The Sprint turned out not to be a brilliant commute across Central London. Too heavy and slow turning, also no narrower than many a large four. Plenty of low rev torque meant it thundered along nicely in third or fourth. Gearchange slack and notchiness meant I wasn't too keen on playing childish games through the box. The triple discs, though far from leading edge and having to fight an awful lot of mass, were at least powerful and predictable - even on wet, slimy roads I knew how far I could take the braking; no unpleasant surprises lurking unseen.
After the first week's commuting I was in two minds about the machine. The chassis didn't exactly inspire but I loved the torque and sound of the watercooled, DOHC three cylinder engine. Head for the open road, a little voice insisted. She who must be obeyed was persuaded on to the pillion, and despite an unlikely combined mass the Triumph still performed magically in terms of sheer grunt.
The rear shock, despite being cranked up to its firmest setting, felt a bit on the wimpy side, allowed the undercarriage to dig in on the more furious bends. This produced some grating noises that had wifey shifting around nervously but the big, fat tyres still stuck like glue to the tarmac. She was already battered by the turbulence produced by the aerodynamics of the half-fairing, though most of the airstream whipped right past my own body. She got very wet when it rained; I didn't!
The bike felt happiest with around the ton-ten on the clock! The engine smoothed out and the chassis felt firmly planted on the tarmac; there was still loads of power available for acceleration to downright indecent speeds. The way motorways are policed, these days, the bike was an open invitation to loss of licence. At 70mph in top the engine didn't really feel settled and the chassis was quite susceptible to white-lines and the like. 90mph was a good compromise between the machine's abilities and my own fear of being the centre of a police chase.
However the bike was ridden, fuel stayed firmly in the 35-40mpg range. About what you'd expect from a modern, high performance motorcycle but it was worse than my car. Tyres also held no joy for those miserly of heart - about 2500 miles from the sticky Metz's, though so inspiring I didn't try any of the cheaper, longer-lived but less adhesive alternatives. The O-ring chain barely ever needed any attention, just the odd wipe with a bit of oil-soaked rag. Brake pads lasted about 10,000 miles - I'm not a last moment brake junkie, instead often just used the gearbox and engine braking to pull up.
Hardcore cut and thrust riding didn't suit the Sprint's nature, though I know the odd youth who pulls wheelies and gets his knee down on one! He has the scars to prove it, too! I always had the impression that taken to extreme limits the bike would bite back in a rather vicious manner. All that heavy, highly mounted mass coming home to roost!
Despite the battering received, the wife was reluctant to let me go off on my own - she reads the UMG, which explains all! The summer of 1998 saw us two-up heading for the channel tunnel. Most civilised after past bruisings from the ferry. The French weather was a notch hotter than the already burning London, making for a foolhardy derobing of essential motorcycle clothing. Especially as we soon hit the autoroute down to the SOF and thence Italy.
The only way to keep moderately cool, to pound along at an unlikely 130mph. The Triumph didn't object and the wife stopped squirming around as the turbulence disappeared. The fairing made for good protection except for a bit of a battering to the visor. I could crouch down but the resultant wind lashing received by the nearest and dearest didn't go down too well!
Pushed a touch harder, some vibration seeped out of the triple cylinder engine and the forks began to flutter. To be honest, at that kind of speed any indication of the slightest malfunction had me soiling my breeches; push it further and harder I didn't, though no doubt more youthful and hardy riders would come up with some fantastical speed readings. The autoroutes and main roads were ideally suited to the Triumph's ways
Used to lurking plod everywhere in the UK, it was a bit surprising to find so few Frog porkers. They tend to set up radar traps in unlikely corners of the land, just when you think it's safe out they leap. About forty miles to the border, one maniac suddenly popped up out of the woodwork, waving his hands around in a typically French manner. By the time I'd clocked him and had time to react I was too far away to pull over. A mad dash into Italy followed. A deliberately misplaced strap from my bag did a good job of obscuring the numberplate, making sure that there was no chance of radioing ahead! The border guard waved me through without bothering to check anything.
Italian car drivers all start on manic mopeds and it shows with their total disregard for the size of gaps they want to charge through. Even on the open road some madmen just charged into my space without the slightest regard for my existence. The Sprint's horn could've done with doubling in volume and it was far too slow turning to cope with the sudden necessary changes in direction.
Riding through city centres was akin to a death sentence. The same could've been said for past UJM's, too, but there was a certain low speed truculence to the Sprint that made it damn hard work to avoid immolation on some cage's bumper. So bad, that wifey and I usually parked up for the day and did the town on foot!
Somewhat later, we made it into Spain, where the condition of the roads was of more concern than that of the drivers. Main roads were often perfectly surfaced for a stretch then suddenly degenerated into a rough, corrugated terrain that had both of the Sprint's wheels twitching in dismay. The first time it happened I thought a wheel spindle had come loose. Nevertheless, the bike didn't flip us off - I'm sure if I was on one of the old UJM's I would've ended up in the nearest ditch.
Coming home, the tyres were down to the carcass. The bike not safe much above 70mph and absolutely diabolical on wet roads. So much so that we planned our return after listening to the weather forecasts on the radio. Blighty was, for once, a very welcome sight. The engine was about due for a service, too, the clutch clattering from the mis-balanced carbs and the top end making pinging noises. No permanent damage, ran as well as before after a service.
As a long distance tourer I could've done with better fuel, a lighter clutch (rolling into town after gripping the bars for a few hours made it quite truculent), longer lasting tyres and longer intervals between oil changes and services. General comfort was good, speed was never a problem and even when tired out I could roll the bike along in top gear without having to worry over manic gearchanging. With half decent tyres the Sprint was reassuring in even atrocious weather - in the same way that makes BMW Boxers popular.
Not a perfect tool, but used ones are available at good prices and the engines last for ages - mine has now done 29000 miles with no sign of any problems. Around the clock? Yeah, why not!
John Whitley