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