Despite being a hefty old brute for a trail bike at 460lbs, I soon found that the Tiger was an ideal DR hack. I'd bought the bike off a colleague who'd tried to ride the Triumph into the ground in six months and 30000 miles. Judging by the white sludge that was supposed to be engine oil he hadn't even bothered to change the lubricant. The protective layer of crud revealed a brill finish but one that was totally obscured again after the first bit of rain, the Tiger having the kind of minimal mudguards for which the Japs are infamous (at least there were gaiters on the front forks).
What made the Tiger a peach in the silly London traffic was a perfectly balanced feel that allowed feet up progress at a walking pace and a pair of Michelin tyres that gripped the greasy London roads with impeccable security. I was quite happy to roll up to some cage which had done something stupid and batter away on his roof whilst holding the Tiger in perfect balance, ready for a fast exit when the cowed cager became enraged by the flimsy roof bouncing on his head.
Luckily, Triumph saw fit to retain twin front discs that could carve off speed with predictable ease when cars did their usual silly tricks. I would've preferred a louder horn as it barely seemed to penetrate their consciousness. The rear disc was also a hot number, easily able to lock up the wheel and send the Tiger into a perfectly controllable rear wheel slide. I found myself slewing sideways to deliberately give cagers the fright of their lives, holding the bike balanced, with a foot down and giving the Tiger a vicious twitch back upright. It was one hell of a quick way of turning through ninety degrees and I only bounced off the sides of cars a few times.
The Tiger has a de-tuned Trident engine that develops even more low speed torque. If it loses its edge above 100mph, in town it’s a brilliant hit and run device which, dumped into third gear, few bikes can hope to keep in sight. I got so carried away with the pleasure of the acceleration, and the whine of the three into two exhaust, that | roared through a narrow gap in between two rows of cars, completely forgetting that I had two large panniers stuck out in the airstream. Cruuuuuuuunch! A massive tremor ran through the chassis as each pannier hit a car, the bars wobbling in my hands like the steering head bearings were disintegrating, but I held on, opening up the throttle as the panniers were torn off and the bike, suddenly freed, bounded forward with about 80mph on the clock.
Once clear of the scene, I pulled over, tipped-my lid off and threw up the contents of my stomach (a sludge-like curry, if you must know). Both rear indicators had been ripped out, but that was no great loss as I never hung around long enough for cagers behind to worry over which way | was going. The position of the silencers, jutting out from the sides of the seat, made fitment of panniers a troublesome affair. I decided it'd be safer to fit a massive top box over the back of the seat.
Wheelies were another joy on the Tiger. There was so much grunt that it really only needed a slight pull on the bars and moving of my weight slightly backwards, rather than massive abuse of the clutch and throttle. You could, naturally, do that as well and pull wheelies the length of the High Street. More importantly, it allowed the bike to speed up to minor obstacles like pavements, roundabouts and pedestrian precincts.
Get the wheel off the ground by a foot and ride straight through with only a minor bit of thumping from the rear shock, which at this mileage had to have the damping and springing turned up to their highest setting to stop the Tiger turning into a high speed pogo stick! ae The long travel suspension and excess ground clearance meant easy meat was made of the average DR’s round, with pot-holes absorbed and bricks, thrown by irate cagers or disillusioned youths, ridden over as if they did not exist. The only thing the bike didn’t like was the odd section of cobblestones that constituted useful short cuts to my mind, but to the startled peds seemed to be some sort of sanctified pedestrian walkway. The tyres slithered over the dubious surface and I felt inclined to put a foot down or even back off the throttle a notch. I tried to avoid the latter as it'd probably result in a well deserved smack in the mouth.
Part of the Tiger's charm was that it absorbed all kinds of road shocks, that would normally have me staggering off to the nearest casualty ward (anything to get my hands on these nurses, anything...) and that it gave out zilch vibes from its three cylinder DOHC mill, thanks to the engine balancer. The upright riding position was so comfortable that even my wrecked body could sustain a full day's worth of despatching without ending up looking like a seventy year old wreck. Had excess use of the gearbox been necessary I might've complained but for the vast majority of the time I used third, with the odd change down to second when the bike had to be twirled through a particularly tough section of coalesced cars. The gearbox was on a par with a five year old Honda, probably because of the lack of regular oil changes. The engine proved pretty tough, even with 40000 miles up the rattles didn’t sound terminal despite the valves, carb and camchain tensioner never being touched by human hand. Gone are the days when British bikes were a vibratory laugh that would barely get you across town without going into a self-destruct act.
The only hassle I had was a starter motor that suddenly refused to work. I took it apart and gave the clutch mechanism a few taps with my best hammer to good effect. Before that was done I had to spend a few days bump-starting the beast, there being a distinct lack of a kickstart. The Tiger's trail pretensions means it's got a high seat, which whilst great for peering over the top of Transit vans makes running and leaping aboard all the more difficult. Dragging discs made the bike feel more like 700Ibs than 460lbs, but | huffed and puffed alongside until a bit of speed was gained, then jumped aboard the machine and dropped the clutch. Luckily, it started very easily. Unluckily, it was a bit top heavy at low speeds and if my coordination was anything other than perfect, which given my need for drugs it usually was, we'd end up in a tangled heap. I was usually quick enough to make sure I ended atop the Tiger.
This so pissed me off that I usually left the engine running with a shackle lock around the forks to make sure no-one who was able to see what it was beneath the grime could half-inch my most valuable asset. One time, running late, I leapt aboard, all ready to roar off into a traffic gap when the bike jarred to a dead stop as the lock halted us so suddenly that we fell over into passing traffic. Some cage nearly took my head off and I saw stars for a while. The noise it made I thought the forks had snapped but the Tiger was quite robust and shook off my foolishness!
Another major assault on my person occurred when the wantonly neglected rear disc locked on solidly. The back wheel waggled all over the road, causing cagers to grasp their chests in agony at the sight of a completely out of control Triumph about to crash into them, whilst pedestrians, already edgy on the back of predatory police and truculent terrorists, scattered before me as the back wheel tried to take huge chunks out of the kerb. Somehow | avoided hitting anything.
The rear disc glowed boldly hot whilst the caliper needed brutal bovver from my boot after I’d released its locating bolts. It suddenly flew off at an improbable velocity, right into the shin of some gross traffic warden whilst the brake fluid splattered over my trousers. A mile later, after roaring off before the warden could regain the vertical (figuring the caliper was, anyway, a write off) I had to pull over to see what was burning a hole in my leg. The ragged remains of my Levis bore testament to the acidity of the fluid and I only saved my skin by rushing into McDonalds and sticking my leg in the sink after barging my way through various reprobates who had taken over the toilet. Another caliper was acquired from the breakers and a whole weekend devoted to cleaning up the Triumph.
40000 miles worth of abuse had barely scratched the surface of the Tiger's ruggedness and it polished up so well that I off-loaded the bike at almost a grand’s profit. It’s an ideal DR bike if you like to ride on the fast and furious side and it’s probably quite nifty as a tourer but I never got around to taking it out of the city. If I hadn’t needed a quick infusion of cash I'd probably have kept it for a long time.
Al Culler