Sometime things go so right you start looking over your shoulder for the armed mugger, irate cop or the Grim Reaper himself. I’d been away from England for so long that it seemed a strange land. Full of crack gangs, armed police and, er, a full blooded range of Triumph motorcycles. I'd seen their pictures before but viewing them in the flesh was when it dawned on me that here were motorcycles worthy of the name. That no excuses need be offered or compromises made when handing over loadsa hard earned dosh.
And there was the rub. I’d actually escaped the Big Apple with a large enough wedge of cash to indulge whatever fantasy entered my head when I woke up. But we won't go into that here, at least not for the tiny wedge the editor throws in my direction. Scanning good old MCN, which didn’t seem to have changed much, I came across a nearly new Triumph Speed Triple. With that kind of dosh how could I resist?
Anyone who’s ever actually ridden a Speed Twin would probably run a mile. Those old buggers had such rubbery back-ends that they'd spray themselves all over the tarmac given a moment's inattention or diminution of grip on the bars. I’m sure it was the nasty handling of these devices that gave Triumph its reputation for making relatively tough twins in the fifties. Everyone was shit scared of riding them faster than a BSA Beagle, so the motor never got beyond 3000 revs.
Time, of course, heals such memories and these days the Triumph name is full of nostalgic machoness but, luckily, the bikes are able to back up the image. Handing over six grand for the Speed Triple had me so nervous that I immediately set to forgetting reality by playing with the big triple. The styling’s along the brutalist lines so beloved of early Jotas, with a lean, hungry look about the flanks, although whichever way you look at it, it’s a big bugger with a dry mass of 460lbs that quickly escalates up to 500Ibs when fuel, oil and coolant are added.
At its heart is the 900cc watercooled, DOHC three cylinder motor. A lot has been written about the modular engine range, allowing triples and fours to be produced in various sizes using a common base of parts, but with the benefit of hindsight all Triumph need to make is the 900cc triple, an engine that manages to combine the virtue of excess torque so beloved of British bike fanatics with the willingness to rev happy on a surfeit of power so well defined by the across the frame Japanese four. The latter design is so well implemented by the Japanese that there's no point in any European manufacturer trying to emulate it.
These thoughts were far from my mind as I played with the throttle and first gear, during the first minutes of ownership. At first I was a little disappointed, as the gearing’s tall enough to diminish the immediate effect of the torque. Snapping open the throttle, though, totally transformed the nature of the beast. The bloody front end went vertical so fast that it almost tipped right over. Controllability on one wheel, at least to my reeling brain and shocked body, was marginal.
The instinctive shutting of the throttle was like slamming the thing into a wall. The front end flopped back down to earth, knocking the forks down on to their stops as well as sending the bars all aflutter in my hands. I had both feet down by then, as it’s quite a top heavy brute at low speeds, especially when it’s trying to bounce all over the road. I didn't know whether to be exhilarated by the grunt or scared out of my wits. I used to be able to go on at length about the torque of a well tuned, well running 850 Commando, but this little bugger makes such fantasies pretty pathetic.
I hooked up to second as soon as I was moving again and treated the throttle with a bit more care. It’s one of the illusions of styling that the Speed Triple looks leaner and lower than the Trident. It does weigh a whole seven pounds less but the seat height is actually half an inch higher at 31 inches. The seat/tank interface is reasonably narrow but I did find my knees stuck out in the breeze. The tank could have been more sculptured to good effect. The bars were low and narrow in the British tradition though far away off from real cafe-racer clip-ons to preclude strained wrists or a stiff neck. The pegs were a touch cramped for the Malone frame but within tolerable limits.
Within half an hour of acclimatisation I felt right at home, the riding position made me feel part of the machine; an intimate dance between body and chassis possible. Helped along by the exhaust note from the triple cylinder layout. The engine whirred, sometimes rasped, but beyond 50mph that was submerged beneath the symphony emitted from the 3 into 2 exhaust.
It wasn’t the loud racket you could expect from an old British twin but its moderate volume was part of its charm. Just loud enough to warn drivers of their impending doom - if anyone knocked me off a six grand machine they were going to eat my knuckles and feel the quality of my leather boots. There was no way I was going to pay out for comprehensive insurance, which seemed to have trebled in my absence. All ageing juvenile delinquents will find the Triumph’s exhaust note the only excuse they need to hustle.
Triumph claim 98 horses at 9000 revs, but more relevant is the 88Nm at 6500 revs. Fast road work, as I experienced on my first ride, didn’t need any footwork once in top with more than 70mph on the Triton inspired clocks. Just whip the throttle open and it'll try to snap your head off like little else. I was hurtled up to 120mph so quick I almost went through the fast approaching corner. Up to that kinda speed I could brace myself against the footrests and seat hump, not too much pressure on my arms. Luckily, an excellent pair of mirrors stuck out far enough to see how far behind I'd left the cages. There was no way at that kind of velocity that I could look back, the wind would've ripped my helmet off.
Killing the throttle dead bounced the back end around a bit, just like a Commando, even when we were fully upright. There’s a massive alloy swinging arm and a quite sophisticated single shock arrangement, so there shouldn't have been much slack. I suspected weight transference as a touch of the back disc stopped the mild twittering without any excessive effort. Fatter riders who put more weight out back might not have the same experience.
The Speed Triple goes around corners rather well. It's just a matter of ignoring the intimations of mortality resultant from its mass, showing some faith in the fat 17” Michelins and leaning over as far as you dare. Modern rubber and chassis allow well set up superbikes to do wonderful things in corners. After a week I was able to fling the Triumph about like some hotshot 600 yet it retained straight line stability on a par with the ultra high-tech Yamaha GTS1000. Top speed was a disappointing 140mph. Disappointing? Well, the thing felt like it had so much go in the midrange that it came as a bit of a disappointment to find it running out of puff after 125mph.
Undoubtedly, the lack of a fairing (available on other models) limited the aerodynamic efficiency as speed rose. Something backed up by its 25mpg when ridden flat out against 40mpg under normal itchy right wrist abuse. The lack of ultimate top end speed was a hindrance on motorway runs as the police seemed equipped with fast cages, that proved difficult to shake off. Some wild action on the front discs, whilst clenching sphincter muscles, and swerving through some surprised cages for the slip road usually had them overshooting the turn in a blaze of siren and horn. Ooops, only joking chaps but it did seem strange to have all the cops loitering in cars when crime was on the rise in the cities...
Blasting down a favourite bit of deserted country road that had mile long straights and lots of twisty stuff, I was in seventh heaven until a sixth sense told me to slam on the anchors. I had the speed down to a moderate enough 80mph by the time the cause of the premonition turned up. I waved to the cops sitting in their cage in a side turning that was conveniently obscured by a hedgerow. What the hell was going on there, the road was almost completely deserted, just moi and the odd lupine farmer trying to waste me with his combine harvester. What a waste of public money. It ruined the rest of my ride as I was continuously scanning the mirrors, waiting for them to come charging out of nowhere. They never did.
I went back there a week later and checked them out but they'd done a runner. On that journey I had a dice with a TZR125. The bloody kid killed me dead on the tighter curves but I left him beat about the head by my exhaust noise on the straights. He caught up with me only when I had to pull in for fuel, the tank being good for over 200 miles. We swapped insults and I declined his offer to swap bikes for a few miles. I could just see some juvenile used to a flyweight throwing the very hefty Triumph down the road.
When the rains finally fell I wasn't too amused by the naked nature of the bike. I always yearn for standard bikes when riding a faired behemoth and vice versa. I'd bought some modern waterproofs but the water concentrated on the chest and groin seeped through the seams after an hour of cursing. The way to ride a Triumph in the wet is to select fourth or fifth, use mild revs to motor along serenely. The butch tyres couldn't cope with the torque pulses when the throttle was seriously abused in first through to third. Ridden sanely the Triumph was easy going in the wet, the fearsomely powerful front brakes tolerable when gently caressed with a single finger. Some inexperienced yob could quite easily find himself sliding down the road courtesy of either the brakes or throttle, but then that’s even more true of big Jap superbikes.
One young lady | took on the back wasn't too amused to find her trousers covered in oil thrown off the chain, the back of her jacket splattered with road grime and becoming soaked through in a fairly mild bout of rain. I was more worried at how quickly the once immaculate finish was covered in grime. There's a lot of nonsense about the finish of old British bikes written, I'd always found they had chrome and paint that fell off over the first winter of abuse. The new Triumph started out with a beautiful finish and after three months of use retained it. Couldn’t fault it I'm glad to say. The same goes for the motor, which seemed to run better as the mileage piled up from the 2500 on purchase to the 11000 when this was written. Yes, I couldn't keep off the thing.
Any excuse was enough to have me rolling down the road, be it an extended excursion to the shops or going the long way to Scotland on a whim. It deeply depleted my bankroll, though. Tyres were churned through in 3500 to 4000 miles and brake pads didn't last for more than 5000 miles out front. Fuel, as mentioned, was heavy, and an eye had to be kept on the oil level during long distance rides (it was comfy for 500 to 600 miles in a day).
There are doubtless lots of small cars that would be much cheaper to run but incredibly dull after the joys of the Speed Triple. In retrospect I might perhaps have been better off going for a Daytona or Super Three, but the naked bike has enough character to make it in its own right. It’s miles ahead of any other Brit bike produced in the past, a whole new experience. Perhaps the nicest thing that could be said for the 900 is that it’s the kind of bike Triumph might've made had not they gone bust in the first place; and it’s unlikely that they could have done a better job.
Johnny Malone