Triumph T160: Full of Fire

Karma. Whether you believe it or not, I reckon it has a lot to do with life. Not that I believe everyone is reincarnated, only the chosen few (and most religions are constructed to obscure this fact, to stop the rage of those who are just going to die)...but those without hope have the means to leave their mark, innocent or otherwise, on machines like the Triumph T160 triple. Yes, you guessed it, this is going to be the usual desperate scenario and, in retrospect, I have to grab at whatever excuses are going. We all need reasons for our own stupidity.

The prime one was the Trident's appearance! Anyone interested in pre-plastic machinery has to admire the way the lines of the 750 Triumph grab the eyeballs, especially when all the alloy, paint and chrome are shining like new. Mr Dealer caught the look of awe on my face; the next thing I remember, the way he shiftily placed the cheque for 5675 notes in his pocket, the bike to be delivered free to my country retreat when it cleared. In fact, it needed six telephone calls to encourage the lazy blighter to get his act together.

He hastily disappeared, leaving me to suss out how to start the thing. Ignition was electronic, an electric boot fitted, which seemed to suggest all I needed to do was switch on the fuel and press a button. After five minutes of frantic choke and throttle juggling she finally caught. I soon found out that using the starter on anything less than a fully charged battery meant their wasn't sufficient power left to ignite all three spark plugs! A hefty boot was needed on the kickstart but only needed once or twice from cold. On the older triples, variable points timing made starting much more annoying! Electronic ignition compulsory.

The previous quiet rustle of valvegear was replaced by a heavy tapping noise, a discordant primary chain rattle and much stuttering as the three cylinder mill tried to settle down to a steady tickover. Plenty of oil fumes out of the exhaust, too! Before I had a heart attack, I figured it just needed a bit of warming up. Desperation confused with hopefulness but for once it played out as expected.

The first serious ride was a blitz of sensations. A Ducati-loud rumble from the silencers, good acceleration from 50 to 100mph in top gear, some heavy vibes through the non-standard bars and an almost instant feeling of being at one with the machine; the good times had arrived. Until I reached home to find an arterial flow of oil out of the motor, caused by several nuts and bolts coming loose! There was still a touch of oil left in the tank, so no terminal mechanical damage.

One friend, on a CB750F2, was easily dealt with on a mixture of twisty A-roads and dual-carriageways. Despite weighing in at 500lbs, or so, the Trident was well balanced and nicely taut, if needing a bit of hustle to swing it through the tighter curves. The CB was all over the shop at similar speeds. Extra work was needed to despatch a GS750, who eventually roared past at about 125mph - the ton the most I'd do continuously on the motorway, due to the vibration.

This is about as good as seventies British motorcycles get, the only viable competitor, a well put together Norton 850 Commando...whose owners go on at length about their superior handling, frugality and power to weight ratio. And I mean At Length. The brutality of the rivalry between makes only slightly dimmed by the passing of the years and dominance of the Japanese cycles. Most of the jibes against the Trident meant nothing to me - the only exception frugality, which given the mild way I rode the bike (most of the time) was a shockingly poor 25-30mpg.

Yes, the carbs were balanced properly every 500 miles and the ignition timing was spot on. I suspected severe engine wear but other owners reckoned I was lucky to be doing so well! Something to do with the combustion chambers and the pollution laws of the day, the general consensus. The odd firing pulses meant that any attempt at changing the triple Amals for a singular item was doomed to failure.

Three months into ownership, I was pushing the bike a bit harder than I should've...I found a sweet spot at 125mph where the engine smoothed out! 15 miles into this mechanical adventure I was able to conclude that the reason for this apparent civility was that the mill was running extremely lean. Just to confuse things, the inner pot burnt out its exhaust valve whilst one of the others melted a nice hole in the centre of a piston. As a 250cc, 500lb thumper it impressed not one bit but held together long enough to get us off the motorway. I'm sure that the reports of a forest fire in Hampshire had something to do with the amount of fumes the Trident's motor was spewing out!

This is where a so-called specialist enters the picture. No, not some gun-totting madman to take out the dealer but a mechanic who reckoned he was an expert in Trident rebuilds. He came up with about two grands worth of parts plus another thousand notes for labour. He kept telling me I'd have the best Trident engine in the world by the time he'd finished.

Two months later I was all eager for wheels and overjoyed to have the Trident back in my front garden. The sight of red Hermatite and what looked like congealed Araldite on various engine surfaces should've warned me! The first ride revealed the mill as a real oil gusher that managed to empty its tank in 150 miles. Judging by the puffs of smoke, it was also heavily burning the lube. The second ride resulted in the centre piston seizing, freeing and then tearing up its bore with bits of broken piston ring. If you saw a large guy burst into tears whilst banging his head on a Trident's petrol tank, just outside Salisbury, that was me!

Another mechanic had a look at the motor, told me very old parts had been fitted together very poorly. The original mechanic claimed I must've thrashed rather than run it in! I should point out that I'm one of those large, bearded chappies you often see on old British motorcycles whilst the mechanic was some little runt.. .the only reason I got half my money back. I would have got it all only he had spent the rest of it, and no amount of hanging him upside down and shaking him until he spewed up was going to get it back!

Back to the game in hand. The money went on a replacement motor which was put together better than the original (I would also have claimed off the dealer but he had done a runner) and I'm far gone on the wonders of old British cycles again. Alas, old Tridents have a bit of a reputation for such suicidal antics and it's only a matter of time before something serious happens.

That I'm keeping the bike tells you a lot about its character - even more about my own. These kind of old cycles aren't really about performance or practicality, they are more to do with evoking a time and place when life was much simpler, men were men and motorcycles were the centre of the universe... anyway, it takes me back to my youth, gives me an excuse to get out of the house and can be an extraordinarily surreal ride when all the elements - speed, roads, weather, etc - come together. Perfection it ain't, and don't let anyone tell you otherwise.

Sandy Graham