I admit it, I can’t help it. Baptised and confirmed a Triumph freak. I suppose it has something to do with the long summer days of adolescence. It could have been gerbil breeding or fishing with live bait, but it wasn’t. Every youth develops an obsession about something. Having dismembered several Lambrettas and reduced them to their lowest common denominator (which is pretty low) in a fit of mechanical enthusiasm, I cast my beady eyes about for another victim and became a Triumph disciple before I realised what was happening.
The classical rules of brain washing applied - friendly entrapment and camaraderie (one of the local lads palmed off his knackered old 5T on me), repeated assurances that this was the only true way (mainly from rheumy eyed and kerb bound old codgers), sleep deprivation due to long hours spent battering hopelessly festered bearings from their casings and learning the ancient Triumph mechanical litany - by Hepolite and Hermetite I made it. I sang my mantras right, and made it all the way to the top with a brand new Co-op T140V in 1976.
You may enquire why you should continue reading this, on the grounds that this esteemed publication fails singularly to be a religious one and that it is also for used bikes. To take the second point first, all used bikes started out as new bikes, right? Secondly, there is no doubt in my mind that Triumph owners are religious. Let me explain. You can’t join this peculiar sect by simply buying a Triumph. A mechanical induction is absolutely essential. There is no pleasure in ownership without the genesis of grimy finger nails.
As I wheeled my new bike out of the shop I contemplated the lustrous and subtle petrol tank, the burnished engine cases and the rightness of it. Two seconds after starting off, I thought, listen to that piston slap, where the hell is the power? The gear lever was stiffer than a worm with constipation.
After 60 miles I was ready to return the whole badly assembled and unenthusiastic lump to the dealer, and tell my beloved 650 Trophy that all was forgiven, knocking big ends and all. However, we religious nuts are made of sterner stuff, and know in our hearts that these things are sent to try us.
With a bit of carb synchronising here, the ejection of choke apparatus there and Molyslip in the gearbox, all seemed reasonably well. I said my prayers every night and it started first kick every morning. The tank colours faded to an impressionist hue and it gained a worn but preserved appearance that it retains to this day, rather like wartime aeroplanes viewed in museums.
At 1500 miles both front and rear wheel bearings were ruined, no doubt due to the lack of any lubrication in the Japanese factory where it originated. Can't blame Triumph for that. I probably could blame them for the disintegration of the flimsy rear wheel spokes at 2000 miles, piston seizure necessitating a re-bore at 3500 miles and a peculiar recurrent phenomenon of sudden boot soaking oil leaks caused by the valve springs furtively pulling at the rocker box gaskets until one side of the gasket disappeared inside, leaving a hole. The latter was eventually largely cured by fitting gaskets containing an inner wire stiffener, but I am occasionally teased with an encore.
A monotonous series of blown head gaskets came to an end when I started using composite gaskets instead of copper. After I had filled a box with broken petrol taps, I praised the Almighty for non-ferrous metals which were not weakened by petrol like their plastic predecessors. The problem of leaking exhaust ports almost made me an atheist until by the power of McEwan’s Export I discovered that a couple of rolls of beer can material within the port produced a permanent and gas tight seal, easily and refreshingly replaced at overhaul time.
The secret of success lay in really regular machine maintenance, together with an acute ear trained to listen for any unusual sounds and repair whatever it was before it became worse. Spares have always been easy to obtain, and I have tended to regard cables, silencers, points and brake pads as a sort of routine church roof fund contribution.
I retired the Cibie halogen bulb out of pity at 50000 miles, and the original K70 front tyre at 25000 miles because it cracked with age rather than wore. This may have been a reflection of the diminishing ability of the front brake to provide retardation, especially in the wet.
As 30000 miles approached, the bike developed a mid life crisis which lasted for 15000 miles. It demanded four sets of main bearings during this time. The first time the mains rumbled I replaced them myself, but after 10000 miles the alternator rotor again started playing tag with the other inhabitants of the primary chain case, so I had them professionally replaced with a Superblend conversion. 1500 miles later this remarkable bodge delighted other fans at the TT by reminding them exactly of a lorry load of Okell’s empties tumbling down a ravine. On return the device was re-bodged by the same professional concern (now out of business or retired to Spain), and I thought perhaps a greater church roof fund contribution of big ends, valves, guides, camshafts, uprated oil pump and 3 phase alternator were required.
Unhappily, the mains refused to be placated until taken to a truly wonderful London hole in the wall, the occupant of which did a superb crankshaft repair and AG mains conversion. After this the reliability improved to such an extent that I felt I could dispense with the original cigar type silencers, replace them with straight throughs and fit larger main jets and smaller throttle cutaways. This vastly improved power and the engine will zip up to 7000rpm faster than a Scotsman closing his wallet. I am still struggling with the resultant clutch slip, and have failed to cure this despite stronger and better everything. It is likely the simple design has reached its limit.
So there we are. After eleven years of dedicated toil and 61000 miles, I have a machine where the only bearing that remains unchanged is in the swinging arm. The engine uses virtually no oil between 1500 mile changes, despite the bore having done 57000 miles. I doubt if there is a machine which can shimmy around in the city traffic so well, but were I to return to regular long distance riding I would fit rear-sets and straight bars, as well as a much more comfortable seat. I would not hesitate to jump on it tomorrow and ride to Greece. If it missed not a beat I would not be surprised. On the other hand if it completely self destructed I would not be surprised either.
I have reached its handling and power limits and have probably outgrown it. Looked at over the period of ownership it has certainly been cheap and returns 50mpg however it is ridden. It is in excellent condition, always starts first kick, burbles happily and has a perfectly adequate all round performance. This is at the price of constant vigilance. If I turn my back on it for more than two weeks, it becomes grumpy and troublesome, rough and vibratory, stalling embarrassingly at traffic lights and leaking oil. Perhaps I should join a monastic order.
N Someren