An American spec Triumph 750 Bonnie was on offer. 1977, the Jubilee model with only 2000 miles on the clock. Been stored for 15 years, the dealer told me, and it’s just had new rubber all round and been given a thorough service. Mine for £5000! The truth was that I'd fallen in love with the lines of the slimline tank, paint job and overall look of butchness. But not to the extent of spending five thousand notes - I could buy a new Trident for that!
Six months later the same dealer was having a sale, the Jubilee could be mine for £2750, sold as seen. Even at this price the salesman managed a nasty grin that promised all kinds of horrors. Still, I rode out of the dealers full of pride at the acquisition of my immaculate steed. For a 750, that traces its history back to the fifties and sixties when it used to rule the road, the Bonnie turned out to be very mild but quite vibratory.
Performance was no more stunning than a Jap 400 twin of the same era and top or cruising speed was limited to a mere 80mph if the cacophony of vibration was to be avoided. Handling and braking harked back to an era when men were men; they worked but only with a lot of muscle input. The Avon tyres were reassuring and the frame, with its oil in the upper member design, felt solid enough. The first couple of hard corners showed that the undercarriage dug in and tried to lift the bike off the tarmac - just a matter of sawing off the stands’ prongs. suspension was Italian stiff but gave good feedback from the tyres.
Arriving home I wasn't exactly overjoyed but figured that I would be able to get used to the bike and should be able to extract lots of fun out of it. Or if that failed I could at least pose in the town centre - Triumph made about 1000 Jubilees but most of them are stored away in the expectation that their prices will reach Vincent levels, so few are seen out on the road.
I expected a little bit of leaking oil but not the bloody great puddle that greeted me the next morning. I could've screamed when | eventually found the remnants of filler in the part of the frame which served as an oil tank where it’d cracked up. An all too common fault on these models. The local dealer was something of a Triumph enthusiast, agreed to strip down the bike and weld up the frame for a hundred quid, cash.
That was the good news, the bad news was that my model wasn't really a Jubilee but a stock T140 with a paint job. This was immediately obvious to the dealer from the polished instead of chromed engine cases, and confirmed by the standard model designation in the registration document. The dealer also reckoned that the only 2000 mile item on the bike was the speedo! He thought the bike was maybe worth £1500 on a good day but wasn't particularly surprised when he heard the cowboys had wanted £5000 originally.
Just to make me really mad he let me have a go on a ‘69 Bonnie that he’d just rebuilt. The chassis was a bit faded but the engine better than new. What a flier! Where the Jubilee started to gasp at 6000 revs, the 650 was still pouring out the power and was significantly smoother at all revs (thanks to a dynamically balanced crankshaft). The handling was easier but the swinging arm felt a touch loose when accelerating out of corners at 90mph, something I wouldn't have contemplated on the Jubilee due to the teeth churning vibes.
When the dealer revealed he only wanted £1950 for it I spent the rest of the day kicking myself (both Triumphs, by the way, I found easy to kick into life) and cursing the dealer who'd sold me the Jubilee. I decided to ride over there and demand compensation. The showroom was boarded up and empty. Just as I was leaving a young kid grabbed hold of my arm and demanded to know if | worked there. When he was reassured that I was merely a victim he revealed that a 5000 mile, immaculate GPz900 he bought from them was in reality a 105,000 mile crashed despatch bike that'd been patched up. He found this out when the forks snapped! At least I wasn’t the only one ripped off.
In the past eight months I’ve done a mere 1500 miles on the Triumph, which reflects my lack of faith in the grumbling twin and the minimal amount of fun involved in the experience. Thanks, but no thanks.
L. H.