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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 30,000 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 detuned 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 I 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, ripped 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 I 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!
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 40,000 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 largest 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 700lbs than 460lbs, but I 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 into 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, 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 I avoided hitting anything. The rear disc glowed boldly hot whilst the caliper needed brutal boover 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 warder 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. 40,000 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
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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 bloodied 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 earnt 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 monica 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 500lbs 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 fantasises 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 gone up three times 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 83Nm 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 I 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.
J.M.
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Triumph's 900cc triple is one of the best engines around. In the real world of motorcycling, rather than silly antics on the race track, the mixture of torque and power is way ahead of most Japanese efforts and easily matches things like big vee twin Ducatis. The exhaust note's second to none. The engine in the Thunderbird, as opposed to that in the Trident, emphasizes its abilities in the real world, with less power (69 horses) at lower revs (8000rpm) but with an excess of torque from tickover up. A veritable flood of the big grin blues.
That power perfectly matches the styling of the Thunderbird, a bike inspired by the profitable but perverse American market. Triumph refrained from the usual mild chop route or blatant rip off of Harley's styling (both of which usually end up looking silly), instead traded in on their own heritage, with a shape redolent of sixties Bonnies (or if you must, Thunderbirds).
Sixties Triumph were renown for being lithe and agile, for looking good without any of the suicidal antics of the pseudo chops and cruisers. Right from the moment I sat on the new Thunderbird, the bike felt right. There was perfect balance resultant from superb weight distribution. Helped along by a narrower, lower saddle, the top heavy feel, at low velocities, of older Triumph triples was gone. Steering precision was excellent, the torque flooding in so strongly that just revving to 4000rpm snapped my head back.
Perhaps uniquely, the Thunderbird combines an excess of style, enough to shore up the weakest of American egos, with secure handling that allows the bike to be pushed extremely hard. This can be rather deceptive, though, because underneath the cute lines exists over 500lbs of metal that can bite back when the bike's pushed really hard. Understand that this isn't so much a complaint against the Triumph as a result of my own wanton misuse of the bike. I wouldn't have even contemplated cornering madness on most machines of this type; it's more a complement to the Triumph's general ability than a complaint of its lack of finesse when used as a sportster.
The front end's the weak spot in hard cornering, especially over rough going when some twitchiness comes in. The front tyre's disinclination to hold steady was never frighteningly sudden, but gradually increased in its reaction, always giving plenty of time to back off - the Triumph didn't object to a hastily slammed shut throttle when banked over.
Without doubt the queasy front wheel is caused by the high, wide handlebars not putting sufficient mass over the front end. These bars, combined with relatively mild pegs, were good up to 75mph, maybe 80mph if my body hadn't been debilitated by an excess of alcohol the night before.
Luckily, Triumph's retro efforts go as far as proper handlebar clamps; a relatively small effort needed to fit some proper bars. I think the bike would look all the better for a set of flat handlebars and work even better. Rather like eating fruit for the first half of the day, the laid back riding position soon removed some of the addictions from my mind and a more appropriate velocity emerged. Strangely enough, this was no less fun than going ten-tenths everywhere.
Opening the throttle in any of the five gears, at any revs, produced startling forward motion at speeds up to 100mph. Going beyond that velocity was a complete waste of time. The gusting wind produced by excessive speeds strained my whole upper body, and even my thighs, the front end going a bit light and even the back end feeling like it wanted to let loose.
One motorway trawl stays in the mind. I don't know why but my brain was firmly fixed on staying with a big Ford. 100 to 110mph for half an hour! The engine was contented, not really pushed, with no sign of vibration and a lovely roar out of the three into two exhaust. The rest was a horror story. My shoulders felt dislocated, my hands were cramped, my neck was stiff for days afterwards whilst my brain was strangely abuzz for hours after I staggered off the bike. Handling, whilst never dangerous, felt somewhat disconcerting, as if the tyres were 10psi below spec.
As soon as I knocked off speed to below 90mph it was if I was on a completely different, and utterly superior, motorcycle. There will always be moments when a burst of angry acceleration to highly illegal speeds will be necessary - and not just for burning off cop cars. The Thunderbird survives such brief excursions into insanity, it's only the constant, high speed cruising that conjures up some nastiness. Triumph make many a high speed bolide, so it's really a bit churlish to complain about the Thunderbird's lack of top end go.
Any time I felt a bit annoyed at the bike, I stepped back a few feet to look at the gorgeous finish and style. To put it in perspective, the Thunderbird's far more competent than any Harley and to my eyes looks even more butch. A winner in the States, for sure.
Style, alas, can be taken a bit too far - that rear disc is more redolent of seventies Bonnies than earlier examples, and we all know what a mess they were. It even felt a touch remote. Given that the wheels are old-fashioned spoked jobs, a rear drum would've both looked and worked better.
The single front disc was more than sufficiently powerful and not so insensitive that it couldn't be used in the wet. The bike pulled up straight, ignoring the torque from the single sided set up. However, the front end looked a little messy with a wayward speedo cable and ugly hydraulic hose.
Triumph did, at least, try using a single carb, but found that the triple's firing pulses upset the fuel's flow. Triples, like vertical twins with 180 degree cranks, are difficult to set up with a single carb, but you would've thought that modern engineering would find a solution. The Thunderbird desperately needs some help with its frugality, turning in 25 to 35mpg, usually only averaging around 30mpg. That often happens when an engine designed for 100 horses is detuned radically, the economy goes right out of the window. The engine still has all the frictional losses of the Trident and flow characteristics perfected for 9000 revs. The bike also carries a 100lbs too much mass for a modern motorcycle. Ducati have long perfected the art of minimalism and Triumph will hopefully incorporate them into their second generation engine. The modular concept on which the whole range is based is almost certainly dead; why bother when the 900 triple is the only mill they need?
For the vast majority of the time, the Thunderbird's one hell of a motorcycle. I might complain about the gearbox action which ain't as precise as my old Suzuki GS550's, but with so much torque there's hardly any need to go wild on the box. The looks, exhaust note and engine grunt are ahead of the game with few if any equals. The whole would be totally unbeatable if it weighed in at 400 rather than 500lbs. They cost heavy money new but I bought a three month old example for £6400 and the superb finish means that further depreciation should be minimal. But I ain't selling.
James Nash
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There are any number of ways that you can go completely mad. Mine was to buy a six month old, top of the range Triumph 900 Super 3 Daytona. Absolutely immaculate it was too, with just 2750 miles and not the slightest mark. The engines, even when sporting 115 horses, have a great reputation for strength, so I had no qualms about buying a used one even at £6000, a not inconsiderable bundle of used fifties.
The praises of Triumph's three cylinder motor are often sung high; confirmed when a cursory tug on the throttle gave the game away - just the muted exhaust note, out of the carbon fibre clad silencers, had me all agog. I played with the throttle like some twelve year old kid might. The rather strange hydraulic clutch failed to intimidate me but I would've like less of an agricultural clunk when first gear was engaged on a cold motor (with the watercooling they do take a while to warm up).
I defy anyone, even race replica addicts, not to be impressed by the way the Triumph takes off. Smouldering the rear tyre, putting the front wheel up around cagers' earlobes or just taking off fast and controlled, like a heat sinking missile at warp speed. Arms were torn out of sockets, my neck was nearly broken and anyone silly enough to sit on the marginal pillion perch was all but thrown right off the back.
Roll-on acceleration was, if anything, even more impressive because it was a touch easier to control, letting me really get down to the job in hand. The major problem came not from any component on the bike but from our silly speed limits. The Super 3 was so competent it made 75mph feel like 60 and 90mph feel like 70mph! Doing the ton was such a natural thing, just a matter of a mild amount of throttle, that it was almost impossible to run along at lower speeds.
The riding position wasn't as radical as a GSXR but it did push me towards using as much speed as conditions allowed. The relationship between bars and pegs was good, allowing me to do a couple of hours of high speed cruising without having to start cursing the bike. My wrists were the first to complain, the throttle and clutch turning rather heavy after 200 miles of madness. A quick stop for fuel was all that was needed to sort myself out.
It was only at low speeds that the 465lbs of metal (dry) made itself felt, doing a miraculous disappearing act from 50mph upwards. The Super 3 is a touch lighter than the standard Daytona, to the tune of 11lbs, although it'll probably take a real racer to pick up the differences. Half of that weight loss comes from using Cosworth manufactured crankcases, which are stiffer and yet thinner than stock. They look very nice, too. The rest of the weight loss comes from using carbon-fibre for some minor chassis components. A nice start in the weight reduction program but considering that Honda's four cylinder CBR900 weighs 420lbs there must be another 50lbs in there to lose eventually.
The weight does help the Triumph sit well on the road, completely absent are the twitchy and jittery feel of some race replicas. Tyres are fat Dunlop radials which grip so well that even in the wet I wasn't frightened to use the throttle. If you want to see some progress in motorcycle design, ride a ZX-10 (my previous bike) alongside a Super 3 in the wet. The former bike is more likely to kill you than arrive safely at your destination - that's one thing European bikes have going for them, they are tested and developed on the roads where they are used.
Right at the bottom of the rev range the three cylinder engine felt a bit gruff, was quite likely to take a moment to respond when in top gear. The engine preferred working hard on the throttle and smooth gearbox, to lolling along in the taller gears. It really went crazy with more than 6000 revs up, a result of much wilder cams and a higher compression ratio than the stock Trident engine. If you were only going to ride the bike as a poseur then the latter mill would be a better bet, thanks to its amazing low end and midrange punch.
Top speed was over 140mph, but I don't know by how much as I chickened out by then, wanting to keep both my licence and my sanity (threatened by a dose of paranoia and plain fear from the effect of the velocity). The engine was still pulling strong so at least 150mph, maybe 160mph. The red zone starts at the point of maximum power output, 9500, which I thought rather strange but by keeping the power concentrated below 10,000 revs the engine longevity for which these bikes became quickly famed remains intact. I spoke to one Trident owner who'd done 76000 miles with just regular maintenance, although by then there was a bit of clutch and valve rattle, whilst the finish was dull with most fasteners speckled with rust - it had been used through a couple of winters. Fit and finish on the Daytona was certainly better, as good as anything I've seen from Japan or Europe.
It had trouble, though, keeping up with my mate's CBR600 in the curves. We were both working our six speed gearboxes hard in the series of country road lanes, but even though the Triumph would accelerate harder, the Honda could take a more radical line through the curves and needed a lot less effort to twitch from side to side. On the plus side, a series of punishing bumps that hammered through the suspension did little to upset my bike but had the CBR's wheels all over the place.
At one point I tried to nudge inside the Honda, which tightened its line on me, causing me to twitch upwards and stomp on the front brake in complete panic mode. The bike gave an almighty lurch that almost tore my arms off, twitched once and then serenely continued on the new trajectory, taking us over to the wrong side of the road, much to the horror of a caged moron who braked harshly enough to let me edge by his front bumper. I didn't stay around long enough to check if he had an heart attack, instead played a symphony on the exhaust, hollering after the disappearing Honda. It was a bit of a disappointment that in the real world I couldn't stomp on the CBR, it was such a well put together package that for ordinary riders it became almost unbeatable. It's enough to make you cry!
The Triumph had Alcon disc brakes, a company famous in car racing circles. These six piston calipers are hot stuff indeed, combining brilliant braking with a very sensitive feel, allowing me to take the front wheel right up to the point where it was about to lock up. Furthermore, that feedback doesn't do a runner when they are used in anger during emergency stops. Couldn't fault them, the pads about two-thirds worn with 6000 miles on the clock.
The tyres were changed at 4500 miles when there was slightly more than 2mm of tread left, as the bike had become a tad sensitive to road markings in the wet. Well, I could only afford TPF&F insurance, so there was no way I was going to chance coming off due to old rubber. The new tyres took 200 miles before they were scrubbed in and settled down to responding properly. I didn't realise this, took off immediately with a heady dose of throttle and nearly had the back wheel slide right around. It was such a shock to the system that I nearly dropped a load.
Fuel was always poor even when the motor was used mildly, giving a best of 45mpg and worst of 25mpg. I could average 35mpg for most of the time but doing 40mpg required so much restraint that I might as well have been riding a 250cc twin. I thought maybe the carbs needed a balance but when checked at 4500 miles they turned out to be spot on. The three cylinder motor runs a balancer for smoothness which may not help economy but I think it's more likely to be because the engine's optimised for running in the 6000 to 10,000rpm range. If I wanted economy I would've bought myself a C50!
In yellow and black the Super 3's a stunning looker that turns more heads than your average Porsche. The engine sounds soul stirring and the acceleration is highly addictive. It's not really that pleasant at town speeds due to heavy handling, awkward riding position and a slightly reluctant motor but I do use it for the daily commute through London, so it can't be that bad. Most people will find the bargain priced 900 Trident totally adequate, the Super 3's for those willing to spend a bit more dosh on something unique, that at the moment represents the best of British.
Liam O'Connell
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I thought the Thunderbird was the business when I first saw the pictures. Had to have one - pant, pant. A six month old example at £6000 in the local dealers caught my eye. A low finance HP deal was part of the bargain and the steed only had 2300 miles on the clock. Well, it was the tail end of winter.
Although the bike looks a bit like a sixties Triumph, there's no mistaking the bulk and mass of the 485lb machine. Rather than being designed as a classic from the ground up, it's really just a modified version of the three cylinder 900 Trident, but at that point I was completely under the influence of its looks.
Once under way, first impressions were good. The engine's been detuned to a mere 70 horses, although it still uses the same twelve valve, three carb, DOHC head of the Trident - if you think about it, Triumph should dump all their models except for the 900, and produce variants on that with different top ends. In that context, the Thunderbird should have a simple, single carb, six valve, OHC top end. The 900 engine is widely accepted as the Triumph mill, so why they bother with the other stuff, which the Japanese do better, beats me.
Back to the Thunderbird and its low power but high tech engine. Grunt it has aplenty, not really needing more than three gears (another area where they could cut costs - wanna give me a job, Mr Bloor?) and slamming down the road against pretty much any conditions of hill or wind in just about any ratio you want to use. It's a very easy bike to leap on to and ride off into the distance.
The stock Trident was criticised for being top heavy, the Thunderbird benefiting from a cut down rear frame that makes you feel part of the machine. This in turn makes it less top heavy. In an almost traditional manner, it feels well planted on the road and is nicely precise but it doesn't have the ease of bend swinging as, say, a late Bonnie (okay, early Bonnies were a bit of a deathtrap through the bends but they did eventually sort it out), due entirely to it carrying an extra 100lbs of mass.
This excessive weight is well hidden for most of the time between 25 and 85mph, but town work's a bit of a struggle. As is flat out riding - meaning about the ton in real life, though 110mph may be possible - as the suspension goes a bit wobbly and the bars work against rider comfort. However, unlike most customs it's not impossible to ride fast, not dangerous as such, just a lot of damn hard work. At more moderate velocities it's very laid back, excellent in comfort and as safe as any big multi when the going gets awkward (or wet).
It's easy enough to find areas in the Triumph's chassis dynamics which could be slagged off, but as the bike is aimed at taking riders away from Harleys and, perhaps, the odd Jap custom, it's much fairer to give the Triumph full marks for general performance, including the more than adequate disc brakes.
I say this as someone who's had the misfortune to own two Harleys. A 1200 Sportster and 1340 ElectraGlide. Both were full of character and brutish torque (not to mention vibration) but were terribly out of place on UK roads. Maybe I'm just a wimp, maybe I didn't have the guts or sheer low cunning, to subdue these beasts into submission but I rarely ventured above 60mph on either, and often ended up with bits breaking off or minor engine faults grinding us to a halt. I felt greatly cheated and disillusioned by these two experiences, though to be fair both bikes were quite old and high mileage. The new ones might be better, but I doubt it!
The Triumph has all of the style and history of the Harley, but is a far easier and better bike to ride on the road. As far as engine and chassis dynamics go, it also kills dead the Jap customs (I've owned an XV1100 and VS800), as well as having much more street credibility.
So I was a happy boy, all agog in Triumph land? Well, not quite. I parked the Thunderbird up alongside an '69 650 Bonnie, and to be absolutely honest about it, the Thunderbird looked rather contrived, looked more like a Jap custom than a thoroughbred English classic! That Bonnie just looked so neat and compact and complete, as if time itself had evolved, wrought, its final shape.
This was three months and 3000 miles down the line. Don't get me wrong, I liked the roar of the Thunderbird's silencers, the whine of its engine, the excessive torque and way it felt planted firmly on the road - but there was something out of kilter, missing, which suggested that the sum of its parts were never going to greatly exceed the finality of its experience.
I don't know. I really don't. Despite all its obvious goodness, its vast superiority to the majority of customs, deep down the way its engineers had wrought its performance in spite rather than because of its engineering excesses began to annoy me.
The only area in which such engineering duplicity turned up was the appalling fuel economy. 30 to 40mpg was an insult of large proportion for a lowly tuned, mildly ridden classic in '96 - I was expecting around 60mpg, which even then would only be on a par with a sixties Triumph that exhibited similar performance and had to suffer the further indignity of fuel frothing in the carb from its excessive primary (twin cylinder) vibration.
It is true, if the glossies are to be believed (and I don't suppose they should...), that Triumph did try to fit a single carb and that the strange firing pulses of the three cylinder engine made smooth carburation difficult to achieve. As mentioned, a simpler head designed from the ground up, rather than retrospectively bodged (I use that word freely in light of the fuel economy, so there!), might have provided the solution; let's just hope that Triumph are going to be a bit more sensible with their new generation of 900 triple by offering both low and high tech models.
As someone who's nearer fifty than forty, the Thunderbird's performance was, despite these misgivings, more than adequate for my needs. I enjoyed revelling in the thumping torque at sane speeds rather than playing silly buggers in warp drive on a race replica, which as well as doing in my licence would've broken my back.
Around 5000 miles into my venture with the Triumph, I'd grown a bit more fond of the machine. It had taken me through atrocious, vile, conditions down in Spain (weird weather, wrecked roads and crazed cagers) without the slightest of worries. I'd also managed a 70mph swerve to avoid some nutter on the M4 who'd decided to snake back and forth across three lanes. I was also convinced that the engine was completely bullet-proof and would, if necessary, come to life first press of the button when submerged beneath a few feet of snow.
On such thoughts and actions do motorcycles gather a place in one's heart. It definitely could've been so much better (400lbs, 70mpg, etc) but, to be fair, it has to be the best classic/custom on offer.
H.J.
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