Triumph at the Old Irons

Another one that had been in the works for a long time, and I am frankly surprised I managed to get this done at all. Suffice to say, this Triumph 3TA "Twenty-one" had been sitting at the back of the shed for a really long time, though thankfully my dad has been able to ride it every once in a while and that served as a bit of a test to see if a longer trip like this could even be attempted.

I must admit I was not completely confident that such a small and apparently delicate machine would be able to tackle the same type of trip (and especially terrain and elevation) I normally do on the Fastback or Sportster, and part of the reason I wanted to do this was to inject some sense of adventure into a trip I now know pretty well. To me, this is the value of small capacity motorcycles: everything becomes just a little bit more daring.

I divided the luggage as follows: on the back of the seat I had a roll that comprised the poncho (which also serves as an additional ground sheet for the tent, needed on the rather rough terrain at Campo Imperatore, with thorns and thistle so hard they can pierce a leather boot), the self inflating sleeping pad, the complete tent and a small bag with a few other essentials.
Another, much lighter roll was tied to the parcel grid on the gas tank, with my trusty blanket and the sleeping bag.

I kept tools and spares to the absolute bare minimum, thinking that a broken control cable, fouled spark plug or faulty carburetter float are all things that can be easily fixed; there is, therefore, no excuse for setting off without at least these simple components and the basic tools needed to effect the repair. That said, I didn't bother taking the whole workshop along with me just in case: if there's a breakdown and it's easy to fix, I'll be prepared, but if something catastrophic happens, there's no point lugging around a ton of tools. In this particular case I'm happy to report the bike performed admirably (no breakdowns) and didn't require a single bit of maintenance other than a quick check after we exited the autostrada. But more on that later.

On Saturday morning my dad, our friend Walter and I set off from the Monolith aboard the Morini 500, the Commando Interstate and the Triumph, then met our new friend Lele after the 70km route through the hills and valleys that skirt Monte Guadagnolo immediately to the east. I had long fantasized about riding the Triumph along this route, which I have done a good few times on the Fastback, Sportster and R100GS, often thinking "I bet it would be so relaxing to do this on the Triumph. I bet it would be smooth and enjoyable". The reality of it was that as long as the road is flat or leading downhill, it is indeed a lovely thing to ride; anything more than a few degrees'  incline however, becomes hard work for the little 350, and it's often a struggle between 2nd and 3rd. Later in the day, tackling the very final ascent to Campo Imperatore, I even had to downshift into first gear and let the bike crawl along at walking pace for a little while. Poor thing, I really did ask far too much of it, but it handled itself so well.

I first met Lele through Alessio, as he is now the new owner of Alessio's Sportster, as well as of a beautiful 1970 US spec. Triumph Bonneville. This was not only his first proper outing on the Sportster, not only his first visit to the "ferri vecchi" rally, but also the first time I've ridden with him; so, a lot of firsts. Obviously the discrepancy between vehicles could hardly have been greater, and I have emphasized in the past how important it is that anyone participating in a trip be on similar machines. Aside from this time, the only other instance that comes to mind was the CMT3, and there, much as this time, it was because I had been planning to make that particular trip on a specific motorcycle, and so I ignored my own advice and did it anyway.

Lele and the others were good sports though, and didn't seem to mind puttering along (barely above idle) as the Twenty-one worked considerably harder throughout the journey.

We also had Francesco join us as a last-minute addition on his modern Triumph. Once we had replenished our caffeine levels, we had a choice to make: enter the A24 autostrada and brave the following 50 kilometers to reach the exit at Torninparte, or go a slower, somewhat safer way along the Tiburtina, following the same itinerary we did for a couple of Campotosto Mystic Trips, and most recently with my cousin back in May.

In the end we decided the autostrada would work just fine, and the 50 kilometers went by reasonably quickly, though we were the slowest moving vehicles out there by a long shot.

At one point I thought one of the bolts on the timing cover might be coming loose as I could see some oil weeping past, so Lele handed me a 3/16 allen to check once we exited at Torninparte, but it was properly tight.

The climb up to La Chiesola was again pretty slow going, we stopped to take in the view then continued down to the usual kiosk where we stopped for "light refreshments".

There are, of course, several routes you can follow from Campo Felice to Campo Imperatore. The one I chose is one that I find particularly relaxing, as it goes along narrow country lanes where you don't have much choice (nor the urge) but to just stroll along across the countryside. There are enough turns and connections to other trails to make this a bit of a tricky route to find if you don't know the way; there is a moment where, from a tiny village square, you make a turn into what seems to be someone's back yard, and I could feel the others behind me think "he's just lost at this point, this can't possibly be the right way". But it is, and you suddenly find yourself climbing up the side of the mountain among lush greenery all around you, towards a hidden valley at the top (which Francesco filmed in the short clip you can see here), then the final stretch of serious mountain road all the way to the rally.

Every arrival draws attention and friends come to greet you with ecstatic smiles and enthusiastic gesturing (this is Italy after all), which always feels like proper appreciation for the endeavor you've just completed.

The Triumph is is a crowd puller, no doubt about it, but because it attracts due to its weirdness, the main reaction is one of amused bewilderment. Several people asked about the bike and seemed genuinely appreciative of such a quirky machine, rare, and unseen at that rally until this year.

Look, understand something: this is a woefully underpowered bike and it is slow. The original specifications call for a peak power output of 18.5 ponies at 6.500rpm.
Now, that seems to me like way too much to have to spin that engine to get what is very little horsepower anyway.
Even without a rev counter I can guarantee I did not go near that engine speed but once or twice. It just seemed unkind.
But, once you adapt to the bike's own cruising speed, you soon discover just how smooth and comfortable this thing really is.
And I mean favorite armchair comfortable. The riding position is extremely relaxed and, bizarrely for a British vehicle, the ergonomics are spot on. The seat (the famed "Triumph twinseat") is a masterpiece of comfort and combined with the small 17" wheels and decent suspension that is definitely geared towards soft touring comfort, what you get is a real feeling of effortless gliding low to the ground, especially on those wonderful downhill twisty lanes; Delightful!

I actually scraped the sidestand on a couple of these hairpin turns!

Once you get to where you're going, this thing won't be a challenge to park, thanks to its "easylift" centerstand: a firm foot on the stand and a gentle pull on the wonderfully aero-shaped handlebar is all it takes for the machine to be safely parked. This is what you might have read in the press of the time, and although this little bike is by no means heavy, if you were to attempt lifting it onto the stand as I've jokingly described, you'd simply throw your back out. There is no handle to grab onto, nothing but the smooth, streamlined shape of the rear enclosure, so the only way is to grab hold of the footrest and lift (gently) from there. Not the neatest thing, but it works.

However, I will say this: there is a level of refinement to this bike that I would not have expected of what was often considered a city commuter meant only for basic transportation and devoid of any glamour or glory. This is apparent in the exhaust note, which is rich but appropriately muted; in the gearbox, which requires only the gentlest touch to work; in the engine itself, which revs happily and doesn't try to hide mechanical noise... because that noise itself is clearly coming from properly cut gears and other components. I have come across machines that flaunt pedigree and high-class but are nowhere near as refined as the Twenty-one. I guess its two most valuable attributes are comfort, above all, and fuel economy. I didn't keep any sort of accurate records on consumption, speeds, distances or load, but I am confident this thing does AT LEAST 30 kilometers with one liter of gasoline. 35 or even 40 is probably not outside the realm of possibility. As I neared the Monolith on Sunday, with the last stretch of road just for me and the motorcycle, I kept looking down at the nacelle, looking at the streamlined shadow gliding silently alongside me, feeling the engine work (but not labour) and thinking "I am so impressed... I am so impressed". 

But back to the rally.

The rest of the day is spent catching up with old friends, drinking beer, barbecuing, walking around to check out the other bikes and occasionally splashing cold water on your head to cool down; there is hardly any shelter from the sun, and though the air is cool, you still end up overheating pretty quickly when you're up there. For years now I have seen these guys walk around in wide brim straw hats and just thought it was some hipster fad: not so, I now finally grasp what a smart move that really is, and might find one for myself as well next year.

As you can tell, we all liked this twin-spark Sportster, which was a very tastefully executed customization and great use of color throughout (it's not just the orange that does it...).

Above: in a sea of blue or green tents, it was very handy to have Lele's orange tent as a beacon to help us find our way back to camp, especially as the light started to fade.

Temperatures dropped but not severely, I was expecting a far chillier evening and night (so much so that I ended up being far too hot during the night and had to peel off a couple of layers), and festivities kept going until late.

As night fell, the wind arrived. I have experienced various conditions up here on the plateau, from rain to cold to scorching hot, but never wind like this. Given the speeds (reported, but unverified, to be between 90-95km/h), it's fair to say this was a storm. Those who had properly pitched their tents were able to at least get some rest, though I doubt anyone got more than a couple hours' sleep that night. Tents shook violently and the noise was simply too loud to ignore.

Then the wind subsided and gave way to an eerie silence that somehow made the place feel small and secluded (it isn't, as you'll see in another photo below). I drifted off to sleep but woke up again around 05:30 to blustering gusts of wind, blowing at even higher speed than it had a few hours before. I heard some other people get out of their tents and say "that doesn't look good, we have to get off this mountain!"; had it been "just" the wind, I think I would have tried to get a couple more hours' rest, but hearing people say that made me decide to peek my head out and see what was happening: there were enormous dark clouds virtually overhead, and it was enough to make me think it was probably smart to get going.

The others must have thought the same and everyone was awake anyway, so in all that noise and rushing air we took down our tents trying as best we could not to loose anything.

Not an easy thing to capture in a quick snapshot, it was like being in a sand blaster. Above, you can see Marco trying to keep dust out of his eyes as Sandro and he were trying to put away a sleeping bag.

As I've said before, there is no shelter for miles around, and you're totally exposed as you can appreciate from the following aerial shot, taken by a friend in a helicopter, though obviously on a different day:

Folding things in that strong a wind was no easy feat, but we hurried ourselves, packed the bikes and took off, heading down towards l'Aquila.

Above: I have waited many years to be able to put this photo on the blog, and I am truly glad I was finally able to do it. 

The way down was nice and easy, we stopped for a leisurely breakfast along the way, then said ciao to Marco and Sandro, who were heading off in a different direction and at much higher speed, while Lele and I took the scenic route back.

Not long ago, coming back from a rally somewhere on the East coast, our friend Massimo said something which really stuck with me: "if you can make the return journey a trip, and really enjoy it, it'll give the whole thing that much more value and make it that much more memorable". He is 100% right, and I will always try to apply this conviction whenever time allows it.

Following the route that goes along the Rascino plateau, but doing so backwards, was also surprising in that it yielded new views and new vantage points even though we were riding along familiar territory. I had a similar experience with Alessio when we toured the Majella park clockwise, opposite to what I have done all other times.

I much prefer riding back home like this, with no autostrada to mar the experience and a relaxed pace that's easier on both rider and machine; Lele and I parted ways at Vicovaro, then I followed more country lanes all the way back home, all the while marveling at the Triumph's unexpected gutsiness. With no other traffic on the road, there were moments of almost Zen-like presence, of synchronicity between the Twenty-one and me and a sense of accomplishment when I finally turned the ignition key to 'off' closed the fuel taps and took the luggage off the bike.

There is now a whole year to plan for the next Old Irons rally, a whole year to get a motorcycle ready. Naturally, I already have some ideas and plans both for the Old Irons and other outings, let's see what I can manage. It goes without saying that I want Lele to come out again as often as possible, and the others too. We'll all be on similar bikes next time, I promise, so the pace will be much less strenuous. Until next year...

An unexpected triumph.

It had been two thousand eight hundred and sixty-four days since I last rode this motorcycle.

Nearly eight years. 

Ninety-four goddamn months.

The world has changed a lot in that time and it's fair to say I had completely forgotten what this motorcycle feels like.

A few years ago (again, years, it's always years) I had foolishly thought that the time had come to get this back on the road, and I spent some time checking fasteners, fluids and tire pressure, but alas I didn't get to ride it.

After that, again, a long time ago, my dad and I had gone over several things on this bike, as you can read over here. Everything worked, but there was one thing that I doubted and needed to double check, namely the charging system. 

So, recently, with a simple multimeter (remember this is a 6v system), I checked the charge at the battery with the engine running and got readings well above 7v, so I'd say the alternator is doing its job. The rectifier is the original Lucas component and it never inspired great confidence as the fins seem to be loose and barely held together by the mounting bolt. Fearing that it could have been damaged, I had already acquired a solid state modern replacement that is now standing by in the spares kit. That said, having performed all the various tests as outlined in the workshop manual (and made infinitely clearer at this website), the rectifier seems to be working as expected, with consistent readings of current flowing one way but not the other. For the time being I'm going to leave it alone, and I'll have the replacement with me should the Lucas unit fail.

So with the electrics checked, there is nothing else to do but to ride this beauty.

Above: the iconic layout found on late-50s Triumph motorcycles. There are so many design elements that make these bikes so special: the nacelle, obviously, but also all the various gauges and controls within it; the parcel grid on the tank, and the elaborate tank badges. The swept-back handlebar is also an integral part of that look, and together with the extra long grips, it affords the pilot a very relaxed riding position, albeit one that may take some getting used to, if coming from other handlebars without so much pull-back.

Once you settle in on the comfortable seat, you'll find yourself in what feels like an almost tucked in position (because of that handlebar) even though in actual facts you're still quite upright; there is something streamlined and somewhat art déco about it.

It should be no surprise that, after such a long period of hibernation, the bike would be recalcitrant to start; what should be surprising is that it did start with relatively little fuss and settled into a very healthy idle, picking up revs without hesitation, a crisp note from the exhaust and no smoke or leaks to be found anywhere (alright, except for a minor leak from the kickstart bush, which I discovered after the test ride).

The menacing sky and the Buran, fast-approaching from the north east, meant I had to keep my test ride short, but it was enough to see that all is well, and that the Twenty-one is finally ready for the road. 

Some of the things I noticed were the gearbox, which takes a minuscule amount of pressure to shift gears, the brakes, surprisingly effective, the overall comfort of the ride and the new tires that seem to perform adequately well.

This is a small motorcycle and although it is in good shape (I would go as far as to say it is reliable), I am aware of the fact that it is rather delicate. That's not to say it is flawed in terms of engineering or execution, just that it must be handled with care, and maintenance must always be thorough.

Something else that came to mind as I accelerated through the gears, nearing an indicated top speed of 55mph, is that this could truly be an adventure motorcycle: anyone can jump on one of the brand new behemoths that are so popular these days, and go very far. I doubt many of those riders would consider venturing far from the safe confines of their neighborhood on a 1957 350cc. Triumph. Which is precisely what I'm planning to do.

that little Triumph.

Look, I can see how the rather pejorative nickname "bathtub" might have come to mind, especially when you see stuff like this:

I mean, flip one of those upside down and it's the actual tinware for the bike, but still, that's a little harsh!

I prefer to think of the TwentyOne's style as being streamlined. Maybe it was to do with weather protection, or to seem more like a scooter (maybe scooters like Vespa and Lambretta were styled the way they were for weather protection)... it's all a bit pointless really. To me, these lines are fantastic and this is a delightful little bike. It is of course woefully slow, despite the press of the time claiming "sparkling" performance and "80mph". No way.

This poor bike has been patiently waiting to get back on the road since July 2013! Obviously there's a bit of work to do to recommission it, so let's get to it.

Off with those ugly mismatched tires:

The wheels came off very easily, despite the rear one not being the quickly detachable type. 

You can identify a slowly detachable wheel (I guess that's what you'd call it, right?!) by the array of nuts on the inner side of the hub, as shown in the badly lit photo below:

I must say this bike surprised me for how thoughtfully it has obviously been designed: there are several details that make it remarkably easy to work on; one example being the chain guard bracket seen below, slotted so all you have to do to move it out of the way, when removing the rear wheel, is slacken a nut and the whole thing swings up out of the way:

On go a pair of amazing Duro tires from China, cheap and cheerful:

Next up was the carburetter, which in this case is a Monobloc. We have one of those on our Matchless, so this was nothing new, however I don't think I've ever properly understood just what an evolutionary leap the Concentric was when it superseded the Monobloc. The Concentric is so much simpler and so much easier to work on... 

There was plenty of nasty sludge in the floatbowl, which you can just about see in the photo below, the state of the banjo filter was abominable, and all the jets had enough dirt on them that starting would have been impossible.

All gaskets and washers were replaced with new ones, so this was a good service and fairly straightforward. However, the pilot jet cover nut must have got cross-threaded at some point in the past, which I only realized when I was putting it back, and there was a real risk the whole bike would have been grounded for one tiny nut:

Luckily I was able to get the thread back in shape even though I don't have a tap & die in that size; I used a small but strong metal pick and chased the thread back until it looked right. A bit unorthodox, granted, but it worked out.

I will leave it to your imagination to picture what the inside of the gas tank looked like after 5 years decanting that nasty stuff they call verde... suffice to say there was a real risk of permanent damage, which would have been a shame considering the tank still has the original paint from the factory. So, I've used some phosphoric acid to get rid of the worst of the rust that was forming, then handed it over to Nico who did a good job on a Sportster tank a while back, and did it again this time. 

The gas tap is very nicely made ("they don't make 'em like they used to!") and is helped by a new brass/viton washer, essential if you don't want your tap to leak. These are not always easy to find but it's worth looking around and stocking up, because they do make a big difference

This type of fuel tap uses plungers to close off the feed, and rely on cylindrical cork seals for a tight enough fit as to be effective, yet still allow operation.

The concept of using materials such as cork (or felt) must be completely alien to today's motorcyclists, who don't even have fuel taps anymore. And yet, fortunately you can still buy replacement corks and rebuild a fuel tap. You can also make one with a wine cork and some sandpaper, it will lend a wonderful bouquet to your fuel and your engine will enjoy that too. I would suggest a Primitivo from Puglia if you do this in the winter, or a chilled Pecorino from Abruzzo if it's hot outside.

These were needed not so much because the ones on the bike were nearly 60 years old, but because they had been allowed to dry up, thereby shrinking and losing their effectiveness, otherwise I wouldn't have been surprised to find them still working properly.

Renovating the fuel tap was one of those fiddly but important little jobs; unscrew the small retaining screw, remove the plunger and drive the seal holder out of the knob with a small drift. This is easier said than done, but not impossible.

I fitted a new strip of rubber finishing trim between the rear panels, it adds a neat touch and should cushion some rattling and vibration; there's also a new taillight:

We drained what was left of the engine, primary (shown below), and gearbox oil, then refilled with fresh oil(s)

While waiting for the oil to drain, I checked the primary chain for tension, it is within specs so I left it well enough alone. The workshop manual hilariously explains how to go about this:

"with the engine stopped, of course." 

All fasteners were in good shape, except for the gearbox drain, which is looking a bit mangled. It went back on just fine for now, but I'll see if I can clean it up on the milling machine at uncle Fester's next time I take it out, or maybe it's just worth replacing, let's see.

A new sealed type, absorbed glass mat battery was procured, these are getting cheaper and are definitely an ideal choice for these bikes. Overall the electrics are a bit shoddy, and if I had the time I would redo a lot of the wiring and probably fit a Boyer Bransden Powerbox, or at least a solid state rectifier.

I also checked the head and barrel bolts going over the sequence shown below, and I did find a few loose items. Retorqued, they should be ok now.

All of the above happened eons ago back in mid July of the year of our Lord 2018, with the yearly "Old Irons" rally just around the corner; and yet despite getting all this done it was all pointless. The last thing left to do was refit the sump filter plug and fill the oil tank with fresh motor oil, but the plug turned out to be stripped and just wouldn't tighten, something I should have noticed right away but didn't. If I had, there might have been enough time to get a replacement, but as the saying goes if ifs and buts were candy and nuts, we'd all be riding whenever we want.

So although I had planned to take the Triumph up the mountains, it ended up under a sheet at the back of the Monolith (the new garage). The Fastback was a viscerally wonderful replacement for the Old Irons trip, so it all worked out but now it's time to get this blue weirdo on the road.

I ordered a replacement sump filter plug, and you can see the difference with the botched one in the photo below:

Fitment was straightforward with the bike on its side stand, good idea dad.

Here you can see a sequence of parts going back in, you can even spot a bit of flywheel...

Above, the scavenge pipe, then on go a spring and a cork/rubber washer:

Then the plug itself, with a large fiber washer and the gauze sump filter:

The hexagon is approximately a ½″ Whitworth; it snugs down properly, and should do its job... we'll find out soon enough.

Fresh motor oil goes into the tank; then, once the engine has run for a short while, the level is checked and topped up as needed. No need to excessively obsess over a precise quantity, as long as it's visibly at the right level.

Before we get to the moment of truth, we have to switch the ignition on, and I would like to bring your attention to the beautiful design of the Lucas PRS8 switch: from the adorable spade-type key, to the gorgeously sculpted light toggle (which makes a very tactile and satisfying "Clock!" sound when used), and even the provision for an emergency circuit that bypasses the battery, this is a wonderful piece.

Ignition on, chocks away...

The short-throw kickstart betrays the engine's low compression and the minimal effort required to turn it over. If you come from something beefier like a V-twin or larger parallel twin you actually have to be careful not to give it the same kind of kick, or you risk tearing this thing in half!

Disappointingly, there was no hint that the bike would start. Fuel reached the carburetter, and with all the jets and passages cleaned, it should also reach the combustion chambers.

Sparks at the plugs were very weak and very inconsistent, not a good sign.

After another LONG delay, I finally got the bike on the lift and opened up the lovely Lucas 18D2 distributor to have a look at various moving parts and connections. Everything looked present and accounted for, with the exception of the central carbon brush (number 3 in the drawing below - it wasn't there when I checked) and in fairly good condition for a nearly 60 year-old component; that said, I should probably stock up on some spare parts besides from points and condenser, which I already have.

The high-tension leads were not great, so I took my time and replaced them, a satisfying little job.

Back to the distributor, for now, I've cleaned up the brass connectors with a strip of fine sandpaper, used some electrical contact cleaner and put everything back together. Upon closer inspection of the distributor cap, I eventually found the sprung carbon brush: it turns out it's pressed into place and since it was in good shape I left it well enough alone:

Out of sheer vanity, I have these rajah connectors with cooling fins and thumb nuts, all brass, fitted to the spark plugs. They look wonderful but do absolutely nothing for insulation:

I was holding one of the plugs against the head to check for a spark as I kicked the bike over, and whilst I did not see the spark, I definitely felt it shooting up my left arm! Yeowch! I tasted purple for just a moment and then all was well again.

With the Monobloc primed and choke lever down, I started kicking it over and at first there was absolutely nothing; then the most timid, tentative little "pop!", and then finally, at long last it started... and promptly shrouded half the garden in a thick grey smokescreen cloud worthy of a racing Jawa.

Ok, to be expected since this has been sitting in a shed for so long, but that's not all: even my 4 year-old knew there was something not quite right as he pointed out "daddy look, a sticky yellow water is coming from under the bike!". Good job he noticed because I hadn't!

The sump was FULL of oil and in the end I had to shut down the engine, undo the sump plug to drain the crankcase, put it all back together and try again. This time, it was perfect.

The sound is pure 1950s Triumph: it's crisp, toned down and very dignified. This is a 350cc engine, but it sounds like a much bigger one up close; no need to worry about upsetting the neighbors with this one though, a few yards away and you can barely hear it at all.

Conveniently, the seat hinges open after releasing a single sprung knob (itself a beautiful component, with a trick up its sleeve... more on that later) and easy access is given to the electrics and oil tank. 

Using a simple voltage detector I tested the battery, rectifier and surrounding wiring and all seems in order. A proper multimeter would be better of course, I'll get one at some point. 

Oil return appears to be correct, and the pressure indicator on the crankcase responds as it's meant to:

This is an interesting, if quirky arrangement (a bit like this motorcycle, overall): above you can see the pressure indicator, static on the left, and during engine operation on the right; you can see the button being pushed out, this gives you visual confirmation that oil is circulating. Neat!

The original user handbook for this motorcycle reveals something that not may people may know, i.e. a built in anti-theft feature. I'm not talking about the steering lock, which is available, but rather the aforementioned seat knob. The idea was that, once parked, the owner could open the seat, disconnect the high-tension lead from the coil, close the seat and unscrew the knob. Why? Because this would make it impossible to start the machine, and the coil would be, in effect, locked away under the seat. It was then recommended that the owner place the seat knob in the liner pocket of their blazer.

So, finally back on the road, and hopefully up to the task of going to the yearly "Old Irons" rally at the end of July...