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new, however I don't think I've ever properly understood just what an evolutionary leap the Concentric was when it superseded the Monobloc.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...

Stealth Trip 3

These days so called "adventure motorbikes" are very popular with people who do serious 'round the world trips, often way off the beaten track, as well as with people who do serious commuting from home to the office, sometimes as much as 3 or 4 miles a day in city traffic!

But Witold and I are here to tell you, you don't need to spend upwards of thirty grand on one of these behemoths to experience true adventure; all you need is a couple of British parallel twins and an ill-conceived idea for a Stealth Trip!

Mild hypothermia, low fuel reserves, and mechanical breakdowns... it's all within your reach: you can have it all!

First off, the weather: while we had a few previews of glorious sunny days over the past two weeks, blue skies and mild temperatures, we had none of that during our trip. It all took place under an unbroken shroud of grey, dense cloud cover, the sun barely piercing through. The almost constant wind did nothing to blow it away, it just introduced cooler air, hour after hour.

Ready, steady, go!

Notice the reserve fuel bottle strapped to the Roadholder front forks, a thoughtful gift from Gianluca, and, as it turned out, a very useful gift indeed...

As we continue to explore new places and routes across the mountains to the East, it occurred to me that we had never visited a place called Marsia:

As it turned out, that's because everything in the area circled in blue is pretty much in the process of being reclaimed by Nature. There is nothing but ghost towns, dilapidated infrastructure and an eerie setting for this bonkers trip of ours; think of it as something between an episode of Scooby-Doo and the Shining:

(note: no filters were added for effect, what you see above is what we saw...)

We also came across some locals around those parts:

The roads and scenery are all very pleasant and at times striking, no complaints there. The fact that temperatures were just on the right side of cool helped the engines work away stress-free, even if the riders got a little chilly at times. Luckily there was no rain... on day one at least.

We set off from Monterotondo Scalo, rode up the Salaria for a while, then peeled off heading towards Rocca Sinibalda (beautiful, go see it if you get the chance). Then down towards the Turano lake where we stopped for a beer.

We only had another 50 km to go before reaching a campsite where we'd never been before; the idea was to test a new place that we could then use in the future during other trips with the rest of the gang. However, the closer we got, the spookier the land became. The few buildings we saw were all shuttered and crumbling away, old ski-lift installations were dangerously rusting away, overhead cables ready to snap. After a while we understood that we were looking at the remnants of a once picturesque mountain resort, and it must have been a pretty place to visit year 'round. But no more. We stopped at a restaurant close to the campsite to announce ourselves and let them know we'd be coming back in the evening for dinner - no luck, they were closed.
We continued on towards the campsite, again riding past relics from bygone days, abandoned houses and a couple of bars, either side of a broken and potholed lane. At the end, we found the campsite, and there was even someone there but they weren't thrilled to see us. They basically told us we could stay, but it was obvious there were no services whatsoever, certainly no food, and probably no water, not so much as a toilet.

Obviously that's disappointing but I think it's fair to say that what we witnessed was the death throes of that whole territory. Sad, but hopefully some of the beautiful roads at least will remain, so we can ride through, bring a pic-nic (and always extra fuel) and enjoy nature on our way to somewhere a little better equipped.

At this point though it was getting late in the afternoon and we had to rewrite our plan almost completely. Having understood that there was nothing for miles around, and with temperatures dropping far more than I had anticipated, we decided to continue on what would have been the following day's itinerary, to reach the campsite in a forest, by a brook where we had been the year before.

Again, the road was absolutely glorious, and well worth revisiting as part of a longer itinerary someday. We reached the small town of Capistrello, then began the rather steep ascent to the Renga plateau. It was pretty clear that this would be no easy stroll: we looked not so much ahead, as we did above us, and what we saw was a grey forest, clinging stubbornly to the mountain, also grey, under the sky, very, very grey. We could just about make out the road, cutting a sharp line towards the pass... and disappear into something that looked an awful lot like snow.
It soon got cold and we stopped to let our hands enjoy the heat radiating off the engines. This was at around 1600 meters up:

Once over the pass, we reached the town of Filettino (very near the other campsite) and asked a very friendly group for some information; within a short time we had a place to stay in the town's only remaining guesthouse, and directions to a restaurant:

Nothing but the finest establishments for our trips!
In retrospect, thinking about our chance discovery last year, that other campsite is an oddity around these parts and knowing how few and far between they are, made us appreciate that place even more. This time, a brick and mortar building was a smart choice (and really the only choice) for what turned out to be a rather chilly night. The town itself is pretty and hopefully it can resist the decay that's taken over on the other side of the mountain.

The following day, the sky still grey, we packed up after an oil check and set off again:

This is also where that extra fuel came in handy, as the Firebird Scrambler was basically running on fumes at that point.

Witold's BSA is absolutely spot-on for this type of terrain, and fits the landscape perfectly.

In search of even a sliver of blue sky, no such luck that day.

For the way back we headed towards Subiaco and then South West across the hills and lowlands between Canterano and Palestrina; pretty countryside, the roads get a little bit boring by that point though.

Witold and I parted ways near the small town of Gerano so he could head back to Rome, while I headed towards the Monolith, but not twenty meters after we said ciao, I felt something strange going on with the gearbox, perhaps a false neutral (absolutely unheard of on the AMC/Commando gearbox!) followed by something hitting the underside of the transmission case, and total loss of drive to the rear wheel. I also noticed something in the rear-view mirror that definitely should not have been in the middle of the road: my rear chain.

Mechanical snake. The master link was nowhere to be found (although I did find a chunk of the primary chaincase blown out when the chain hit it), and - stupidly - I didn't have a spare one in my kit, so I was stranded. I wasn't too far from home and I called in the cavalry, who brought me an extra link so I was able to get going again. Thanks dad.

I still had plenty of time to wait, in a field, and ponder why this had happened. Obviously I must have cocked it up when I refit the chain after shortening it to suit the recently installed smaller sprocket. This also meant that the chain was running on a tighter orbit than before, and since there really isn't much room between the gearbox and the primary transmission case, I can only guess that there was still some material that interfered with the chain.

While I thought about this it started to rain, of course. Not heavy rain, just a drizzle, but luckily I had my trusty tarp and I set it up in under a minute to make a cozy shelter:

Of course I'll be carrying one or two spare links from now on, so that should give me 100% guarantee that I will never need one again: it is a well known fact that the primary purpose of the spare parts we carry is to ward off evil spirits, rather than ever be needed.

The Fastback made it back home under its own steam, but I was riding very carefully, keeping revs and torque as low as possible.

Back at the Monolith I put the bike on the lift and took a look under the transmission to see what was happening. The photos below are from slightly different angles and the master link is shown by the blue arrow. It seems as though there is minimal clearance, and really other than taking the whole primary down to machine the inner case (not gonna happen!) I think I have to wait for the chain to eat its way through until it has enough room.

Other than that, the Commando performed really well, the new Isolastic are exceptionally good and I can't wait to get out there again for another one of these comical trips...