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It was last Saturday afternoon, sunny and
hot. And I needed to get out of the house, having mown everything in sight into
submission.
Of the bikes available, it was Trevor the
1974 T150V that made the most sense. Hannibal the hotted-up Hayabusa would be
too frenetic, while Casper the Yamaha GTS1000 was too civilised. Rocintante
(named after Don Quixote’s horse – having a bike with that name has been a
personal talisman for over 25 years) the Daytona 1200, was just too easy. Dr
Gange the sidecar needed the replacement carburetor set fitted, and Winston the
1948 Sunbeam S7 was still burning up money in the workshop. And Smith the SR500
is still a basket case.
So Trevor got the gong. It’s something I
bought just under a year ago in basically good shape. But a combination of my
sometimes anal retentive nature when it comes to the tuning of wheeled toys,
and perfectly reasonable suspicion of old machinery, meant I spent a fair bit
of money ensuring the old dear got a fresh ignition system and a very thorough
service.
Along the way, I’ve been reassured that it
sounds like a new one. And been given completely conflicting advice when it
comes to starting the three-pot monster. There is general agreement that you
should open the fuel taps and flood the carbs when cold. It’s kickstart only,
and from there the advice varies.
Some say you should give it a priming kick
and use no choke. Others, no priming kick and lots of choke. Oh, and maybe a
touch of throttle…once you’ve turned it over top dead centre on whichever pot
is reaching compression. There’s also varying advice on how much you should
flood the centre carb.
Trevor and I seem to be coming to some sort
of understanding. At risk of stirring the pagan gods, I did all the flooding,
applied some choke, and it started first kick.
(Kicking an auld bike is an acquired art,
however – I’ve just had to buy a new mechanism for Winston, probably because I
kicked it o death, when the factory says one should gently “press”.)
The ride to the Saint Andrews pub is about
40 minutes – about the right length for a classic when you’re doing the whole
highwire act without tools or anything else resembling a back-up plan. It’s an
exercise in optimism. There’s a little traffic, and one of things I like about
the Trident is it has enough grunt to allow you to filter to the head of the
queue and get away without drama.
Then there’s a nice, sometimes tight, and
mostly flowing country road where you can play with speeds and sound. And a
pub.
The Saint Andrews pub cum bakery is not my
favourite licensed premises in the world, but it’s close to home, is a bike
venue, and often has live music. That Saturday, I just wanted to go for a ride,
pull up for a beer and a smoke, then wander off. Perfect.
You always take the outward-bound journey
more carefully on a classic, knowing you can ride a little harder heading back
to base. What the hell, if it breaks down on the home run, at least you’re that
much closer.
But I held back with Trevor and it came
down to trust. The engine is crisp – but the issue is the chassis. While most
of the critical stuff is new, it’s also running retro TT-pattern Dunlops and
that’s part of a package which I simply don’t fully understand. The TT100s are fine tyres
for their breed, but I know they wave a white flag when they see water (ironic,
given the country of origin), while the rest of the chassis is 35 years old in
design.
History tells me that people rode like
demons on these things, and maybe I could do likewise on machinery I grew up
with, too. Not this bike, not yet.
We’re going to have to get to know each
other a whole lot better before there’s real trust between us.
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