Triumph Tiger Sport 660
Yes, it’s basically a Trident 660 with a fairing, but platform engineering is a big player these days. And it is also a Very Good Thing…
Clattering down the bumpiest section of our test route, I take respite from aiming the Triumph between verges heaped with fallen leaves and glance down at the clocks. Bloody nora this thing’s deceptively fast – it’s carrying as much speed as the BMW did yesterday and feels almost as effortless. Admittedly I’m thrashing the Triumph whereas the GS was striding along in its parpy midrange, but the 660cc triple is so smooth at its top-end that it doesn’t feel stressed.
And that’s the beauty of Triumph’s adventure-style adaptation of the Trident 660: for a modest amount of money you get a seriously capable motorcycle that – from a riding point of view – comes close to matching a £23,000 R1250GS Adventure, albeit with a little less panache and a lot fewer gadgets.
The Triumph’s engine is a peach, with a no-frills power curve that whisks you from tootling in town to B-road howling in one silky twist of the wrist. There’s no ramp at the top-end to get your heart racing but it revs so freely that I didn’t notice – feeding it gears and dodging the scenery was ample entertainment. The airbox noise adds to the experience too – above 7000rpm it sounds naughty, like a 675 Daytona race bike on the pipe.
It’s a similar story with the suspension. The components are all basic Showa kit, but the long travel forks are supple and progressive, while the shock – with some preload adjustment – copes with solo thrashing and two-up pottering. OK, so the R1250GS does it all automatically with electronic witchcraft and probably has a far greater weight capacity, but unless your other half lives off tiramisu, the end result will be remarkably similar.
Also, after thrashing both bikes up and down the same stretch of road for the photographer, I actually preferred the Triumph’s front end because it feels normal. If you pile into a corner with plenty of engine braking to wipe off a chunk of fork travel, the Tiger steers beautifully, with a secure, accurate feel. Do the same thing on the GS and the Telelever front end has that famously wafty, remote feeling that provokes a moment of doubt. You get used to it and eventually learn to carry on regardless, but I can’t help preferring the Triumph’s extra feedback. Where the Tiger suffers when ridden back to back with the GS is, inevitably, in the detail. As you walk up to the Tiger, the first impression is that you’re approaching a premium adventure bike: it’s almost as big as the GS; the red paint (£100 extra) sparkles; the engine finish oozes quality; the side exit exhaust looks bang on trend. But get closer and you notice the small clocks with a matchbox-size TFT screen and even smaller LCD display above. Then there’s the Poundland cable clutch adjuster and the right hand switchgear that’s a flimsy plastic box with an on-off switch poking out (and a hazard switch hidden lower down). By comparison, the MT-07’S right hand switchgear feels positively luxurious. Our test bike came with
‘I take the twisty way home and arrive nervously checking the sky for police’
panniers and top box which also lacked the indestructible, slick feel of a BMW or more premium Triumph equivalent. They feel a bit fiddly and cheap.
But as soon as I’m rolling I forget all that and am transported to a wondrous world where Triumph have finally made a faired Street Triple, an adventure bike for the rest of us. Bike subscriber and occasional test rider Dom, however, can’t get his head round it. ‘The Tiger screams workmanlike to me,’ he says glumly, ‘and that puts me off. If I was intending to commute loads on it, I’d be much keener but there seems to be something efficient and soulless about it. It reminds me of a Diversion.’ Whoa there Mattock, the Yamaha Diversion was a stodgy 60bhp commuter, and this is an 80bhp triple with Showa suspension. ‘I know, but in this company the Tiger feels bland and ordinary in a way none of the others are.’
We agree to disagree, but he’s put doubt in my mind. Maybe I’ve fallen for the Triumph because I’m partial to practical, comfortable, do-anything machines. Maybe the Tiger is a bit too sensible. I take it the twisty way home and arrive sweating and nervously checking the sky for police helicopters. No Dom, you’re wrong on this one.