Bruce’s bluff...

My mate’s dad owned one of these, back when I was 16. I used to lust over the thing and wonder what life would be like behind the bars of his triple-cylinder sportsbike. It’s a question I’ve only just had answered – and I almost wish I hadn’t. Don’t get me wrong, there’s something iconic about the big Daytona that is unique in so many ways and from an aesthetic point of view, it still possess an allure that’s unfathomable. I don’t know what it is about it, but I like it, and the charm of its induction whine got me excited as the motor was fired into life... but I couldn’t say the same about the exhaust note. I’m not normally that bothered about fitting aftermarket cans for the sake of it, but if ever there was a bike that needed one, this was it. It would’ve made the bike look so much better, sound a whole lot nicer and save countless kilos from its hefty make-up. They don’t make whoppers like that anymore and it’s a good job, too. I’d just about got over the heartache of the exhaust note when the bike’s bars hit me in the face… well, almost. I’ve known scaffold erected lower than the bike’s levers, towering down over the top yoke and making for the most awkward riding experience I’ve ever known. I could just about operate the heavy clutch lever, and at a stretch the brakes were also useable, but the squeeze-to-stop ratio on offer was pathetic. My first few miles were dominated with thoughts of its braking inadequacy and the frustration of the modded handlebars that enforced an utterly upright riding position, akin to a naked. In fact, a Speed Triple felt sportier than this thing, and

I had to take a chunk of time to get used to it, especially in a corner. It felt awkward, top-heavy and anything but eager to fire into bends. The mad thing was, when it was on its ear it actually felt quite planted, and after a few scrapes of the knee, I started to gain confidence in it. I wouldn’t go as far as to say I liked it, but it did the job. I can’t say the same about the bike’s fuelling – horrendous below 6000rpm, being about as predictable as a fart in the wind. Sometimes it would surge forward, and at others it just wouldn’t get going until I’d crested that magic figure. The power after that was pretty average; the Daytona wasn’t slow, but it wasn’t exactly ripping my arms out of their sockets. In truth, I was disappointed, and while I dare say a Power Commander and a bit of set up on a dyno would definitely help the job, it would take a lot more than that to make this bike potent. I’d hoped the Triumph would float my boat, but the riding experience did anything but. It simply wasn’t the bike I wanted it to be.