FROM THE FRONT
Down the years I have acquired defunct projects many times. Projects is the operative word here, in case you were wondering. I’m drawing an imaginary (but compulsory) line between a project involving rebuilding a bike and a special, which is something else entirely. If a project bike is closely related to an actual production model, a model for which spares should be available – at least in theory – then I enjoy the challenge. Specials? Less so.
An example? OK. I’m a great follower of auctions, both online and in the tin, finding cheery distraction from the ups and downs of real life in the constantly shifting sands of the motorcycle market – not simply the old bike market, either. As I type this I am following one of those ‘what-if ’ bikes. What-if? What-if I buy this one? Will I enjoy it? That kind of thing. In this case, the bike under scrutiny is a Triumph T160 Trident which is currently still sitting at a sensible price – a price which allows a little psychological headroom for the inevitable list of jobs it will need and the parts to fix what’s broken. I doubt that I’ve acquired many bikes from private sources down the years which have been free from a malaise of some kind.
It is, after all, part of the great ‘Is it worth it to me?’ debate, which I’m sure you enjoy as much as I. In the case of the Trident, which looks decently stock and claims to be a runner – in that it has compression, no horrid noises, apparently, and ran before it was taken off the road – everything which is likely to be broken, worn out or missing is available, as is the expert knowledge to do the fixing things when and if I fail. I’m not proud, and I am realistic. So I set a price at which I might be interested, and watch with interest. There’s never any point in bidding too soon. That just raises the price.
And I remind myself what a pleasure it was to search out and fit the parts my Mk3 Commando needed, and how much similar entertainment I’m extracting from locating NOS bits for our recently acquired Bonneville.
But then there’s the special – a machine built out of bits and pieces from several marques to suit the individual requirements of its builder. Not just Tritons and TRIBSAS, but all sorts of things. Many ancient Brits return from the
USA fitted with front ends from later Japanese machines – and not always because the original forks and wheel hit something solid, either. A late 1970s twin-disc front wheel and forks to match seems like a good idea, if only when you’re sure which donor bike it came from.
I am, in all honestly, unlikely to buy someone else’s not-quite-finished special. Why did they give up? Which bits are unavailable, impossible to fit or to line up properly? Or, as happens too often, is the bike simply ghastly to ride? I have been blessed with the opportunity to ride several bikes which have been constructed from their builders’ happiest fantasies using the ‘best bits’ of several bikes and which have proved to utterly nasty to ride. These stories never make it into print, as I never wish to cause unintentional offence.
However, I am currently watching a special. A sort-of TRIBSA. Something similar to what we might call a factory special, but more special than anything knocked out by the mighty BSA. It could be horrible, and it does look a little strange. But I think it has the potential to be transformed from someone else’s idea of a special into my idea of a project. There is a difference, of course…
Ride safely
Frank Westworth Frank@realclassic.net