Golden Bronze!
Often neglected in favour of more flashy twin-carb twins, Triumph’s tourer has long been one of Frank Westworth’s favourites
End ven after a truly depressingly number of years spent messing about with old bikes, I am still unsure why it is that I get along so well with iron-head engines. Why should a cylinder head cast in iron make for a more pleasant engine than an otherwise mostly identical unit wearing a head cast in lighter, more shiny alloy? Casting my occasionally reliable memory back down some of those years confirms that iron-head G80 Matchlesses are somehow more charming than their later light-headed offspring, while the iron-head plunger Flash from Small Heath fights a desirability contest well with Norton’s excellent Model 7. Drifting down memory highway is compulsive, I find, especially when I can dredge up photos of many of the bikes I’ve ridden since time immemorial.
I think I had somehow forgotten that Triumph built an awful lot of iron-head 650s. Which is a little surprising, given that not only have I ridden several, and even owned a few; I even built one into an otherwise inoffensive wideline Norton to make possibly the world’s least rapid Triton café racer. A friend, Jim, actually did almost all the work, but I made the tea and told jokes. The Triton was horrible, by the way. It was slow, handled badly and blew dirty oil all over my favourite lime-green cord trousers. Somethings are unforgiveable.
Which has nothing to do with the rather handsome – despite its colour – Thunderbird you will hopefully be able to see before you. I had actually arranged to borrow the iron-head BSA Golden Flash you may remember from an earlier issue, but then the T’bird appeared and… and… had it been a better day weatherwise it would have been fun to ride the two bikes side by side in a sort-of RC comparison story, but streaming roads and darkness do not help in these things. But I’ll no doubt refer to the Beezer here and there, as I did in fact ride them back to back on the same day. Observe also that by the time I got around to taking the Triumph off for a canter the sun had come out and the skies were blue.
Divine intervention or what!
Without wishing to be too simplistic about it, the BSA and this Triumph competed for the same buyer – and had the 650cc market pretty much to themselves when they started out at the beginning of the 1950s. In terms of specification they were also similar, making rider preference and taste the most important factors in the purchase decision. While the two concerns were part of the same group, BSA and Triumph developments at this stage were often different, not least when BSA adopted the plunger form of rear suspension while Triumph opted for their unique sprung hub effort. It’s not easy to work out which was the better in practice, and is pretty much academic anyway in these classic days, when hardly any riders push their old bike hard enough or far enough to encounter any of the more interesting handling characteristics offered by the two imaginatively flawed designs.
A difference between post-1953 BSA and Triumph twins which may still affect your potential purchase decision was that year’s introduction of the early Lucas alternator charging system and coil ignition on Triumph’s cooking 500 twin, the 5T. The cooking 650 – like this one – adopted the same system a year later.
Why did Triumph make the shift, and why is it still relevant today? Well, the inevitable Edward Turner – Triumph’s bossman at the time – was notorious for his cost-cutting exercises, apparently believing that cheery customers were easily wooed by bling and low prices. History has proved him to be correct. Mostly correct. And it’s true that an alternator is less expensive to manufacture than a decent dynamo and doesn’t require a slightly fragile and slightly complicated mechanical / electrical voltage control box, making the battery-charging business cheaper. And of course a coil and some system of contact breakers is easier and less expensive than a magneto. Hurrahs all round, then?
Well, mostly. Early alternator systems were not entirely fault-free, sadly, and whereas with a magneto supplying the engine’s sparks it was perfectly possible to ride home with a flat battery, this is not the case when an ignition coil does the spark-supply stuff. Flat battery? No sparks. Unhappy riders. This was apparently quite an issue when the first post-war Lucas alternator systems were used, but things had improved by the time this particular machine was built in 1957.
Exactly how much of a rider concern it seems to have been is revealed by the number of manufacturers who persisted with magneto ignitions for their sports models. Triumph did this, as did Norton and AMC, to name but a few, with the latter manufacturers sticking to magnetos well into the mid-60s.
Modern-day irony steps in here, as it so often does. Back when old bikes were indeed merely old bikes and not revered treasures from our glorious industrial past (or something like that) I would occasionally buy AMC CSR twins fitted with nonfunctional magnetos and reliable alternators. Non-runner Norton twins equipped with alternators and non-working magnetos were often, shall we say, very affordable in the 1970s, and finding and fitting a secondhand coil and distributor wasn’t beyond even my feeble abilities.
Enough of that, what have we here? Isn’t it a remarkable colour, too? Especially for the traditionally rather drab 1950s. Bronze Gold, officially. Was it Triumph’s shiny answer to BSA’S flashy Golden Flash? Of course it was. Triumph called their slightly non-sporting 650 twin the Thunderbird, which to be entirely honest does sound better than the vaguely electrical Golden Flash. Yes indeed, this is a Thunderbird, as the eagle-eyed will have spotted from the neat script cast into the front end of the primary chaincase.
There are those who claim that the tank badge fitted to this machine, and which first appeared on the 1957 range, is the best of all Triumph’s efforts at perfecting fuel tank furniture. It even had a nickname, for some reason, being referred to in rocker circles as the mouth organ badge. I’ve never really known why. Look at a picture of a mouth organ (an actual allegedly musical one) and share my sense of wonder. I’ve always been an ‘eyebrow’ man myself, but it takes all sorts.
Triumph’s swinging arm frame had arrived to much fanfare of trumpets (sorry about that) in 1954, and almost instantly spawned Triton and TRIBSA hybrids, such were the glorious high-speed characteristics of the cheerily whippy Triumph frame. Although the various histories of our favourite bikes claim that the Triumph engine was the best, the very fastest of British twins, rather more Tritons were the result of grafting a 650 Triumph engine into a Norton featherbed previously powered by a 350 Model 50 engine, rather than a Dominator 99.
As for BSAS, which used the same basic bicycle in cooking B31 350 singles, via actual Gold Stars and even Rocket Gold Star 650s, there was little to choose from in terms of power or indeed kudos between their own 650 twins and those from Triumphs. So most of the Tritons and TRIBSAS of my acquaintance were converts from 350 or 500 singles to 650 twins. Legend has it otherwise of course. I always wondered whether there were a lot of spare 650 Triumph twin lumps around the place because of the exciting limitations of the early Triumph sprung frame, but that is of course heresy in some quarters. My own local breakers in the 1970s always, but always, had a decent selection of crunched Triumphs enjoying early
attempts at recycling. And although some riders did fit 650 engines to their previously 500 Triumphs, it was never to improve the handling. Not really.
Anyway, nobody who bought a golden T’bird like this in 1957 wanted to go scratching on it, I bet. They bought it for lots of reasons, all of them individual and unique, and I’d bet that they chose one because it was a great, comfortable all-rounder. Which it still is.
Switch it on by turning the simple key in the complicated PRS8 switch. Gaze in wonder at the unusually large ammeter parked nearby and enjoy the delicate wobble of its needle. Free off the clutch by pulling in the lever and turning the engine over a couple of times. The engine starts. Switch off the ignition and free off the clutch again. Will I never learn? No need to answer that, thank you. Kick again (it is very easy to kick over – a 7.0:1 compression isn’t going to hurt anyone) then sit back and enjoy the remarkably rattle-free (for a Triumph) engine. Burble, it goes.
You will have spotted by now that I’ve not mentioned the T’bird’s carb, nor did it need its mixture enrichening before firing up from cold. These models are interesting in that they switched from Amal carbs to a some-say superior SU device, an MC2, which uses a neat enrichment lever mounted low down on the left to wake things from cold. It was unnecessary here. The engine took almost no time to warm through, so it’s time to pull in the light clutch and slip the lever into first gear. Hardly any crunch at all. Very civilised. As was the steady tickover. No need for that hooligan revving of the engine. And away we go…
One reason I’ve been given for replacing the Amal carb with an SU was that it was more frugal with fuel, which is as maybe; I didn’t ride far enough to find out. But another was to cure early unhappiness with the low-speed breathing. Without having an Amal-carbed T’bird handy for comparison, all I can share with you is that this engine was fine. No spitting or popping or anything else unhappy-making. The combination of coil-supplied sparks and the SU carb made for a very pleasant machine indeed. And of course the controls fell readily to hand and foot, and did what they’re supposed to. Had you remembered that Triumph fitted extra-long handlebar rubbers? Neither had I. they’re comfortable, though.
The famously whippy Triumph frame? It’s never going to be a problem in these classic days. The suspension works very well and the unusually styled seat is comfortable enough for any speeds a machine like this one is likely to inflict upon its rider. Even the alternator worked – well, according to the big ammeter it did. The T’bird’s characteristic nacelle was also home to one of those great Smiths 120mph ‘revulator’ chronometric speedos, the ones with a set of concentric circles which are supposed to tell the rider what the
engine’s speeds through the gears are. I’ve just looked up ‘revulator’ on Google and can find no reference to it. Have I imagined this, somehow?
Aha! After writing the above I had a moment of genius. The speedo face is apparently a ‘revolator’. Even at my advanced age I learn something every day.
And promptly forget it…
Anyway, carefully passing over what may be a serious memory moment, the somewhat handsome speedo’s extra dials suggest that at 65mph – a sensible cruising speed on one of these Triumphs – the engine’s spinning at about 3800rpm in top, around 4500 in third, maybe 6000 in in second… and presumably ‘bang!’ in first. They’re nice to look at, these things, but it’s not easy to picture today’s T-bird pilot crouched over the tank’s rack with nose maybe an inch from the speedo, observing the revs it’s doing as he attempts to pull the ton on the bypass. It looks like 100mph would be just under 6000rpm in top, by the way. That would be bold.
Returning to reality, it only takes a mile or two to recognise that this is a really good, relaxing ride. Should we push it just a little? Are those once-famous Triumph steering deficiencies still a problem?
And no. Of course they’re not. I recognise my own speed limitations on old bikes, and at the 55-65mph A-road speeds at which I feel most comfortable, the Triumphs tracks … if not exactly perfectly precisely, it’s certainly unworrying. And it should be said that it I wasn’t already aware of the high speed characteristics of 1950s Triumph I really would never have noticed its tendency to be a little wandery on a 50mph bend. The bike is certainly competent on many rubbish modern road surfaces, and its suspension isn’t bad over the current crop of rutted roads around here.
It’s perhaps worth reminding ourselves that back when these bikes appeared, roads were at least as dire as they are today. Nostalgia has its place, of course, but I much prefer decent modern Tarmac to cobbles, wood sets and unsurfaced roads – of which there were
a lot in rural Somerset where I grew up. Cobbles and loose surfaces seemed to be a particular peril on steep Devonshire village hills. Good for horses, perhaps, but less so for motorcycles, especially those with rock-hard worn-out tyres, which mine usually were. The tar’n’chippings surfaces still in use today were probably equivalent to a lot of 1950s and 60s surfaces, which is little comfort.
But the Thunderbird handles well. It actually does. Even the somewhat slender forks (some might use the ‘f’ word, ‘flimsy’ for them) actually work smoothly, and the 19-inch tyres provide both a little resilience and precision. But… the brakes. Oh yes, the brakes. Good news! The rear, a rod-operated 7-inch drum, is fine, as was often the way with bikes of this period. The front? Well, this cable-operated 7-inch sls drum is unlikely to lock the wheel on dry roads (or wet ones, come to that) and it was 1961 before the front drum grew by an inch.
All these thoughts waft around while I’m riding. The Thunderbird is genuinely a sweet old thing. Not over-restored nor updated, really, and none the worse for it. And it is very comfortable. Triumph had their own ideas about handlebars – some might suggest that they still do – but these match the footrests perfectly. No contortions required. Even the mysteriously sculptured seat is comfortable, one of those which shows more evidence of actual design time rather than just being a bench.
Can I fault the bike? Not really. Does it stand a faintly spurious comparison with BSA’S Golden Flash? In what they do, they are very similar, and they’re only slightly different in the way they do it. Some might say that the BSA has the stiffer frame as well as a mechanically quieter engine, but at this distance from brand-new it’s academic. BSA gearboxes can be more precise, though really there’s little in it – and Triumph managed to avoid inserting the bizarre Slickshift mechanism until the following year. You can tell that this bike has the pre-slickshift box by the hexagonal oil filler cap on the box itself.
And while in full anorak mode, I was interested to observe that the engine number has a little wheelmark stamped next to it. Way back then, I believe that this indicated that cams with ‘quietening ramps’ were fitted. The iron twin here sounded exactly like a well set-up iron twin. No particular cam follower chatter.
All in all? A splendid example of Triumph’s touring 650. The alternator / coil electrics make a lot of sense these days, and the SU carb is very simple and reliable. Over 1,000,000 Morris Minors cannot be wrong! And on that note…