Ted's turn
I've given up on calling my Daytona 1200 Rocinante, mostly because it's almost
unpronounceable. So now it's called Ted, and that thrumming noise you hear is
namesake, Mr Edward Turner (largely responsible for the success of the Meriden
twins), spinning in his grave with approval. Ted the Triumph is no Bonneville,
but he can pull 270kmh-plus (indicated) with a short run-up.
This is my second Dayt 12, which proves that recidivism is alive and well in
motorcycling. It's also by far the most expensive call I've ever made to my
accountant, Brian the Clever. I really only rang him to talk about my tax, under
orders from the Home Office, and one thing led to another.
"Hi Brian, how are you?" I enquired. "Fine. Know anyone who wants
a Daytona?" he sparred. "Oh, alright, how much?" I parried. A
whole 30 seconds later, I'd bought a motorcycle I couldn't afford and my tax
still wasn't fixed. Here's some advice for young players: Never ring your accountant.
About $10,000 later (I paid top dollar, but knew the machine, officer) a large
and very yellow example of Hinckley's 1994 vintage was at centre stage. Out
of the crate, a Dayt 12 would show 125 tyre ponies (147 claimed at the crank)
on the dyno on a good day. This one, thanks to a very ordinary service that
closed the valve clearances too tight, was struggling to pull 245kmh on the
clocks. Sook. The good news was the suspension was mostly sorted and simply
needed a fiddle to get the rear ride height up for my weight, and the front
preload and damping down to suit my riding tastes.
What I wasn't wild about was the stocker four-piston front brakes, having been
spoiled by the after-market factory-branded sixers on Ted's predecessor (a 1995
black model called Rocinante). So we asked for another set, kindly supplied
by Colleen at Triumph HQ. There goes another cheque, but it was worth it. Made
by Alcon (proud Brit suppliers to the F1 industry), the machined ally callipers,
which came with their own master cylinder, were far ahead of their time in the
mid-90s and brought a near-decade-old bike up to current hit-a-wall, but with
feeling, specs in this department. I love 'em.
Next stop was Charlie, formerly of Triumph HQ's workshop, and now operating
as an evil genius out of his own North Melb tuning emporium, called Turn 1 Motorcycles.
Mr C has owned a string of Hinckley's finest and should be bottled, as he has
a healthy attitude to tweaking the machines. In this case he insisted that nothing
more than a free-flowing set of mufflers on the stock headers, plus his in-house
carb and ignition adjustments, would be enough to keep the discerning nutter
happy. He was right, and there goes another cheque.
My last Dayt, which had a mix of Charlie and me involved in the development,
scored mid-to-high 130s in the power stakes about five years ago. This one,
with a set of tasty stainless steel Staintune cans (the term "mufflers"
would be an exaggeration - though optional "shut the hell up" inserts
came as part of the package), just nudged the 140 mark at the back tyre.
Horses aside, the real difference is the throttle response, which is sharp up
to 6000rpm, and un-bloody-believably accurate from there. And ballistic. It
doesn't have the sheer we're-conquering-Korea grunt of a Hayabusa, but will
give a Blackbird (which I've also owned) a very serious run for its money up
top.
The ancient BT57 rubber has been consigned to the dumpmaster and replaced with
Bridgestone 012s - call me picky, but some grip to go with the extra neddies
would be nice.
Now you might ask "why bother?", as we're not talking cutting-edge
technology, no matter how it's fettled. Well, I reckon you should work with
the resources at hand and every decent shed needs something that makes you shriek
"Fargin-ell!" (or words to that effect) in the helmet as you launch
it hard out of a well-timed turn. Mission accomplished, and that silence you
hear is Mr Turner's approval.
Guy "Guido" Allen
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