07-01-2017, 11:59 AM
The only bike I regret buying was a 500cc Triumph Tiger.
While riding it, I kept comparing it to the 650cc BSA Lightning I had sold a few years earlier. At first it was just little things: a less comfortable seat and riding position, less power, noisy tappets, and a less appealing exhaust note. I kept squeezing my knees against the fuel tank so I didn't have to listen to the tappets rattling.
On a trip with friends it pooped out 20 miles from Laconia, leaving me stranded on the side of the road 350 miles from home. A state highway worker and his family took me in for a few days while we took the bike apart. It turned out that a cheap alloy bracket holding an ignition coil under the fuel tank had broken. Somehow this managed to effect the timing and the pistons seized.
We reassembled the bike, mooched a crate from a local Harley dealer, and I had it shipped home. I spent a log, long day on buses getting home.
Over the winter I purchased the parts and re-built the motor. In the spring I took it out to try it. The motor ran fine, but the transmission which had not ben touched would not engage first gear. That day I put an ad in the newspaper to sell it.
A young lad showed up the next day to buy it. It was going to be his first bike. I wouldn't sell it to him. He brought his British dad the next day. I sold the bike to him. About a month later he called to say he had repaired it.
As it was the only bike I ever owned that left me stranded at the side of the road, I never like Turnips from that day on.
While riding it, I kept comparing it to the 650cc BSA Lightning I had sold a few years earlier. At first it was just little things: a less comfortable seat and riding position, less power, noisy tappets, and a less appealing exhaust note. I kept squeezing my knees against the fuel tank so I didn't have to listen to the tappets rattling.
On a trip with friends it pooped out 20 miles from Laconia, leaving me stranded on the side of the road 350 miles from home. A state highway worker and his family took me in for a few days while we took the bike apart. It turned out that a cheap alloy bracket holding an ignition coil under the fuel tank had broken. Somehow this managed to effect the timing and the pistons seized.
We reassembled the bike, mooched a crate from a local Harley dealer, and I had it shipped home. I spent a log, long day on buses getting home.
Over the winter I purchased the parts and re-built the motor. In the spring I took it out to try it. The motor ran fine, but the transmission which had not ben touched would not engage first gear. That day I put an ad in the newspaper to sell it.
A young lad showed up the next day to buy it. It was going to be his first bike. I wouldn't sell it to him. He brought his British dad the next day. I sold the bike to him. About a month later he called to say he had repaired it.
As it was the only bike I ever owned that left me stranded at the side of the road, I never like Turnips from that day on.