Category Archives: Triumph

Hair oil

The Triumph has needed servicing badly for a while. Unfortunately that’s just what it got yesterday – I am not normally quite so cack-handed as to get more oil on the drive than in the drip tray, to dip my hair in it when getting down to check the chain tension, or to spend 20 minutes winding the chain tensioner the wrong way, but those are just the highlights.

It is, I suppose, an improvement from earlier in the week, when I managed to put the car into reverse instead of first and smack the poor bike into the garage door.

It may be that used 10w40 is good for split ends and overall condition. I will let you know.

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Filed under Garage stuff, Triumph

now I remember why it’s called the Book of Lies…

I need to go to Halford’s to buy some Q-bond which Graham says is the best thing to replace the crack in my fairing which *may* have resulted from a cack-handed reassembly of 2Moos’ front end (not by me).

So I thought I would pursue my new role as “Person who can do simple bike tasks,” adjust the chain on the Triumph, and nip off to the shops.

I’ve read the instructions, and I’ve seen it done, so I felt pretty confident. But I have fallen at the first hurdle (again). Here’s the picture in the Book of Lies, and the same shot showing my bike:-

Can you spot the difference?

In other questions, how do I get a torque wrench on without taking the exhaust off?

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The past is for reference not residence

I take seriously Oscar Wilde’s advice that a woman should never travel without her diary, for fear of lacking something scandalous to read on the train. I’m not as consistent as Rio, who I believe has written in her diary every day since childhood, but I have, erratically, kept writing since 1982. Don’t worry, I’m not the strange kind of woman who reads through old notes for entertainment – I recognise the wisdom of recent advice that forms the title of this post. But I was looking for two reasons yesterday. I have a commission from Camping magazine, and they like to have memorabilia as well as photos, so I wanted to see what I had kept from my first foray into bike camping in 2004. In passing I was also interested to know what I’d written when I first met someone who started as a fellow London BMF member, turned into a colleague and is now a friend. It turns out that in 2002 we talked about Felix Dennis and the Oz trial. And bikes, of course.

Trying to stuff the box back on the shelf provides a vivid reminder that paper is, essentially, nothing more than a pile of wood shaved thin. I wonder if the weight of the pages is what we mean by baggage. This sort of thing is on my mind at the moment as I am halfway through losing a butt-load of weight. I put on 2 stone in a bad relationship and another stone in a crappy job. It is now coming off again but as it gives up the ghost I find myself suffering echoes of the stress and unhappiness that I had postponed with chocolate. Still, the benefits are worth the pain.

As well as learning that I spent far too much of my time stressed about work and trying to pretend that all was well in my domestic life, I found that I really, really loved my Triumph.

I rode her to the King Bill in Fenstaton yesterday to play some blues and to gossip about Bruce Springsteen with Tony Ginger, who knows more about Bruce than I know about Ayrton Senna and is training me up for the Hyde Park gig in July. Because I’m a lot thinner than I have been for years I dressed for the occasion in Gialis and my Crowtree leather jacket. And everything was perfect. For the last two years riding the Triumph has felt strange. Yesterday she felt like she did when I rode her home from On Yer Triumph in Tring – the perfect bike for me.

This seems very odd, but perhaps it is something to do with being the right size and in the right frame of mind. I bought Ruby because I wanted to ride like my IAM Observer (before he threw himself into the scenery. Twice.) And I bought 2Moos because I wanted to ride like Big Chief Polar Bear.

But all I really need to do is ride like myself. In a leather jacket that was made to fit me and skinny Italian kevlar jeans that are slightly too big. And all shall be well.

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Filed under Introspection, Triumph

The two foes of human happiness are pain and boredom.


This morning I got the park-and-ride in to work. Because I was planning on going to a do in London, and the Triumph doesn’t have anywhere safe to leave a helmet. (I didn’t go in the end, which is interesting in its own right – perhaps I am leaving London behind at last.)

Now, it was all very trouble free, but it was also a rather stony-faced experience. Bus drivers in Cambridge don’t talk, they just nod gnomically and take your money. The other four people on the bus sat in gloomy silence as we travelled a roundabout route to the centre of town. So I had to buy myself a Pain au Chocolate from Christine just to get a smile and a cheeful hello.

Yesterday I rode the Triumph to work. “New bike?” asked the man from the cycle shop, after watching me park up and give the bike a farewell pat. No, I said. Old bike. New tyre.

And we talked for a bit about the unbreakable bonds we have to our first bikes, the horror when they get nicked, and the sense of pride from being able to do work on them. And then I went to work.

On Saturday the Triumph and I went to Cambridge Motorcycles to get the new tyre put on – for I can do some simple things, but I can’t do tyres yet. And when I was walking back to the workshop, having wandered way too far along the river, a car pulled up, and a bald man with tattoos said “are you heading to Cambridge Motorcycles, love? Hop in, I’ll give you a lift. We work just opposite.”

And I got into a car with two strange men. And yes, I did pause to wonder if that was the last the world would see of me.

But on a day when terrible things were happening in another country, sometimes it is necessary to do unwise things in order to prove that the world is, most of the time and for most of us, a good place full of good people. A stranger made a kind offer because he recognised me as a biker. I got a lift down the road, and picked up the bike in time to go to Barney’s graduation party.

And this is why riding motorcycles will always be better than taking the bus. Because I ride a bike, people I don’t know talk to me. And that makes my life more interesting. And for as long as life is interesting, it will be worth living.

“Om én mann kan vise så mye hat, tenk hvor mye kjærlighet vi alle kan vise sammen”. Stine Renate Håheim

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Still Crazy After All These Years

I met my old lover
In the street last night
She seemed so glad to see me
I just smiled
And we talked about some old times
And I kicked her into gear…

Still crazy after all these years.

This is a Triumph with a decent battery and a back tyre that doesn’t have any cracks in it, parked in the sunshine while I go off to a small graduation party. Posh frock on top, jeans and German army boots below. Too long on the sidestand has caused her to spring another leak, but it’s nothing that can’t be fixed.

I have too many motorcycles and they all make me happy, but this is the only one that makes me grin like a loon.

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If it’s March, it must be MOT time….


This year I am feeling a little retro. I think it is time to tackle the Round Britain Rally on my approaching-classic-status Triumph Adventurer, who will be 11 in May this year – do I only have two years left before it becomes a stroppy teenager, refusing to do what I ask and shrugging me off with a roll of the headlamps?

I am driven to this thought for two reasons. The first is that MOT time is here for the Triumph With No Name and I have a sinking feeling that we haven’t actually turned a wheel since the last one, apart from up into and down out of Mel’s van. Which is a terrible thing to do to a beautiful motorcycle.

The other reason is that Ruby is definitly having to go up for sale. If I get a half-decent price for her, I can pay half my tax bill. Needs must…

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Filed under Ruby Thursday, Triumph

I’m ready for my close-up, Mr Erskine

The Triumph with no name came out of hibernation today for a photo shoot. This is Steve Lockwood being photographed by James Erskine, for Steve’s forthcoming album. She didn’t actually start, but it turns out that was because the kill switch was off, not because she was sulking. As a reward she is plugged into the Optimate, because now I live in the boonies I have a garage with heat and power. For my reward I am plugged into a bottle of Dornfelder Spatburgunder, which was a housewarming present by the lovely Nikos Cosmos. Fortunately I only have to drink it, I don’t have to pronounce it.

I had to quit my job this morning, so it is a good time to be working on an album launch. And to be drinking a bottle of good red wine donated by a friend.

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Feeling metaphorical..

On Monday this week I replaced the rear light unit on the Triumph – Steve and Caz did a sterling job patching it up to get me through the last MOT, efforts which I managed to undo a couple of months ago in a split second of numptiness which saw me backing into a low wall. I understand the boffins at Mercedez-Benz tune their doors to a soothing thunk of expensiveness – if they run out of ideas I can recommend the sound of crunching plastic as a suitably wallet-shrinking alternative. £75 quid lighter and 25 minutes older, I now have a rear unit of reassuring solidity and was able to take the bike out for a tentative loop of the A10. The steering felt rather uncertain, which I attributed to lack of familiarity with the rakishly-angled front wheel, when compared to Ruby’s teutonic uprightness.

Further exploration this morning with a tyre pressure gauge revealed that no, the wobbly handling was due to a lack of about 20 psi. I have been asking the tyre to perform handling miracles without taking steps to ensure it was adequately resourced with all the support it needed.

Here endeth the metaphor.

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