1970 Triumph Trophy 500 T100 Competition Motorcycle, 8,000 miles,
restored and serviced as needed, period correct Purfect Purple,
matching numbers, great history, runs, drives beautifully, super
cool!
Please call Carlo Connors at 610-505-8612, or email at
[email protected], or visit www.ConnorsMotorcar.com
The whole story below:
Spring of 1970. It all happened in vivid Kodachrome, as strong as
black and white. With the February issue of Cycle magazine's road
test sacredly rolled up in his back pocket, my uncle rolls out of a
west coast showroom after a tropical vacation from this deferred
and preferred destination no more. Now landing in Jacaranda. A
purple fizz of metallic cellulose lacquer. A different tropical
color. The color of purple mountains majesty, over fruited plains.
Freedom, now from sea to shining sea. Oh, a tank of purple fishes!
Swimming laughing through your handlebars. Knowing right there and
then you have to take her, only her with you, through that
heartland on a Triumph. Whoa! Magnificent eminence! Resplendent
glory! Paid down in hard-earned cash. A purple violet as hard to
forget as the first crocus of Spring or the magical luminescence of
those psychedelic street side canopies in Southern California gone
full gonzo bloom-going boom, boom, boom, boom-knocking you right
out, right off of your feet, especially when you've been holed too
deep in the quagmire of jungle mud waiting to get back, just to
start over... This uncle, you might know the kind. While not by
blood, but by familial influence. The strong mentoring individual
who knew how to live life, and still remind you every day of
yours-if we're that lucky to ride on the shoulders of those kind of
giants. A breed apart.
"This is the fire-eater that put the 'scram' in scrambler. It's
been the Grand National Enduro Champion seven years running. Yet on
the road it behaves like a sweetheart. Try this one, and you can
forget about the rest," read the straight-to-your-face sales
brochure from Tri-Cor, Duarte... Braced handlebar, high pipes,
surfboard striped tank and stainless fenders. Folding pegs, skid
plate, enduro headlight and one gauge, a mere suggestion of speed.
No need wasting time looking back, as mirrors were optional.
Triumph built a race reputation on the revvy 500, producing AMA
Grand National champions on the track, dirt and in the desert.
T.T., for Truly Triumph. Forget circus showmen Dylan, McQueen and
Knievel, why not be a regular Romero, Nixon, Aldana or Ekins for a
day? The 500 Schwinn twin, a perfectly balanced mid-weight
motorcycle personality for over thirty years, was always cool,
always a winner.
For the first few endless summers of seventies soul, this 500 moved
between friends in Big Sur, holed up in an A-frame that was built
around a patriarchal redwood off Nacimiento-Fergusson Road where
the door was never locked and the Union key stayed in the ignition.
A yucca pack and Navajo blanket nearby. The vinyl tool bag behind
the left side panel stashed just enough sinsemilla to get started,
and get by, soul surfing the rolling turns of El Camino Real, only
stopping to oblige a sweet hitcher's thumb and beaming, blinding
sunshine smile to savor the deep blue view and roll one, Zig and
Zagging without sharing a word in need to explain... Sans souci,
there's a few faded road trip snapshots around here somewhere, if I
can find them to toss back under the seat.
Over the years, this 500 was luckily stashed for a long while in
one piece, then in the Sierras without wearing a sissybar or peanut
tank, then retired east to North Carolina before Pennsylvania for
this pit-stop, ducking the decades of bad reality shows
sacrilegiously hacking the past with torches and profanity between
Jesse and Paul.
AND NOW?
A JOY RIDE TO A MIND TRIP.
The 500 is in very good condition, cosmetic chips, hickeys and all,
reflecting care and respect while inspiring outright rowdy
enthusiasm, if not a riot of violet. It runs mannered, wild, tracks
and stops with glee. It tickles and fires right up, eager without
issue, revs a rowdy racket and wakes up every analog sense
currently deadened by overstuffed couches, working from home and
the numbing excessive screen time of Netflix, Hulu and YouTube,
where everyone else is living your life. So, here's a not so gentle
reminder to get loose, get lost, wander and just plain wonder. But
caution: overuse or late-night tears will devalue local suburban
real estate and invite neighborly intervention and forced time
outs. For quieter skin in the game back on the bench, the only
notable maintenance chores, maybe for regular use, or not, would be
replace the lazy kick/shift return springs over a pint or two if
the sunshine daydream is too relaxed for the particular - wanting
it just, right. The top end was done not long ago, and the bike
runs really well, absolutely free, has crisp throttle response,
solid compression and hits every shift while connecting an exhaust
note to the widest grin possible while eyes are pissing tears of
joy, even when it's just parked in admiration, sitting quietly over
in the corner, as is most of the time. Drooling a drip, tires going
soft. Like all our once heroic uncles.
CONCOURS RESTORATION AVOIDED.
IT'S CENTRAL COASTAL SOUL STILL AUTHENTICALLY INTACT.
Leave over the top for the Pebble Beach crowd. Best to wear a bike
in, then wear it out. Sometimes make do, just not without.
Mechanical wear items have been replaced along the merry way. This
bike rips more comfortably than a faded favorite pair of Levi's in
a hula-hoop.
RECENT SERVICE TO GET ROLLING AGAIN:
Never mind the charming, long gone, spotty factory craftsmanship as
any bugs have been long worked out. The recent usual air, gas and
spark chores included: new Dunlop K70s; Amal 626 and velo stack;
throttle/choke/clutch cables; brake job, wheel and steering
bearings greased; fresh clutch kit; replacement Lucas wire harness
sans smoke, battery, rectifier/diode combo; fork boots, wider
western bars, grey grips; tach, drive, cable and wheel spacer; all
fresh fluids, gaskets as needed. Cosmetically, all three tanks
repainted. Frame is still original stovepipe dip and gas tank
remains unlined, only etched and industrial primed without issue
but new cocks. Mid-sixties seat swapped in to match wider bars for
a more relaxed riding position. The earlier taillight housing
merely a minimal preference. Just. Right.
ORIGINAL PARTS, HIDDEN AWAY FOR KEEPS:
As interchangeable as a Triumph is between model years, these
original parts as delivered on bike, are boxed and included to bolt
back to stock trim as desired: Front stainless fender with brackets
and bolts; C model (braced) handlebars and steering lock; speedo,
cable and drive; carburetor and air cleaner; seat, grab rail and
D.O.T. tail light housing; exhaust mufflers and heat shields, (but
no fish-n-chips basket); skid plate and new center stand with
hardware. Rattled off lost along the way were the amber reflector
set, rear view mirror and that deep fryer chip basket, to be hunted
down on the side of a few roads back.
WHAT GOOD IS ANY OF IT IF IT CAN'T BE SHARED?
The 500 is now a jump ball, ready to pass around again. Of course,
any goodwill mechanical spares discovered along the way get folded
in, including Owner's/Workshop manuals, a minty sales brochure and
period road test articles. Just stay off the grass, in the tool
bag. It's way past stale. So, get going. Take it easy but take
it.
"The river flows, it flows to the sea. Wherever that river goes,
that's where I long to be. Flow river flow. Let your waters wash
down. Take me from this road to some other town." Life can't ever
pass you by as long as there are Triumphs, rolling gentle across
our minds.
