Flying Tiger
Flying Tiger
A Triumph T100 bound for the boondocks
AS WITH MOST OF MY MOTLEY CREW of collectibles, it seemed like a good idea at the time. I'd bought the mongrel Triumph—seized of cylinder, leaky of lubricant, fading of paint—with plans of returning it to its former dirtbike glory. Five years later, I was still tripping over its sorry carcass in the garage.
Time for action. The man for the job was Mike Parti, former racer and a fixture on the Southern California classic-bike scene. In between restoring early Harleys and Indians, resurrecting Vincent motors, machining brake hubs for Jay Leno’s Duesenbergs and recovering from open-heart surgery, Parti took on my 1949 Triumph T100 Tiger. Slacker.
Actually, just the engine hails from ’49. It would have been the high-performance version of ol’ Ed Turner’s famous Speed Twin, with bigger carb and bumped compression but not, alas, the zooty alloy jugs of Fonzie’s Trophy-mine makes do with common cast iron. The frame, it turns out, is 1952 vintage, marked by a curious tole in the rear downtube through
which the air-cleaner boot passed. Originally, the frame was rigid, Triumph staying away from newfangled swingarm rear suspension until 1954. But, as the photos show, my Tiger is a swinger, blows cushioned by an aftermarket Martin “Big Bear Spring Frame” kit, so named because a 650 Trumpet fitted with a prototype Martin swingarm won the 1953 Big Bear Hare and Hound ahead of 447 other
competitors, Vern Robison manning the handgrips.
Burbank motorcycle dealer Bill Martin charged all of S100 for his
swingarm kit. Constructed of chromoly tubing and boilerplate, it simply bolted on in place of the stock rigid rear section, no cutting or welding required. Besides providing 43/s inches of double-damped travel, the kit added 2 V2 inches to wheelbase, always useful in a sandwash. Right now, my Tiger wears a pair of Hagon (Girling replica) shocks, but originally the Martin kit ran-get thisl-modified Chrysler car dampers. Martin’s son, Dale, has kindly volunteered to rummage through the attic for a spare set.
Completing the Tiger with other period pieces turned into a real group effort. Parti raided his personal parts bin for a Bates headlight bracket and finned valve covers. Back in the Fifties, pre K&N, all kinds of dodges were employed to keep the Mojave’s sand out of engines. For my T100,
Parti fabbed up an Indian Chief aircleaner, some radiator hose and a lathe-turned aluminum intake runner. Bud Ekins himself chipped in with the alloy front fender, originally intended for a Matchless. The leather rear-fender pad had been knocking around the CW garage since the days of Joe Parkhurst. A local hardware store supplied the brass petcocks.
Cobra Engineering’s Tim McCool was presented with the original, rusted-beyond-rescue headers and a banged-up “cocktail shaker” muffler salvaged from the trash pile, which he then turned into the siamesed work of art seen here-it even incorporates a USFS-approved spark arrestor. The man is an alchemist. Leather artisan (and one-time desert racer) Joel Wood was dragged out of retirement to handtool the nifty leather tankbag-and, no, he won’t do one for you, so don’t ask. Finishing touches were laid on by Time Machine’s Denny Berg, who wired the bike, polished this ‘n’ that and genned up the cool aluminum chainguard (actually shower-stall track). Just completed, the bike took a Special Judges Trophy at last October’s Del Mar Concours.
A nice spiff, but three things remain to truly complete my Flying Tiger’s authenticity: dirt, dings and scratches. They’re on the way.
David Edwards
