Triumph of Hope over Expectation

Ah, Triumph. The UK’s essential bike, British as cod and frites, overpaid footballers and the race to be the Christmas number one. I can’t help it, it never fails to disappoint me as a brand; so much heritage, so much goodwill, so much, um, heritage. Admittedly, I’ve read some great reviews of its latest crop of products, which (from memory alone, you understand) have likened the Sprint ST to the crown jewels, the Daytona 675 to a triple whammy of gold, frankincense and the one no one can spell and a ride on the Street Triple to winning a Lotto double-roll-over on your birthday. When your birthday falls on December 25th. And yet, in spite of these great sounding bikes (and the Scrambler is a truly great sounding bike in the acoustic sense), plus the cross-promotional efforts of Paul Smith and, latterly, Oliver Sweeney, which has a Scrambler parked within its delectable Bond Street store, a fondness for the Triumph brand feels like carrying a Maglite for great British car marques when they were produced by British Leyland.

Maybe that Leyland comparison is more apt than I realised, conjouring images of Harold Wilson’s pipe and the three-day week. Add to that Sid James and Benny Hill, and you get to the Triumph-penned lines, recounted by Highway Lass, which claim that (the bikes’) sleek lines are artfully set off by the equally svelte curves of the models - who seem to have forgotten their leathers. An ad in a 1973 copy of Mayfair? Nope. The 2008 Triumph calendar, no less.

Always the bridesmaid (or maybe that should be matron of honour), Triumph was longlisted on the Superbrand organisation’s CoolBrands list earlier this year. And whilst Ducati came roaring in as the twelfth coolest brand in the UK, Triumph failed to make the cut. Bike magazine recently commented that Skirting Milan on a 1098S makes you a hero, a patriot, a friend. It’s a passion that’s lacking in the UK – thread through London on a Triumph and you’re just another motorcyclist. Kind of sums it up for me. But is it the fault of a worn out, cynical nation or is it that we need a little inspiration, a little encouragement that Triumph singularly fails to provide? Even its new customer magazine, entitled, in a soft-testosteroned kind of a way TriuMPH, fails to ignite any shred of interest. Niceish pictures, humdrum journalism, and. Oops, sorry, I flicked through it and nodded off.

I have huge respect for Triumph’s latest machines and so, so want to love them. But without a little stardust sprinkled over the brand, it’d be like loving Z-Cars, when what you really want is the Sweeney. No, not you, Oliver.