Take your time, my son...

The Triumph Tiger, popular in the USA.

Today, it's coming.

Sometime today.

I am ready from 9am, even though I know the dealer is two hours away.

The morning: nothing.

At lunchtime, I call, and the ever friendly-dealer assures me it's just being loaded.

The afternoon: nothing.

Finally, early evening, I get a call, and he's an hour away. 

7pm, it's dark and it's raining, but the phone goes again and IT'S HERE.

I go and meet the guy, his van lit up like a Christmas tree, pay him (£140). Poor guy has driven from Blackpool to Stoke on Trent, then to me, then he's going down south and finally back to Blackpool in the small hours. I feel it's a good thing his van is so festooned with lights. 

Carefully we back the bike down the ramp. The back tyre is flat, the handlebars feel like they are falling off and both stands are dragging on the ground. He warns me not to touch the brakes in case they lock up. Together we push the bike up the lane into the drive. He hands me an envelope and is gone.

Inside, there is a plesant surprise: the American title showing the date of manufacture. This is going to save me a bunch of trouble with the DVLA, as I won't need to have an expert issue a dating certificate. I do still have hoops to jump through though, including the dreaded V55/5 form, the VOSA (customs) certificate which has the wrong frame number on it, and of course the £55 fee for the pleasure.

So, the bike is in the workshop, the tea is made, it's late. What I should do is take some time to just look over the bike, see what I have, but leave it alone for now. And definitely not try to start it or anything.

What I seem to have is an amazingly original 1971 TR6R -- everything I can see is standard, just as it left the factory. This is good. Even the tyres are ancient. When was this thing last ridden? And there's nothing missing either, apart from indicators. Also good. 

Having lived its whole life in the US, where there is less weather an no road salt, it is also in amazing condition. There is zero rust. The frame is excellent, the tank is clean inside. The engine looks like someone jetwashed it -- not necessarily good.

To run, a petrol engine needs just three things: compression, fuel and spark. And not to be completely buggered obviously. Oh and some oil is a good idea too, if you want it to run for more than a minute.

First the spark. There's no battery, but I have one in the cupboard. Even though I know it's a positive earth system, I manage to connect it backwards and get a fat spark. Oops. I swich it around and... get another fat spark. Good work my son, the first thing you have done is kill the primitive voltage regulator (a zener diode, for the geeks), which turns out to be about the only part you can no longer get. Take your time.

Still, it will run without the regulator. Amazingly, the lights work and there is a spark. 

Kicking the engine over, I can feel compression is OK.

Just fuel, then. Optimistically, I pour some in, open the tap and it runs clear from the hose. I connect up the carb, it fills and doesn't leak. The tickler (gadget to over-fill the carb for cold starting) works too. 

Maybe it will start?

I'm going to start it.

Open the choke, ignition on, tickle the carb, check in neutral, cross fingers etc, and jump on the starter.

And jump. 

And jump some more.

At one point it sort of almost sounds like it wants to fire. Encouraged, I keep jumping.

Then the kickstart suddenly loses its grip on the engine, and almost turns my knee inside out. Ouch.

I hobble off to bed.

Take your time, my son, take your time.

TOTALS TO DATE: Hours: 5. Cost: £4475.