Perth to Melbourne on a 1951 Triumph
Words & Photos: Stevan Payne
Stevan Payne is a long-term British bike owner and enthusiast. His 1951 Triumph T100 is his pride and joy, but that doesn’t mean it gets pampered.
Stevan rides it regularly and knows its good points – and bad points! – intimately. As such, he felt confident that he could ride the T100 from his home in Perth to the All British Rally in Newstead, Victoria – a journey of 3,300kms.
Stevan tells the story of how he, and his trusty Triumph, almost made it…
So here I was, with a disassembled bike in Ceduna, five days into a trip that was only supposed to last five days in total. But here I was still 1,300km short of my goal.
I was having one of those ‘seemed like a good idea at the time’ moments - ride my 67-year-old Triumph T100 from Western Australia to the All British Rally in Victoria – but all I could think of at the time, with a broken bike and an almost broken spirit, was that Ceduna was HOT!
The Idea. . . and making it a Reality
To backtrack a little and explain how this crazy idea started, my first plan wasn’t to actually ride my 1951 Triumph T100 from Perth to Newstead for the 2018 All British Rally (ABR), but I’ll get to that.
I’ve crossed our grand continent many times on bikes, albeit modern faster ones, so the journey itself wasn’t that epic. I’d ridden or driven the last six years in a row from Perth to attend the Stephen Walter Foundation’s Snowy Ride, too, so I knew the route and the demands it makes.
I love any journey, but crossing the Nullabor, well, it’s just different… After all, it’s the journey not the destination, right?
Back in early 2018 my ‘Plan A’ was to put the Triumph on a trailer and drive across to Melbourne, then ride with my friends to that year’s ABR - a perfectly sensible and a pleasant way to spend a couple of weeks.
A week and a half before the trip, though, somebody came roaring through a roundabout and smashed into my car. Enter ‘Plan B’ – ride the Triumph to the ABR instead. I had secretly been cooking Plan B anyway, so didn’t really need an excuse. Now I had one!
I had paid my ABR entry fee months before… so I had to go. At least, that’s what I told myself!
So, with no car, I’d now ride my beautifully-restored 1951 T100 Tiger to the ABR and back.
Allocating five days for the run, I’d go to Melbourne first to meet friends, then travel with them to the rally site at Newstead.
According to Mr or Mrs Google, I had 3,274 kilometres ahead of me to reach Melbourne, plus an extra 138km to Newstead - so, roughly a 7,000km round trip. And I needed to be there on the evening of Friday, 20th April… should be doable!
Attending the ABR was hardly a life long ambition (that’s another story entirely), a meticulously planned sojourn into the unknown, or an epic adventure to be ticked off the bucket list.
No, this trip was none of those things, but it was certainly more adventurous than a Saturday ride into the hills with the other fellas for a coffee to talk rubbish for an hour or so. This ride would be a lot longer and contain a lot more rubbish!
Tough Test for a Tiger
I fussed over and readied my old Tiger as best I could, got the local sparky to attend to the dysfunctional lights, filled her with new oil, checked all the nuts, bolts and controls, stroked the tank and amassed what I thought was a logical kit of spares.
I had every confidence in the Triumph’s totally rebuilt motor, as it purred at 85-90km/h road speeds, started easily (most times, when I remembered to turn the fuel on!) and generally felt as tough as nails.
The York Motorcycle Festival hillclimb was on the 14th April, so I’d planned to test the Tiger there. If nothing fell off and she was able to get up the hill a few times without complaining, then I’d ride all the way to Melbourne… perfect reasoning!
When I was notified my car was ready to be picked up from the panel beaters on Friday, 13th April, I wasn’t really interested in getting it back, but there it was: I now had a choice - and a perfectly good reason to be ‘sensible’.
Drive or Ride? I slept on it, then woke with the determination to ride! I would start my cross-continent trek by riding to York (100km east of Perth) with a friend to check out the hillclimb, then continue on to the ABR from there.
First Miles, First Problem
Nothing beats preparing and leaving for a ride, and I was full of it. I ran around like an excited teenager, loaded the Tiger, got my gear on, started her up, said my ‘See you laters’ and steered out of the driveway.
The ride to York was enjoyable and a great way to start the trip. The festival was very busy with thousands of bikes and people, but after a run around the bikes and the trade stalls, I said my farewells and it was time to go – on a much longer run!
As I left York, I immediately noticed a slight grumbling from below (the bike, not me!) that seemed driveline-related. I pulled up, had a thorough listen and determined that the primary chain might need checking. Sure enough, after unscrewing the inspection cap, I could see it was loose. Ten minutes later, with the chain now taut, I was on my way, very chuffed that I had handled this first mechanical situation. I instantly felt connected to my little Tiger.
I pulled over a couple more times on the way to Southern Cross, my first night stop, to check her over again and pop some fuel in. I needed to get a handle on the Tiger’s fuel consumption and worked out she drank six litres for 200km - not bad at all.
The lights, however, had already started to dim and by the time I’d pulled up for the night they were all but done. Never mind, I wouldn’t be riding at night – or so I thought.
I’d loaded my camping gear onto the Tiger, but that was mainly for the rally. I figured I’d be too knackered at the end of each day, so would motel it on the way over. The return journey would be more relaxed, so I planned to pick out a few nice camping spots and spend time perusing the local area and taking pictures.
I eventually got a good system going for placement of all the gear on the bike and it only took a few minutes to attach it each morning. I was impressed at how the old girl handled the combined weight of myself and the tools, clothes, camping gear and other stuff. The rebuilt sprung hub rear end needed a bit of weight on it to be at its best, as there’s not a lot of damping there, but it rode well… if the road wasn’t too bumpy.
What is it about waking up early in anticipation of the journey ahead? The planning, organising your kit, loading it, getting the riding gear on and that first sound of the motor chugging into life. Just hearing that mechanical sound, similar to marbles being shaken in a jar, makes me feel alive, purposeful and full of anticipation for the day ahead.
After double checking everything, I topped the Tiger up with fuel, topped myself up with a strong black coffee then headed off - the real journey had begun.
Leaving Southern Cross on the way to Cocklebiddy, Day Two went perfectly - I was comfortable in the saddle, the little Triumph thrummed enthusiastically with minimal vibration and all was good with the world. It was bloody cold, but I didn’t give a toss and once the sun was up, the temperature couldn’t be more perfect.
I had no running lights, but there seemed to be enough charge in the battery to work the pitifully dull brake light, while my arms were the indicators.
I only made Caiguna that day - 70km short of Cocklebiddy – but had still covered more than 700km. At an average of 85km/h, I wasn’t getting as far as I usually would, but that was cool. The bike and I had settled into a rhythm along Australia’s longest bit of straight road. I didn’t see any ’roos and there was virtually no wind, either.
Dolphin to the Rescue
The next day, I ambitiously thought Ceduna – almost 900km away - might be achievable and had I not experienced two problems I’m pretty sure I would have made it.
The main jet fell out of the (brand new) carburettor somewhere near Eucla on the WA/SA border. It took a while to work that out, but I was soon on my way again, grinning like an idiot at another problem fixed.
However, soon after that win, the grumbling experienced on Day One reappeared, worse this time. As I pulled into the Nullarbor roadhouse, the primary chain was making a fair old racket.
An hour later, and with the help of an eastbound couple that took an interest in what was going on, I soon had the chain tightened. They were heading to a wedding in Perth but took time out to make sure I was OK. Despite me having most of the tools needed, they opened the vast tool chest in the back of their ute and said, ‘What do you need?’ This interest and ready assistance set what was to be a constant theme on this journey: people being good people.
On the road again, the delay ensured making Ceduna by nightfall was out of the question, so I forged ahead with a plan that if I wasn’t going to make Nundroo (around 150km short of Ceduna), I’d pitch the tent at Yalata.
With the early evening sky turning purple and orange, I still thought I’d make Nundroo, so sped past Yalata, but it’s amazing how Mother Nature seems to know you’re trying to cheat - she switched the lights off about ten minutes later!
So, around 40km away from Nundroo and with no working lights, I stopped and dug out my trusty Dolphin torch and strapped it to the top of the sleeping bag tied to the Triumph’s tank rack. The LED torch was actually better than the Triumph headlight; so much so that I got flashed a couple of times by oncoming cars!
All was well, at least until the torch’s battery failed about five kilometres out of Nundroo. No problem, though, as I could see the glow of the roadhouse lights in the distance.
After rolling up to the pumps, I became the subject of great interest from a local family while refuelling. For about five minutes, I espoused the virtues of one of Triumph’s finest to a nine-year-old aboriginal girl, who then shared her newfound knowledge with the rest of the family.
After organising a bed for the night, I parked the Tiger up and went over her as best I could. To my surprise, everything seemed to be in good order, apart from the lights. Even the primary chain had maintained its tension. Showered and fed, I slumped into bed, Jack Johnson seeping through the speaker of my phone.
I wanted to get an early start the next day, Day Four of my trek, so set the alarm for 5:30am. By the time a few shards of streaky red morning sky had appeared, I was up, showered, fed and had the bike ready to go. With new batteries in the Dolphin, the little Triumph rumbled into its mechanical synchronicity and I was away.
East of Nundroo, visibility was poor and the fog so thick at the bottom of the undulating hills that I could barely see where I was going, so was relieved whenever I poked above the fog at the top of each rise.
The road to Penong flattened out, but the fog didn’t clear, so I rode as close to the edge of the bitumen as I dared, on high alert for traffic, ready to take to the dirt if needed.
Finally, the fog lifted to reveal the highway ahead, so I upped the speed a little. It was still bloody freezing, but at least I could see where I was going!
After stopping at Penong for coffee and making sure I had plenty of fuel, I was on my way again. Suddenly, there wasn’t a cloud in the sky - its iridescent blue, above the reds, greens and various other shades of the universe, combined with the warming sun and the sweet noise coming from beneath me made everything right with the world…
The Chains that (Don’t) Bind
With Ceduna still ahead of me, the rumbling from the driveline started again, this time with a vengeance.
I’d drained the oil from the chain case (it was leaking anyway) and had been spraying the primary chain with chain lube every 100km or so. I hoped that would keep the worn-out chain moving freely, but the noise, vibration and occasional clunk as the chain slipped over the teeth on the clutch basket told me otherwise.
Forced to regularly stop and adjust the chain, I had run out of adjustment by the time I reached Ceduna, cautiously puttering along at 20km/h. I asked at the fruit inspection hut if there was anyone in town that worked on motorcycles. I was told ‘No’ and that there hadn’t had a motorbike shop in town for years. I eventually found a service garage, that allotted me a bit of concrete so I could strip the Tiger down.
After removing the chain cover, I could see that the chain was stretched waaaaaaay beyond its normal length: not surprising, really. But worryingly, the teeth on the clutch basket were rounded, too. After consulting Google, I managed to locate and contact a chain supplier in Adelaide, who posted off a new chain.
A day later, Thursday, 19th April, the chain was delivered - all ten feet of it, as that was the only way I could buy it. After some measuring and cutting, the chain was fitted, but all was not well. With the amount of adjustment available, the chain was either too short or too long - I needed a half link. Bugger! I elected to run the new chain loose, which isn’t a great idea as the teeth on the clutch basket were already knackered. But I had no choice - if I was to make the ABR at all, I had to keep going.
As it was, it looked like I might make Newstead (the Melbourne detour was now out of the question) by late evening on Friday, 20th April – the first day of the rally.
It was 2:00pm by the time I left Ceduna, and according to Google Maps, I had 20 hours of riding ahead, but I couldn’t let the time get to me; I just had to keep going. For me, the distance was possible, but whether the little Tiger would hold up was another matter.
Getting out of Ceduna, the gradient was no challenge for the 500 and she was purring along nicely. All seemed good at Poochera 140km later, and I had a tiny bit of chain adjustment left but was hoping I could get away with it. My aim that day was to get to Kimba, a further 170km past Poochera, and, with the aid of the Dolphin, I made it there by 8:30pm.
After putting the bike together in 30-degree heat, then riding for more than 300kms, I was never more ready for a bed!
Determined to make the ABR on its opening day, I was up and riding soon after 4:00am on Friday, 20th April. If I was to make the rally, I had to ride solidly for almost twelve hours - how hard could that be? Unassisted? In the rain?
The new heavy-duty primary chain was holding up pretty well, but outside of Port Augusta, that familiar noise appeared again, along with the occasional thump as the chain jumped the teeth on the clutch basket. I stopped, utilised the last bit of adjustment I had, poured on some more chain oil and continued on, buoyed by the fact that the little Tiger had come this far - and was still going…
Mossey to the Rescue
I ignored the first misfire - ‘A bit of crap in the fuel,’ I mumbled to myself. The second and third came soon after and then one cylinder disappeared altogether; this I could not ignore.
At the first opportunity, I did a u-turn and headed back toward the nearest servo, but only 100 metres later, the Tiger stopped altogether. ‘Maybe the main jet had fallen out again,’ I thought, but I wasn’t confident as I took the carburettor off. All good there, so I pulled the plugs out, checked the leads and pick ups and there I found the problem - both pick ups on the magneto had been chewed out.
I suppose the sight of a very old Triumph on the side of the road, loaded up with gear and with tools spread all over the place was a rare occurrence around Port Augusta, as no less than five people stopped to see if I was OK. None were able to help, but one older gentleman, Sid, went to the servo to fetch me water and a hot dog. He was equally keen to fetch his trailer, so he could rescue me. It never ceases to amaze me what lengths people are prepared to go to, to help someone in strife.
With the temperature rising, I managed to push the old girl 2km to the service station, then googled some help. I also rang the fine lady in Adelaide who sent me the replacement primary chain. She had agreed to take the half link I needed home with her, where I would meet her and fit it, thereby eliminating any future issues with the primary chain - I still had to get back to Perth after all!
A phone call to a very helpful fella in Adelaide gave me the contact for ‘Mossey’; a Triumph enthusiast and collector that, as luck would have it, lived in Port Augusta. How does that work?
He was an hour or so away, but said to stay put and he would find me. True to his word, Mossey turned up and we loaded the wounded Triumph into his van for the trip to his workshop. I say ‘workshop’, but wow, I’ve never seen so many Triumphs in one shed. Two sheds, actually. Or was it three? Amazing!
Even more amazing was the fact that Mossey removed the Lucas magneto from his racing Triumph - a 152mph Lake Gairdner special - and fitted it to my Tiger. His expertise in these matters was obvious and it wasn’t long before the little Triumph was purring away again. I was so chuffed!
A grand Thai take away and bed for the night was way more than I could ask for from my magnificent hosts.
By now, it was obvious that the best I could hope for was to get to the ABR on the night of Saturday, 21st April - enough time to meet my friends, have a drink, pitch the tent and have a look around the rally site the next day. After all that had been encountered so far, I was happy with that idea.
More Chain Pain
On Day Six of what was supposed to be a five-day trip and still not in Newstead, my first stop after Mossey’s rescue was Port Wakefield: 200km out of Port Augusta, but still around 100km short of Adelaide and the half link I needed for the primary chain.
Pulling out of the servo at Port Wakefield, the chain jumped a tooth and got worse from there. I tried in vain to get some more adjustment but there was none to be had. So, battle on! I had to be very careful with the throttle as the merest acceleration would cause a mighty racket and the jumping of teeth. Limping into the outskirts of Adelaide, I found the address of my chain saviour, but didn’t get there until midday so, unsurprisingly, no-one was home. I rang her number and fortunately she was not far away and agreed to come home from a kid’s birthday party to give me the half link.
I was racking up a lot of favours on this trip and felt guilty but relieved when she arrived. I had stripped the bike on the pavement in front of her house and proceeded to put everything back together. One small issue, though - the half link was for a different chain! I couldn’t find a wall to bash my head against, so I sat on the grass and sulked for a while, realising now that there was no way I could make the rally.
Later, when my new best friend returned from the party and I explained the problem, she jumped in her car, went to the factory and bought back a whole new chain. This one had the same pitch as the earlier replacement but was heavier again. More importantly, it matched the new half link.
I was speechless; it wasn’t her fault the half link had been put in the wrong packaging, but she went above and beyond to help.
So, by the time I got moving again, it was 4:00pm on Saturday, 20th April and any hopes of attending the ABR had now evaporated. My new goal was to get to Melbourne, have a few days’ rest, then a relaxed ride back to Perth, hopefully with all of the problems sorted!
As I headed into Adelaide with the old girl running beautifully and what seemed like ten more horsepower, I was in a good place again!
After a long day, I was stuffed and looking forward to bed, however not one of the five motels I tried had a vacancy. With no option but to ride on, and having to resurrect the services of the Dolphin again, riding in ‘civilisation’ meant I also had rig something up for the tail light, so I bought a small torch and some lollies with red wrappers at a supermarket. With the torch taped to the stop light mount, and the wrappers over the lens, I had a tail light!
Soaring toward Tailem Bend, I was certain I would find a room there - I always had in the past. Nope, it was the first race meeting at ‘The Bend Motorsports Park’, so not one room was available. Anywhere!
If I was to stay here, it looked very much like the caravan park, so I decided to go on to Coonalpyn; if there was nothing there I would curl up in the sleeping bag next to the bike, but a brand new BP service station at the turn off for the track provided salvation when the good ladies there said I could curl up in the Truckies Room. Emotionally and physically drained, I had the best night’s sleep of the entire trip.
At 5:00am the next morning – Day Seven - I was ready to go again when I noticed a busload of Asian tourists gathered around the Tiger. For 15 minutes, they chatted to me about Triumphs and there was very little they didn’t know about all the models, years, etc. - I was well impressed!
Heading into the morning fog with my jury-rigged torches, the old girl was running perfectly: Mossey’s racing magneto delivered power to spare (relatively speaking of course!) and when I topped up with fuel at Keith, the little Tiger had drank just 7 litres for 266km.
The Ballan Incident
From Keith, it was a pleasant and uneventful trip into Victoria – at least until I got to Ballan. Bridge works there meant traffic was two way, with east bound traffic diverted onto the west bound lane. The traffic was halted with no room to overtake, so I slowed to a stop, too… then Screech! Bang!! Suddenly I was flying through the air.
Hit from behind, I wasn’t hurt, just stunned. People had gathered, asking me if I was OK. I was lying under the Tiger but managed to pull myself up once the bike had been lifted off me.
Apart from a bruised leg, I came out of it fine, but there’s no doubt I was extremely lucky. The Triumph was in a bad way, though; mainly the rear end, including the wheel, mudguard and various brackets. The front mudguard had also taken a hit.
‘Is this really how it ends?’ I thought. I couldn’t believe I’d made it this far - even with all the issues - just to have it go pear-shaped an hour short of Melbourne.
I was more disappointed at not getting to the rally. After all, that was the main reason for this little adventure.
Take Two
Despite the accident and all the other dramas that preceded it, I still enjoyed the trip.
I learned heaps about the bike, about being more prepared, taking more time and planning things a bit better. As much as I try, that’s not really me, though - I tend to do things on a whim and no doubt that’ll get the better of me one day!
The main thing I learnt though, or perhaps it just confirmed my perception, is that the true human spirit is alive and well in most people.
Within months of the accident, the Tiger was fully repaired and I’ve committed to attending this year’s ABR with my Triumph Tiger now sporting a big ’ol Canterbury sidecar. Maybe I’ll see you there. If you see me, come up and say g’day. As you can tell from this article, I’ve got plenty of stories to tell!
