The essence of a spur-of-the-moment, father-son workshop project is captured using a smartphone camera
I returned to Australia after a couple of decades overseas and was looking for a project to fill in my spare time. My dad, Hamish, had been building up a low-cost version of a 1966 Triumph TR6 SC desert sled out of the remains of a Thunderbird 650 chopper sourced through Murray’s Britbikes in Adelaide. The project had stalled after he had got the engine professionally rebuilt. I thought it would be good if we put it all together from a box of bits he had lying around. Apart from the ignition all the components are genuine old parts, not modern reproductions. I recorded the assembly on my iPhone.
The Inspiration
• Back in the 1960s, Triumph’s 650 twin ruled California’s popular desert races, which often had 500 or more open-piped British twins and singles on the startline. There are several modern versions of these desert sleds sold today, the most recent being Royal Enfield’s Bear 650.
• The TR6 SC was the ultimate factory desert sled. It came without instruments or lighting. I guess you just revved it until the valves started to bounce, then changed gear. 
Hands on
• Perhaps the most important items, apart from a toolkit with BSF and Whitworth spanners, was a copy of the 1966 parts book and workshop manual.
• Dad had these in print but there are several websites now where you can view and even download them.
• We started with a bare frame that Dad had fitted the engine to, along with rear shocks and mudguard. The first thing to do was get the project up on wheels.
Anger management
• We had a set of forks that had been fitted with new staunchions. As we were assembling this project with original parts there was a lot of stripping and cleaning but it was surprising how much could be reclaimed without replacement.
• There was a moment of crisis when we discovered a cracked frame bracket joint. This sparked a bit of Old School throwing of spanners on the floor from Dad, while I simply got out the stick welder and fixed it.
Slow progress
• We worked away in the late afternoon and evenings. I soon realised that it wasn’t going to be a quick process and developed a huge respect for the original Triumph factory workers, who would assemble one of these bikes in a few hours.
• Dad has built up a couple of these bikes in the past and said that, like working on home renovations (he’s also done a few of those), it’s best to tackle it in bite-sized chunks. One session we cleaned and tested bearings.
Old school cool
• Having a stash of old but usable parts gave the project a period patina. One cool thing was the exhaust system. Sure, you can buy new replica versions of Triumph’s TR6C high pipes but will they fit as easily as the originals? They look exposed but are quite tucked in so you won’t burn your leg on them.
• Dad had collected up a lot of chassis parts over the years, many from abandoned choppers, so there was a fair bit of chrome but that makes it easy to clean after a ride.
Tech talk
• I learnt a lot during this project. Dad said his knowledge had come from all the mistakes he made in the 1970s when he first started doing this. He said it was an era when most people were confident to have a go fixing and maintaining their motorcycles.
• He then lapsed into a sort of mantra that I couldn’t quite understand, chanting things like “a slappy tappet is a happy tappet” and “remember that the fish swims upstream when you fit the rear chain’s masterlink”.
Bright sparks
• One of the most tricky parts of a project like this is the wiring and ignition. These old Triumphs ran on an alternator system that charged a battery and used points for ignition. It’s pretty much lawnmower technology, when you think about it.
• Dad had bought a self-generating ignition system from the UK after seeing one being used on a Triumph Post Classic racer in New Zealand. It fits in the primary chaincase and there are only two wires involved.
Day of reckoning
• Finally we had the bike fully assembled and ready to fire up. But first Dad insisted that we pour heaps of oil down the tappet inspection holes. He said we had to make sure the camshafts were flooded with oil as even running them dry for a few seconds would destroy their hard coating.
• Finally he was satisfied and started kicking the bike over. It sort of coughed and that was it. After a bit of spanner-thrown-on-ground stuff he decided to check the timing.
Timed to perfection
• Sure enough, we’d misread the pamphlet that came with the ignition system. A quick rotation of the unit inside the primary and it was time to start again.
• I have to admit there was a bit of tension in the air but Dad said you always feel anxious when starting up a project like this for the first time. He carefully kicked the bike “over compression”, to use another of his mantras, and then one big kick and it burst into life, the open exhaust rattling the workshop door.
Thrash it!
• I thought we’d have it running slowly as the engine had all-new internals. But no, Dad gave it a couple of quick revs and held it at a fast idle, then looked in the oil tank to see if the fluid was circulating okay.
• Later he explained that the best way to bed in new piston rings in these types of engines is to rev them to avoid glazing the bore.
• Soon I was out in the paddock going for it. • This was such a good project to be involved in. Even the nephews got involved at the end of a day’s riding. Thanks, Dad!
WHO IS CALLUM?
Australian creative director Callum Cooper is credited with making the first smartphone film to screen at a film festival. In 2008 he built a special apparatus to capture thousands of images of London homes that he turned into a short film exploring class and wealth tensions in British society. After working in London, he undertook a fellowship at MIT in the US then led a team developing digital experiences such as the Empire State Building’s interactive Observatory Experience. Now he is Head of Digital at Sydney’s Powerhouse Museum. His interest in motorcycling started with a Yamaha TY175.
