So, let me tell you about this journey I had, a real hands-on kind of deal. It all started when I got my hands on this 2004 Triumph 955i. Wasn’t exactly looking for a project, but you know how it is, sometimes things just find you. I’d heard a bit about these bikes, the triple engine, the character, all that jazz. Figured, why not?
Getting Acquainted, The Hard Way
First thing I did was give it a good look over. It seemed okay on the surface. The previous owner, bless his heart, probably thought he was doing me a favor. I rolled it into my garage, feeling pretty optimistic. That feeling lasted about a day. I decided to do a basic service, you know, fluids, check the plugs, the usual. That’s when I started to really dig in.
Pulled off the tank, then the airbox. Found a mouse nest. Not a huge surprise with older bikes, but still, it sets a certain tone. Cleaned that out. Then I noticed some wiring that looked a bit… creative. Someone had been in there before, and not necessarily with the best intentions or skills. So, I started tracing wires, making notes, trying to decipher what was goingon.
The battery seemed a bit weak, so I put it on a charger. Next day, tried to start it. Heard that infamous Triumph sprag clutch sound. If you know, you know. If you don’t, it’s like a bag of spanners having a fight in your engine. My heart sank a bit. This wasn’t going to be a quick flip or an easy ride into the sunset.
Deep Dive and Getting My Hands Dirty
So, I committed. Ordered a new sprag clutch. While waiting for parts, I decided to go deeper. Might as well, right? I checked the valve clearances. Some were tight. Adjusted those. That was a whole afternoon of fiddly work, shims and feeler gauges. My back was killing me by the end of it.
Then I tackled the cooling system. Flushed it out, checked all the hoses. Found one that was starting to perish. Replaced that. The list just kept growing. It felt like every time I fixed one thing, I’d find two more that needed attention. I was spending more time with this bike than with my family, or so it felt.
- I pulled the injectors, cleaned them.
- I checked the throttle bodies, synced them up once I got it running.
- I even went as far as inspecting the swingarm bearings.
There were days I’d just stare at it, half-assembled, tools scattered everywhere, and think, “What have I gotten myself into?” It was a real test of patience. I learned a lot, though. Mostly through trial and error, and a fair bit of swearing. You get real intimate with a machine when you’re that deep into its guts.
The Pay-Off and What I Learned
Finally, after weeks of work, new parts, and a lot of coffee, the day came. Put it all back together. Torqued everything to spec. Held my breath and hit the starter. It turned over, coughed a bit, and then that triple engine roared to life. Properly. No horrible noises. Just that sweet, distinctive Triumph sound.
That first ride, man. It wasn’t just a ride. It was a victory lap. The bike felt tight. Responsive. That 955i engine pulls like a train, smooth and full of torque. It wasn’t like riding a modern bike, all sterile and perfect. This thing had soul. It had my sweat and frustration built into it. And because of that, it felt different. It felt mine.
People often ask me about buying older bikes. They see the glamour, but they don’t always see the grind. This 2004 Triumph 955i wasn’t just a purchase; it was an education. It taught me patience, persistence, and a whole lot about how these things are put together. It’s not for everyone, this kind of relationship with a machine. But when you bring something back, when you understand it inside and out, there’s a satisfaction you just can’t buy off a showroom floor. It’s more than just a bike now; it’s a story, a part of my own little history in the garage.
