Triumph Bonneville T120

That 649cc twin pulls hard from 3,500 rpm and just keeps building — at 6,000 rpm on an open A-road it feels genuinely urgent, not just fast-for-its-era. The pre-unit gearbox needs a deliberate, unhurried hand; rush it and you'll get neutrals between second and third that'll embarrass you at a junction. Oil leaks from the primary chaincase and pushrod tunnels aren't a maybe, they're a when — budget time on the garage floor every few weeks. But when it's right, the twin carbs breathing in sync and that exhaust crackling on the overrun, there's a mechanical honesty here that no modern retro has ever fully captured.

The unit-construction engine was a genuine step forward — tighter, less prone to the oil weeping that plagued pre-unit bikes, and the integrated gearbox actually shifts with some confidence once you learn its deliberate, clunky rhythm. At speed on an open A-road, the Bonnie pulls hard through the midrange with that distinctive parallel-twin throb that no modern bike has quite replicated, and at 175 km/h it feels genuinely alive rather than merely fast. The downsides are real though: Lucas electrics remain an ongoing negotiation rather than a system you trust, points ignition demands frequent attention, and the front drum brake is adequate at best — haul on it hard in an emergency and you'll be revising your expectations sharply. I've owned two of these across a decade and the honest truth is you maintain the relationship as much as you ride it, but nothing else from this era rewards that investment so completely.

I ran a '72 T120 for two seasons and the oil-in-frame concept was either genius or madness depending on which week you asked me — the raised oil location shifted the centre of gravity noticeably higher, making slow-speed manoeuvring feel oddly top-heavy compared to my old '69. On open roads above 80 km/h it settles beautifully, that 649cc parallel twin pulling with that characteristic breathy growl right through to an honest 160 km/h before things get agricultural. The revised geometry tightened steering response but introduced a nervousness mid-corner that earlier Bonnevilles simply didn't have. Oil leaks from the frame junction welds were a genuine period problem — mine seeped constantly until a specialist re-sealed the lower frame section, and that's a cost and headache Triumph should have sorted before shipping.

That 744cc twin still has a voice like nothing else on the road — a proper thump at low revs that turns into a hard, mechanical bark past five grand, and I never got tired of hearing it. The oil-in-frame revision helped with cooling on long summer runs, though the frame itself always felt slightly nervous in fast sweepers, like it couldn't quite commit to what the engine was promising. The new front disc brake was a genuine step forward over the old twin-leading-shoe drum, but 'improved' is relative — two fingers and faith is still the operating procedure in the wet. US-spec emission-strangled carb jetting made the low-to-mid throttle response woolly and irritating, and sorting that out was the first thing any sensible owner did before the bike left the driveway.

After 18 months and 14,000 km on an '09 T100 and a borrowed T120, I can tell you the 865 Bonnie is genuinely good rather than just pretty — the parallel twin pulls cleanly from 3,000 rpm, feels alive in the midrange, and rewards lazy, unhurried riding in a way modern bikes rarely do. Fuel injection sorted the cold-start carburetor drama of early Hinckley bikes, though throttle response below 2,500 rpm stays slightly wooden until the engine warms through. At 224 kg wet it's heavier than it looks, and that becomes obvious manoeuvring in car parks or when a slow-speed tip catches you off guard. The seat is genuinely comfortable for two-hour stints but the stock suspension is set up soft — hit a mid-corner bump at pace and the rear squirms in a way that'll tighten your grip on the bars.