It had the misfortune of being built in British Leyland's Liverpool plant, better known for producing continuous labor strife than automobiles





The Triumph TR7 was perhaps the ultimate product of the 1970s, a period referred to as "the decade that quality control forgot." Abysmal production quality, labor strife, bad management and controversial styling all conspired to render the TR7-although a surprisingly decent seller-a tragic footnote in the last days of the British sports car empire.
By the mid-1970s, Triumph's big sports cars were decidedly long in the tooth and still clinging to outdated separate body-on-chassis construction long after rival MG had gone to unit construction. Sports car scribes were clamoring for Triumph to replace its archaic designs with a modern sports car based on one of the better saloon platforms of the day, the Dolomite.

DESIGNED IN A PUB


Triumph, which had followed an evolutionary approach to the development of its TR series of sports cars, took the bait and broke completely with tradition in designing the TR7. As legend has it, house stylist Harris Mann drew a whimsical sketch of a doorstop-shaped two-seater on a cocktail napkin in a pub-presumably near closing time and on a table of empty pints. Somehow, Mann's half-serious sketch gained traction within the British Leyland hierarchy and became the basis of the new car.
Just as fins had been the pervasive styling gimmick of the late '50s, the wedge seemed to be everywhere briefly in the mid-1970s. Triumph billed it as "The Shape of Things to Come." Mann's design incorporated well-integrated 5-mph bumpers at each end, but a totally gratuitous sweeping character line up the side and an odd fixed notchback roofline-a concession to U.S. lawmakers who were threatening to ban the convertible.
The TR7 just couldn't catch a break. Born funny-looking, it had the extreme misfortune of being slated for production in British Leyland's Speke plant in Liverpool, a virtual people's republic, better known for producing continuous labor strife than automobiles. Predictably, the disgruntled work force produced some of the shoddiest cars Britain had ever seen.

BUILT IN A MARXIST COMMUNE


Anyone considering buying a TR7 would do well to avoid a Speke-built car identified by the "A" prefix in the VIN and the huge TR7 decal on the nose. By 1978, BL had had enough of its involuntary experiment with Marxism and closed the Speke plant, moving TR7 production to Canley.
But the damage to the TR7's reputation had already been done. Even a drop-top version that alleviated most of the styling woes and an exciting V8 version, the TR8, weren't enough. The TR7 died along with the MGB, Spitfire, and TR8 in the great British sports car mass-
extinction of 1980-81.
In theory, the TR7 should have done well for BL, replacing the archaic TR6, but it was just so much water poured into a leaky bucket. The little doorstop finally brought modern unit construction to Triumph, but it also reverted to a live axle after ten years with a problematic IRS setup in the TR4A, TR250, and TR6. This provided more competent ride and handling, but such gains were overshadowed by engine and electrical problems.
Furthering the "odd" theme, power came from the 2.0-liter slant four that Triumph had been supplying to Saab for use in the 99 sedan (until Saab woke up and made its own engine in 1972). It was a poor choice instead of the 16-valve, twin-cam unit from the Dolomite Sprint sport sedan. Initially, a non-overdrive derivative of the Spitfire four-speed gearbox was used, joined later by a Rover five-speed and Triumph's first automatic.

STRANGLED BY EMISSIONS


Unfortunately, the U.S. emissions-strangled four produced a little over 90 hp, and so the TR7 was a retrograde step from the TR6 in straight-line performance (0-60 was around eleven seconds). At the time, however, this was the norm, as manufacturers struggled to deal with ever-tightening pollution regulations.
Fans of the wedge (if there are any) may wonder how things would have turned out if the car had been produced with the Dolomite's twin-cam as planned. Not to burst anyone's bubble, but the car would likely have wound up just a slightly more interesting badly built footnote. Things were that bad at BL at the time.
The thing that strikes one the most when first entering a TR7 is just how different from any other British sports car it is on the inside as well. Gone is the real wood that had been a fixture in TR cockpits since the TR4. In its place is an angular dash of black plastic that belongs in a sedan of the era. The positive end of the tradeoff is control placement that is much less haphazard than a TR6, ventilation that actually works, and a much roomier environment for two people. The tartan plaid seats, in addition to being a period piece, are decently supportive.
If you insist on owning a TR7, be forewarned that parts are not as easy to source as those on the more popular Triumphs. For hard to find stuff, Rimmer Brothers (www
.rimmerbros.co.uk) in the U.K. is your best bet, although the current exchange rate will do you no favors. Maintenance (and it will be constant) is straightforward enough.

HALF OF THE EVEN WORSE STAG


Be aware that the engine is essentially half of the (even worse) Stag V8 and will not suffer fools with tools gladly. The cylinder head studs project at an angle and inevitable corrosion makes tightening the aluminum head impossible. Stainless steel studs can partially solve this problem-but good luck pulling the head to install them. Do not overheat the engine and do change the coolant annually. Water pumps and cam chain tensioners bear watching too.
TR7s seem to be a bit more rust resistant than the older Triumphs. Whether this is simply a function of them being newer, or so failure-prone that they spent most of their lives parked in garages, is debatable. Nevertheless, be on your guard for rust, especially in convertibles or sunroof-equipped cars that may have leaked. The sunroofs are an interesting folding vinyl affair made by Webasto. Cars so equipped are almost as airy as a targa-roof car. Just make sure the top is in good order, as parts for these unique roofs are a tough proposition in the U.S.
As far as collectibles go, the TR7 seems destined to occupy the bottom rung in the hierarchy of British sports cars-one step below even the rubber-bumper MGBs, Midgets, and Spitfires. And perhaps this is unfair. A late TR7 Spider, with its special black-and-red paint scheme and TR8 alloys, is a much more attractive proposition than a teetering, rubber-bumpered 1980 Anniversary Edition MGB.
But the market is what the market is. Consider it as one of the last opportunities to drive something distinctive for less than $5,000, at the same time having a car whose ongoing self-destructive nature will make the SCM Fiat seem like a Toyota by comparison.

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