(written by Geoff Hill and taken from newsletter.com)
I woke the other day and realised two things almost simultaneously. Firstly, that in a few weeks, I would be riding a motorbike over half the length of the planet. Secondly, that I knew nothing about the motorbike. Or any motorbike, come to that. There was only one solution, and it was always the same one: phone Clifford.
“Don’t worry, Don,” he said. He had taken to calling me Don since he had become convinced that the entire trip would be a heroic recreation of the journeys of the Spanish knight and his faithful servant Pancho Sanchez. I hadn’t had the heart to remind him that Don Quixote was a hopeless romantic who spent his life chasing impossible dreams. Probably because it was all too accurate. “All you need to know about motorbikes is that they go until they stop. Then you take them to a mechanic.” “But Clifford, we’re starting in southern Chile, and the nearest Triumph dealer is in Mexico. God knows where the nearest Aprilia one is, for your bike.” “Good point. We’d better go down to Philip McCallen’s in Lurgan and do a basic course in bike maintenance,” he said, showing a disturbing flash of common sense. I put down the phone and rang Robert Sinton at McCallen’s, the local Triumph dealer run by former race ace Philip.
“An idiot’s guide to Tiger maintenance? No problem. Come down on Monday morning,” he said.
So it was that on Monday morning we found ourselves standing in McCallen’s workshop looking at a Tiger, the bike I’d be taking on the trip. Also looking at it, and a lot more wisely, were mechanics Paul Truesdale and Ronnie McCallen, who was no relation to Philip, apart from being his brother.
“Right,” said Clifford, obviously thinking he should ask some sensible questions, “are all the bolts metric on this?” “They are,” said Paul. “You’ll need a pair of vice grips, 8, 10, 12, 13, 14, 17, 19, 22 and 27 sockets, 17, 19 and 22mm combination spanners, 4, 5 and 6 Allen keys and a Torex T30, T40 and T55.” “Good grief,” I said, wondering what on earth a Torex T55 was. It sounded like a Russian jet, and far too big to fit in a pannier. “Is any of this in the bike’s standard toolkit?” “Not really. Look,” said Ronnie, unrolling the toolkit in question to reveal what looked like a toothpick and one of those things you used to get in the Innovations catalogue for scratching the bit of your back that you can’t reach otherwise.
“What do we do if the engine breaks down?” said Clifford, scratching his head.
“Nothing. You’re buggered. The good news is that they don’t tend to. You shouldn’t even need to change the plugs,” said Paul.
“What about the tyres?” I said suddenly, surprising everyone, particularly myself.
“Well, if you’re planning to do a couple of hundred miles a day, and you take it easy, you should get 8,000 miles out of a back one,” said Paul. “How far is it from where you start to the first Triumph dealer?” “About 8,001 miles.” “Never mind. We can just carry it the last mile,” said Clifford optimistically. “What about punctures?” “Well, if I was you, I’d buy a couple of cans of that foam which reflates the tyre and seals the puncture until you can get it somewhere it can be fixed,” said Ronnie.
“Buy puncture foam thingy,” I wrote carefully in my notebook. “And what if the radiator or oil cooler gets punctured?” said Clifford.
“You can repair both of them with epoxy resin, or Radweld, but only for smaller holes. You can even use egg white, because it congeals on contact with air. Or you can just crimp off the holed bit, if it’s not too big, but my advice would be to fit radiator and oil cooler guards, as well as crash bars for the engine and twin relays for the headlights. You’ll also need spare throttle and brake cables, and a complete set of spare fuses and bulbs. And a high windscreen. A Scott oiler with a touring size oil reservoir would be good as well,” said Paul.
I brightened up. A Scott oiler was something I’d actually heard of. It was a tank of oil which fitted under the numberplate and kept the chain constantly lubricated “Buy eggs. And Scott oiler,” I wrote.
“What if the starter motor packs in?” said Clifford, who was showing worrying signs of pessimism.
“Shut up, Clifford. You’re making me want to go home, sit in an armchair, read a Biggles book and give up the whole idea,” I said.
“The good news is that it shouldn’t. If it does, just put the bike in second gear, rock it back until the compression stops it, then take a run at it,” said Paul. “Right, let’s get the tank off and show you what’s underneath, although if you get to that stage, all hope will be lost anyway.” For the next couple of hours, we undid bolts, unscrewed nuts, took wheels off and got most of them back on. Well, half of them, anyway.
Splendid. We shook grimy hands with Paul and Ronnie, and I drove back to the office and e-mailed Andrea Friggi at Triumph to see if we could borrow some tools and get all the accessories fitted - only for her to reply: “Sorry, but we simply don’t have the tools to lend, which probably sounds bizarre. However, we build the bikes rather than service them, so the tools we have are geared to production requirements (eg air tools that can handle endless repetition). While our development workshop has hand tools, they have a set per person, and if we loan them to you someone won’t do any work for two months! You will need to obtain the extra tools you need yourself. If you gather together what you need, I’ll arrange for it to be collected and packed with the bike.
“Note though, we will have to include all the tools and spares on the carnet, and this can sometimes hold up the bike clearing customs. If you have a few days grace at the start of the trip in Santiago it might be more sensible for us to UPS all the ancillary items direct to your hotel.
“Regarding accessories, we do not make, and therefore cannot fit, for product liability reasons, crash bars, radiator and oil cooler guards or a Scott oiler. We will fit our higher screen, twin relays (if possible) and supply a complete set of spare fuses, bulbs and cables.
“Kind regards, Andrea.” Good grief, I thought, and mailed Clifford.
“Listen, a tool kit is the least of our worries - neither of us knows how to use them, anyway,” he wrote back. “Seriously, to be honest I would rather gather up our own kit - then we know what we have. I have many sources where we can beg, steal or borrow a comprehensive tool kit. We should just carry a CD-rom on basic Triumph/Aprilia maintenance in Spanish - if we break down we just let the local garage boys view it while we check into the nearest motel, watch a video of Wrong Way Round, down a few tequila shots, sleep it off and collect the repaired machines, ready to ride off into the blazing afternoon sun - Pancho Sanchez cooled by the magnificent shadow cast by the heroic and brave Don Quixote.
“Speak to you soon. Buenos Nochas. Which reminds me, I don’t know where I am going to fit in my Spanish lessons.” Oh well, I thought. At least I have a socket set at home that I bought in B&Q’s bargain section. And an adjustable spanner, or monkey wrench as my dad used to call them for no known reason, although it probably explains why we never saw a monkey around the place.
That, and the fact that we lived in Tyrone.
