Our ride across Louisiana and Texas had shown up an unexpected issue with both Panthers. They were drinking oil. This surprised Roly as apart from being slightly unusual with a semi-wet sump system of oil containment and distribution, they were an extremely simple four-stroke engine. They were known to have a fool-proof, reliable oil pump. Of course, we were newbies to the marque and there were no publications available to us back in the UK. So apart from a small section in Modern Motorcycle Mechanics which gave basic settings, we were on our own. We’d met a small group of the owners’ club before we left but like us, they were just a group of young long-hairs with an affection for these obsolete old treasures.
With the collective knowledge of the Panther Owners’ Club’s members now able to be shared through the internet … and the fact us young long-hairs are now wizened old white-hairs, who have learned a bit over the years, we now know that
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Tilbury Plus
the Model 120s were massively over-oiled. Even from new they had what many would deem an unacceptable thirst for the black-gold. Period motorcycle road tests would often list oil consumption and the normal benchmark was 1,000 mpp … miles per pint. Panthers were rarely if ever road-tested, so their performance was not generally known. Subsequent to our adventure I have obtained a Canadian road test of a 1962 model and the oil consumption was not overtly high-lighted but recorded as 1,000 mpg which most of us would gloss over without noticing the change to gallon from pint. So from brand new, they were only getting 125 miles per pint. Another wisdom which even today not all owners realise, is that the screw-in dipstick with its two lines does not mean that you maintain an oil level between the two lines. That would be way too obvious! No, the top line is the level the engine should be filled to when freshly built. The correct running level is between the bottom of the dip-stick and the lower level, so as long as there is evidence of oil there, you are ok. By filling to the top line, as we constantly did, you are over-filling the engine and it will use that additional oil extra-ordinarily fast. To compound our mistake, we economised by buying franchised agricultural oil of a low grade, and low price.
Although disappointed in the oil consumption of Penelope and Samantha, otherwise we were trucking along well. The roads were First-World-perfect but to us the countryside was pretty dull with featureless prairies only occasionally featuring bobbing oil horses to stimulate our interest. The miles seemed pretty interminable and we were excited to finally reach Laredo. We resisted the urge to send postcards to the rugby club because we didn’t quite feel we were a success yet. The earlier failure meant I had set the bar a bit higher. I was determined to win back some respect and admiration and hoped Latin America would provide it … as long as we had enough tyres to get across Mexico!
Journeys are made in the imagination: The rest is drudgery.
Ted Simon (1931 - )
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Mexico
Chapter 3
Mexico
Departing from the US into Mexico really signalled the beginning of a new stage of the adventure. It was like being back in school and leaving the ‘primers’ and going to the ‘standards’. We knew we were leaving what we thought of as the ‘civilised’ world where everyone spoke our language and we had a modicum of control over our ways. The border crossing introduced us into a world of chaos and excitement. Suddenly we didn’t understand what was being said … or shouted in most cases. Navigating the process was bewildering. There were unexplained queues, lines of vehicles and throngs of confused-looking travellers. It was hot and dusty, just like the movies and there were insistent touts who for a fee would take you through the bureaucratic nightmare. Of course this we shunned — to our cost, as it took several hours to get visas checked, passports stamped and most vitally, our carnets filled in. The carnet was a particular problem as most travellers using their own vehicles were just going in and out of Mexico alone and had American bank documentation showing they had lodged a $10,000 bond. Our carnets were substantial documents requiring the right places being filled in and in the case of the Entry Point, part of the relevant page removed. Ours further confused them as they were all in my name, simply because all the bikes were mine. For some reason, this seemed to create suspicion. We knew that this was a key document to be fastidiously completed because if it wasn’t, it might compromise the refunding of the monies that had been lodged on our behalf back in London.
Finally, we got through and into the colour and vitality of Mexico, across the Rio Grande, through Nuevo Laredo and on the road to Monterrey. We resisted the fleshpots of Nuevo Laredo as it all looked a bit tourist-tacky and we were eager to
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no one said it would be easy
get on … we’re travellers not tourists … far superior! This was now the ‘real deal’ or at least the beginning of it. We were naturally quite excited. Our little crew was gelling beautifully with Lawrie’s amusing, laid-back ways keeping the spirits high, and Roly’s fastidious maintenance regime keeping the wheels spinning. As titular head, and keeper of The South American Handbook, my role was to keep us heading the right way, to look up what we might encounter along the way and impart this knowledge to all.
Monterrey introduced us to city camping. Camping to us had always meant nice green spaces, either ones we found ourselves or the lovely American State and National Parks. This was our first encounter with the philosophy that camping meant caravans or motorhomes, not tents. To this end, the areas available were all either sealed or hard-packed gravel, ideal for vehicular movement, not for tents or tent pegs. Very much here we were second-class citizens unrealistically wanting a grassed area to put up our humble shelter. Monterrey was an important pause for us as it was a ‘mail’ stop. It was with great excitement that we rode the bus into the centre of the city in search of the Poste Restante. The Poste Restante mail service was traditionally the only way that travellers could receive mail and was simplicity itself. The service was provided by the main Post Office of a city or town. They had a repository to hold mail. No address was needed because the Post Office was in effect delivering to itself. So Steph and others had been told to send mail to the Poste Restante, Monterrey, Mexico. We all got mail and for me, it was wonderful getting a letter from Steph even though it didn't have much to tell me, but sure filled the cockles with much warmth. A letter from home told us that Roly and I now had a second niece, born on Christmas Eve. Mum also passed on the wisdom ‘keep well, and always think things through, as often that saves a few mistakes’. She also urged me to ‘try and spare a line or two for us pensioners won’t you, and tell us either where you’ve been or where you’re likely to go … and then we’ll feel part of our family still.’ Grammatically not up to her usual high standard but I felt for them. They had just had their 38th Wedding Anniversary and their first ever Christmas with no off-spring present.
There had been no news from Anne so we were unsure of her movements or likely rendezvous point and time. Steph was still in