May 30
For even in a journey we take together, we follow different motivations. For a single destination may be preceded by distinct paths. For the same path may be tread with different strides. For the same strides may be taken on different ground. For unless we match each other stride for stride, somewhere down this path, on each others foot will we tread.
And a similar fate was sealed for Spiderweb and Motorbreath. For Spiderweb does not do slow. Two digits are a necessary evil to get to three. Speed is as essential as air. Without it, he suffocates. The absence of speed leads to boredom, boredom to sluggishness, sluggishness to mistakes, mistakes to disaster. Or so he reasons...
For Motorbreath cannot follow; his steed broken, beaten down by the sands of time and a mistake - a mistake to leave her wounds unbandaged - a throbbing silencer, a painfully bald tyre. She will ride as hard as she can; but three digits are torture.
For the two shall collide, one accusing the other of wastefully stretching timelines. I believe the exact words were "You are slowing the group down." For the other is unable to verbalize the insanity of the accusation, choosing instead to pace and obscure the hurt behind the veil of smokes. For never the twain shall meet except in pretense.
For the fast shall be furious; leaving us biting his dust, letting us catch up on toll bridges. Catch up we will only to be left biting his dust again, an exercise in frustration and fatigue.
For I remain a bystander in the friction, for now. My steed can outrun them all, but a promise I have made and a promise I will keep. For I shall become the source of friction in the days to come, doing all that I promised I would not do, forgetting I am all of 33 for I behave all of 10. But I'm getting ahead of the story here.
Friction is inconvenient at best; dangerous at worst. But it exists; threatening to jeopardize our odyssey, break our spirits. Succeed it will not. For come rain or shine, we know to do one and one thing alone. We ride on.
Tuesday, July 13, 2010
Section 2: The Journey > Chapter 6: No tank you.
May 30
Sometimes the Universe conspires in our favour. And today was to be that day. For a few furlongs into the ride, a tractor with a dismembered wheel, lying carelessly in the shade of a raw construction, catches our eye. The idle rim hinting at the possibility of capable hands behind the wheel. We follow the dirt track to the construction and as we do, a greased human bobs up into our view port. We ask for help and, to our relief, we get it. He gets to work, removing the seat, disentangling the tank from the rest of the machine; but not before he empties the fuel into 2 large canisters. He flips over the tank so we may view its innards; his face beaming through multiple cracks. It will need to be gas welded. It will need to be taken elsewhere for our saviour in shining grease hasn't the equipment. And so, he, along with an aid who hugs the tank like he has loved no other, hop on their trusty scooter and leave us with a promise to be back within the hour.
Facebook update: Motors bike tank leaking. Gas welding being done @50 bucks.
30 May at 09:54 via Text message
Satyen Poojary
M-Seal lagao ;) ... Where are you guys now?
30 May at 10:23
Gopinath Venugopal
Day One..rocking.
30 May at 10:26
Anil Correa
no wonder he was able to put 21 liters of fuel in it.
30 May at 10:28
Adway Kudalkar
@anil yeah... :)
30 May at 12:08
Snehil Pandey
hahaha...thank god pata chal gaya
30 May at 12:51
Sagar Raikar
kaun bola 21l bharne
31 May at 00:11
We idle our time away; sometimes toying with our phones, mostly indulging in pointless discussions on Karizma vs Pulsar perpetuated by their respective owners. I am reluctant to call these discussions "debates" for they would have to have the intellectual equivalence of "My father is better than your father" in the debating realm. Spiderweb manages to activate GPRS on his trusty phone and installs Google Latitude - a magnificent GPS Navigation system telling us where we are, where we want to be (with a little help from us) and how to get from here to there. The system will help us out of some tight spots in the days to come. My phone gives in to a dying battery. Nothing unproductive left to do. I remove my jacket, fold it up, find myself some shade and drift into oblivion.
I'm awakened by Motorbreath announcing that our saviour has since returned. The cracks have disappeared. Brand new scratches have been carefully added to the contraption, perhaps as a memento to remind Motorbreath of this day. Motorbreath isn't thrilled. He did not say so. I deduced it from the number of times he uttered F*** in ten seconds. A few more minutes dedicated to cursing his mechanic in Mumbai who failed to spot this issue and we are back in the saddle again.
It's nearing noon now. We expect it to be frighteningly hot. But things are about to get cold... very cold.
Sometimes the Universe conspires in our favour. And today was to be that day. For a few furlongs into the ride, a tractor with a dismembered wheel, lying carelessly in the shade of a raw construction, catches our eye. The idle rim hinting at the possibility of capable hands behind the wheel. We follow the dirt track to the construction and as we do, a greased human bobs up into our view port. We ask for help and, to our relief, we get it. He gets to work, removing the seat, disentangling the tank from the rest of the machine; but not before he empties the fuel into 2 large canisters. He flips over the tank so we may view its innards; his face beaming through multiple cracks. It will need to be gas welded. It will need to be taken elsewhere for our saviour in shining grease hasn't the equipment. And so, he, along with an aid who hugs the tank like he has loved no other, hop on their trusty scooter and leave us with a promise to be back within the hour.
Facebook update: Motors bike tank leaking. Gas welding being done @50 bucks.
30 May at 09:54 via Text message
Satyen Poojary
M-Seal lagao ;) ... Where are you guys now?
30 May at 10:23
Gopinath Venugopal
Day One..rocking.
30 May at 10:26
Anil Correa
no wonder he was able to put 21 liters of fuel in it.
30 May at 10:28
Adway Kudalkar
@anil yeah... :)
30 May at 12:08
Snehil Pandey
hahaha...thank god pata chal gaya
30 May at 12:51
Sagar Raikar
kaun bola 21l bharne
31 May at 00:11
We idle our time away; sometimes toying with our phones, mostly indulging in pointless discussions on Karizma vs Pulsar perpetuated by their respective owners. I am reluctant to call these discussions "debates" for they would have to have the intellectual equivalence of "My father is better than your father" in the debating realm. Spiderweb manages to activate GPRS on his trusty phone and installs Google Latitude - a magnificent GPS Navigation system telling us where we are, where we want to be (with a little help from us) and how to get from here to there. The system will help us out of some tight spots in the days to come. My phone gives in to a dying battery. Nothing unproductive left to do. I remove my jacket, fold it up, find myself some shade and drift into oblivion.
I'm awakened by Motorbreath announcing that our saviour has since returned. The cracks have disappeared. Brand new scratches have been carefully added to the contraption, perhaps as a memento to remind Motorbreath of this day. Motorbreath isn't thrilled. He did not say so. I deduced it from the number of times he uttered F*** in ten seconds. A few more minutes dedicated to cursing his mechanic in Mumbai who failed to spot this issue and we are back in the saddle again.
It's nearing noon now. We expect it to be frighteningly hot. But things are about to get cold... very cold.
Saturday, July 10, 2010
Section 2: The Journey > Chapter 5: Gujarat in my window
May 30th
When I digressed last, Motorbreath wasn't in my viewport. Few seconds out, and there he is, a red-black spec of flesh and metal riding into my view horizon. As he pulls alongside me, he gestures indicating his steed cannot cope with speeds beyond a 110kmph. He rides ahead to demonstrate. With full throttle, and me tailing closely behind, he blasts off into the ether once more. And no sooner does my speedometer register a 110, sure enough, his steed starts stalling. To further impress his point, Motorbreath crouches over to minimize drag. Nope; his speedo stays defiantly at 1-1-0. I notice one additional problem. His silencer is quivering, hanging precariously from the steed as an extraneous limb. Motorbreath is more than aware of the problem; for through the remainder of our journey, his worn-out tyres and broken silencer cause him, and us, a great deal of anxiety.
As the six lane highway dissolves into a one lane with two-way traffic, three digit speeds become a luxury. Thankfully, the tarmac seems to be in mint condition - a welcome respite in otherwise aggravating riding conditions. Aggravating, for vehicle discipline is vastly undermined on one lanes. Oncoming vehicles plagiarizing our space, pushing us into extremities of the tarmac in a bid to shave off a few minutes from what is possibly their daily commute and doing so with an apologetic smile as if to say, "I'm sorry I'm nearly trying to kill you; but 5 minutes of my time are perhaps more precious then the lifetime that lays ahead of you. Sorry again. Don't be a stranger now! I'll screw you again soon.". The absurdity is not restricted to one lane. It translates equally well into 2, 4 and 6. Even dividers don't prevent some from attempting murder on our side of the tardom. We frequently encounter these smiling serial killers on motor heading directly toward us on a corner in the middle of a cornering lean, only to have to shift our weight, redirect the machine's momentum and steer clear of Dhansukhbhai and family. But I'm getting ahead of the story here...
Aggravating or not, our progress is tempered. For once, I get my chance to give Gujarat the eye. And while I'm painfully aware that whatever little is offered up by the NH8 through the window of my hardhat is not representative of Gujarat in all its glory, I'm blessed to have a flavour of its experience. For I have been here before; when I was just a boy. The memories have since faded; those that stood beside me then, stand beside me no more. Them I remember in this moment.
Maybe its just me but I notice a certain softness to the nature of Nature in Gujarat; a quiet contradiction to the raw spirit of Maharashtra. Paddy fields run alongside for miles. Parrot green rickshaws with yellow hats carrying at least 15 passengers; all you see of them are their heads - like a bouquet of human faces wrapped neatly in steel.
I see faces; each one with a story of his or her own. The young offer a look of bewilderment and excitement over our outlandish appearance; the middle-aged, quiet smiles and glances, often looking away as if to catch a dream of their own; the old - a glazed look of anguish and indifference. Of course I generalize. For there is evidence of indifference in youth and of dream-catchers without pearly whites.
Our journey seems to be progressing at discernible pace; no nasty surprises so far except for one.
Facebook update: Bee splattered on motors helmet n left big foul stench!
30 May at 07:10 via Text message
Winsey Varghese
lol :P
thats normal ;)
30 May at 12:04
Leena Sabharwal
u got any honey ??!!
30 May at 21:38
Dinesh Samtani
LOL!!!!!!!
31 May at 01:48
and moments later...
Facebook update: 425km @vasad!
30 May at 07:17 via Text message
-Rajni Taneja-
Nice Nice...
Ride safe N keep updating!
30 May at 12:11
Dinesh Samtani
awesome!!!
30 May at 17:39
Gopinath Venugopal
i hope the update ka josh stays through the whole trip....take care
30 May at 21:28
"We'll get our forty winks in Ahmedabad, elude the merciless sun", I think to myself. So far it has chosen to hide behind the clouds and revel in our fear. We still have some way to go before we rendezvous with the Big-A.
A peacock spotting by Spiderweb gives us an excuse to take a break, rest our backs, hydrate ourselves. As we hop back onto our steeds, Motorbreath hollers out to us. There's a puddle of liquid underneath his machine. We hope to God its just a minor oil spill. But on close inspection, the unmistakable smell of petrol convinces us that God wasn't listening.
Facebook update: Motors bike leaking petrol in drips! Trying to figure out COL.
30 May at 09:30 via Text message
(COL = Cause of Leak; which I derived from COD = Cause of Death (CSI). I thought it was clever at the time.)
We need to find the cause and fix it before his fuel runs out.
When I digressed last, Motorbreath wasn't in my viewport. Few seconds out, and there he is, a red-black spec of flesh and metal riding into my view horizon. As he pulls alongside me, he gestures indicating his steed cannot cope with speeds beyond a 110kmph. He rides ahead to demonstrate. With full throttle, and me tailing closely behind, he blasts off into the ether once more. And no sooner does my speedometer register a 110, sure enough, his steed starts stalling. To further impress his point, Motorbreath crouches over to minimize drag. Nope; his speedo stays defiantly at 1-1-0. I notice one additional problem. His silencer is quivering, hanging precariously from the steed as an extraneous limb. Motorbreath is more than aware of the problem; for through the remainder of our journey, his worn-out tyres and broken silencer cause him, and us, a great deal of anxiety.
As the six lane highway dissolves into a one lane with two-way traffic, three digit speeds become a luxury. Thankfully, the tarmac seems to be in mint condition - a welcome respite in otherwise aggravating riding conditions. Aggravating, for vehicle discipline is vastly undermined on one lanes. Oncoming vehicles plagiarizing our space, pushing us into extremities of the tarmac in a bid to shave off a few minutes from what is possibly their daily commute and doing so with an apologetic smile as if to say, "I'm sorry I'm nearly trying to kill you; but 5 minutes of my time are perhaps more precious then the lifetime that lays ahead of you. Sorry again. Don't be a stranger now! I'll screw you again soon.". The absurdity is not restricted to one lane. It translates equally well into 2, 4 and 6. Even dividers don't prevent some from attempting murder on our side of the tardom. We frequently encounter these smiling serial killers on motor heading directly toward us on a corner in the middle of a cornering lean, only to have to shift our weight, redirect the machine's momentum and steer clear of Dhansukhbhai and family. But I'm getting ahead of the story here...
Aggravating or not, our progress is tempered. For once, I get my chance to give Gujarat the eye. And while I'm painfully aware that whatever little is offered up by the NH8 through the window of my hardhat is not representative of Gujarat in all its glory, I'm blessed to have a flavour of its experience. For I have been here before; when I was just a boy. The memories have since faded; those that stood beside me then, stand beside me no more. Them I remember in this moment.
Maybe its just me but I notice a certain softness to the nature of Nature in Gujarat; a quiet contradiction to the raw spirit of Maharashtra. Paddy fields run alongside for miles. Parrot green rickshaws with yellow hats carrying at least 15 passengers; all you see of them are their heads - like a bouquet of human faces wrapped neatly in steel.
I see faces; each one with a story of his or her own. The young offer a look of bewilderment and excitement over our outlandish appearance; the middle-aged, quiet smiles and glances, often looking away as if to catch a dream of their own; the old - a glazed look of anguish and indifference. Of course I generalize. For there is evidence of indifference in youth and of dream-catchers without pearly whites.
Our journey seems to be progressing at discernible pace; no nasty surprises so far except for one.
Facebook update: Bee splattered on motors helmet n left big foul stench!
30 May at 07:10 via Text message
Winsey Varghese
lol :P
thats normal ;)
30 May at 12:04
Leena Sabharwal
u got any honey ??!!
30 May at 21:38
Dinesh Samtani
LOL!!!!!!!
31 May at 01:48
and moments later...
Facebook update: 425km @vasad!
30 May at 07:17 via Text message
-Rajni Taneja-
Nice Nice...
Ride safe N keep updating!
30 May at 12:11
Dinesh Samtani
awesome!!!
30 May at 17:39
Gopinath Venugopal
i hope the update ka josh stays through the whole trip....take care
30 May at 21:28
"We'll get our forty winks in Ahmedabad, elude the merciless sun", I think to myself. So far it has chosen to hide behind the clouds and revel in our fear. We still have some way to go before we rendezvous with the Big-A.
A peacock spotting by Spiderweb gives us an excuse to take a break, rest our backs, hydrate ourselves. As we hop back onto our steeds, Motorbreath hollers out to us. There's a puddle of liquid underneath his machine. We hope to God its just a minor oil spill. But on close inspection, the unmistakable smell of petrol convinces us that God wasn't listening.
Facebook update: Motors bike leaking petrol in drips! Trying to figure out COL.
30 May at 09:30 via Text message
(COL = Cause of Leak; which I derived from COD = Cause of Death (CSI). I thought it was clever at the time.)
We need to find the cause and fix it before his fuel runs out.
Friday, July 9, 2010
Section 2: The Journey > Chapter 4: Interlude
You'd be a deluded writer if, at the onset of your adventure, you went on to declare that the protagonists lived happily ever after. For even though it is, for the most part, an expectation...nay a law by which most adventures are written; your readers don't want to hear you blurt it out when you've barely begun telling the story. They like to delude themselves that the converse is indeed possible, only to discover for themselves that which they always knew. Its the thrill of self discovery they seek and its nothing short of criminal to deprive them of their right.
And yet I am about to step across literary bounds and commit murder. I am about to reveal, that the protagonists did indeed live happily up until the publication of this note. As for the ever after, your guess is as good as mine. Why would I commit such blatant mutiny? Why would I murder my own child?
For the dynamics of this blog are vastly different from your average paperback. This is being read, for the most part, as its being written, chapter by chapter. I do not have the liberty to go back and edit my words - at least not before I cause some buzz. This puts me in a precarious situation. For as the stories unfold, there will be times where readers will be quick to judge us, our intellect, our riding, our friendship, our very core. And while perceptions might change as the adventure progresses and the protagonists mature, given the interlude between each post, opinions will be formed; opinions not about fictitious characters, but about real people. I fear that these opinions may be unfair and just plain wrong in the absence of the big picture, one that will be woven only at the completion of this blog.
It is to prevent this mishap that I inject this interlude.
As the pages progress, you will see us fail, you will see us falter, you will see us buckle under the pressures of long distance riding, give in to fatigue, to anger, to stupidity, to selfishness, to misinformation. We turn on each other, call each other names, behave like infants...sometimes animals, scream till we can breathe no more, hate till we can hate no more. Yes, its all here. It all happens.
But as you read through the passages, don't be quick to judge us, or judge one. For as fervently as we do all of the above, we share laughs, stories of lovers lost, of joys, of sorrows, of disasters, of potential soul mates lost in the sands of time, of the joys of biking, of the need for biking with equal zest. We fall only to find at least one other lending a helping hand, words of comfort and some much needed spare change, spare cigarettes, spare parts... of the biking genre I must clarify. And yes, we do live happily ever after - that is up until today. For now our destinies are tied together no more.
And with that quick clarification, we continue forth with our journey. Remember, do not judge us, for we do not judge our selves, individually, or collectively. We merely make mistakes, learn from them, or try to and then forget them all as we chart our course for more adventures...
And yet I am about to step across literary bounds and commit murder. I am about to reveal, that the protagonists did indeed live happily up until the publication of this note. As for the ever after, your guess is as good as mine. Why would I commit such blatant mutiny? Why would I murder my own child?
For the dynamics of this blog are vastly different from your average paperback. This is being read, for the most part, as its being written, chapter by chapter. I do not have the liberty to go back and edit my words - at least not before I cause some buzz. This puts me in a precarious situation. For as the stories unfold, there will be times where readers will be quick to judge us, our intellect, our riding, our friendship, our very core. And while perceptions might change as the adventure progresses and the protagonists mature, given the interlude between each post, opinions will be formed; opinions not about fictitious characters, but about real people. I fear that these opinions may be unfair and just plain wrong in the absence of the big picture, one that will be woven only at the completion of this blog.
It is to prevent this mishap that I inject this interlude.
As the pages progress, you will see us fail, you will see us falter, you will see us buckle under the pressures of long distance riding, give in to fatigue, to anger, to stupidity, to selfishness, to misinformation. We turn on each other, call each other names, behave like infants...sometimes animals, scream till we can breathe no more, hate till we can hate no more. Yes, its all here. It all happens.
But as you read through the passages, don't be quick to judge us, or judge one. For as fervently as we do all of the above, we share laughs, stories of lovers lost, of joys, of sorrows, of disasters, of potential soul mates lost in the sands of time, of the joys of biking, of the need for biking with equal zest. We fall only to find at least one other lending a helping hand, words of comfort and some much needed spare change, spare cigarettes, spare parts... of the biking genre I must clarify. And yes, we do live happily ever after - that is up until today. For now our destinies are tied together no more.
And with that quick clarification, we continue forth with our journey. Remember, do not judge us, for we do not judge our selves, individually, or collectively. We merely make mistakes, learn from them, or try to and then forget them all as we chart our course for more adventures...
Thursday, July 8, 2010
Section 2: The Journey > Chapter 3: Flirting with the R15
May 30th
Her red will drive you green with envy. On our exit from Mumbai, she has a little over 10,000 kms total on the odometer. Yeah, we don't go out that much. I laugh at how little I knew her when I first got her. It was love at first 130kmph. I made her mine.
As the sun comes up, the fatigue of an extremely arduous night-ride is fast catching up. My eyes are weary, my mind is wandering. I can barely focus on the road. None of us can. But we must reach Ahmedabad before noon, for we've been warned "Riding after noon in Gujarat in complete gear will be no less fun than sticking your head into a microwave."
We can't stop. So we do the next best thing. We rip. (For the benefit of non-biker readers, to rip = to ride extremely fast). The adrenalin rush from watching the world dissolve around us should allow us a few more hours of riding. The now 6-lane NH-8 welcomes our strategy with open lanes. We devour them, like caged-beasts getting their first taste of freedom.
The first few revs and the R15's speedometer climbs to 80. Fast, but hardly a worthy number for her. More throttle...110...nice. She's capable of more. I've seen it. I tease her with the throttle - as if to say "Ready for more?". Her engine purrs...almost a giggle. "Bring it on. I'm just getting warmed up.".
120...she's willing, capable, impatient to do more. My upright body won't let her. It creates several points of wind resistance (drag) impeding her. I slide back, lower my head, crouch forward. It's time to be one.
That's all she needs.
The ether explodes around me as she slices the air into two halves...the right and what's left.
130...132...134...136...
She's not shaking, she's not groaning. I can barely hear her engine roar - a testimony to the marvel of modern engineering. Blessed am I for having shared the same space with her. The only semblance of speed I have is the deafening sound of the wind whiplashing my hard-hat.
Several minutes have passed. Kilometers have faded quickly. I've realized I've broken formation. I'm ahead of the pack. I check my rear-view. I see Spiderweb. No sign of Motorbreath. Where is he...?
Her red will drive you green with envy. On our exit from Mumbai, she has a little over 10,000 kms total on the odometer. Yeah, we don't go out that much. I laugh at how little I knew her when I first got her. It was love at first 130kmph. I made her mine.
As the sun comes up, the fatigue of an extremely arduous night-ride is fast catching up. My eyes are weary, my mind is wandering. I can barely focus on the road. None of us can. But we must reach Ahmedabad before noon, for we've been warned "Riding after noon in Gujarat in complete gear will be no less fun than sticking your head into a microwave."
We can't stop. So we do the next best thing. We rip. (For the benefit of non-biker readers, to rip = to ride extremely fast). The adrenalin rush from watching the world dissolve around us should allow us a few more hours of riding. The now 6-lane NH-8 welcomes our strategy with open lanes. We devour them, like caged-beasts getting their first taste of freedom.
The first few revs and the R15's speedometer climbs to 80. Fast, but hardly a worthy number for her. More throttle...110...nice. She's capable of more. I've seen it. I tease her with the throttle - as if to say "Ready for more?". Her engine purrs...almost a giggle. "Bring it on. I'm just getting warmed up.".
120...she's willing, capable, impatient to do more. My upright body won't let her. It creates several points of wind resistance (drag) impeding her. I slide back, lower my head, crouch forward. It's time to be one.
That's all she needs.
The ether explodes around me as she slices the air into two halves...the right and what's left.
130...132...134...136...
She's not shaking, she's not groaning. I can barely hear her engine roar - a testimony to the marvel of modern engineering. Blessed am I for having shared the same space with her. The only semblance of speed I have is the deafening sound of the wind whiplashing my hard-hat.
Several minutes have passed. Kilometers have faded quickly. I've realized I've broken formation. I'm ahead of the pack. I check my rear-view. I see Spiderweb. No sign of Motorbreath. Where is he...?
Sunday, July 4, 2010
Section 2: The Journey > Chapter 2: Two hundred miles and counting...
May 29th / May 30th
11 ticks on the clock into the Prime Meridian. National Highway (NH) 8 crawls beneath us. Spiderweb, Motorbreath, I, in that order. Trucks, Lorries, monster vehicles defying definition, loaded to the brim rumble on beside us; their sheer size summarily mocking our own. Dirt tracks and pot-holes caress our wheels as I utter a silent prayer for the fork seals. "This is just the beginning", I think to myself.
Motobreath's brake-lights overwhelm my visual cortex at every opportunity; arguably very useful on city streets; a stumper on our chosen journey. On the advice of a confidant, I must tail him for the rest of the journey. "Keep Motorbreath in your sight. He might not be able to keep pace with Spiderweb and you." is what I was made to believe. And so, follow I must. And follow I will for the rest of the journey, with a few notable exceptions.
We seem to be riding at a steady pace. I'm thirsty but I dare not stop for fear of being left behind. "What if I do get left behind...what if...", I don't finish the thought. Indicator lights go off. Spiderweb banks left, rides into a small compound. Motorbreath follows. I do the obvious. Hotel Aaram - Pure Veg. I reckon they spent a full five seconds on brainstorming the name. I reckon they spent fewer still on the decor. "Pure Veg" annoys me for I am anything but pure. The tag will haunt us for many miles to come.
A few clicks. Blurry and unimpressive. Nevertheless, more than words...
4 more ticks to the hour. Low visibility. Tired, sleepy eyes. 200 odd kilometers on the odometer. The roads metamorphosize from unbearable to the antithesis. Spiderweb promises us they will get better. We've bid adieu to Maharashtra several revs ago. I notice the transition only when we arrive at Chikhli, Gujarat. I reckon there were other indications to the fact; perhaps a toll both welcoming us into Gurjar-rashtra, gone unnoticed in my sleep-laden progress. I wonder if we've missed any scenic treats owing to the dark of the night. A return journey, several moons later, indicates that I have not.
Many miles slip away beneath us. Quizzical looks follow us across State boundaries. On more than one occassion, local riders - if I can indeed I can call them riders - in their helmetless avatar - attempt to impress their apparent biking superiority on us - a typical response to our outworldly appearance owing to our security gear and travel supplies. They attempt to overtake us and succeed cause we let them; they attempt to break our formation by injecting themselves into the riding hierarchy - but our intolerance to formation leakages causes us to quickly reclaim our space; they fall back, pretend to adjust their privates, and repeat the process to show us that they can do it not once, but many times over. Our security conscious culture prevents us from getting throttle-happy on the naive bastards. Several patient minutes later, most reach their destinations and leave us to our journey. Some strike conversations with Spiderweb, including one who passes on his visiting card while cruising at 100kmph. We can only laugh hysterically at their senseless display of bravado; we can only sympathize with their desperation to prove their worth to unknown, uncaring riders. We have nothing but mockery to offer to such mindlessness.
A few more ticks to the small hand and...
...a welcome sunrise. A more than welcome break from riding for our collective butts are sore, our collective eyes weary and our collective minds the unmentionables. On the side of the positive, a metamorphosis of NH8 into a 6-lane highway makes it a perfect environment to flirt with the R15...
11 ticks on the clock into the Prime Meridian. National Highway (NH) 8 crawls beneath us. Spiderweb, Motorbreath, I, in that order. Trucks, Lorries, monster vehicles defying definition, loaded to the brim rumble on beside us; their sheer size summarily mocking our own. Dirt tracks and pot-holes caress our wheels as I utter a silent prayer for the fork seals. "This is just the beginning", I think to myself.
Motobreath's brake-lights overwhelm my visual cortex at every opportunity; arguably very useful on city streets; a stumper on our chosen journey. On the advice of a confidant, I must tail him for the rest of the journey. "Keep Motorbreath in your sight. He might not be able to keep pace with Spiderweb and you." is what I was made to believe. And so, follow I must. And follow I will for the rest of the journey, with a few notable exceptions.
We seem to be riding at a steady pace. I'm thirsty but I dare not stop for fear of being left behind. "What if I do get left behind...what if...", I don't finish the thought. Indicator lights go off. Spiderweb banks left, rides into a small compound. Motorbreath follows. I do the obvious. Hotel Aaram - Pure Veg. I reckon they spent a full five seconds on brainstorming the name. I reckon they spent fewer still on the decor. "Pure Veg" annoys me for I am anything but pure. The tag will haunt us for many miles to come.
A few clicks. Blurry and unimpressive. Nevertheless, more than words...
Left to right: Motorbreath, Spiderweb
Facebook update: 110 kms complete! Late dinner (daal roti) n off we go!
30 May at 01:11 via Text message
30 May at 01:11 via Text message
Gopinath PS
good riding man :)
30 May at 01:30
Dinesh Samtani
ya man...good riding...
30 May at 01:58
Winsey Varghese
GO !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
30 May at 02:10
Satyen Poojary
Not bad! Its a journey not a race, remember that and have fun!
30 May at 02:29
Sujan Shetty
good keep goin
30 May at 10:05
Honey Misra
goog keep updating regularly then i dont have to torture d for info tc
30 May at 19:17
good riding man :)
30 May at 01:30
Dinesh Samtani
ya man...good riding...
30 May at 01:58
Winsey Varghese
GO !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
30 May at 02:10
Satyen Poojary
Not bad! Its a journey not a race, remember that and have fun!
30 May at 02:29
Sujan Shetty
good keep goin
30 May at 10:05
Honey Misra
goog keep updating regularly then i dont have to torture d for info tc
30 May at 19:17
4 more ticks to the hour. Low visibility. Tired, sleepy eyes. 200 odd kilometers on the odometer. The roads metamorphosize from unbearable to the antithesis. Spiderweb promises us they will get better. We've bid adieu to Maharashtra several revs ago. I notice the transition only when we arrive at Chikhli, Gujarat. I reckon there were other indications to the fact; perhaps a toll both welcoming us into Gurjar-rashtra, gone unnoticed in my sleep-laden progress. I wonder if we've missed any scenic treats owing to the dark of the night. A return journey, several moons later, indicates that I have not.
Borivali, Mumbai (my home) to Chikhli, Gujarat (~200 kms)
Facebook update: Total 212 kms done! @chickli!
30 May at 02:41 via Text message
Anil Correa likes this.
Satyen Poojary
Go easy dude,
30 May at 02:43
Anirudh Khusape
Hope you are feeling better :)
30 May at 04:50
Dinesh Samtani
Cool......
30 May at 07:07
Sujan Shetty
cool
30 May at 10:10
Rohit Upadhyay
good..ride safe guys ;)
30 May at 13:24
30 May at 02:41 via Text message
Anil Correa likes this.
Satyen Poojary
Go easy dude,
30 May at 02:43
Anirudh Khusape
Hope you are feeling better :)
30 May at 04:50
Dinesh Samtani
Cool......
30 May at 07:07
Sujan Shetty
cool
30 May at 10:10
Rohit Upadhyay
good..ride safe guys ;)
30 May at 13:24
Many miles slip away beneath us. Quizzical looks follow us across State boundaries. On more than one occassion, local riders - if I can indeed I can call them riders - in their helmetless avatar - attempt to impress their apparent biking superiority on us - a typical response to our outworldly appearance owing to our security gear and travel supplies. They attempt to overtake us and succeed cause we let them; they attempt to break our formation by injecting themselves into the riding hierarchy - but our intolerance to formation leakages causes us to quickly reclaim our space; they fall back, pretend to adjust their privates, and repeat the process to show us that they can do it not once, but many times over. Our security conscious culture prevents us from getting throttle-happy on the naive bastards. Several patient minutes later, most reach their destinations and leave us to our journey. Some strike conversations with Spiderweb, including one who passes on his visiting card while cruising at 100kmph. We can only laugh hysterically at their senseless display of bravado; we can only sympathize with their desperation to prove their worth to unknown, uncaring riders. We have nothing but mockery to offer to such mindlessness.
Facebook update: 353 kms :-)
30 May at 05:48 via Text message
Satnam Singh Vohra and Vikram Pathak like this.
Leena Sabharwal
dheere chala.. wig udd jayega !!
30 May at 21:37
30 May at 05:48 via Text message
Satnam Singh Vohra and Vikram Pathak like this.
Leena Sabharwal
dheere chala.. wig udd jayega !!
30 May at 21:37
A few more ticks to the small hand and...
L&T
Our babies; left to right: Motorbreaths Pulsar 200, my R15, Spiderwebs Karizma
Left to right: Spiderweb, me, Motorbreath
Me and my baby
...a welcome sunrise. A more than welcome break from riding for our collective butts are sore, our collective eyes weary and our collective minds the unmentionables. On the side of the positive, a metamorphosis of NH8 into a 6-lane highway makes it a perfect environment to flirt with the R15...
Thursday, July 1, 2010
Teaser Break
Since there weren't any photos to go along with the initial text (there will be for the text in the future), I thought a teaser break would be nice to keep things interesting! Here you go!
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