Over the hills

I was never into motorcycles much, as a teenager or young adult. In fact I can tell the actual day when I suddenly fell in love with the ‘idea’ of motorcycling. It was on a backpacking trip in the Lahaul and Spiti valleys in Himachal, where me and Bharathi (then girlfriend...happy days! Now wife...alas!) were traipsing across the place in state transport buses. We were staying in a hotel near Tabo monastery, and suddenly I see a flock (herd? Pride? Gaggle? Murder?) of Bullets parked outside. It was the first time that I appreciated a Royal Enfield for the magnificent machine that it is, standing arrogantly on that mountain path and showing off its cool mods.

Holy cow! I said and fell in lust. Later in that trip we hitched a ride from a group of firangs who were going to Dhankar, a monastery off the beaten track, and I think that was the first time I sat on a Bull. ‘Man, I gotta get one of these’ I thought.

But many years went by, and I didn’t. At first it was no mystery – I had no money, I didn’t have a 2 wheeler driving license, I didn’t know how to ride a bike, I didn’t know any bulleteers. Then time went by, I joined Onmobile – so I had the money, and the place was full of Bulleteers. You couldn’t throw a brick without braining a bulleteer. But, the only thing I did was to letch at all the Bulls I saw on the road, visit the website, go to the showroom, and talk in general terms to bull owners – without making the shift from being a bull letcher to bull owner.

I was then forced to admit that what I didn’t have was that round dangly hairy stuff.

Strangely, I seemed to be destined to be thrown among a lot of bull-riders at that point. Indi the great in Bangalore, Gurinder paaji in our Mumbai office, and even a guy at my clients office was a biker. I used to talk to them and moan about how I don’t know how to drive a bike, and paaji would growl at me ‘You drive a car, but you ride a bike. Next time you say ‘drive’, I will make you kneel down in the corner.’

God knows how long that phase would have lasted until Bharathi got sick of my moaning, and took things in hand by buying me a bull for my birthday. We took possession on Ganesh Chaturthi, and the grinning showroom owner gave me the keys and invited me to ride my new steed.

‘Alas, no’ I said. ‘I don’t know how to ride one. Deliver it to my house, and I will learn it there.’ The guy was foxed, and what he wanted to say was voiced by my brother later ‘Are you nuts? You are going to learn to ride on a brand new Bullet? What’s wrong with you?’ he said, while mentally kicking himself for not having the dingle-dangles to buy a bull himself. (This was a common refrain. Everyone would come to me and ask why I am buying a bike so late in life, and after a few minutes say that they wished that they could buy a bike themselves and go for a ride somewhere)

Anyway, so now I had this bee-yoo-tiful black studly Thunderbird twin spark standing in my garage, knocking everybody’s eye out. I then got myself a drivers license and started figuring out the clutch and accelerator and kick and how to avoid contact between my butt and the road. I drove (rode...sorry paaji) to town and to office, but didn’t make it to longer rides. Somehow, I never got around to it. People I knew were riding to the Himalayas, and the beaches and to all kinds of exotic places, but here I was with a maximum ride of 40 kilometres.

Wimp.

I could feel my bike also getting disillusioned with me, like a bride with an impotent groom. She would look at me hopefully when I mounted her, and roar with passion when I tweaked her accelerator, but only to be disappointed when I stopped at the office 15 minutes later. It was like the brave prince marrying the beauty, but not being able to consummate the marriage.. A whole year passed like this, and my beauty’s mood became as black as her engine oil, and she started to give me hints in the way she backfired while starting, and staining the garage floor with black waste.

But suddenly one day I sparked into life. One Bengali friend came over from Calcutta, and told stories of his Thunderbird. He is 20 years elder to me, and he also bought his bike just a year before I did, but the doughty babumoshai was riding all over the place, and had even done the dream ride of Manali to Leh with his fellow bongs. He was very polite, but I could feel the hidden disdain.

‘But bhy don’t you ride sir?’ he asked me.

‘Dada, meri phat ti hai’ I surprised us both with a candid answer. ‘I am scared’

‘Sab ki phat ti hai beta’ he said, and I am sure he would have added ‘dar ke aage jeet hai’, if it had not been taken as a slogan by a faggoty piss coloured soft drink.

So.

Am I to me talked down by a bearded rossogulla eater?!! NO, I SAY!

But ofcourse, I still did nothing about it.

Then. One day. God took a hand.

My friend, Vijay Makwana, the gyaani gujju, suddenly decided that our social lives needed a second wind, and asked me to come to Sulafest, a party to celebrate 10 years of Sula wines @ Nasik. I agreed, unusually so – because I have become a lazy fellow – and bought second sitting tickets on Indian rail to go there. Avoid the traffic you see....roads are so unsafe. Wifey was very happy – the car-going heathen is converted to chris-train-ity.

But is frequently the case, the conversion is not complete. Heathen beliefs are still alive and kicking beneath the baptised exterior, and the night before the trip, I abruptly changed my mind, and said that we will go by car. Vijay recoiled at the idea of doing the trip in my 11 year old car, and said that he would take his car, and I should join them. I agreed – the roads are so tiring nowadays...better to share the pain of driving.

And that is where god took a hand. Out of the blue, I suddenly decided that NO – I will go by bike. I announced this to the wife, who was quite flummoxed by this sudden growth of dangly hairies, but she sportingly said to go ahead if I was sure.

And before I could change my mind, the next morning I dug out an old leather jacket, packed some clothes and zoomed off into the dawn! YOO HOO. I stopped at my trusty pump and topped up the tank, and filled up the tyres and off we go!

It was simply amazing to just put the gaadi into top gear and zoom down the road. The thana road is wonderful, and it is good for the soul not to pay the toll, but just zoom past the toll naka, thumbing your nose at the bloodsuckers. Yaah yaah.

It was a beautiful ride on the Bombay Nasik expressway – about 70% is a beautiful 4 lane expressway, while 30% is a fucked up desi road. So part of the time I was wondering what speed I should aim for 70?80?90? 100? ....100 KMPH on a bike is very different from 100 KMPH in a car. And I was discovering interesting things like the effect of wind on a bike, especially when giant trucks pass you by...it really shakes you up...wonder how the tiny 100 cc bikes react; and how you have to bend down and offer a low profile in the face of strong winds, while you can sit straight and give attitude in plain weather. Turning the bike at speed requires some practice, as does braking...thank god for the advice I had got earlier about gear braking to slow down without stressing the brakes.

The other part of the time, it was just like riding on crowded Bombay roads, you zig and zag through traffic and the side of the road and ride on the side of the road to get past traffic.

I thought it would be my back which would cause trouble, but it turned out to be the ass which caused intolerable pain. After every two hours, I would be forced to stop and massage my aching buns. But on the whole, it was an uneventful journey and within 4 hours we were at Sula wineyards. We had a great time there – quite literally ‘wine, women and song’ and since we had taken a room in a seedy lodge close by, there was no fear of drunken driving.

And the next morning I got up bright and early, took a cold water bath and rode my beauty back to Bombay.

Immediately I could see a change in her. She was sounding much better, and responding happily to commands. I could feel the happiness in her throaty roar, and when I got off, she swung her front wheel and tried to nuzzle me happily.

So next session. I called Gurinder, and he was planning a ride to Lonar crater in Buldhana – 500 KM away. I gulped a bit. 500 KM is a bit much...bloody hell, it’s as much as Bombay – Goa! ‘koi nahi yaar’ he said ‘there’s a couple of people going in the car, so if you get tired, then you can sit in the car, and one of those will ride’ . OK, I said, let’s give it a shot.

But to tell the truth, meri abhi bhi phat rahi thi.

It was like telling a still-bloody ex-virgin that the next session would be BDSM, back door, golden showers and groups. A bit of a stretch. I was nervous.

And immediately I got an opportunity to wimp out.

A batchmate called up and invited us to spend the long weekend at his resort, adding that he was inviting some more batch mates as well, so it would be a re-union of sorts. As I was still pondering this, he sweetened the pot by saying that would be doing wind surfing, kayaking, mountain biking and all kinds of studly activities in the lap of the hills of Mahabaleshwar. Not to mention rampant alcoholism and flesh eating in the evenings.

Well!

That was too much for my already weakening resolve, and before I knew what I was doing, I was sending an SMS to paaji, wimping out. Chinmay and sonal were organising a bus to transport the 20 odd people to Tapola, and we were supposed to get picked up early Saturday morning at Chembur.

But that was when god stepped in. Again.

I suddenly thought that I would go by bike to Mahabaleshwar. So the ride remains – just change destinations from Lonar to Mahabaleshwar – 300 KM instead of 500. Sort of graduating from missionary to doggy, without going all the way to whips and chains.

Bharathi was understandably surprised, but supportive, and advised me to take the ferry from Apollo bunder to Rewas and leave on Friday evening instead of Saturday morning.

I gave my beauty for servicing the next day, and finally got that anti-rust gunk removed so that she again shone forth in all her original splendour. Having told an incredulous mother about my swift change in plan (you are doing what?), Vroom, I was off, with just a pair of undies, a t shirt and a towel in my panniers. The rest was for the wife to lug to the bus.

So, there I was, chasing the setting sun to Apollo bunder – the first time I laid eyes on the place. The ticket window for the Rewas ferry was not open as yet, so I tanked up on samosa paav, bread pakoda and chai, and as soon as the window opened I booked my ticket.

I was a bit nervous about loading the bike on the boat, but my fears (like most fears, I suppose) were unfounded. There were professional loaders who looked glumly at my heavy bike, and quietly and emotionlessly put into the boat for a modest price. Charon could hardly have done better to his souls headed for the underworld. And with a lugubrious blow of the horn, we were off! It was a glorious feeling, sailing on that old ferry, looking at the setting sun and the towering expanse of Mumbai skyline and the salt breeze on my face. Absolutely wonderful.

On the boat there were 4 other bikers (not bulls) who also turned out to be bound for the Mahabaleshwar hills, so we had a chat about the route and stuff. They invited me to join them, but they were planning to do an overnight ride on the highway. I shuddered at the thought – doing it in daytime in a car itself can be daunting, what with lunatic truck drivers and stuff. And anyway, I had plans to fulfil an old ambition of mine – to do a motorcycle trip on the scenic coastal routes, on the calm and serene state highways, staying away from the blazing den of lunacy which is NH.

But it was good to have them around, we chatted about this and that – they shared their experiences of driving to Mahabaleshwar, and getting caught in torrential cataclysmic rains in the ghats at midnight, and other such jolly ideas. Also, being desperate for some alcohol, they had brought along the only drink which required no mixers or chilling – red wine – which they companionably shared with me. This immediately brought back memories of Nasik and I told them about the Nasik ride.

We docked at Rewas just as it was getting dark, and having disembarked the vehicles, we set off into the darkness – they to catch the NH at Vadkhal, and me to hit the Murud road.

It felt so good.

The experience of being alone on the bike on a completely dark road, with only the roar of the bike for company was invigorating. I thought of riding with my visor up, but quickly abandoned the idea after getting a face full of bugs. I rode on past Alibag, and had almost hit Revdanda bridge before I called it a night. It was dark, and apart from the safety issues, I was missing some fine scenery. Also, people go to bed early around these parts, and I didn’t want to get stuck without acco for the night.

Having ignored all kinds of good hotels, I finally decided that I will stay in the NEXT hotel which comes, and it turned out to be a crummy dive with a room for Rs 150. But hey, promises are promises, so I stopped for the night, only popping out to buy some Odomos cream and a ‘Good Knight’ coil. Having established my beachhead, I turned to religion – and had some deep discussions with an Old Monk before I hit the sack.

I woke up at 6, had a cold cold brrr bath, and thus refreshed, hit the road just before first light. That is the time to be on a bike and wearing a leather jacket. It’s cold and crisp, and the air is like wine. The views on that road are to die for – the sea on one side, and golden straw mountains on the other. I and Bharathi had done an impromptu trip here in the car back in 02 , and had discovered a wonderland. The coastal SH goes past Alibag, Murud, and follows the bay of Murud to Dighi. But on a bike you don’t need to do that – you can put your bike on the ferry from Agardanda and take the boat to Dighi. I am not saying that it’s the best idea – because it’s a bee- yoo- tiful drive on that road, but hey, I took the ferry just because I can. And the fact that I will do anything to get a new experience. The loaders rolled their eyes when they saw my big black one, and huffed and puffed and put it on the boat, and charged me an extra 20 bucks.

There were some beautifully dressed Muslims on that boat, looking really fine and dignified in white achkan and decorated topi, and I wondered why they looking so good. The coin dropped after several hours, when I realised that it was Eid. I gave one of them a ride till Dive, and he asked me if I was going to Harihareshwar. Well, I wasn’t...but why not? Suddenly I had the urge to take darshan of Harihareshwar – it was one of Dad’s unfulfilled wishes to go to Hareshwar, so I thought I would make the trip there and do an abhishekh in his memory. So off I went. The road was simply glorious, and I passed the turn off to NH17 as well, which was all to the good – saved me the trouble of asking people about it.

Hareshwar is known as ‘Dakshin Kashi’ and is supposed to be the place where the pandavas did their shradh ceremonies before setting off for the Himalayas, and it’s a place with real character. It’s on a bleak mountain jutting into a bleak sea, surrounded by a sombre black sand beach. You are supposed to do a pradakshina of the rock, which is possible only during low tide and in dry weather, else you are liable to get smashed to bits on that rocky shore. I had come here 2 times before, but it was only on this trip that I was destined to complete that pradakshina. It’s a weird and wild trip out there.

Hareshwar was the family deity of the Peshwas, so it was well tended over the years, but now the MTDC is trying to make it a tourist destination with bungalows and water sports – I think it’s a bad idea. It would be better to let that sombre place brood, and think of Shiva consorting with his army of bhoot and pisacha out there.

I did my obeisance, and booked an abhishekha in dads name and set out again.

These abhishekhas can be really weird. Our last trip as a family when dad was around was to Vyadeshwar in konkan, which is our family deity, and we booked abhishekha there. Some months after that...Dad passed away suddenly, and there wouldn’t be any more of those journeys together. Everything was forgotten at that time – a time I would rather forget. Anyway, we had come back to Mumbai for his thirteenth day ceremony, and suddenly the postman came. I was pissed – what a time for the postman to come...there is the death ceremony going on, the pandit is there, the house is full of guests, and this dude comes in a flash of khaki and hands me a couple of envelopes.

I was standing there frozen, holding those envelopes, desperately trying not to cry, when someone comes and asks me what has come. I showed him – it was the Prasad from our abhishekh in Vyadeshwar! What incredible timing, exactly on the day of the teraava. Coincidence? Perhaps.

So, I was off again, crossing amazing ghats on my way to hit the NH17. The roads are really beautiful.In a car, you can actually appreciate the beauty more- as you can take your eyes off the road and look around. Try it on a bike, and you will end up with your arse on the road. But because it’s so open, with nothing between you and environment, it’s more intense.

I had decided that I will not stop till I hit the highway, and even after I hit the highway, it was so nice that I kept on going. I may curse the highway as being full of trucks and traffic, but if you want to put some miles, you are best off on the highway. I twisted that accelerator and gave her her head and we were doing a nice 100 KMPH, before I decided to stop and hydrate at a limbu paani stall at Mahad . Poladpur was just 17 Km away, and I thought – that it- journeys end. Tapola was supposed to be 30 KM from Mahabaleshwar, and Mahabaleshwar was 30 KM from poladpur. But when I asked a rickshawwala, I found that Tapola was 30 KM after Mahabaleshwar, not before. So it was 60 KM away.

So I thought that I would call Chinmay and tell him that I would be a bit late, but it turned out that they were still 3 hours away! Rascals, I cursed them, and went to find a place where I can meet some bubbly danes. Two or three carls later, I was in a much better mood and thoroughly enjoyed the scenic ride down to Tapola lake.

I met up with the bus there and we took a boat across to Chinmay's resort. We had an excellent time there, and on Monday it was time to head back. The ride back was uneventful – except for the fact that I had not slept much for the past 3 days, and I was really sleepy while negotiating the ghats. I went downhill in bottom gear at sedate pace – because I was a bit sleepy, and also the views were magnificent.

On the way down, one biker came beside me and tootled. I turned enquiringly, and was pleasantly surprised to see one of the guys from the ferry. They were also on their way back. I said that I will be taking the ferry, but he shook his head. Nopes, too late – the ferry will be over. Ride all the way back.

And so I did – 7 hours of continuous riding on the Bombay Goa road. I tried my damndest to catch the ferry, went off the highway and took the Nagothane road, but no go. I gave up and hit Vadkhal again and took the highway home. I had to stop a couple of times when my ass was howling, but it was a smooth and eventless ride all the way home. After I crossed into Navi Mumbai, it had become fully dark and a beautiful ocean breeze had started. I put on some music on my ipod and rode the sea breeze home.

My back was sore, my butt was sore- but on the whole, I was in good shape. My black beauty was also happy, and was purring away to herself, like any well-ridden lady. 400 KM on the first weekend, and 600 KM on the second.

All good things come in threes...let’s see where the next ride takes me to.