BiKronicles: The Southern Tip

PRELUDE: It’s been a week since the southern sojourn. I am drained, exhausted and probably using reserve fuel to write this post. The extreme sunburn, which has rendered me the “kaali kalooti” victim, and the food allergies, thanks to 0 control amidst seafood, hasn’t helped my situation. Needless to say, a great weekend has left me feeling and looking like I went on a drug-alcohol binge and am now in rehab. The icing on this weathered girl’s cake was facing her monthly monstrosity on the ER6n ripping its way back to Mumbai. Whoever said that time-of-the-month was no biggie certainly didn’t experience it on a zipping kwacker.

BACKGROUND: Jaya Sriram met us last year on NH48 heading from Hampi to Bengaluru. We made a brief chai halt, exchanged numbers, accidentally ran into his dad, grabbed lunch and went our ways. A week later (15 Aug 2015), we found ourselves in much-planned-never-executed Auroville. Spent a lovely weekend exploring, drinking, traversing, eating and developing a fast bond and mutual respect. Any plans after that never took off. Cut to a year later and Sriram asked us to plan the southern sojourn on his bday 12 Aug 2016. We also realized it’ll be exactly a year since our last meeting.  

In the interim, I got my Bonneville and that nagging itch to take her down south buggered me. Of course, with great bikes come disproportional bank balances (VRL slapped me with a 14k estimate to transport the Bonnie’s prissy behind back and forth). Hence, I retreated to my cave and stuck to the prearranged Royal Enfield bikes.

LE TROUPE: Sriram (the main protagonist – Chennai resident – AuroExport - architect); US (Abeer and I); Vivek (Puneite – Nasik export – hyper planner); Arun and Christina (Half-German + Full Scottish couple) – last minute addition, barely prepared gear wise but completely gunning in spirit. 

BIKES: Sriram rode his old classic RE Bullet while the rest of us made do with just-about-functioning RE rentals. Luckily, Abeer and my bike as well as Vivek’s bike survived and pulled through. However, our German/Scottish couple’s journey was far from smooth; stopping incessantly, barely touching decent speeds and leaving them always behind and sometimes off the grid, literally. What’s worse was that even though 800/day rental was a steal, at the nth moment the chap who gave us the bikes, charged us even for the day he kept it ready for us aka for when we didn’t use it. That was a bummer and a blow to our calculations which came to 3200/-.

ROUTE: Mumbai/Pune – Chennai Airport – Pondicherry – Edayanchavadi – Tranquebar – Pattukotai – Rameshwaram – Dhanushkodi – Karaikudi – Back to Pavilion. ~1100 kms with all diversions inclusive. This was 1 helluva trip packed in 3 scorching days on unfamiliar bikes. 

THE JOURNEY (Mumbai T2 Terminal): Like all trips, this one had to start with drama. This time it was Yash Raj meets Abbas-Mastan proportions. Abeer had a leisure day and I had a HELL week. Extreme sleep deprivation, lack of food, sanity and the need to leave it all behind made for a bad last minute cocktail. Back broken, I dragged our bags and gear down the metro to the airport. The entire city went zombieland on us. Air India meant finally a visit to the new T2 terminal. We scrambled, fought, and made it to the counter after battling snakes of disorderly passengers. Everyone had a flight that was JUST taking off – us included. I wasn’t having any of it. Never missed a flight; was never gonna let anything tarnish my clean record. A few arguments with AI staff and we managed to get luggage checked in, and into security checks. HERE is where all HELL opened their floodgates (in me). I got done and stamped my boarding pass. Realized AI gave me just one document and confirmed it was for Abeer too. Informed security that somewhere behind 50 passengers was Abeer who needed this pass to get through. Amidst fights that had already commenced in smaller groups, I had heated exchanges with security. An AI lady kept following me and my phone rang off the hook from AI (this is a silent terminal) to check if I boarded my 6:15 pm flight. It was 6:05 pm and I was standing in front of head of security, a royally pissed off Abeer and a matronly AI lady trying to resolve a now confirmed AI BOTCH JOB. Security had it up to their necks managing unruly crowds and I was the last thing they needed. He was rude and said that I was careless and breaking protocol. What followed next – even I can’t sit here and think I DID THAT. Dropped my bags and unleashed a volley of I-can’t-recall at him far enough for 3 departure gates to look at me. I didn’t realize then that tears were streaming down my face and I was seriously loud for someone who hates public spats and scenes. My flight was about to take off so I think my aforementioned state resulted in THIS. The security head (Army issue) kept quiet and avoided eye contact. AI sent their posy to escort Abeer and me through it all right up to our seats and apologized. The matronly lady hugged me and calmed me. I took my window seat and suddenly was aware of how embarrassed I felt. Cried for 10 mins and then slipped into impending slumber with a bemused partner trying his best to make me break into a grin and taking selfies. 

Chennai Airport: Had been here and t’was nothing like the one I had traveled through before. This looked like Goa airport (pre-refurbish). It was late. Our flight was an hr late in departure but miraculously on time landing. I was relaxed but craving sleep. We waited for our bags. After 30mins and ALL bags, came Abeer’s stuff and one of my bags. HELMET was missing. The conveyor stopped, everyone cleared out. I stood there going – THIS IS NOT HAPPENING. Abeer panicked. Not cuz my helmet didn’t arrive but for a possible encore of the Mumbai showdown v2.0. The customer helpdesk appeared remarkably calm –missing bags was a mundane complaint. Too tired to get pissed, I decided I was gonna be patient; for now. The bag tags didn’t read on their monitor aka they were unaware of its whereabouts. I filled out the forms and decided that I wld stay put at the airport since our Pune entourage would land in the morning. 30mins later someone came running with it. I was eternally grateful. The dark packing combined with poor light and dark container had left my hapless helmet in some corner of the tarmac. Issue resolved we stepped out. Of course, Abeer (signature male trait) did not wanna listen to me and proceeded to book a cab to Perungalathur bus station on the behest of the not-so-knowledgeable Sriram. We Ubered 14kms to the bus stop had our 1st lavish south Indian/fishy meal and proceeded to catch ANY bus that would head to Pondicherry. By then it was 11:00pm, exhaustion didn’t even begin to describe our state and the heat was unforgivable (I missed Mumbai and that says it all). AC buses were limited and overpriced so we took a non-AC metal rattler. Sadly, we stood out like Ambanis in the crowd and were easily victimized into shelling out 4x the accrued cost of the metal glued together. The bus trudged for 5ft, honked a shrill ear shattering horn (which I am sure is illegal in 80% of the globe) and looked for passengers to replicate a sardine can environment. Imagine this for nearly 20 kms precluded by 48hrs no sleep, ~40°C and suffocation. I hardly imagined this to be a vacation and was ready to go homicidal. Abeer had it at his wits end and was seriously EXHAUSTED. I could see him glistening with perspiration akin to some war movie and a hapless innocent captive in a cave. The part that pissed me off: the same bus made a stop OUTSIDE the airport and I just glared at Abeer with that I-told-you-so look. He in turn decided it was safest to blame Sriram. Thereafter, the bus picked up speed like it didn’t care to live or die. Driver confidently declared 2 hrs every 2hrs of the journey to Pondicherry as his puny body navigated the large rattling chunk through blank charcoal darkness and multiple near misses. The cooling air was temporary respite but nothing helpful. We started at 11pm and touched Pondicherry at 4am. Sriram was fast asleep unwrapping another layer of frustration from us. We got off the bus in the middle of Pondicherry (more like some unknown square) and sat in the middle of the road with a glass of divine coffee from a just opened stall. After 30mins Sriram answered and we proceeded to get home, get our bikes and the works. All I recall at this point is collapsing in deep slumber in the same clothes for a good 2hrs.

Edayanchavadi to Pattukotai/Day 1: Vivek and troupe landed and got in at around 8am. Woke up, showered, dressed and still felt like a gust of wind could put me to bed again. Vivek apparently had not accounted for the exhaustion and was flat drained out. But we HAD to leave and soon. The boys took off to get the bikes while I caught up on poor but needed slumber. With REs come a plethora of issues. Its tradition you see. It’s a crime to have intact Enfields and so we took it in our stride. Our bikes were just about ok. But the newly joined-in Scottish-German couple (Arun and Christina) were about to find out what it was like to do this trip with no gear and a not-so-happening bike. We navigated through instantly unforgivable heat and chaotic traffic out of Pondicherry. Our target was Rameshwaram. Sriram had arranged for our stay and someone to take us around since we didn’t have the luxury of exploration at our own pace.

The entire day/ride was a series of near misses, maneuvering through good and bad roads, catching up, waiting, pleading with the sun to take a hike, losing and finding each other and the works. South India’s traffic was extremely aggressive esp. large cargo trucks and vehicles whose agenda was to run us off the road instead of get to their destination. Talk about priorities. At 1 such naakabandi, the cops flagged us down and we dutifully did a turn around and met them. They spoke to us in broken Hindi and much Tamil. In the midst of this confusing exchange and more of their fascination than intended checks, a truck came hurtling toward us with zero regard for our parked bike and the barricades. I stared in horror muttering to myself that the truck needed to slow down at which point Abeer titled the bike (us still saddled on it). The truck grazed us, threw me off the bike and scratched a bit of the bike’s sides coming to a screeching halt. Dusting myself off and seething with rage, I screamed and banged on the driver’s door asking him to step out so I could apparently paste him into one of their famous chatnis. The cops looked worried and Abeer announced the driver’s impending demise at my hands. Everyone profusely apologized and asked us to continue and have a safe trip. Ppfffffft. Other incidents included Vivek dozing off a few times on the bike. All of us watched in amusement and concern has he navigated in waves and yo-yoed through the highway under a heat wave thanks to him donning an all leather Cramster jacket with 48 hours of no sleep. Ultimately, he just gave up, parked the bike at the next structure that doubled as a shelter and passed out on the ground. We made good of that situation by clicking some embarrassing pics of him :D Christina and I also stopped to help a rather large lady who was riding pillion and had fallen off rather brazenly at the corner off the road. Her spouse had tried to negotiate the edge of the road while a nasty bus hogged their space. The sides of the road had a sharp curvaceous drop, which could prove lethal at certain speeds. I revived her, helped her breathe, she appeared to be in shock but not seriously wounded save for a nasty one on her leg. We managed to flag down an SUV and put her in the back of it (we had to lift her) and be on our ways. I was glad to have been there to stop and help her cz it looked like no one stopped except when I did. 

The trip was ill-timed aka the heat was getting to us all but the bravest was Sriram who was the calmest most positive of us all. Abeer and I were seasoned travelers so we just coped as best we could. That included a few verbal spats, tons of making up and generally making sure we both made it through this exhaustive, incident-riddled day. We made a stop at Tranquebar (Tharangambadi) – supposedly a Dutch town. I was tad disappointed to see a miniscule stretch of what appeared to be a once upon a time town; wearing a deserted look and not matching my impression of a Dutch Pondicherry. Either way we were out of time and I’m grateful to the boys for indulging a stop there to satiate my curiosity beneath the monstrosity of gear and exasperation. We took a round of the beach and the exterior of the touristic fort and took off just as quickly. 

By early evening, we realized we couldn’t make our intended destination of Rameshwaram and instead opted for a nearby coastal town. The quest for that town included mind-blowing sunsets, quickly descending darkness and a 100% confirmation of getting lost on unlit roads that narrowed further and further with increased unpredictability of hitting cattle, folks, bad speed bumpers and anything that considered itself nocturnal. Everyone was maintaining a cool exterior yet battling major exhaustion or a minor degree of annoyance. We stopped at a menial coffee stop along the way and got our phones out. Called hotels along the entire stretch. Budgeting went out of the window and everyone wanted a room with a hot shower and guaranteed air-conditioning. We finally hit luck at a nearby town called Pattukotai where we settled on a passable hotel after scouting through a maze of traffic and 3 rejected hotels. Here everyone was out to get to the bottom of our pockets what with all our bikes and gear and a desperate cry for rest. 

Long showers, freezing rooms and a feast of meal after, everyone agreed that 5am would be the wakeup call and we would take off to make up for this day’s delay. Arun and Christina were needlessly sun burnt and far drearier than us given that their bike broke down countless times and a sweatshirt and scarf was all they had to protect themselves. Hats off to their patience and endurance to continue on. 

Pattukotai to Dhanushkodi/Day 2: EVERYONE missed their alarms and we all got ready and out by 8:30 am. Noone objected given that rested souls and bodies were priority. Everyone was far more fresh, relaxed and ready to take on the next leg of the journey. We had to cover Pamban Bridge, Dhanushkodi and make it to Kadaikudi. We could not afford to miss our destination on this day given all of us had scheduled flights back home. After a hearty south Indian breakfast, we took off. The heat settled in quickly. We didn’t mandate following each other so everyone had their own pace and made their own hydration stops (many of them together). We bonded far better today than we did the previous day; grabbed some simple meals and targeted our main sight point. Along the way, other riding groups met us and soon everyone was headed to the same destination. We made it at mid noon to Pamban Bridge – by far our longest stop. Took pics and videos and got some clarity that Pamban was the bridge below where we stood.  It had one of the oldest running railway lines in the country and a breathtaking view of the Indian Ocean. Fishing villages lined the entire coast with impeccable cleanliness. The water was turquoise blue with confusing waves of emerald green. The clarity was breathtaking and we could see all the way to the bed of the ocean. We waited for the 2nd couple to catch up and thereafter took off. 

From there it was a short but rather crowded route to Dhanushkodi. We had spent 2 days in gear with no respite from the heat. Hadn’t stopped and enjoyed any place really and that was especially getting to me – just getting from point to point with the destination making no point. At Dhanushkodi, the entire stretch of Ram Setu was interesting and surreal. I had only read about it in school or visualized it in its various presentations online. I was HERE now; well with what appeared to be half the country taking advantage of a long weekend. If yesterday was hot, today was the surface of the sun (metaphorically speaking). We found a fish food shack at the tip of Ram Setu, set up our bikes among many other motorcycles that had made their way there and collapsed. More than happy to strip ourselves off our gear and settled in for one of the most memorable meals on a banana leaf. We had rice, rasam and delicious local fish (I didn’t manage to get any names and even Sriram was unable to decipher what the chef mentioned). An encore of the fish continued across the table along with tons of hydration. Here I have to state that our Hydration packs were the best investment and total lifesavers. We purchased one from Decathlon so this wasn’t the biker’s backpack version. Our jugaad was to put it in Abeer’s spine guard pocket and both of us could use it. We debated a while about heading to the beach and taking a dip. Its sad that we couldn’t. The jeep drivers were trying to rip us off and after a point, owing to the massive crowd turnover and 100s headed their way, they had to shut down entry to the beach for a while. We contemplated leaving our bikes unattended. Any other day would have been fine but all our bags and gear and valuables among 100s of thronging visitors forced us to consider turning back and make peace with a glimpse from a distance. 

We loaded up and headed back along the snake traffic to Pamban Bridge. Thereon, the ride was comparatively smoother and the quality highways helped us enjoy a bit of the ride. We all made hydration and ice cream stops, chatted and bonded better, exchanged notes etc. Reached Karaikudi rather late and again settled in to a mansion all to ourselves – literally. It was an old Chettinad style mansion called Shanmuga Vilas: an over 100-year-old property that was bought off the 1st owner and refurbished by an architect. It was converted into a homestay for travelers and we had the whole place to ourselves. We spent the evening cooling off, showers, hydration, exploring the mansion (large terraces, separate kitchens and purposeful rooms with adjoining rooms and staff). The place was humble yet magnificent with a boisterous caretaker who was eager to share the stories of the mansion and its history. We decided to ride down a bit of the stretch to a recommended seafood restaurant.

Once at the restaurant, I think we (ok let’s be honest – more like I) appeared to have just gotten off a rescue boat from drought and famine riddled south Sudan. I ate like it was the last meal I was ever gonna relish. Crabs, prawns, squids, local fish, rice, mutton, appams…. Everything made it to the table. The pricing here was so phenomenal that you would shed a tear about spending a bomb. I knew I was asking for monumental trouble from my tummy but given how this trip was going, I decided gastric debauchery be it. But as a potent traveler, a good bed and a great bathroom are your best friends. I have established I have a massive pet peeve of bathrooms. When I find even a half-decent one, I just let my stomach run off course. 

We roamed about a bit, chatted at length and shared 1 thing in common – heat stroke and exhaustion. Come to think of it the last few days, all of us had barely spoken. We had done so in bits and pieces but none of us had the energy to really invest in our camaraderie. This was one of my major takeaways from this trip – don’t rush through for the heck of it. It didn’t make sense to drain yourself out on a ‘vacation’ and then reminisce of doing it again so you cover what you deliberately missed. Thereafter, AC rooms and our heavy heads made for happy matrimonial that night. 

Karakudi to Edayanchavadi/Day 3: The last day was bitter sweet. Suddenly it was all coming to a vrooming end. We all had breakfast, saddled up and took-off. The heat was terrible but surprisingly bearable this day. I wasn’t sure it was the rest that was helping us cope or the heat itself had dialed it down a notch. We made periodic hydration stop. Our perennial Buddha on this trip (Sriram) offered to ride slowly with Arun-Christina while Vivek and us could zip back to Pondicherry. We had flights back at twilight and if we continued at the same pace as last 2 days there was a chance at missing our flights. We rode hard and fast and did a good distance through morning and noon. Made it by early evening to Edayanchavadi. We wanted to wait for Sriram and the lot for our bikes and to bid each other farewell until next time. Packed and looking for a bus to Chennai airport, it was getting dark; just then Sriram pulled in. I was super glad we got to connect and return our bikes properly. Said our goodbyes and Sriram stayed till we boarded a semi-crowded AC bus. It was all WORTH IT. 

No place on board, 3 of us plonked our luggage on the floor and passed out on it. We reached the sleepy airport rather early… a few hours prior to take off. Tried super hard to catch a few winks but just nothing worked. Tired, grumpy and just eager to get out, we finally flew back and straight to work. How we got through the day NO ONE KNOWS. But we did and reminisced about it all. 

What I learnt through this trip:

• Make sure who you ride with because it defines the nature and attitude of the trip. Last thing one wants is chaos and tension. I was lucky to have the best folks on this trip

• Always assess the weather and terrain. Nothing really wrong but the rides could have been more enjoyable on a relaxed pace and in cooler forgivable climate

• Avoid long weekends. A whole Indian state can make its way ANYWHERE. Karma usually ensures where you are, all Indians are. 

• Stop, breathe and soak in the place. Don’t always be in a rush to complete a “task”. It’s a bloody ride, not a checklist. Note to future self.

• Signing out here! :)

Bonnie and Quest

I can’t recall the exact date and time I walked into Shaman Triumph but it was 2 years ago and there was something about the Bonneville that clicked. This click refrained from going off when I voraciously visited other superbike showrooms and never looked back at them (names withheld for fear of digital lynching).Everyone has that dream material acquisition of sorts. They have a visual inspired or plagiarized from some source; working its way through their grey matter, inducing endless sleepless nights and undergoing extensive customization, finally evolving into that 1 obsessive dream that won’t leave even with numerous attempts to shake it off. That is precisely the Bonneville for me. It wasn’t a Triumph so much as THE Bonneville for me.

I’ve been around bikes quite a bit. No, I didn’t start riding on a farm when I was 5. I didn’t get any motor hand-me-downs, no one in my family is a former legendary racer and neither was I inspired by pre/current MotoGp professionals. I loved bikes. Plain and simple. I loved how open and freeing they were. Someone I dated in the past took me around on his Avenger followed by his RE Bullet 350. Back then, RE still made ‘em bulls like they were meant to be: raw and sturdy. Owning one was like modern day Triumph ownership: exclusive and with a slight snob value. Sadly, that is not the case now (digital lynching alert). The closest I came to calling a set of 2-wheels my source of everything rowdy were my cycles that Dad generously showered me with to play every ruffian game under the sun with the boys. The last pair of wheels owing to being unused for a few months was sold to an eager raddiwala; an act left unforgiven and looking for redemption.

We have “been there done that”. Abeer and I fed into our motorcycle instincts and bought a Classic 500cc – learnt an expensive lesson and sold it off. It seemed like the appropriate hierarchy to buy an Enfield, go nearly bankrupt whilst graduating to a premium segment of wheels. We replaced the bull with a Japanese beast – the Kawasaki Ninja ER6n. The understanding being we BOTH would pitch in 50:50. I was averse to the idea of sports bikes. Probably all those years my eyes were assaulted with ridiculous sounding AND looking Hayabusas and other massive ferringED versions cruising down Bandra and Andheri by lanes, really scarred me. While others marveled, I turned my head away for fear of witnessing atrocity of ill-articulated art or customizations. Combine that with some chocolate boy and NO HELMET and you have completely lost me. This was best compared to owning a St. Bernard or Siberian husky in Mumbai’s tropical climate. I could imagine Uday Chopra dhooming his way on what can only be explained as mechanical monstrosity.

The ER6n is a naked sports ‘tourer’. An initial test ride on a busy SV Road at peak hours was a bad yet informative idea. I felt like I had climbed a mountain and my beloved was doing breaststroke. The view from ‘atop’ wasn’t appealing given that EVERYONE was staring at us. I was just missing a tank top, 2 layers of makeup, low rise peekaboo denim and oodles of misplaced attitude to go with my sudden ascent. Abeer was inversely… excited. We rode a tuned bike and the power was something I wasn’t used to and felt was unnecessary. To keep it short I didn’t like it and wasn’t quite open to buying one. Secretly, I hoped he would consider and help me realize my dream of the Bonnie. In the end, we bought the ER6n cuz I knew how much he adored that bike and as of 3 months now with it, I LOVE THAT BEAST. Like marriage, I didn’t want anyone to pitch in for my Bonnie without offering to do it themselves. It was never to come out of undeserved coaxing, plaguing or begging. It was too pious for me to have any story but a good one.

My lust for the Bonneville didn’t die there. As much as I grew to love the ER6n and appreciate its reliability and torque, my restlessness for the Bonnie grew like a juvenile denied toys while his/her sibling got one. This ‘toy’ was ‘shared’ with me and we had ‘joint playtimes’ but there was something I needed to call my own. Female bikers have been around for a while. However, social media presence and publicity boost has made them and their stories more accessible and visual in recent years. Seeing them on 650cc+ machines is not only inspiring but also empowering. At 1^st I was proud and in awe. Tis’ true we don’t need to gender-define this activity. However, truth is women on bikes (an avenue ruled primarily by the opposite sex) is a refreshing breath of O₂. When I say that I mean in gear and in motion. NOT in bare or no clothes and posing on the machine like flowers fallen from the tree under which the bike was parked. This constant bombardment of women doing what was initially a fantasy thrill in my head without the fuel injection to make it a reality, was becoming an incurable itch. Combine that with a well-versed and equally encouraging boyfriend and you know that YOU MUST RIDE.

I love riding pillion. It’ll always be a part of me – sitting behind the man I love and traveling places together, fighting, struggling, riding, smiling, loving, cheering and what not all in X cubic meters of space. All relationships should be tested like this. You can’t leave each other, hence, you must endure and love each other and find middle ground in difficult times. I would go as far as to say Abeer’s and my stints with and on the bike (no pun intended) have made us stronger, closer and more in ‘tune’ with each other. The bike was like a 1 room home where we had to express and experience a plethora of all that goes on between 2 people in love.

During all the above randomness that veered from the actual purpose of the blogpost but was intended to emotionally draw the reader into my world, the Bonnie made guest appearances. We showed up at Triumph showrooms pan India. Every time I looked at the bikes, I behaved like I was seeing ‘em for the 1^st time. I yearned to take them out but did not have a license nor the proper skills to handle a bike of such proportions. I would nod and remain fixated on the Bonnie in the midst of the bike catalogue sermon from showroom sales force. Few marveled at a female rider showing so much interest and the sheer grit to own one of these classics. I would smile and make it amply clear I was a WIP; secretly wishing I could vroom out on the classic in pure Desi attitude… then descend back on earth. We would take the bike out for a spin and I was transfixed reminding myself that it’s JUST a test ride lest I have the urge to steal it and hide in some village in remote India. Whom am I kidding, that bike would stand out like sore eyes. *hmmmppfff*. Once attempted to take a friend’s SE Bonnie out in Goa and the result was a giggly mess.

Aside from physical visits and the torture of having my new office located next to Shaman Triumph in Mumbai, I became a huntress online. Every social media feed that lured and satiated my frenzy became prey. I pictured what I eventually wanted my bike to look like. I was clear in its concepts and needs; not wanting it to look like the showroom’s accessories catalogue had purposefully sneezed all over my bike – something that appears to be an epidemic with Indian bike owners. Laugh or scorn if you will but that’s sad and true. This was evident when I had multiple bouts of going on OLX, Quikr and a plethora of pre-owned superbike forums. I was subjected to motivation and demotivation of the same feelings that had settled with idea of purchasing the Bonneville. Folks not only misspelt the bike’s name and model, the reasons for selling appalled the liver out of me. Add to that the insult of reading endless lists of accessories slapped on the poor bike for no fault of its classic beauty – that too in terrible English but with swelling pride. I had many who were selling cuz they were headed “ebrOd”, 2 owners were distracted with a car cuz they refused to wear helmets and safety gear, and the rest were mainly untouched vehicles as a result of indispensable cash overflow or the need to upgrade to a sports version. Good for me but bad for the bikes in question – Why? I’m an emotional creature. When I think of the Bonnie, my immediate thought veers to me handing it down some 20-30 years to a worthy adversary or equally insane mini me. There is an attachment to it. I would think of the Bonnie as I would of my 2 incomparably useless feline rulers at home who ascended the throne to royalty moment they set their demanding paws in my territory; but I love them fiercely and cannot do without them at all.

In my quest to learn the right way, I invested in a preowned yet impeccably new Honda Maestro scooter. Abeer spent every minute teaching me to ride. The father was offended since it had been his dream/wish to buy me a 2-wheeler through college and my initial working years. Company transport or the nightmare of having all my offices in the worst lanes of Andheri East made this is a defunct idea. I was, needless to say, demotivated and adamant not to own anything since I was convinced it would guzzle fuel or have me killed. Now the urge was back but with a different purpose; hence, the arrival of the scooter. I spent hours perfecting my riding on it but continued to remain nerved by Mumbai’s merciless and homicidal traffic. Abeer was strict and then pure nasty strict (his version of saving my life). We fought and made up a zillion times in the course of these lessons. At the time, I yo-yoed between wanting, wishing and actually planning for a Bonnie. I was unsure of my own intent – at one point deciding that maybe I was being a spoilt brat and this wasn’t for me. It’ll die a natural death. These things DON’T DIE. They are like roaches roaming and taking shelter in hidden corners of your white matter so that the grey cells can’t find em.

I got into gear; went through a nightmare to sort my license and decided I’m buying the Bonnie. Preowned and make it my own. I had 3 rescued stray cats, one preowned scooter… so maybe I was meant to buy a preowned motorcycle too. The only perk being I was arrogantly jumping straight to a ~800cc machine. I prepared myself for that. I had no time to waste and no patience in reserve either. We settled on 2 Bonnevilles and 1 Street 750 as a backup– given that preowned bikes have an issue with upfront payment. Just as we were about to close in on our decision, my Abeer, the inside man at Triumph (by then he had changed jobs and had Triumph as a corp comm client – seriously the IRONY), informed me that new bikes were in the pipeline and they were all BONNEVILLES. I felt so cheated. Here I was on the brink of a much-procrastinated decision and he just ruined it by telling me about new Bonnies. I feverishly followed the launch of the bikes overseas and instantly fell flat, tongue and eyes out. In the ensuing months, the bikes launched one after the other, we bought the ER6n and I realized how monumentally underpaid I was or overpriced the superbike market had come to become. I was lost. I learned my riding on the ER6n which wasn’t a wise idea given I am too short for that beast and my feet barely touched the ground. Nonetheless, with Abeer’s and the brother’s help I managed to learn the basics on the Kawasaki but didn’t gain much concentration or ease of ride.

A certain boost of ego and pride came about post a salary revision in June 2016 and I instantly thought NOW I can pick up anything. The StreetTwin 900cc Bonnie was on my radar. What absolute sweetness… almost made for me. Could smell doom following me but couldn’t imagine what could possibly go wrong. I set the date. July 1^st 2016, I was gonna book the ST in Pune under Abeer’s name. This came after a year of argument where I was adamant that the bike was to be mine aka under my name. A childish wish of having something on paper in my name was trumped with his rationale of saving a bunch of 1000s by purchasing from Pune – something we had done with our bikes so far. I made peace and pissed on the idea of the Bonnie being in my name. Turns out its possible to get it on your name with a lil here and there. As I waited, doom caught up and slapped a revised Maharashtra-only octroi and road tax on 2-wheelers. A 13% increase on premium CBU models meant a temperamental +1.5 lakhs at least. This whole journey had started to feel like the unleashed torque of a powerful bike behind an annoying truck crawling in front of you, hogging a whole lane and deliberately depriving you of open roads. Upset was a thing of the past and I was officially depressed. I knew that I was being a spoilt brat but this was a dream. Passing year after year with no consequence or conclusion. It was giving me mixed messages if I was ever meant to ride or own a bike or… The only person who absolutely understood my pain and didn’t undermined it was Abeer. It was absolutely his wish as mine to see me ride. By now Cyrus (his well-meaning Versys owning Bawa boss) could comprehend my feelings too. They sat pulling strings and working to make my dream come true. I was humbled and embarrassed that this had turned into a rescue operation lest I drop myself in some deep ravine out of misery over this.

On Thursday, 09 June 2016, we sat for breakfast at Starbucks. An exhaustive list of possibilities, some anger and oodles of disappointment hurled at the bloodsucking MH government had been spewed. I had, in desperation considered purchasing the ST from a chap from Kochi who bought but didn’t register the bike, the Delhi showroom who assured me a Delhi registration and absolutely no-issue warranty of sorts, the Kolkata showroom who confirmed that bongs were as pricey as MH govt. and that the manager was also a non-speaking Bongalee like me. What an adventure. I think INDIA got to know I needed a Bonneville almost like one gets priority bump up the organ transplant list. My love, Abeer, I think couldn’t see me disappointed anymore or my rather silent mode off late had given him the heebeedeejeebees. We opened OLX and solemnized that we would find a bonnie for me like a desperate homeless puppy with loads of potential waiting for me to notice and adopt it. We instantly laid eyes on a beautiful 2014 Bonneville SE purchased, refurbished and up for sale by a Bawa uncle. Instantly called him and set up a meeting the same evening. Abeer was already sold and just maintained that the meeting was a “formality” but subject to supportive echoes from Shaman Triumph, this was the girl I was to bring home. I spent the rest of my day building hope but not soaring too high lest I fall and crack a rib. Meanwhile Abeer was at Shaman Triumph for some routine work and called me with news of a beautiful burnt orange and black T100 standing there. I was least bothered since T100s were not my choice. Heating issues and extended wet weight had me not consider them. Upon repeated insistence, I headed to Shaman post-work with the understanding that Abeer and I were to hop on my trustee Maestro and meet Bawa uncle for his Bonnie. It was S.O.R.T.E.D.

I walked in and saw her. What a ginger delight. Was told this shiny chrome lassy was going for the same price as Bawa uncle’s offer. Holy smokes I was in a conundrum AGAIN. I blamed Abeer for this. Master of spirals and whirls. He showed me the ginger babe and said… “Nah, don’t get hung up on her. Have a look at the Bonnie SE.” Suddenly everyone there who recognized the suffering soul i.e. me, had an opinion on what to buy. Shubrata Marmar was incidentally present and literally looked me in the eye and said “Buy what YOU wanna buy. Don’t listen to anyone. It’s your purchase.” I left the showroom knowing all too well, THIS orangina was coming home. We met the amazing Bawa uncle, rode his bike, met equally interested parties who were at all the same places as us. Post the meeting, we sat down for a Parsi bhonu. As I wolfed down dhansaak, faarcha, eeda anne chawal under a dark cloud of decision making, I put my foot down and said THAT BURNT ORANGE BIKE IN THAT CONDITION AND FOR THAT PRICE WAS A STEAL. Any fool wouldn’t ignore that. Abeer asked me 100000 times if I was sure and I was bloody sure. That was that. Spoke to the manager of Shaman at an unearthly hour and literally insisted that he had my word, I was buying the Ginger. She was mine and not a fly was to buzz around her.

The following morning I spent 3 hrs at the RTO, got my learner’s license reissued and showed up in the most unruly manner to put down a booking amount as a sign of my commitment. Apparently, there were hawks swirling the place hoping for me to be a no-show. Little did they know me or my chase for one of these. Through this whole saga, Abeer kept in constant touch, called and assured me, his boss Cyrus also worked a little out of his “jurisdiction” to make things possible for me, Arash (Bawa #3) at the showroom seemed to connect with the wired up me and then there was me trying to catch up with me. Finally, things were falling in to place. Once Rajesh (manager Shaman Triumph) swiped the card for 50k, it all became too real. It hit me. I’m buying a Bonneville. I stared at her from a distance too afraid to touch her and eager to get to work lest I lose my only loan-paying gig.

Thereafter, loans, long waits, banking errors, the mother’s endless joy accompanied by even more endless sermons on shubh mahurats and finally the very disappointed and misjudging father were the norm. This wait was agonizing. We shamelessly dropped by and took her for a maiden spin like a kid in boarding school out on a break. She left gazers everywhere. I was afraid of this. I didn’t want people looking at me and the chrome and color on her was unavoidable. I slipped the news to few folks and held back tight in general. Well aware of my jinxing karma, I just held on to some realm of patience and sanity. After many issues and potential delays, she rolled out of the showroom with us on 20 June 2016. This date like Abeer’s bday and our anniversary will be etched in my memory. I entered Shaman with unexpected rolls of tears. It was awkward and my hands shook. After gaining some composure, fixing things, waxing and polishing her up and many queries later, we left around 12:30pm. Rode straight home to the ecstatic and vermillion wielding mother. Allowed her the luxury of putting her customary swastika and tying the mata ki chunni with the understanding its gonna come off soon. She took a pillion spin and her glee for me knew no bounds. This was pure happiness. Abeer was ecstatic and enjoying HIMSELF teasing me that he’s a Bonnie convert and the ER6n would be sold. We smiled and laughed like it was the perfect spring day. Too good to be true. From 2413 we clocked straight 2509 in one day. She endured heat, dust, rains and mud all in that one span of existence. Met Harshal who owns a Ducati Scrambler, played a prank on a fellow Bonnefied advocate Abhinav and generally abused our social media accounts with the latest addition to “our garage”. It was all in a Bonnie’s worth as we parked her late at night back into my garage. Soaked to the bone but content in every realm.

Today (21 June 2016) I did my maiden ride on Ginger. Abeer made it a point that I understand her as soon as possible and break into her by riding however slow at 1^st. Weight and the nervousness of a beauty being my learning platform stood temporarily in the way but that hasn’t deterred us any longer. Spun around my building with slopes and tiles and bumps and parking traffic. I was nervous but a babe humming under me with unleashed power under the garb of classy poise was an indescribable feeling (no pun intended). We’ve decided to take her to the beach and spin her about there while I get a good hang of her. I’ve already got eyes rolling, judgment spewing and eyebrows soaring as I respond to questions like ‘Did YOU buy her’ or ‘was that cost in LAKHS’ or ‘you work in underworld or something’ even worse ‘so it’s like an expensive bullet’ (the last one pisses me off). Worse still are the misconceptions that I either work in an overpaid job that gives me time off, I have too much family money or that I am borderline psychotic if I’m yet unmarried, not a mother but have chosen to empty all my savings on what is conceived a senseless impractical buy. They know nothing about me and I couldn’t care about knowing them. For now, I focus solely on 3 hot things: the man, the ER6n and the Bonnie. I was practically broke all month, to a point that I could not buy sweets or had to choose my commute to and from work, had completely shut down my social life but was rich in a way I could not describe. It just looks shiny and black and feeds a hunger inside that has been starving for way too long.

Next stop: A post on my journey so far on the Bonnie, her maiden ride outside Mumbai and a plethora of trips already lined up and yearning to be executed (#BiKronicles). This girl needs a badass image makeover.

Sh/\kes™

She squirmed and wobbled in my arms. The back of the rikshaw seemed like an appropriate place to her for some acrobatics. Then she quickly changed her mind, curled up in my arms and rested her tiny blob of head on the crease of my elbow; staring with button eyes at the noisy traffic out. Unmoving. Unflinching. Unperturbed.

Day 1 at su casa

I logged into my Facebook account scrolling for mundane updates of “significant” posts on “insignificant” activities. The 3^rd post was by #WorldForAll. I never miss their updates. Can’t help but check the cutesy bundles they rescue each week. Them and some alerts from #YODA or #PetsForAdoption etc. WFA had done something different this time. Saw a video post. Assumed it was a documentary or awareness movie. Clicked and watched. 30secs into watching a helpless kitten wobble on her tripod like gait to becoming a hilarious bundle of unbelievable strength and budding life was all it took for me to ball my eyes out, like and comment. I wanted her. Ok… I’ve wanted a lot of the animals they have rescued so far. However, her story cried out to me as if it was a message tailored for me. Later on as the comments poured in, I figured the same sentiment resonated from others.

Shakes (or as I have trademarked her Sh/\kes™) was a 2-month old baby girl found and rescued by Nasreen’s help in Andheri E. She was unforgivably tormented by Mumbai monsoons and was shaking beyond a cold damp shiver. She would have most certainly met her demise had she not been rescued that fateful day. She was fostered by Nasreen and looked over by a vet who diagnosed a unique case of Cerebellar Hypoplasia (in this case Feline CH*). 

When Shakes needs me

*Cerebellar hypoplasia is a condition in which the brain, specifically the cerebellum, is underdeveloped or small for size leading to effect on motor nerves and sensory disturbances. This affects gait, balance, and movement primarily due to tremors and incessant shaking which aggravate on excess stimulation, excitement, fear, hunger etc. and completely die down to nil when the animal is calm, sleeping, resting or not triggered by any emotion. Shakes is a rare case of CH. This can be due to genetics, malnourishment of the mother during pregnancy or possibly due to injury or physical disturbance when the mother was carrying the litter.

I educated myself on the condition and didn’t care for what it brought forth. I wanted Shakes and the only way to do this was to convince the boyfriend, Abeer, to adopt her since I had spent 2 years trying to get my father to warm up to and cuddle up with 2 rescued brats already ruling my kingdom. Abeer was always an animal lover who claimed to be a dog person but had a hidden catman somewhere in that massive heart of his. From being occupied with Elsa’s antics or lack thereof (my eldest boy) to being smitten with Ella’s grace and agility (my baby girl and Elsa’s begum from arranged marriage); I was sure he loved the little felines as much. Abeer’s mum was home alone and seeing the benefits, the presence of a pet can bring to folks home alone like my dad, was a card I played to my already expanding list of excuses for him to adopt her. For the 1^st time ever Abeer did not resist. He hesitated and was anxious like a 1^st time adopter but did not say NO. We took time off and went to visit Shakes at her foster. She was brought out fast asleep and just eased into my arms. It was as if I was standing outside an orphanage or a NICU and was entrusted with the most precious thing they had. She was a doll incarnate. The next 20mins we stared as she wobbled and walked, drew EVERYONE’s attention (Taro, Nasreen, her son and 1 more member from WFA included) and proceeded to curl up into 1/4^th her size, decide she’s fascinated us enough and plonked off to sleep. I knew then that my gut was right all along.

My beautiful (hot and happening) family

Abeer’s eyes lit up and he was in love with her. He said ‘yes’ as soon as we had a private moment and I couldn’t have been elated. We explored what all did Shakes require in terms of care and handling especially more than the average cat and headed home to prep the place for her arrival.

On 15 Sep 2015, Taro (cofounder of WFA) personally brought her over to my place. He also had the chance to meet my famous duo Elsa-Ella and proceeded to ease Shakes into our lives. Abeer and I went through the formalities and forms and some cutting questions regarding her care and parvarish god forbid something were to go wrong in any situation. I was taken aback but thought these were good questions to ask folks here especially when they just as easily abandon their pets because their “pets” never really were considered “family” in the 1^st place. After the formalities and a very bad cup of coffee I made for Taro, Shakes was left to be acquainted to US.

Abeer was a natural. It surprised me and then it didn’t. He cared and that’s all that mattered. If you care, the rest falls into place. This coming from someone who was a nervous wreck when she handled baby Elsa. Shakes unlike other cats seems to ease into her places. She is curious, but never looks like she is scared or bothered or whining. She sleeps and wakes up and gets exploring as if that’s her expertise through the vast expanse of her 2-month old existence. She was wary of Elsa-Ella’s presence but not scared or bolting away. Instead there came the familiar crouch and observe like an FBI tactical force veteran and then her trademark signature tripod stand. *Yes Shakes, you standing so tall alone scares the bejesus outta everyone*.

She stayed the night with Geet and me and I had a gala time entertaining her. She was feisty and sporty and adorable all in one. Her absolutely tiny frame was no hurdle against her urge to scale massive peaks like my laptop bag or the giant pillow on my bed. As long as she is watched while on a height and resting always on a soft surface, I was ok. Soft landings for her lithe body was ok with me until she got a little fatter and stronger. She bolted from one corner to the other only to bang into furniture and take a few seconds to gather herself. She loved 2 other dangerous things: climbing and playing with strings. The latter she is a huge fan off. Simplicity and bundles of love came in from watching this baby grow supremely happy with a few strings. That’s all it took to see her eyes light up, her inhibitions disappear and her nose turn pink-er with excitement. She loved human touch and connection. Leave her space for a moment and you’ll know never to underestimate the power of a kitten’s meowing. It’s the cutest loudest sound and you’ll drop/rush through whatever you are doing. Willingly.

The next day I dropped her off to Abeer’s and that’s where the real adventures began. Father and daughter ganged up and enjoyed their time together. Abeer’s momma and sister watched as he transformed from a regular Joe at home to a dedicated daddy/adopter. Abeer’s sister was 100% occupied with Shakes since she would head back to the UAE soon. Shakes was the center of attention, love, food, games, pampering and all that a new little one can possible accumulate. She loves cuddles and sleeping – no sleeping alone. She ate and played while you watched her. She was surprisingly litter trained but there came the challenge of ensuring her balance while doing her business. She constantly shook and lost her balance and fell into her poop. This was patiently resolved with wet wipes and conditioning her to balance and stay strong.

Biker girl in the making!

She was a delight. She didn’t demand anything which made it important for us to fix a feeding schedule, sleeping and pooping routines. She hijacked anything her paws touched and her big button eyes blackmailed out of us. I for once found myself traveling to Abeer’s more just to spend time with her. She made me feel like a momma too. I realized how much I missed kittens or more appropriately how fast my own 2 grew up that I missed when they were babies. Here was Shakes, filling that void.

Over the course of a few months, her personality traits came out in the open. She openly threatened and growled at other cats and dogs – absolutely unnerved by their size despite her having to strain to look up at them. She ran amok and ran into things often bumping her head and waiting to gather her wits. She learnt to scale higher objects and furniture by using her fore paws and landing from heights on her belly and hind knees. This makes an ugly sound and each time I find myself reaching out to grab her and comfort her. She doesn’t seem to need any. Abeer and Shakes have grown inseparable. He rushes home to her, wakes up at 5am to prepare high protein meals and even cleans up incessantly after her. Her comfort and needs come above all and I became the happiest most content spectator to it all. Somewhere watching your man turn to a puddle rearing for a little one is endearing and draws me closer to him.

WIP Relationship

He speaks to her and she seems to understand what he says – aka translate it to whatever she assumes is said. There is undeniable connect when they look at each other and she responds with paws on his face. A miniscule sense of envy washes over me when I see her literally hug him and sleep. Yep, Shakes is a cuddle bunny who hates sleeping alone. She knows the curvature of my boyo’s arm just right enough to fit herself in. Shes spoons herself into his sleeping position and usually buries herself in my hair if I’m around. Her preoccupation with attacking and playing with my hair for hours stumps me. But I’m happy to play the part too. We went through the ritual of vaccinations, neutering and even her 1^st bath. I was stumped as she stood perfectly still almost submissive and awaiting the end of her 1^st aqua experience. It is a blessing if no other term describes best her presence in our lives. Some people have children, we have Shakes. Her care and upbringing is in our collective priorities and we enjoy every second of it. When she was in foster care, Abeer would swing by on the bike, ask me to hop on and we would take off just to spend a few hours with her. I knew then that Abeer was a doting father/figure and when he cared, he did so from every crevice of his heart. Her tremors overtime reduced, although prominent on profound excitement. She has a tripod like gait and still walks with her hind legs stomping rather than gracefully gliding like cats do. Her head shakes when she eats but she has better control of her food and water now in a soft plastic bowl. Litter management is easier and instances of her soiling herself are far fewer.  

When we open the door, seeing Shakes anticipating us is a huge moment. She stands right at the door and brings her tiny soft self to unload her cuteness on us. There is no doubt that she loves having us around. She hates being alone and maybe sometime soon we might add a companion for Ms. Shakes. Till then I will record every moment she waltzes out victorious from a massive pile of something she has successfully managed to crash.

 

Momma and baby girl

Daddy and his princess

To my love and baby girl. Nothing is bigger than you 2 in the world for me. Ma Famille

For more pics and updates, visit: https://instagram.com/gatacdo7/

https://instagram.com/tipsies/

BiKronicles 7 (Part une): Pune – Goa – Hampi – Bengaluru

Southern sojourn we’ll call it love. You get a head start before me and I’ll chase you down :P

How else will sparks continue to fly between us love! *said I to my unromantically romantic Abeer*

Locations and Distance:

Mumbai-Pune via expressway [150 kms]

Pune-Goa via Kolhapur NH4- entering the state border through Karnataka (Chorlaghats) and BelagaviNH4AandpassingMollem. Headed to Anjuna Beach via Mapusa [430 kms]

Goa-Hampi via Ponda - Hubballi-Dharwad (NH4A) – crossing Hospete (NH63) to Hampi [360 kms]

Hampi-Bengaluru via Hospet – Chittradurga (NH13) – Tumkuru (NH4) [350 kms]

Fuel: INR 4000/- that included 6 refills through the whole stretch. We always tanked up because fuel costs kept getting cheaper and we saw that as an advantage. Pumps aren’t easy to come by on long stretches so we thought it best to be cautious and full rather than wanting for trouble. Hired a scooter on the other side of Hampi that cost us 150-100 (the latter for petrol).

Road conditions: As we proceeded south,NHs were divine. There were uninterrupted stretches of highway that felt like we were gliding on butter paper and they were good to the bike and the rider. Mileage was positive and journey time was cut short extensively when the anxiety of bumps, potholes or ill-time speed breakers were not primary. Small villages and talukas are always marked with small steep speed-breakers or multiple ones. That is something I have learnt over the rides. Keep an eye out for villages. Forest roads and ghat roads always seem to have a steep slide on the side of the road – if large incoming vehicles decide to hog your lane and force you off the road, its best to find the closest spot to “off-road” or else the bike will slip and fall on the side. The Kolhapur NH was brilliant. Waves and stretches of untouched scenery was breathtaking and the weather was an added bonus. There was just one McDonalds and KFC side to side on the highway (Sarnobatwadi service road). The Chittradurga-Bangalore stretch was one of the most memorable stretches we did this time. We touched 120 easily and didn’t falter or need to stop.

While entering Goa, the state border was a nightmare. Additionally, 30kms of the Karnataka stretch when leaving Goa was pathetic and dangerous. Clearly, Goa was unforgiving at both times for some strange reason. Not so good roads were also the case from Goa untilHubbilli-Dharwad enroute to Hampi. The roads to Hampi were amazing except darkness fell super fast. Once we crossed the busy town of Hospete, we were met with poor to zero light on raw to near raw stretches. The roads were jungle-like but it was impossible to tell if there was anything or anyone ahead. High beams is another major issue as night time riding was quite marred with those abusing the beam feature causing near accidents. I was perplexed to see lone standing men or women under canopy of creepy looking trees and foliage in absolute darkness. Their silhouette was outlined only when our bike headlight temporarily illuminated their shapes and I could not imagine even walking that stretch alone. Getting to Hampi was slightly tough after darkness fell as no one was in sight (literally) and most folks spoke in Kannada. Few conversed in English as we seemingly neared the destination and helped us get through narrow by lanes of a village and then to Hampi main street. Abeer was tad lost as the view for him had changed from nearly 8 years ago when he had visited. Apparently, a lot of the structures and hotels had been torn down and I was glad as it looked like the result was more visibility to the rocks and heritage site. At night they looked threatening and eerie but that focus shifted after the 2^nd day there. We also encountered some RE bikers on the way to Hampi and went back and forth on the highway. They cruised at leisure but Abeer gunned her because of his anxiety with inability to see in the dark. Traffic discipline in Karnataka state is worse or at par with Maharashtra. Everyone is in a massive hurry to get god knows where. Our main issue was cattle and animals. They seemed to sunbathe EVERYWHERE. Breaking at a speed of 120 without making steak sandwiches of them proved to be a massive learning. All this was overshadowed by the changing scenery. By now I had seen shades of nature only painters at the Louvre could imagine on palette. There were massive windmills projects and I was stumped and ridiculously elated to see sensible use of natural resources to power the state. Sophisticated windmills stood tall in fields and clusters. I intended to get a good shot of them but didn't manage one. The roads within Hampi were surprisingly commutable. Even within the village, the network through parallel roads were clean, well-kept and navigable. Such instances surprise me as the affinity for a jam was high and yet I found no jams, no incessant honking, yelling, or any of the traffic crimes city folks come installed with. We stalled the bike for 2 days to give her and us some rest. Thereafter we were constantly on foot as we always do. We even navigated to the other side of Hampi (wild or sinful side) by boat (takes about 5 mins and a few bucks per head). Thereafter we explored Sanapur Lake, Tungabhadra Project strewn landmarks, Hanuman Temple, Whispering Rocks and many internal roads that diverted along the rest of the REAL heritage site. We hired a scooter at the embankment for 100 (petrol cost)+150 (rent cost), which made our commute super fun. Mopeds are available too but lack of storage and possibly lesser fuel capacity is a deterrent. However, I vouch for it.Roads are well made, maintained and have bleak traffic or none whatsoever. Thereafter, the final route for this leg of the journey was Hampi to Bangalore. We wound our way out of Hampi towards NH13 and gunned for Chittradurga. Enroute we met a fellow Enfielder and now fast friend from Auroville, Sriram. Made a quick stop at Chittradurga town had lunch with Sriram and his father and gunned the bebe to Bangalore via NH4. Traffic hit us at Yeshwantpura but we reached Nandi-Durga road in 15 mins.

Speed: On the best roads as described above, we hit 100-120 easily with no breaks. On the worst and especially weather-beaten roads riddled with fatal potholes, we cruised between 40-60. The chilled air and sometimes-poor visibility and forest canopy slowed us down even further. The route after Bangalore (BiKronicles 7 [part deux]) had us restricted at 80. Route from Hampi to Bangalore via Chittradurga was 60-80 followed by a straight 120 on NH4. Within Hampi, there was no scope for speeding, however, on the scooter run the speeds were 60 on clear roads.

Weather: This was done through the month of August which is monsoons or receding monsoons in India (I call it moody monsoons). It is the 1^st time in a span of 2 weeks I experienced biting cold, torrential downpour, incessant drizzle, spring sun, intense heat and general good weather. It was an amalgam of all seasons chasing us to our destinations. I’d say we coped supremely well as we routinely shifted between rain liners, plain t-shirts, boots and trekkers, waterproof covers and just hanging it all out to dry. Our gears were #Spartan and #Cramster pro gear mesh jackets. The bebe (Royal Enfield) was used for transporting us and our belongings in chameleonic shapes and forms across state borders. She held well through horrible stretches that proved near fatal while inversely well through the smooth roads. There was intense heat at night in Goa contrary to the early evening weather, which prompted us to get a non-AC room and cool again the following morning. Load shedding was present from 10pm through 3am – worst time ever for me. Hampi was pleasant weather all evening and early mornings but would pick up its signature heat through the noon.Bangalore was the same and remained absolutely pleasant until 11 Aug 2015, when it rained heavy and incessantly – crippling my chances at catching my flight on time*.

Stay: Amigo’s Guest House/Homestay, Anjuna, Goa (INR 700/night). Run by a sweet couple and family with the sweetest boxer and dachshund to protect you. Self-contained large rooms, equipped bathrooms;3 mins stroll to Anjuna beach. Self-contained rooms, with a balcony, overlook the garden at the back. Mango, banana, pineapple, jackfruit and avocado trees grace the surroundings, as does the various spice bearing vegetation.Hampi we stayed at Reshma’s homestay (INR 200/night) and it was perfect, pleasant, comfortable and convenient. It is located in the lane of Mango’s restaurant, which we attacked for ALL our meals. Bangalore was with the baby brother.

Random notes:This trip began on a 1-destination note: Auroville. Wishlist since 2 yrs to have Abeer visit the French colony and revive the Francophile within. After 2 failed plans, I concluded that fate had the bike within the Auro frame; hence the incessant delays. The plan changed face in the 2-weeks prior to departure. We ho-hummed through Coorg, Varkala, Munnar, parts of KA state and the likes. Even contemplated just sticking MS state. Finally, at random, it was decided – Mumbai-Pune-Goa-Hampi-Bangalore and back home. I was content. Abeer left for Pune ahead of me and I followed suit after a lengthy workday and a painfully long bus journey. I had the chance to stay and catch up with an old school friend – more like my baby sister from the yesteryears and she was ever so gracious in keeping me amused and comfortable till 2 am where we stayed up and chatted about school and words we exchanged. Thank you darling Tarana. I couldn’t believe my eyes when I tried to adjust from a pint sized 2 ft baby to a now grown gracious woman with her own flair and business sense. She cooked for me, her father spoke to me till I finished my absolutely delicious dinner of kheema, mutton curry and rotis. I was at home. Till I surprisingly found myself adherent to the 5:45 am departure the next morning that boyo had warned me off. A grumpy sleep deprived start after, we took off. Everything as mentioned above was perfect and I enjoyed the whole process. I even patiently put up with the numerous attaching and detaching of the rain liner in the Spartan jacket. Truth be told, it can get painfully hot in there. We reached Goa, drenched, frozen and wet. Instead of wanderlusting after Agonda or Palolem we gunned for Anjuna out of sheer exhaustion. After a quick survey of a few homestays, we settled on Amigo for a simple non-AC room (frozen that we were). The evening was spent cleaning up, strategically laying things to dry and heading to the beach for some beers and dinner. By now I had not slept 2 nights in a row and my body was screaming for rest. We gorged on seafood platters and 6 bottles of beer. Yep we did. Just then, around 10 pm, lights completely went out and all our adjusted pupils could catch was dark rocky silhouettes in the ocean. We headed back in and got another beer for the yet unsatiated boyo. He needed it and I obliged. All that beer had to vent somewhere and my huge pet peeve of bathrooms came to haunt me as we walked in absolute darkness to bathrooms that looked like Japanese horror movie scenes. I was afraid if I shown the light to any corner other than where I was, I was sure to find a face and some long dark hair. We went back to crash in for some much-needed sleep. I swear I slept about 30 odd mins before waking up to harsh humidity, swarming mosquitoes and no breeze. This went on till3 am and Abeer had a tough time getting me to sleep. Apparently, the 6+ beers worked magic for his brain. He was riding so I didn’t disturb him. Next morning after a few bites not really breakfast worthy, we left from Panaji city for Hampi. 1^st time I learnt that breakfast in Goa is mostly vegetarian. Eggs and sausages would have to wait. We made the mistake of wearing light clothes and I went a step further by donning shorts. The result was incessant rains, biting cold and discomfort. Abeer made the 1^st stop after we crossed the Goa-KA state border. I noticed a tiny jam at the state border (Karnataka) where trucks and large multi-axle vehicles quietly waited as a mother tried to shield her newborn calf who had strayed to the middle of it all. She nuzzled the little one to keep moving to the side to safety. It was a moving sight for me where everyone waited patiently for the whole moment to pass. This was followed by something unpleasant and potentially dangerous event too. Once we took a break, there were peering and sleazy eyes scanning me all over. Literally, people had paused to see me in shorts;I was drenched and uneasy from the peering now more than the weather. Abeer insisted I go and change into jeans, which I desperately wanted to do anyways. I found a hotel with a bathroom a mile behind the main restaurant. There were no women in sight. I walked hesitantly inside, walked past walked looked like a bar, some stretch of corridor and to a near horror looking bathroom that wasn’t worth changing into. The male and female toilets were poorly covered by an outside meshed window. I quickly managed to get out of my shorts into my jeans using my boarding school skills but was wary of a man standing with a sickle about 6 odd feet near the bathroom entrance almost blocking my exit. He inched closer and blocked my exit by precariously standing with his back toward me. He stood there breathing heavily, not directly looking at me but his body language screamed anything but minding his own business. I was instantly gripped with fear and wondered if I would be able to reach my phone and call Abeer in time as the phone was sealed in a waterproof neck bag. I focused on getting the pants all the way up, buttoning it and getting ready to shove and bolt (if needed). All the wet clothes, skin and weather coupled with no one within earshot AND a sickle wielding man did not make things quite smooth for me. I decided to call out loudly in the hopes of startling him. It sort of worked but I took the opportunity and ran with my boots still unlaced. The fear had caused tears to stream down my face and I was very relieved to see Abeer who told me that next time he would come with me to such places. We ate eggs and pav (I barely managed to swallow lumps of it) and instantly left. Thereafter, it was a trip on Mars surface for a good 30 kms, I lost my MiBand fitness gadget, we dropped a ‘hopefully drying-now wet’ shoe and I ran back a couple of meters to retrieve it, and then stopped at a village centric highway dhaba to grab a grub. I was very happy to devour a thali and we moved on from there. The roads were fantastic and the weather even better. Vehicles irrespective of their size, shape and condition cut across lanes 1-4 in a matter of seconds with the efficiency of an F1 racer who expectedly came in the top 10 but not quite. There were some close shaves and some patient maneuvers. A few triumph and RE riders were conspicuous by their style and of course gear (us included). By now I was used to being a spectacle especially when we stopped for breaks in populated places. The route to Hospete-Hampi was a dream ride. Although we were gunning the bike, darkness was sinking faster than anticipated. We captured a fantastic sunset at the outskirts of Hospete and then proceeded to battle major darkness and ill-lit roads into Hampi. Was perplexed myself how folks stood in absolute darkness in corners, under shrubs and canopy and behaved like there was no apprehension or fear. Of course, locals I guess. I didn’t dare look back for fear of encountering one of the many movie demons I’ve fed my stupid brain. We managed to make it to a near packed Hampi. Our stay was one of many new learnings and fascination for me. It reminded me a lot of Gokarna. Friendly, open-minded locals, home stays and mini boarding and lodgings. Fantastic organic meals cooked with respect and ingredients used to their full wholesome goodness potential. Absolutely EVERYTHING one would need for the duration of your stay there. Bare minimums and simplicity being the key. We stayed at Reshma’s guesthouse. She was a hospitable young lady who ran the lodge with her mother. Everyone wakes up at 5 am and begins holy rituals and the day’s start. Hot water was the result of the old-fashioned heater prongs, which meant saving electricity and using only as much as we really needed. I was in love. Abeer and I had a tiny room to us with a large bathroom and a bed with mosquito netting. Some inbuilt wall shelves and a mirror. That’s precisely the extent of the materialistic content of this room and it was perfect. Parked the exhausted RE and proceeded to have 2 blissful days of just us, explorations, sunrise and sunsets, fantastic food and good weather. It was pleasant, cold nights, and inversely hot days. There were cafes and internet booths, which were WiFi enabled. Apart from that, no part of the tiny town was network riddled. In a way that’s PERFECT. You disconnect yourself and connect only when needed for a brief period. Mango café became our home and abode for the duration of our stay. There were several foreigners and Indians. But the plethora of folks was a likeminded bunch. Several bikers also visited here in pairs, lone travelers or as groups. Don’t be perturbed by the guesthouse or hotel accommodations. They are indeed fantastic inside as a 1^st timer may assume there is better than this. Although we were drained out when we arrived, Abeer insisted on taking me to the banks of the Tungabhadra that overlooked the ‘other’ side of this town. He insisted we stay at the same place he did some 8 odd years ago. We realized that much of the town, that was recently built on tourism demand, was torn down and a basic bare minimum was retained. We turned back and stayed inside the main city. The Virupaksha temple and scores of boulders and mantappas that loom in the dark surround it. Everything from bovine beings, cats, dogs, insects, bears and even monkeys coexist in perfect harmony. People were accommodating, kind, and eager to make your stay more than comfortable without questions or judgement. This characteristic is the polar opposite of helpful city folks who with the intent of helping you, go the extra mile with a lecture or a taunt in order to have you choose the alternative they preferred or profited from. The other side of Hampi is equally or rather more beautiful and takes you ‘inside’ the world of Hampi. Stretches of inexplicably balanced boulders against a landscape of toiled and irrigated fields meet the eye. The roads are well connected and semi pucca. Scooters and mopeds on rent are your best bet. Besides I'm always for giving the locals a bit of business. We scootered our way up to Sanapur Lake and the Hanuman temple which is a decent trek up a massive boulder spot. The reward up topisn't just divine blessings but a breathtaking view (360°) of Hampi. Surprisingly well connected with 2 housing buildings and a water tank on the ‘peak’ had become one of those ‘anything is possible’ junctures in my life. We lunched at the Whispering Rocks (an organic rustic stay in the forest area of Hampi) and vowed to come back during season time to stay on one of their huts or eco cave lodgings. New friends - check. At one point, we took the bike out to the closest town with an ATM to withdraw some money and have the bike checked by a local mechanic. Apart from the routine oil changes etc.the thing that struck me was when the mechanic dislodged a trapped dragonfly from the engine, walked carefully to a tree nearby and lay the insect to rest there. I thought ‘wow if this was any other place, they would crush or throw it away like solid grease'. I was awestruck with the humanitarian attitude and smiled. We ran into the Wolfpack Enfield riders (Vivek and Co.), exchanged a few notes and moved on like all routine encounters. The approaching side of Hampi is pure vegetarian cuisine and no alcohol zone. One does not even get eggs here. The across-river side is everything-goes area. One maybe dismayed when you read this but trust me, you won’t feel any remorse or withdrawal unless, drinking and partying is the aim. The other side can be crossed by a ferryboat that leaves almost all day till about 5pm for a nominal fee. Alternatively, one can road trip it by going around Hospete-Hampi roads by covering an additional 50 kms. We preferred to stay put and rest the bike.

The day we left Hampi, I was sad. Something had been bothering me on a personal level and the reality of the trip coming to its planned demise was what I was preparedly unprepared for. We packed in a good breakfast, bid our temporary farewells and set on the road to Chittradurga. Language proved to be a challenge and then not with all the hand movements and big grins… Despite the communication in a mix of English, Hindi and Tamil, we managed to make it to the main route toward Chittradurga. Roads were half-decent but not as bad as the worst I had seen so far. I was looking forward to Bangalore for some city feel, friends, family visits and the breweries. There came a moment where some random “smart” dude tied his bull to one of those mileage markers on a bridge and left her unattended on a 4-way highway. The result was the bull walked all the way to the opposite end with the rope noosed around her neck. We slowed the bike down only to have the rope caught in our engine. I got off and lured her to a standstill, got the rope separated from the engine and prompted rest of the traffic to slow down as well as the bull would be dragged and surely killed if it continued the being frightened, stuck and attempting to cross back. I still pray it’s safe. After this drama and yet another visual lesson stuck in my head, I focused on the road. Somewhere along I flashed my thumb and a smile under all my vigilante-esque gear at a lone Enfielder who was on a 350 with quite the gear load on him. He intercepted us and we stopped for a chai break and routine bike notes exchange. Jaya Sriram is a young 20 something architect from Chennai who resides in Auroville and like us is a solo rider. He has covered many terrains on his classic vintage 350cc and prefers his own self for company. He was only too happy to have us give him “pseudo” company and we realized we are all headed to Bangalore. Sri kept his speed to a decent oscillating 60-80 while we gunned the girl toward a 100. After 2 brief breaks AND exchanges, he suggested we halt at Chittradurga for a quick bite and then move on nonstop to Bangalore. As we decided to do so, somewhere along the way, an Enfield with 2 mid-elderly gentlemen intercepted him on the way. They all seemed familiar to each other until Sri cruised by us telling us with a beaming smile that the pillion was his father. We were already at Chittradurga and all 4 of us sat down for an Enfieldian meal of puris and bhaji. Was an interesting exchange where Abeer was given advice and a soft nudge to carry on from Bangalore and head to Auroville and further down south. There was jest and laughter as they all realized in mins I would be the one missing my boyo. Thereafter, we hopped on our bikes, said our goodbyes and moved on. We cracked Bangalore in a swift <3hrs. Roads were butter paper and traffic well behaved. Weather too was exceptionally decent. The bike at this point had started to rattle and vibrate a lot. To a point that her mirrors wouldn’t stay steady. The engine clearly had a mishap somewhere and no matter how hard we tried or Abeer tried to give her a listen, we couldn’t figure the EXACT problem. At Hampi she was decently serviced with a brand new oil change as well. None of that mattered at this point when even attempting to make her hit above 80 proved to be strenuous. It was probably the 1^st time she refused to cooperate with us which was criminal on a road and conditions such as the ones I described. We reached NandiDurga Road and instantly hit the RE service center. Without so much as a loosening a bolt, a diagnosis of crankshaft issues was made. This is like a doctor listening to you describe your fever and bluntly state you have dengue or malaria without the appropriate tests. We proceeded to take her to my brother’s place and rest her for the night until we decided what to do with her. It was Monday morning and I had a flight the next evening back home. Abeer had a train back to Pune with the bebe in cargo. Somehow, I knew it was not to happen.

We proceeded to hit the haunts: Church Street social, Watson’s, Windmills craftworks, The big pitcher etc. over the next 2 days. We even browsed forums to check the most highly recommended mechanic in Bangalore, someone named Nandan near Yeshwantpura, who looked at bebe and declared a good 3-4 days' worth of work. We were stumped and disappointed to a degree I can’t state here. Abeer opted to stay back the rest of the week and I was to fly home and make his travel arrangements available when they were ready. To this point, Bangalore weather was hot to pleasant until it decided to create the biggest jam for me and send out torrential rains making it impossible for me to make my flight. This made it officially a black mark on my flawless “no-flight-missed” track-record. Some quick thinking from the brother and kind GoAir officials, I was changed from an 8:30pm flight on Tuesday night to a 5:30am Wednesday morning flight at no extra cost. For me having to share one more night with my love was more than I could ask for as the familiar heart-in-my-throat feeling sank in. Yes I’m spoilt for loving him so much. After a few hours of rest, I left. Weary, sleep deprived, mix bag of emotions and NOT ready to touch work. I landed and headed straight to work in my avatar reserved only for the office premises and the kind no one recognizes me in. I had accidentally left my office ID card behind and given the organization I work for, a tempID was out of the question. Hence, le brother and boyo had to rush to BlueDart it to me at INR 400/- and it arrived in the nick of time (no adventure however miniscule escapes us). Thereafter, the bike bled us dry day after day until the cost reduced from 23k to a yet staggering 12k (this after some heated exchanges with RE officials that Abeer had gotten connected to). We were both angry with her and #RoyalEnfield for the shoddy piece of junk metal that she was eventually reduced to. 11 August 2015 marked her 1-year anniversary with us and it ended with a celebration followed by slumping unholiness. We decided to sell here there and then itself.

What ensued after is in my next blog post and frankly I was in for a HUGE surprise. :D 
Posthumous mention: After this trip, on 18 Sep 2015, Sriram informed us that his father passed away before his time due to a fatal cardiac arrest. I met him so very briefly and yet the experience over a lunch followed by numerous conversations with Sriram revolving around his father and his influences, almost felt like we knew him. A sad and untimely passing indeed. May he RIP.