An Indian motorcycle: saved by a British ghost

<<Based on a decade old true story from Mumbai days..>>

From archives: One of it's mud rallies

There was a mild 'klunk' when I had driven over that particular pothole - one more abuse added to the billion shocks my poor machine had withstood. Sometimes it was the poor roads, sometime it was me venting out my anger addressed to rest of the world unjustifiably directed to the machine.

Though it had taken more than its share of hardships, today I was a bit worried for my bike.

And as I parked - the proof was there. The security guard came running to point out a trickle of petrol left in our trail. He shouted - 'Sir ji - kabse bol raha hoon. Nayi lo, ye bangar ko de do. Dekho khatra kar rakha hai iss building ke liye..' (been telling you - get a new one; this one ought to be scrapped. This is dangerous for the building/ society). 

 The words hit me hard. 

 

When you love someone or something, you are so lost in that journey of love that you would fight wars to protect them. But today, I was hit hard…. And was tired.. somehow I was not able to fight his words back..

 

Humbled in the parking

A sense of helplessness engulfed me. Looking around - my old love was humbled by a Hayabusa, a KTM RC 390, a Kawasaki Z 650 and a modest Yamaha R15; a BMW 3 series nearby. I saw the security guy's point - an aging Bajaj Pulsar 200 was not exactly glamming up the scenario, but now it posed a fire threat to the whole place itself. Hence his sharp words.

My casual analysis pointed to a fuel tank rupture. But I was tired because of all what the bike had been through:

 

Maybe Mr. Manohar (our security personnel) was right, maybe I had abused it more than it had to offer. Maybe it was time for it to go..

 Suddenly there was an alarming chill in the air... and I felt.. 

Something ….

something different..

I ran the facts again, it was a hot Mumbai evening, the security guy was sweating.. But yet, the chill was growing from a meagre nuisance for me to an intolerable ache in my body.. Increasing every second..

While the body took its pain, the mind seemed to be in a precarious state as well. Some hazy hallucinations came up. Something like flashes of an airstrip, view of the sea from a high altitude, and a union jack…

I never believed in 'Possession', ghosts or such mumbo jumbo that those cheap novels harped about.. Until NOW….

Of course we don’t like the idea of someone being in control of our body.. 

The hallucinations became more strong. Forget Call of duty, this was way more real than a first person video game simulation. I saw a whirring fan, with dozen of instruments, experienced a negative g-force effect of climbing an air pocket, and a thud with sounds of wheels over a long tarmac..

 

The helmet was taken off as the gentleman swung across the ladder to get off his airplane. We were at the Gravesend Royal Air Force airfield and the uniform name tag read 'James Harry Lacey' and with little knowledge of the emblems, I could not make out the rank. The mark on the aircraft he alighted meant that he was already a flying ace, downing at least 5 enemy aircraft. The aircraft seemed like one that I had seen in a book or a museum, but I could not identify it yet.

Suddenly, there was shrill of sirens. No mistaking the sirens - they were warning for an impending enemy air raid.. 

Sgt. Lacey's RAF 501 squadron 

Lacey could not believe it. He had just finished a sortie and thought his 501 squadron had pushed back the Luftwaffe's (German Air force) squadron over the English Channel. Pushed them back to France.. Or so it seemed.

Evidently, that was a decoy. The real attack was coming now! Lacey thought for a while. Logic and protocol demanded to abandon the aircraft and make a run to survive.

The future was pretty bleak. A quick fact check:

• Regardless of what that ol' bloke Churchill said over the radio, Dunkirk had proved that the once mighty Britain was now embracing a retreat objective, going back from an offensive strategy.
• It was an open secret: Unless it got help from some allies (those Yankees perhaps?), the days of Royal Air Force and Britain were numbered. Luftwaffe ruled the skies now. Hitler had deployed 2600 fighters and bombers, to best Britain's meagre 640. With France having fallen and most of Britain's European allies seemed to be following suit, it was only a matter of time before the Royal Air Force (RAF) would succumb with its dwindling number of aircrafts. General Goring and that funny moustache guy's Blitzkrieg strategy seemed to be working well, and our dear Lord Dowding for once seemed to be turning out a sod.
• Having finished a sortie and some intense gunning, his aircraft was already low on fuel and ammunition. The starboard wing had taken some fire sometime back and he had not yet checked the degree of damage.

  

Wait.. I shook myself hard.. Why was I seeing all this? Experiencing things from history? 1940s perhaps.. The severity of emotions I felt made me convinced that this was not a movie, but a reality I was experiencing from a different era.

I remember the chill rising again, Manohar (our security personnel) looking at me in astonishment - as if he had seen a ghost, and when my mind could no longer battle on, I succumbed.

Sgt. Lacey looked around. The orders were clear: abandon the airstrip, it was too late to scramble aircraft to form a defense for the onslaught of enemy fighters. Not to forget the Junkel bombers, which were surely bringing up the rear to create havoc on the airfield once the frontline fighters had done their job. It was a no brainer- abandon your aircraft and try to save your lives.

That feeling that Lacey had.... It seemed way too familiar for me... Well yes! - it was exactly the same mix of despair & helplessness what I was feeling like moments ago!

Lacey fared better than me in getting out of that pit of pity and indecisiveness. He put his helmet on and made a dash for his Supermarine Spitfire.

Jump in the cockpit and start up the engine。。。

Move all the wheel blocks。。。

There's no time to waste。。。。

A war hero: V12 Rolls Royce Merlin engine

The Rolls Royce engine roared to life and he turned the rudder to direct the aircraft towards the empty patch on the right.

Got to get airborne before it's too late..

The sound of the German aircraft changed from a buzz to roar, and he could see with his naked eye a formation of BF109s nearing in. Machine gunfire followed and he sadly saw them strafing the parked RAF fighters. 

Next, that notorious shrill sounded. His fears were reality now, it was those menacing German Junkel bombers going into a dive.

Soon enough, the first set of bombs exploded. The airfield was being annihilated into nothingness. 

Too late for Lacey to change his plans though. The speed rose and he pushed the throttle to maximum and pulled the lever. The aircraft rose from the ground!

  

I was back in our time. Mr. Manohar was still frozen looking at me as if I was phantom. While I could see things, a new reality dawned to me: 

My limbs would not respond to my brain signals!  

I had no control.

However, the feet started moving to a jog. While I was not in control, someone else was clearly operating my body deftly. Now, my life seemed a movie: one which I could watch and experience, but without any control over the script.

Good God! It was possession indeed. My body was in this ancient war pilot's control!

I saw helplessly as my hands started pushing the bike, and the legs started moving, to a run now. Out of the gate, to the road and to that slope. After gaining some speed, Lacey made my body jump on the moving bike. With some momentum gained..

Clutch>>> Gear 2 >>> Clutch release…

 The engine sprang to life!

Smart egg - this Sgt. Lacey.. I see he avoided electric start and chose the momentum jump start method. Sans electricals, there is one lesser way to catch fire indeed. But what were we trying to do here? He still wont give me control of my body and was gunning the engine - increasing speed. I grimaced: with a leaking fuel tank and a revving engine heating up, the bike and I were essentially a Molotov cocktail bomb - waiting to explode any second on the road.

As if he had heard me, Sgt. Lacey raised one finger to my forehead, picked up a drop of sweat. The bead of sweat was bent and put on the engine bay. I saw that the drop did not sizzle into steam, it flowed down. 

Point taken - engine was not that hot. Not enough to boil a sweat drop, perhaps not enough to set fire to the fuel trickle it was subject to. Yet…

The bike and I were gaining speed. The engine was being gunned well, though never reaching the redline, and upshifts being moderated at 4000 rpm; perhaps to optimize heat generation and speed generation.

As a mere spectator, I marveled at how my body and my bike were being driven swiftly with precision, under the command of Sgt. Lacey. Seeing the skillful operation, my mind (my own in this case) wondered why the spirit of a British flying Ace was out trying to help me here? As if a neuron of my brain connected with that of Sgt. Lacey’s, both the minds opined on the following:

• Both of us had an indescribable love for our machines. We trusted them, and they trusted us.. Logic parked aside, this was a unique relationship of pistons, cylinders, and neurons.
• From a British ace swearing by his hand built Rolls Royce engine on a British masterpiece: ready to battle the technically superior German; to an Indian retaining his Bajaj machine as against that Japanese & German onslaught, there was a lot in common. I was particular happy to possess an Indian machine with an indigenous engine, built in my country, by my country(wo)men.. We both had superior competition, but still chose to stick to our country: being patriotic, in our own ways.
• Clearly, both of us were willing to risk it all for our machines. While Sgt. Lacey decision making was immediate, an external (or inter-dimensional/ ghostly) push was needed in my case. Live to fly, fly to live. Do or die..

As I was contemplating the situation, another challenge accosted us. A massive traffic jam could be seen ahead at the Saki Vihar road. Our engine was still heating up, ready to set fire to the fuel and a traffic jam would not just increase the heat, but also have ample of other live human beings - being risked with a makeshift bomb made of a heating bike and leaking fuel.

I was losing vision again.. from the present.. And gaining vision and senses:  Of the British air, from another era, flavored with war scent of bombs, gunfire and aviation fuel.

As British as one can be:
the Supermarine Spitfire

The Spitfire was in the air, increasing distance from the bombarding at the airfield. However, the sound of the Rolls Royce 10 cylinder engine that was not the only one to be heard. There was another. Lacey turned around. 

BMW powered FW 190: Nazi markings et all

Sure enough, at his tail was a Luftwaffe fighter! No mistaking that wretched turbocharged radial BMW 801 engine. Deutschland seemed to producing more of these Focke-Wulf 190 than what the Allied powers could shoot down in a day.

Though a rare phenomenon, I could sense fear building up in Lacey's blood. The chances were weighed, and they weren't bright - No Sir.. He was alone, low on fuel and underpowered form an engineering standpoint. If he went into a dive with the engine on, the negative G-force would flood fuel to his carburetor, choking and finally stalling his engine, while his enemy's turbo charger would have no such problem and dive in faster to gun him down.

Blimey.. To hell with it. Our dear mate 'logic' should take a back seat for a while..

He shut off the engine and commenced his dive. His nemesis from the Luftwaffe followed and as expected, was gaining on us. The FW190 started strafing, but we narrowly escaped.

1,030 hp Rolls Royce Merlin powered Spitfire,
with 1,530 hp BMW powered Luftwaffe on tail

Now Lacey pulled the lever fully. I cringed upon experiencing the massive organ crushing G-force as the aircraft swerved hard right. While the German FW190 claimed supremacy in horsepower, it was not was not the same case in agility, where the tables turned in favor of the British Supermarine Spitfire . Bracing the extreme centrifugal force,  Lacey completed a loop and was now successfully at the side of the German. The hunter had become the hunted! Why, he could also see the Hornchurch airstrip! As the war trumpet, he pressed down his guns at the German.

Poof.. I was back from the World War II and was now seeing my body mounted on the speeding Pulsar 200. Having just witnessed Lacey's tactics, a chill ran through my spine as I looked in anticipation what he was about to do to address this traffic problem ahead.

Sure enough, my wrist opened the throttle opened fully to gain as much speed as we could;
and then I saw my other finger hit the engine kill switch. Just like the Spitfire and Lacey, the bike and I were coasting as illegal speeds, with the engine shut off (See - Lacey did think about not putting innocent people in danger) towards the traffic. I was a tad scared considering my worn out tires and the limited grip they could offer but by now, I had faith in Lacey (and his spirit). 

That is the queer thing about Trust: Once one has won it, he/she could persuade the other bloke into anything, however absurd it may be.

And this is precisely what Lacey played on with me.

This time, I parked inhibitions aside, and let his spirit take full control of my hands and watched in awe as we leaned, swayed, bent the motorcycle - snaking nimbly through the crowd comprising of cars, motorcycles, autorickshaws, cycles, hawkers and everything else that Mumbai traffic has to offer.

As I was approaching the end of the road, the workshop was in sight. I was also beginning to sense control getting back for my limbs. The mind and the body were getting reconnected now. With a cold shiver, I witnessed a sight from the other era: the aircraft landing safely on the Hornchurch airfield and Lacey's victorious grin. Also an emotion of goodbye. 

Since I had control over my body again, and the workshop was 100 m away, I mustered all my energy and shouted: "Uday bhai! ***censored** tank phat gaya! Bachaao; aag pakad sakta hai".

{Help! Ruptured tank- fire risk!!}

Petrol tank's end of life

If Kimi Raikkonen or Lewis Hamilton were watching, they would boil in jealousy to see the speed and sincerity with which Chandru and Uday heard my voice and ran to tend to my machine before I could even fully stop. Within seconds, my pit crew had taken over and dismounted the fuel tank, flushed the residual fuel and dumped the ruptured tank. Few minutes later, we were discussing if the fuel line and valvetrain could be augmented, to push more fuel; to make the bike go faster. And other things that could be repaired & augmented- now that the bike was at the workshop waiting for a new tank. The new tank;  of course, could be scavenged at a fraction of the cost from the notorious chor bazaar.. 

Roads or not, we keep going

Moral of the story:

• Love your machine well, and it will love you back…
• Heavens forbid, if the spirit of  Squadron Leader 'Ginger' Lacey pays you a visit, tell him to go easy on the clutch, lest like me - you end up with a slippy clutch after his aggressive drive..
  

 

PS: In an era where new, manufacturers introduce faster models every month, a special thanks goes out to Uday, Anthony, Ganesh anna & Chandru: who managed to keep this Pulsar 200 one of the fastest machine on the streets for a decade.

Dominar 400 - Answering the 'Why'

Bajaj Auto screws up electricals, makes sure its bikes have the worst gearboxes in the category, and has a horrid after-sales setup.

So I went ahead and bought another one.

Why?

Well, had a 10 year experience with a Pulsar-200 and was sure that machines coming out of Bajaj stables are adept to take up Indian roads; or lack of it. I’ve witnessed multiple cases of suspension failure across Hondas (no kidding, I have seen monoshocks snap), and in contrast hold my previous 10 year old Bajaj mile-muncher as a testament to ‘adapting to Indian conditions to survive’. Of course, you will figure out the real reason at the end of this.

So this time, I decided for go for the 400 CC they claimed to be a game changer.

For starters, the Good:

• The Engine: This boasts of a very smooth engine- certainly the best from Bajaj till date. Rev it hard, and it accelerates you pointedly. Close the throttle, it gets down to a subdued hum. Note: Accelerating and decelerating is an experience in itself, and as a very cautious and well thought through exception, I put it ahead of the Honda engines.
•  The light (& the front): Mein Gott!! What a looker this is.. Those fierce, unforgiving eyes- they have all  the world’s anger wrapped within- radiating it with those DRLs. Witnessing this machine approach is like … Is like. Its like. Like…: Rocky Balboa sparring with Eye of the Tiger playing in the background, or .. or Angry Vijay Deenanath Chauhan charging at you… with vengeance.
• High speed cruise-ability: A high speed cruiser indeed. This machine is absolutely at ease at 120 kmph and can stay there for a several hours without any complaint. When I say at ease- I mean the engine does not feel strained, and most importantly, you have confidence in stopping thanks to those huge discs and tires (upgrade from factory rubber recommended).

The Bad:

•        Suspension: Remember when I said that the Bajaj suspension is solid? Well, here’s the thing- they took my feedback too seriously and replaced metal in the struts with concrete (I think). The result is a ride quality that tries its best to throw you off its seat at lower speeds. Turning is not that comfortable and your arms and back may feel overwrought most of the time in the city.
•           Putting it all together/ Mating the engine and gearbox: Getting you all back from that utopian dream of great components: the solid body, etc. How can you screw it up? The answer is- putting it together. The engine is great, but riding at anything less than 50 at constant speeds is often riddled with shudders.
•           Looks: Besides the aggressive front, rear of the bike is more of a let-down.  For me, impressing ladies is not a priority. If it is for you, stay away from the Dominar.. 
•          After sales: Remember how our dear Kurt Cobain went out slamming a fan with his guitar, before getting on playing on at the concert?? I have a feeling Bajaj takes Nirvana very seriously and are trying to get there with the way they treat their customers/ product fans. Still in the first year of its life, my bike has to go begging to Bajaj service stations for hearing me out. I have had a few complaints, with regard to the low RPM shudders and softening the suspension, but Bajaj guys couldn’t care less. When I requested for a check to the ECU, they assured me that they have already washed the bike and that ought to fix the issue. 

Now coming to the point why I bought one. For this, bear with this little story:

One fine morning while you cruise easily on your side- you observe that the other side of the road is not that fortunate – an early morning traffic snarl it seems. You also spot that guy on the other side at distance, sans helmet on a Hero Honda Passion, with an open silencer, and a logo declaring his association to a notorious political party.

The joker has come to cognizance of his imminent fate – a possible delay of 2.50 minutes! ! He decides that a person of his importance cannot put up with this.. He has just vandalized a few properties, and now has to get somewhere quickly for his next assignment - to set few buses ablaze, or demolish some outspoken actress' home, maybe – urgently of course. Righteously, he comes on to the wrong side of the road and starts coming head on - bleating his shrill horn and zig zagging in style at the oncoming traffic head on, creating absolute havoc for other law abiding citizens.

‘Jai Maharshtra’ – the maniac’s saffron sticker proclaimed. Mind you: assembled in Pune, the Dominar checks the ‘son of soil’ theory as well and started changing its behavior.

While I was quietly meandering at 30 Kmph, the Dominar clearly did not like my calm. The Dominar decides to take the matter in its own hands and starts assuming control. Machine over man this time..

Magically, my left foot slips to commence some clicks to drop a few gears.. And then..

Gear 1..  The throttle is opened and the front wheel lifts up by a few degrees, while the rear tyre scavenges for grip on the tarmac- a few slips cite victory of torque over the friction. The clutch still in play, the engine revs with quite a distinct roar in the busy road and catches the attention of the entire street.

Clutch.. Gear 2 .

As the engine is mated to the transmission with some of the clutch in play, the rear tyre screams for grip, and the front tyre experiences a lift-off again. The throaty engine whips out the 35 NM torque and equal number of horses for the road..

Now that the Dominar has transformed into a rocket, we do have our maniac’s attention. You can see him watching you in confusion, slowing down a bit, and see fear building up in his eyes, as you determinedly barrel towards him.. Head on - collision course..  

Clutch

Gear 3: We are building the revs again. While the speedo determinedly builds up towards areas where the third digit would be needed soon, the engine has not yet got to its redline (the rev limiter kick in – in Dominar’s case). Noting that we have three more gears left, we keep accelerating. As a final war trumpet, we activate all the DRLs.

Our nitwit is visibly troubled now. His miniscule brain gets into overdrive, computing the probability of his survival after being rammed by a heavy machine, with a crazy look, angry lights, possessing that kind of momentum gained at that unmentionable speed.

Noting that the Dominar may be out to annihilate him, he sights the nearest opening in the road divider and darts to the stagnated traffic on his (correct) side of the road.

It’s job done, the Dominar switches off its lamps, engages the brakes and glides back into its moderate civilian speeds.

All this – from the downshifts, acceleration to braking back to normalcy: abating aggression with aggression, was concluded in less than 20 seconds.

Now lets address that earlier question: Why are we buying this? 

All that aggression.. Or countering aggression - You could do all this at Rs. 160,000 ex-showroom (non-ABS). For any other machine to have undertaken such a feat, you would need to shell out multipliers (BMW 310, KTM RC 390, Ninja?). The Bajaj propels Uncle Scrooge to that mid level sports bike category at a substantial discount.  Precisely why this fellow with a blue cover- 4 lion embossed passport bought this.

 

PS: Having said that, I plead all serious bikers not to waver from the RC 390, no matter what other bikes claim to do, or the discounts they offer. Regardless of whether you are highway king, stunt master, track racer, chain snatcher or a criminal on the run, the RC 390 triumphs for all your needs. Work harder, stop being a scrooge, beg or steal - and get the KTM..

All for dopamine: Lonavla

Somehow, life had lost it’s meaning. It all boiled down to that substance of my brain: Dopamine.. Docs say this substance; or rather lack of it is capable of tipping you off the cliff of sanity. Of late, monotonous incidents were controlling my life. Lest I fall victim to some chemical locha, I knew I had to get away. Fast.. Away from the city, far from the maddening crowd, from the dog eat dog world..

Easier said than done. The challenges were plenty. Assignments apparated from nowhere, dark clouds threatened and no company was to be found for this short trip. And of course, there are battles in your head to keep your dreams alive. In the end, it was just me and my faithful machine..

At 8, the dark clouds chose to give us a break from the seemingly perennial rainfall. The window of opportunity did not last long and the rain Gods were at it again an hour later as I exited the city of dreams. Once the Parel bypass was reached, the treat began.. This was when my lungs screamed out in joy, my eyes soaked the lush green surroundings and the grey skies and my spirit soared. The highway presented a decent tarmac and allowed 3 digit speeds. The precipitation continued though the intensity dropped in a while. Besides the oil sump, the water helped with the cooling and I had no qualms revving the engine hard. Since the Mumbai- Pune expressway does not allow bikes, I stuck to the NH-4 and had birds, trees, some obscure towns and the hum of the motor to keep company.. Though the wet tarmac kept the engine cool, my body begged for mercy and around 10am & I made a stop for a cup of hot coffee. Thereafter, rains kept away for a while and the cool winds helped me dry up in a while. I made a stop at Khapoli to visit a forgettable waterfall.

By 11, I had managed to beat the traffic at Lonavla and headed towards Bhushi dam. Yes! The maniacal traffic at Lonavla comprised of desperate Mumbaikars eager to get away from the city. To be honest, the rush continued upto the waterfall and the dam. Though the drive was thrilling featuring steep roads and numerous hair-pin bends, the wannabe people were bugging. Cars with people seated on rooftops or sticking out of windows are a permanent feature here.

Having heard wonderful stories of the road to Ambey Valley, I decided to push my luck and continue with my quest for beauty and peace. And bingo!! In no time, the crowd disappeared, the forests thickened and the roads remained brilliant! The dimensions of time and practicality were lost somewhere in the bliss. The engine roared, the air became purer and my spirit soared. I reached the starting point for the trek for Korikad fort and the Ambey Valley city soon thereafter. The hills at Korikad were in the greenest form and lack of company meant that I’d have to come back here sometime in better numbers. Ambey Valley was a treat again and so was the adventure camp established nearby. ATV’s are quite prevalent here.

How did I feel? Great indeed.. But as the wise have stated: sometimes the journey is the destination..

The return journey was a treat again. My feet never touched the ground; I hummed along with my machine: “Singing here we go again…”

Mumbaikar's day out..

The city of Mumbai: There have been more ordeals than niceties since I came to this city. I’m still to absorb the extent of open drains, flies, the cost of living and the filmy people.. Here goes an interesting nothing in my life:

Boarding the local was a fight. It always is..

I made sure I was surrounded by the experienced ones. Their instructions were engraved in my memory. Somehow the word ‘push’ was the most prominent of all. Then the train arrived. I made little progress until I pushed with all my might. The proceedings of those few seconds remain a bit sketchy in my memory but I was happy to have accomplished the mission of boarding the train. My friends soon reminded me that the war was not over yet. I still had to fight to avoid being thrown out at the subsequent stations. As the train moved, things fell into place: gaps were filled, peace was restored. At the next station, another scene of havoc transpired. Peace was restored thereafter. The pace with which the Mumbai traveller transforms from war-peace-war mode is astounding. During one of the peace sessions, I looked around at the faces. They revealed nothing. Happiness, pain, joy, suffering: if there was any, they’re surely good at concealing it. I continued and I noticed one middle aged gentleman in the corner seat.

Even though our conversation had not started yet, I pitied him already. My sympathy had a lot to do with my experiences with insane rentals, cost of living, travelling in Mumbai etc. I made some personal assumptions about his earnings and his lifestyle (a sick thing to do I know; God forgive me). A little casual math told me that things may not be very comfortable for this gentleman here. Some small talk initiated our conversation. The moment the first words came out, they shattered all my assumptions.

He was happy!! His voice made that clear. Somehow, this does not seem right.. What about my sympathies? This fellow left no room for my generous offerings. What about the way the city breaks bodies and minds? How can this gentleman survive? I was to find out soon.

As the conversation progressed, I was to find out that our Mambaikar had his ways to take on whatever the city threw at him. That he had managed to get a seat had something to do with his strategy of ‘reverse journey’. Our protagonist travels in the direction opposite to his destination and gets off at the last stop. Here, he catches the empty train headed to his destination. But doesn’t that mean losing a lot of time everyday. Not to forget the futility of covering some stations twice? “So what? I have a seat, don’t I?”- he chimes. Wow, I should have asked him to help me out with my little problems as well. This guy seems to know it all. Now I could recall some other stories as well. I remember commenting to a corporate hot-shot: “You travel 4 hours a day. And if it rains, God save you! Don’t you ever wish to move out of the city?”.

“ I keep pillows and a lot of reading material in the car” he stated matter of factedly. “And if it rains, I have slippers and a raincoat in the boot. I abandon the car and catch a train”. If you explore, I’m sure you’ll find a lot of stories in these lines. The show must go on. A lesson in patience and perseverance to be learnt here. Whatever the city throws at you, your attitude prevails.

I was still thinking of the psychology of Mumbaikars. Don’t they ever feel cheated by the city of dreams? All the hardships and there was still something in the local traveller’s tone. Now I finally got it!! Pride. That’s what struck me in the local train Mabaikar’s tone. Pride.. This gentleman was proud to be the breadwinner. Proud to be a part of Mumbai. Proud to have made a mark, to have survived in the city. It will take a long time for me to comprehend that.

They say the city grows on you. Well, you know there’s one fellow who wishes the process would speed up..

Bangalore to Mumbai: Day 1

The question I am asked repeatedly is ‘why a bike?’ There are plenty of buses and trains to take you there in lesser time..

The answer to that one is that at some point in your life there is a realization. I have been pondering on the great Indian philosophy of ‘work hard and emerge victorious’- where the emphasis is on the ‘work hard’ part. Now from my experiences, I beg to differ. There are some things that are just hard wired in your brain. Accept reality: you might be bad in some stuff but might be decent enough in something else. Efforts to improvise your weaknesses may not yield the desired results. On the other hand it might be a good idea to focus on stuff you are built for.. That gets me to the point that there is something with driving/ travelling hard wired in my brain that gives me unparalleled happiness.

Now that I was relocating, the idea of giving my vehicle to transporters so that they can deliver it to Mumbai in a pitiable state did not go well with me. Our gang’s last experience featured a punctured fuel tank, a broken fender and a seriously dislocated carburettor (read: someone was trying to steal fuel).

And I love seeing my country. The colors, the people, the climate, vegetation: I love experiencing it all. In that regard, a bike takes me closer to the elements than a car.

The start was sloppy. I managed to hit the roads around 6:45 am. By the time I was out of the chaotic Tumkur road, it was 8:15. After the Shivagange turn, I saw a CCD coming up and decided to stop keeping in mind that this might be the last decent washroom I’ll get (I was proven wrong later though..).

Progress remained sloppy. I was enjoying the surroundings at my pace. I stopped repeatedly take pictures, make phone calls and even to scratch my head! At around 10:30, I was in Chitradurga. From the elevated road, you can see the walls of the Chitradurga fort. Sadly, I was unable to capture it thanks to my camera’s resolution and limited zoom capabilities. The other interesting things around Chitradurga are the wind farms. They are everywhere in the hilly region and paint a lovely picture of ‘India shining’..

By noon, I was nearing the city of Davangere. Just three dogs and two cows seen in the 300 Km stretch. Now that’s a number we Indians can live with J. This region marks the advent of heat. I was missing Bangalore more and more. The highway beyond Davangere is still not complete and the elevated roads will take at least a year or two to be complete. In the stretch up to Haveri, speed fell numerous times and I was stuck at both the railway crossings. Beyond Hubli, things were lovely once again with a panoramic view and some hills and dense vegetation. I crossed Belgaum around 4pm and had started contemplating on moving ahead to Satara instead of the planned stop at Kolhapur.

I stopped at a fuel pump somewhere after Belgaum and struck a conversation with a truck driver. I asked him about the condition of the road and how long it’d be to reach Satara. After our jolly talk, he concluded it would be 6 hours before I reach the outskirts of Satara. I politely told him to get a better truck and I was sure the distance of 240 Kms could be covered in half the time provided the road conditions remained the same.

Entering Maharashtra marked the end of the great Indian joy ride. The winds were getting a bit annoying. The bike had to be banked by a degree or two to counter the force exerted by the wind. For a moment the thought of uneven tyre wear thanks to a long slanted ride came to my mind; but I rubbished it soon enough.

Reached Kolhapur around 6pm and stopped at the Mc Donalds out there. This was definitely the worst Mc Donalds I’ve been to. No queue, no water in the loo and the staff trying too hard to sell you something you don’t want. My experience with Maharashtra was turning out to be not at all pleasant.

I was done munching by 6pm and decided to head towards Satara. The traffic was pathetic and comprised of a rich variety (cattle, tractors, autorikshaws, etc). I reached Satara at 7:45 beating complete darkness by a minute or two. Getting off the highway before dark is vital according to my rule-book.

I found a pretty good hotel somewhere near a place called S.T. Stand. Behold, this is an important place to be remembered as it is the only part of the town blessed with a tower holding of 4 street lights. I was welcomed by a grumbling fellow who wanted to murder me since I could not reply in Marathi. Anyway, after dumping my bag, I headed to the famed S.T. Stand. After exploring the small town city centre, I headed back to the hotel. The gujju thali for 80 bucks sounded promising. And it turned out to be a treat.

In all a majestic day. The only sad fact was that the mileage figure was not very flowery. The bike guzzled a little less than 21 litres for the 770 KM run which turns out to be 37 Km/Litre. That proves that this gearbox is better off cruising on state highways where speeds range from 60 to 80Km/hr than revving hard to keep speeds of 90-110Km/hr. Also, age takes a toll on everything. This loyal motor has served 27000Km’s consistently returning a mileage of 40-45 Km/L. I guess an overhaul is due in some time.

Bangalore to Mumbai: Day 2

I was exercising early in the morning when the sun abruptly disappeared. I ran to the window. Surely, there were dark clouds headed in my direction. I got ready quickly and was on the highway by 7:45am.

I studied the sky. The clouds were coming in from south east. So technically, I could outrun them as my destination was North West. I opened the throttle and cruised along. Mind you, this is not one of the roads where you can have those conversations with yourself. Philosophy will have to make way for caution keeping in mind the numerous rikshaws, tractors, etc..

If the winds yesterday were termed as annoying, today they were threatening. I saw a Maruti 800 sway furiously as it passed through a gap in the hills. Along with the driver, others following it were also visibly shaken. Speeds were reduced immediately. The struggle of lighter bikes such as the HH splendors and the TVS Victors was also quite apparent. The riders could be seen being suddenly pushed violently by some invisible forces time to time. Well, having a heavier vehicle: be it a non 100Km/L one is not that bad after all.. And this also factors in for the not so great fuel efficiency yesterday. Though at this moment, I seriously wished I was riding an Avenger. The numerous rides on Gogo’s & Vikram’s machines have instilled a lot of bottom heavy, low riding, splendid cornering memories. If I were to wage a war against the winds- Avenger would be the bike I’d choose.

There is a lot I could write about the wind as this was my first revelation with it’s power and continuity. After I finished the 5 hour journey, I noticed that my arm sockets were hurting pretty bad. I am familiar with the dull ache that comes in after a long ride, but this was different. And then I realized the difference between yesterday and today was quite clear. Yesterday was a 13 hour drive with occasional 2-3Km/hr side winds while today; although just a 5 hour ride featured continuous head on brutal winds..

The tunnels before Pune turned out to be interesting. I saw a tunnel coming ahead and thought “Tunnel! Nice! Sunglasses.. um.. Uh oh.. Tunnels and glasses don’t go well together”. I blindly followed a car ahead of me which was kind enough to switch on it’s tail lights to guide me. The first tunnel had no illumination and no board to declare it’s arrival; so be careful.

I crossed Pune around 10:15 and now I had to stay on the govt. maintained NH-4. The much celebrated Mumbai-Pune expressway does not allow bikes. Heights of stupidity! You can allow slowpoke cars like Matiz, alto, A-Star but not a 2 wheeler capable of outrunning them all. The NH-4 is in pretty good shape upto Lonavla and Khandala. Beyond Khandala, the markings mysteriously vanish and take you on and off the expressway as well. Khandala provides a view of the valley which I think is overrated. Today, I could see hundreds of vehicles clogging the expressway. Irony isn’t it? Everyone in Mumbai seems to trying hard to get out of the city while I was the sucker heading towards Mumbai.

The clouds closing in from the South East caught up with me and sprayed some rain. This was to be repeated an hour later in Mumbai as well.

I saw a board at a crossing in Panvel stating that Mumbai was still 50+ Kms away. However, direction was conveniently not mentioned. Just to confirm, I stopped and asked “Is this the way to Mumbai??” The fellow to whom the question was addressed was visibly insulted. “THIS IS MUMBAI!!” came the reply in an icy tone. Not to offend our desi ‘THIS IS SPARTA’ hero, I re-phrased my question and asked him directions to PrabhaDevi/ Siddhi Vinayak temple. After Navi Mumbai and the Eastern Expressway, I was able to recall the roads and was at my destination by 12:30..

The conclusion brings us to the question that many people may have in their minds. Is Bangalore - Mumbai or a Bangalore – Pune ride doable in a single day? On a bike? Yesterday, my answer would have been ‘probably’ or ‘I honestly don’t know’ for a Bangalore- Pune ride. However, after my experience with the NH-4 of Maharashtra my answer is ‘please avoid such a stunt’. The 770 Km ride yesterday was a pleasurable experience with sparse and organized traffic of Karnataka. The 300 Km odd ride today witnessed a lot of tractors, pedestrians, bullock carts with a majority of illiterate/ junglee drivers. Attempting to cover this leg late in the evening yesterday would have been not such a pleasurable experience. It would also mean unnecessary pressure. At the end of the ride yesterday, I could feel my senses dulling and the concentration level dropping. So riding a clearly annoying traffic in such a state of mind is questionable. In case you are a seasoned rider and have a better ride (Ninja/ Harley??), you could cut down on time a bit and make it to Pune.

A good car, a disciplined start at around 4am should get you to Mumbai the same evening.

Trip logs:

Distance covered :1073 Kms

Fuel used :28.1 L

Fuel Efficiency :38.1 Km/L

Toll paid : Rs 0.

Hee hee hee. I crossed at least 10-12 toll plazas.

@ Car owners: pity u! ;)

Here are a couple of old school rules of biking:

-Maintain a good relationship with your machine. I say this time and again: know your vehicle’s strengths and problem areas. Strictly operate within this range. For eg: the P-200 has a partial oil cooled engine. You can rev it hard but do not abuse it like a fully liquid cooled motor. I used the age old method of keeping my engine cool: taking a break after every leg of a 150km. Occasionally, I even sprayed some water on the fins. The instant vaporising of water with a fizz is highly gratifying. But be careful, don’t do this unless you know what you are doing. We don’t want water in the spark plugs. Neither do we want to promote rust on the hot exhaust pipe.

-Carry a tyre patch/repair kit. There were a couple of stretches where I couldn’t find habitation for 20Kms or so.

-Be aware of your own limitations. Follow a routine to exercise your back, legs and arms a couple of days before starting for a long journey. Most importantly, be aware of your state of mind. There is no bravery in subduing those apparent signals and continuing. If you find yourself switching lanes, indulging in unnecessary or risky overtaking and deviating from your cruising speed; it can’t be more obvious: take a break!

Go- Discover your country, and ride safe!!