On the bike....

On the bike in winter

23 Dec 2012

I started to think about this seriously a few weeks ago at the end of November 2012, after dreaming about it for a few years ...another bike trip to the mountains and this time in the winter…. And some how it fell into place. Of course no one understands the need to do this in winter (neither do I) - some say it’s a mid life crisis (that's already over)!! Others said its suicidal tendencies, the family of course just kept a straight face, beneath which was a lot of anxiety and apprehension, hoping that the plans would fizzle out and auto relief!!  I continued to plan. I got a pair of OTG (Over the Glass Goggles) a Balaklava and supposed Skiing gloves while I was in the US. An angel, my friend, gave me his gear. Thank god I had the riding suit. I should have used his boots and gloves too....A few days of meticulous list making and packing, a visit to the Enfield workshop to get a basic sense of how to tackle external maintenance, a spare tube, fitting of a detachable cigarette lighter for 12V power for the foot pump…. After the family left for Vietnam on Saturday 22^nd Dec, a few focused hours on loading the bags, going through the detail of layers to be worn, shedding some extras that weren’t needed and basically getting mentally tuned that I am going to be doing this….  There was a slightly larger wardrobe (5 changes vs. the 3 in the past) and some minor luxuries that travelled this time. A blackberry, a phone, for music a Zen, the speakers and the single malt were the extras. I did leave the tent behind! I did have to carry some extra tools and drawings and files for the Mukteshwar house. It was thanks to Abhijit who took up all the electrical stuff that I could finally plan the bike trip – if he hadn’t, I would be going by car – so that was the final piece of the jigsaw….and I was constantly keeping my fingers crossed that he would go up and take my stuff – a lot of stuff…There was a lot of trepidation, anxiety, mixed with elation and excitement – I don’t think anyone understood the mixed bag of emotions and the state of the mind. For days I was thinking of nothing else.

I left at 6 am after waking at 4 am. The loading up and balancing practice, the day before, and leaving the cramsters on the bike at night, made it easy. I was warm till Rajokri and in the dark I was getting a hang of the balance, the brakes, the power and the feel… I hit FOG (!) big time at Shanti Path... And here I thought I was on the Path to ‘Shanti’. Who is Shanti? I did ask my self… ‘Want to go back and get the car? Inside the head, I had instant denial and dismissal.From then, it was a damn interesting ride... Let put it simply….it was ‘white and cold’…. Glasses had a spray of mist from the fog and dirt spun by the wheels, fingers numb, toes dead despite 2 socks (one was a thermal pair) and visibility was at best all of 20 feet. The triple layer armoured suit kept my vitals dry and warm. But the dampness penetrated in through the impervious armour….slow and steady!!  It was very slow progress due to the fog, concentration levels were heightened, figures human, animal and vehicular, ghostly in nature, kept appearing and fading in an out of the grey blanket. In 2 hrs I made it to short of Hapur (it normally takes me an hour). I couldn’t take it any more, I had to stop – there was no one looking and to taunt me and say…’sissy’. The 5 star dhabha guy at one of the zillion Shiv Dhabhas was in shock when I pulled in…. he kept looking at this idiot and the Punjabi janani crowd huddled in their shawls and topis thought I was from Mars. They pointed, cackled and kept giving these side glances, slightly intrigued but also curiously shocked. A long piss (and bliss) after manoeuvring many layers, that I was still getting used to and two kulhads of chai got me moving again. Two hours later, still in dense fog and a long traffic jam at the new toll booth at Brijghat, which I navigated quickly as I was on the bike – off the road, weaving in, throttling into gaps and nimble yet cold and slow manoeuvres got me out to Gajrola. It’s a mandatory and this time a well needed halt. Balbir the owner of Gyani dhabha at Gajrola- and my good friend, held his head in his hands and said 'eeni thand ich motorcycle te garmee ich gaddee... Ki ho gya ji twonoo?’ (In this cold on the bike and when you’re out in summer it’s in the car- what’s happened to you?) Madan my waiter friend had butter toast and chai on the table when I emerged from the loo. The fog didn't break till 1 pm!! Ah - the joys of a bike. Eat dust, grime, smoke and fog spray!! The benefits - two horrendous traffic jams each more than a km long and I was out of these in no time!!Pulling along slow and steady...Moradadbad bye pass, toll plazas – whiz through....bikes are not vehicles....no toll... Rampur....Bilaspur another horrendous traffic snarl up. Nifty handling and out real fast – smiles under the Balaklava......the sun decides to show up in a weak glow on the way to Rampur  - the bladder was screaming again!A temptation to stop for chai at the railway crossing dhabha after Rudrapur  - no lets push along and get to Haldwani, time is against me – fuel up at Haldwani and out again. A lunch pit stop on the way to Bhimtal and suddenly Girish pops up – oh it was good to see him there – he is another of my angels!! Reconfirming with the Almora DM about the PWD gives relief, I even asked for simple food for the night – everything seems good at 4 pm!! But still a long ride ahead.On the 11th hour of the journey my left hand said NO More pulling the clutch, the left leg decided to go into a cramp! @+/# what fun!! It’s now 5 pm and I pull along. At 6 pm, in the freezing cold and pitch darkness I reach the Mukteshwar PWD rest house, not expecting lavish treatment, but I am welcomed by the chowkidar - there's no electricity as PWD hasn't paid the bill and the electricity dept cut the line! Do I want to spend 5 nights with a candle and my own un bathed body?? IVRI , Bhatt doesn’t comply, it’s all full and I can’t get a room there. Thank god I had a shadow booking, which I had cancelled at 4 pm. Thank god I could revive it and here I am at Somerset Lodge (let the name not fool you please) in the sleeping bag after a dinner cooked in acid!! I couldn’t get myself to bathe in the cold. Would I rather be in the car? ... well maybe next time!? Tomorrow is another day.

The Next Day - Re Living The Blast From The Past

24 Dec 2012

Inedible Aande ki Bhujyia, parathas (how can someone excel at botching up such basics?!) , a luke warm/ cold water bath and a warm up in the sun, load up and leave with a red polka dotted bandanna to add colour to the black riding suit (the brown boots don't match) ... But its more colour coded than the jugadoo past! The sun is gorgeous, the majestic peaks beckon you and the swallows are crisscrossing the sky in a frenzied welcome to the glorious morning. The only thing I miss is Pink Floyd (that has always been a routine)as I traverse the jungle road, the sun leaving leopard spots on the road, sending bolts of sunlight through the oak trees. The fingers have a hang over from yesterday, but they willingly caress the levers and the handle bar, responding more willingly- the body and mind is singing, the fingers are in tune, while a bit stiff. The Enfield sends its rhythmic ricochets, a drummer in tune with the song. It’s so effortless... I find myself tuning in! And I ask my self... Why haven't you done this in more than a decade? Where were you? I must revive this wild side. Will you do it again? - YES!!

If a man does not keep pace with his companions, perhaps it is because he hears a different drummer. Let him step to the music which he hears, however measured or far away. Henry David Thoreau, Walden, Conclusion, 1854

I don't need the balaclava today and nether do I have the OTGs (over the glass goggles) on - I want to feel the mountain air. The cow shed at IVRI has a heavenly rustic earthy smell of ‘gobar’ that wafts in at the bend and thereon the broken road meanders along into the thickening oak forest. The fringe benefits, besides all the other advantage of a bike are no toll tax and the IVRI check post doesn't need an entry into that inane register... I guess in their rule book a bike's not a vehicle. I agree, it’s closest to a horse - ask the derrière!

The cold fresh wind cleanses the face pores, while the angel's riding suit keeps the body warm. The trousers creep up a few inches from the boots, and at the shin a thermo couple is created between the hot and cold and the electric currents flow down the legs, keeping the ankles supple, as the feet continue the romance with the foot levers. Today even the feet don't complain. On the good patches she picks up speed, the kick drum of the exhaust beating faster, the curves are gentle as she banks, body and bike in unison. I couldn't be happier. Leoshal the village appears before the ass is sore and I take her down on the kuccha road to the cottage (where I wouldn't dare to take a car). Yeah I made it to my land on wheels!! The garage has a door and a roof this time and the house windows have jali. The septic tank pit is dug and is a perfect square of 5 feet and the water tank is full. The tools jump out of the cramster side bags and off comes the tank bag. The helmet continues to rest on the rear view mirror, giving an angled look, the visor half up in a ‘wink’ and the sun glinting on it and she leans on the side stand, the chrome and steel shining in the cold sun. As you can see, I'm in love with my mistress. She also is angel's property.

Within 15 min of getting there I am beginning to lay the wires and it is very satisfying to see the skirting raceways as I'd anticipated. The floor is laid and now one gets a sense of the space. The afternoon winter sunlight pours in on to where the bed will be; the room is aglow - as designed. In 4 hours 4 circuits are laid, a solution to mount the distribution board is found and the carpenter is making the sample panels for the sockets. A samosa and tea from a wood fire is the best lunch I've had in a long time (simple joys can't be equated to their fancy substitutes).

3:15 pm and it’s time to leave - I don't want to encounter leopards and wild boar through the jungle. These can be exciting even through armoured riding gear and the drum of the exhaust could be enchanting to even the four legged.

There is some hesitation; will the bike go up the 4x4 path? The engine is warmed and gunned; she goes up without missing a beat!! I now put on the gloves- I wanted to feel the levers up the 4x4 path so that I could send electric commands.

The angled orange glow of the evening sun lights up the yellow 'pangar' leaves, setting them on fire. I let out a smile o joy beneath the helmet and it’s a gorgeous ride back. Boroline works wonders on lips chapped that won't stop kissing the cold dry mountain air. No encounters through the forest except a lone guy hitching a ride ... I hesitate and my urban hang ups get the worst side out and won't let me stop.

The local shops in Mukteshwar (I call these the 'Mall') are equipped so that I can get a different breakfast and also the customary peanuts to go with my single malt. They'll even give me a packed dinner from tomorrow onwards –oh what a relief for the gut. My local Costa Coffee is shut - so no chai with Kothari.

The solar heater has hot water. It’s inviting and I'm in there at lightening speed. Now it comes back, when biking you bathe at day's end to wash the earthy feel off. And there's a syndrome called 'bikers hands'. Oh don't worry- not as exotic as where your imagination is taking you- it’s just dry hands and grime in your nails. Even though the fingers are in the enclosed comfort of gloves, dust has a way of winding its way in when the fingers are facing off to what's coming at you at a meteoric speed. It’s easy (I'd forgotten) to fix this. When you have a limited and frugal wardrobe that you carry on the back of the bike, you have to change and therefore wash your inner layers (below the riding suit) at least once in 2 days else you pollute the pristine mountain air inside the sleeping bag and this therapeutic act of laundry in a bucket and afterwards, a rub down with some body lotion, is magical for the syndrome. The hot water from the solar heater is a boon; the walls have condensation from the steam. The body now washed, feels rewarded, the clothes cleaned and the biker's hands rejuvenated for the night. Tomorrow we'll go through the same drill again! And you take a jhadan, beat the dust off the cramster side bags and the riding suit and it shines Black again!!

Single malt, music through my portable speakers (the shuffle knows my state of mind so it’s playing all my favourite music) and I'm warm in the sleeping bag. Of course a mouse smelt my breakfast- the cheese and bread, and found its way into the room so Shanti and I have company tonight!! Who is Shanti? Does Christmas Eve have any significance here?

Rockets Of Green Mash

25 Dec 2012

The ride gets better as the body and mind gets accustomed to the free wandering of the spirit and the ease of negotiating the curves comes back to the old and stiff biker. I can’t tell you how much the heart is singing and how light is the head with ecstasy – it’s close to Nirvana. It was an early start today after rising at 5 am. The jungle was cold and the sun hadn't yet been able to poke holes to venture in. Several corners had snow and frost - white dotted over the brown grass. There seems to be a spotty pattern here. Turn off the drumming engine and listen to the jungle at the water hole. It’s all waking up and there are gentle sounds emerging from different corners. A curious fox quizzically pokes its head out of the bush... a hooting bird pushes a mellow beat from out there. Push the starter and she clears her throat and starts the guttural drumming and away we go singing a distant drummer’s tune. 

Eventful day at the site, lots of progress, but no plumber and bits of basking in the warm sun. I can leave a little later today, I am getting used to being exposed in the jungle!

After a long time I encountered this kind of a cow... This one was like old times. She heard the throaty roar and decided to bolt ahead of me. Thank god she wasn't a dare devil who put her head down to charge at me ... I think the red bandanna was hidden and/ or she wasn’t bullish! As she began the gallop, she lifted her tail and there were geysers exploding, sending rocket spurts of green steaming mash. Fortunately I was at a discrete distance. She galloped, I rode on behind her. I stopped - she turned to look at me... Before she saw the 'red', I gunned the roar and let the chase carry on...what else could I do? A déjà vu smile appears, don’t get me wrong, before you start to read this as a sadistic streak - I was getting no joy out of this. This episode of a manic chase carried on for a km. If it went on longer, I’d either have a dead cow or she would have reached home with me. I didn't want to bring her home and have her in bed so I sped up... Her anxiety grew as the distance narrowed, by now her spurt chamber was empty, so hesitatingly I got closer. She couldn't take this lion at her tail... Sensibly, she, sure footedly ran off the road and downhill. That night, for her, it must have been a long trek back.

The brilliant evening orange sun suddenly turns to a double glow at a bend. One blinding shaft came from the horizon and another from the ground reflecting off the pool of water. What a triple whammy when a lion maned dog comes roaring down the hill - as I said, 4 legged ones don't like the rhythmic thunder. I can't see him as the double orange beams fill my vision; I sense him at my left ankle and of course hear the canined lost soul’s rage. A slight twist of the right wrist and a wiggle at the waist and deftly, man and machine are away to the next unknown.

It was a brilliant sunny day with crisp and cold mountain air. There was an assembly line at site. Carpenters cutting away the skirting for the electrical fittings, the silence peppered with a raven cawing away (angling for the samosa) and the gentle continuous raspy back and forth of saws. A strange sight of a bearded man sitting in the sun on a log of wood with a make shift table, electrical sockets strewn all over and red green and black wires coloured coordinated with his bandanna, sweat shirt and trousers snaking all around, with a few locals eagerly learning the electrical trade. The urban fingers having turned soft with disuse start hardening, as wires are twisted and screws tightened. Three fresh corns have erupted in the last few days... I have been embarrassed at my manicured soft hands, now they feel manly and wild, like the rest of my 'other side of me' demeanour.

No update on 26^th – I came back to pack to move home.

Today ….Time Flies

27 Dec 2012

The sun is weak this morning. Its energies were being consumed in a tussle with the cloud cover. My majestic friends are covered in a thick white and grey shroud and the clouds seem to be taking over the sky here too, however only with a thin muslin drape. Let's see what the day has in store.

I've moved to IVRI. It’s such a home coming. Harish the caretaker was ready with hot water, breakfast and chai. The chai tastes soapy this time. This is what happens when you get spoilt with delicate flavours of wood fired stoves in the open. I'd better get moving. Its 08:40 am. But the peace and quiet has me glued to the chai, I may as well live the pace of the place.

The weather stayed still and overcast. The sun tried many a times but by the evening it gave up. The day is cold; the inside of the house is hovering at 10 deg C. This seems to be the perfect recipe for rain and then snow. All my well wishers will say 'be careful, come back to cover, don't ride, its slippery and the road...’ Thank you to all those you care, you have no idea how much I value it... But I'm certified crazy, not stupid!! The last time was on Changla pass (Ladakh) where when I stopped, after reaching the top in rain ice and sleet; I had icicle fangs out of my nose, a frosted beard and purple hands. I loved it, it accentuated the sensitivity!!

The evening was spectacular. Through a crack, on the horizon, the sun poked a hole and sent a search light to the ridge, a blinding coherent pent up energy. The balance pallet of water colours were sprayed into the cloud, casting enchanting hues of purple and orange, streaking the cloud in horizontal brush strokes. The sun then moved westwards, I'm sure creating similar magic where ever it could...... in Pakistan and Afghanistan?

I am so consumed by each moment of the day that the mind doesn't waver to anything else. It’s an intense single minded fulfilling focus that I've wiped the mind clean of most other things except those and who I value and cherish. The experience of being on another and different plane with an uncluttered mind cannot be described to those who haven't experienced it. Some will say 'ah, I know, I meditate'. Correct... But you do it for a few hours. Can you do it for days at a stretch? No no no...It’s not an idle state of being... The brain ticks, ideas erupt, gurgling brooks of creative juices flow, nothing becomes insurmountable, no problem weighs you down... Enough ....Let's get some single malt!!

I discover that I have a long bruise on my shin...When did I hurt myself..... ? The skin was so dry that it bruised... Coconut oil will do the job... purchased it at the ‘mall’... Dunked into hot water to melt the coconut rock...lesson 1... Must pierce the protective seal before you start a bath.... Wet fingers and ‘a shaking with cold freezing wet body’ (when you stop throwing hot water) cannot break the seal... Let your imagination run into a visual mode... I did manage to oil meself!!

There's no petrol pump here. Yes I knew that; so I got my local buddies to arrange 10 litres in a plastic can, ferried up from Almora and much vehicular transhipment planning to deliver it un-spilt to the site. In the forest, on the land, a cut plastic bottle is the funnel and the last drop from the can fills the tank to the brim... That's called precision and calculating to the hilt!!
The power has gone, it goes every night, I should have had the fire lit. The embers are mesmerising to watch, even without the single malt. With it they're even better!
Solo, in winter, at 53 in the mountains on the motorcycle? It was a dream. The fire is crackling and hot...

The Horizon

28 Dec 2012

Bhatt Ji's toast and omelette and a glass of hot tea are a treat. So what if I'm late?

Eyes strayed towards the horizon,

Looking beyond the embers to the dizzy heights.

The ringing of the tower bell has begun,

In the warmth  and glow of the morning sunlight,

Time to go, time for fun,

Down the winding road into a world of miracles.

Have I seen many an obstacle

Down this road I've been both sides,

There's a hunger still unsatisfied

The grass was greener,

The sun was brighter,

The dawn was colder,

The night a bit warmer,

The tea sweeter.

The walls might never encumber.

Through the darkness the wind did howl,

The night was clear and did not snow.

And there was the rhythmic hoot of the owl,

Oh what an admirable night,

Under the umbrella of the starlight

As you might by now know,

The night was clear and did not snow.

The same dusty track throws more dust now.

The wheels sure footed and nifty as the dirt we plough.

The ride gets better;

The pace is relaxed but quicker,

The bike and I love the rear wheels' little calculated shift and slide,

Some would say it’s a skid and would panic in fright.

We hit patches of tarred road and open up the throttle

She responds with a roar, off like a cork out of a bottle

Oh The crisp air stings

Flying make the heart sing,

And does the adrenaline flow,

Snaking up the hill never does she slow,

Effortlessly past each bend, spirits aglow.

Kids in monkey caps, huddled in their jackets,

Hands tightly tucked into their pockets

They whizz by, releasing clouds of warm air

Lugging school bags, red cheeks, skin aglow and fair,

Their eyes a mixture of envy and bewilderment, looking in admiration

A nano second more of eye contact would test the riding suit's protection.

No traffic jams and aggressive frenzied honking drivers

Fighting for that little gap to see who are the survivors

The road belongs to the kids and the occasional cow

And elated, the Enfield and I continue to plough.

Village women, in single file,

Oh what elegance and style

Carrying dried brown leaves in nets, topped with greens

A gigantic half pineapple, this is their only means

They amble along, the most gracious swaying gait (one word for it – gaj gamini),

In their saris, deftly they navigate

Balancing the load, an extension of their head.

Wood smoke wafts out of chimneys;

Their pinnacles in a thin white elegant muslin burkha.

A sight I yearn to see in cities

The aroma sends an instantaneous high,

The back lit blue curls, what a treat to the eye,

And the backdrop, today they're in parda,

The site has workers putting the innovation to test. There is ferocious activity today. The router is cutting groves, the howling wolf like sound carries for miles. The GI sheet is being hammered into the floor's gap and pundit ji fills in the mortar while 'phupha' the head carpenter and his lads screw in the raceways. It’s an assembly line operation, prioritising work needed to be done when there's power. 

Chandan the mistry is chipping stone to straighten the edges so that we can lay a village patal floor in the store.The plumber is an idiot, he's the best I can get, I'm glad I know enough about sewage lines.... and I know how to deal with shit - I handle it all the time (ha!!). We have a shortage of sewage pipe and fixtures after immaculate detailing and I lose my cool today for the first time, just a wee bit.

Girish is buying plastic rawl plugs in Almora and SP (my architect friend) from a train gives me tips on the phone about floor laying! And pits are being dug by two able bodied lads, while Pooran is despatched to Haldwani, he calls in an hour to say he has a puncture en route.
I thought I'd test the wiring today. I don't have a multi meter - so what? A light bulb and some creative thinking and voilà... We have a solution for tomorrow.

The black riding suit glints in the sunlight. Mica dust is embedded in, and a thousand fire lights glow when the sun catches the microns of mineral.This is not the glitter and make up for the urban lasses. Most would turn their nose up at me, and some would ask 'what was that?' I look better as the days go by, the shoes rougher, the face weathered in the cold wind and strong sun, clothes dustier and an earthy mountain odour of dust, wood smoke and pine shavings (I have a Gucci cologne that produces this synthetically at a handsome price ), beard a tad bit longer and a haircut overdue!

I love the solitude and the company I keep are eastern UP carpenters and locals from the hills. There's so much that I've learnt from all of them in the last few years, I'm wiser, intellectually stimulated, there's more humility and above all so grateful for what I've got.

Eyes strayed towards the horizon – oh what a sight

Looking at my majestic friends and their dizzy heights

Glowing redder than the embers, in the sun’s' last light.

The ball of fire has gone below the edge on its west ward flight.

Another day has gone into the night.

Sky Of Wonder

29 Dec 2102

My friend (he considers himself an enemy) who hasn't had any success with my ankle, the lion maned canined monster lies in wait for me every day in both directions. They are creatures of habit and routine and I guess he's figured out the timing of this strange animal, who, clad in black, roars past at a particular time, morning and evening. Day before he'd got a mate too and they both gave me a close chase. I was getting complacent. Strategy.... Change my time! So I went earlier than normal and came back later than comfort would allow. It worked- I fooled the pack. The downside, its bloody cold!

Yesterday I went out before crack of dawn to get some pictures. It wasn't as good as I'd like it. It was cloudy but biting cold. The day was freezing too as it was overcast. The toes, standing in the wet soil being dug, were numb. (Later on, I paid for it dearly)

On my return in the evening, the sky was beginning to clear and the patterns of moving cloud and the last rays of sunlight catching these floating fluffy balls of cotton wool made the sky produce miracles of white, red and blue. The sky was like a stained glass with droplets of colour, making ever changing patterns with the help of the cosmic rays of VIBGYOR and some simple laws of physics.

I had to stop, get off and look....

It wasn't in my book.....

The possible company of wild boar and its fear,

and the encounter with the leopard didn't deter.

Surely, sense should have dawned at sunset when the bite of the cold began seeping in through 7 layers! But then logic doesn't work with all of us, especially if you've been dreaming of a solo winter motorbike trip, and when you're alone and no one's screaming impatiently in the cold, but the only jab is from the stinging cold, which you stop responding as you go from cold to - frozen to - comfortably numb.

Most people don't understand and want to comprehend the need for this madness. This is not their idea of fun or a break or a holiday. Some of us have suicidal tendencies, as a lady who claimed she's ever 35. Won't divulge what the carbon dating says, told me when she heard of my planned escapade. Anyway.... It was a treat to see the sky and capture it digitally!! Such simple things and these give you so much joy! (Let’s forget the humility – the pictures turned out to be master pieces)

This morning, the same toes in the same double socks in the same shoes - didn't fit. I had to somehow wedge and shut the swollen, strange looking and complaining pink and maroon parts of the anatomy into the shoes! Today the sky was crystal clear, the sun shone with its full might and the valleys were a river of fog, the hill tops stood out through the white swirling river, like islands lost in time.

The colours are brighter,

I shall always wander,

The dawn is calling,

The river flowing,

With these friends around us

Sleep walking ahead on the ground above us ....

This can't be described in words; I'm clearly inarticulate for this.
There are hues of orange, pink, blue and white. The panoramic majestic and lofty peak stand to their dizzying heights looking down at this spectacle and I, anticipating this spectacle, have the camera and lens paraphernalia in the tank bag for an easy draw. I fire away at rapid pace, capturing before it changes to its existent state of decay.

A short cut that I discovered in a mood so playful,

And it’s so steep, that if you're not careful,

And a little later, down a very steep hill,

You slide down even on a locked wheel.

(So why do I use it... Ha!!), ... on this slope I am so elated, to be above the river of fog, in the blazing sunshine - as if there were two parts , and I, in a different world!! 

Trucks plying on my last 200m of dirt track have caused the mud to be churned to fine dust in deep ruts.

Interesting to ride down this, on a several hundred kilo metal piece that packs a dozen horses,

As you have no control of the single cylinder monster's courses.

She navigates and you have to stay afloat on her back! 

Going back up is a different challenge, the brute has torque.

There's no strain in her voice, she doesn't scream, no heavy breathing, 

She sometimes jumps from one deep rut to the next, leaves you heaving!!

She thuds her way up to every command responding,

Standing in trenches, laying sewage pipes, glue covering your hands like a changing snake skin, mica rich mud stuck to the snake skin, glinting away, hot chai in a steel glass is balm to these urban white collared bruised hands, pipe joints that get jammed due to the cold (without glue), rudimentary tools and you've got to get the job done. But more than that, up skill the locals... So now the mason knows how to design and execute a sewage line! You've got to innovate and work with what one can get and do it yourself to lead by example. An old razor blade can be the most valuable and treasured tool...!! Most won't understand the joy of doing this kind of thing, covered in dust in the freezing cold... I'm not even explaining.

A bucket hot bath is what you look forward to and you discover when you throw the first mug on your torso that the water is cold. There is a blood curling yell and a string of choice words - the debate is quickly resolved. I me and myself won't have a cold one. We'll wait for the water to heat!! Bhatt ji decided to conserve energy and goes and switches off the water heater. According to him, I look clean when I return home. So we dry up and wait 45 min for the water to heat. Let me explain the definition of cold.... Shampoo that I need a huge quantity of for my flowing mane of hair, becomes a hugely viscous slow moving mass and therefore in the 2 seconds that we tolerate between mugs of hot water, this little quantity won't flow... With the coconut rock, the shampoo bottle stands in a mug of hot water so that it can produce a quick squirt in 1.3 seconds and now my flowing mane is silky soft.

Tomorrow is the last day at the site. I'm getting the urge to go on to other pastures. I'm going. I shall meander for a few days. An old acquaintance who I bumped into on the phone, (don't ask too many question - please!) offered me his house for a few nights in Champawat. So off I go on 2nd to free wheel and soar.

The grass is greener,

The water sweeter,

The road dustier.

The fire is crackling,

The smoke curling,

Phil Collins is bellowing,

The golden smoky peaty brew is almost over,

The feet cold... The day is over.

So what's different in the last a week?
Nothing really...I'm having a blast and it carries on. Anurag (my friend from the 'mall' wished me 'heppy new year' ...I realised, when we awake, the year would have turned. So my treat for the New Year, amongst other things (that you may not subscribe to) is aalloo zeera for dinner!!
Here's wishing you the best for another year.

Never can he stay off dirt tracks....

1 January 2013

Lack of excitement today as everything came on cue,

The same things experienced again and again, so nothing new!

My local buddy, he knows my wild side,

Tells me of this steep dirt track that cuts the journey far and wide,

Anything for a challenge and fun and some who know me to not worry about fear

A dirt track always draws me and there's no better way to start the year.

At dusk, through the forest we get off the main jungle dirt track,

Once we’re agoing , there's no turning back.

Bounding up sharp inclines not so wide,

Dragged by the force of an intangible tide.

And did the head sway and the heart pound?

I'd say - excitement we'd surely found.

No cold breeze hitting the face,

As slow and arduous was the pace.

The hot humid breath from the nose,

Through the balaclava with the visor so close,

Caused a haze and a lack of clear vision,

Difficult already was this crazy mission.

Hands you can't take off the handle bar,

Commands she waits for to go far

As we bounced on rock and roots,

The bike sung a song and the only guide were the boots.

The man machine team navigates the rock steps, roots and branches,

The twilight cuts through the trees and we circle up in tranches.

To pass a stream and snow,

All part of the exhilarating flow.

The top is calling

The water flowing

We did manage to reach the crest,

Without the engine stalling was the best!

It’s got to be a wild spirit and the zest!

Encumbered by wild desire...

Never to put out the fire...

Said bye to the site crew.

I'll miss the smoky sweet brew.

A hot bath and to pack the worldly belongings till...

We start a journey tomorrow to free wheel.

And we’re off agoing and away...

What a Ride

2 January 2013

Its a bright sunny morning, the wind howled all night, the toes are red and hurt, I slept till 7 am and lazed in bed. I needed to allow myself some luxury. The icy northerly winds cut through to the body. We load up and get going by 10 am, after the staple breakfast and bidding farewell to Bhatt Ji.

The bike is heavier today with all my worldly belongings. I have to be careful; no shifting tactics must be attempted.

On the road to Almora now, it’s a wide great smooth thickly surfaced road. I'm comparing it to what I've been riding on. It’s a paradigm shift and a different experience to dirt. You glide by effortlessly, banking steeply on each bend. Unlike in a car, you're not thrown from side to side and you move in unison with the machine. At times you don't even bank, you cut straight through a gentle set of S bends. One sees these stub nosed mosquitoes come tearing down. 98% of these drivers shouldn't be driving and these Maruti and i10s are a menace. Against the blue sky you spot the bright orange of Hanuman temples and self proclaimed fakirs. Their tikka and chaddar is so bright in its orange that it hurts the eyes. Where do they get this bright orange colour from - brighter than photoshop can produce?

Against the white icy heights you see the gentle lazy circling of a pair of black dots - eagles ... Thermals in the icy winds- where eagles fare!

The olfactory picks up mustard oil and potatoes as one enters Almora. You know you're entering a crappy hill town when the restoorant has a purple mauve and yellow facade, it’s so tastefully adorned that the desire for food takes a back seat.

The main bazaar has taxis and buses, cows and dogs and people all going about in a chaotic order, along with a garbage truck, which before you see, can be smelt behind the buses. A quick fuel up - she can't be 'dhabha' fed and we're exiting Almora now- thankfully. Memories of last year's polybag crematorium come back, and at the next bend the hyper olfaction warns you in advance. Seems like Almora’s entire poly bags are brought and burnt here, 24x7 there's a fire on and a sickening smelling haze. So much for the worries about a decaying environment. Happy to twist the throttle, gun the engine and get out of there, while a cow stands looking at the plastic cremation.

Mahendra Boleros and Jeeps come tearing at the bends, jumping out like demons in a horror movie, in the shadow of the hill they don't spot you and keep coming straight at you, and when they see your headlight flashing and horn blaring, these monsters jump out of your aim at the last minute. There must be more effective ways of committing harakiri. The road in an hour becomes quieter and almost desolate. The occasional bus or truck feeds you dust till you manage to beep by. We've been riding for two and a half hours and the ass is sore and the back stings. The sciatica nerve is complaining as the right foot has to work hard on the ineffective rear brake. We stop for a self photo session – sunlight streams in from the south and the north has a backdrop of Shanti, peeking out of the pine trees. The camera on auto, takes a few nice pictures, the glint of the chrome starring the light and the visor of the helmet doing the same, and I standing there expectantly waiting for the camera to do its job as the ‘knight in black’! ( Picture later used on amitsflipside.com cover). The stomach is growling and the fatigue is setting in. At the end of the 3rd hour an ideal dhabha is spotted. What a location! At a bend, where the sun streams in, on a vertical cliff and you face the hills across which are in shades of blue and grey against the sun, merging into the sky. The valley below is green with terraces and sparkles in the crisp air. Every pine needle glistens individually for miles. This has to be the lunch stop. Bhatt ji's packed Aaloo parathas and achar and the dhabha produces tea. A local brown good looking dog sniffing the food makes a submissive appearance. He puts out the snout towards the foil packet, but doesn't dare to get closer. We both share the parathas and after the meal, he is sitting on my feet- there in a quiet conversation without a word being exchanged, a level of trust and friendship established. The icy wind cools off the green chilly sting and the sun penetrates the armour of the riding suit to toast the body. While I am drifting off slowly into another world, the BB messenger comes on, on its own, without any provocation with an inane message from someone in the office.

A few more km and at a bend... oh what a sight! Two dozen women, in two single files on either side of the road, with their backs towards me, sway away, carrying leaves on their heads.

There’s no place to pass on the bike, the road so narrow and the load so wide

So I duck and pass thru a tunnel of leaves with a human wall on either side.

And they own the road;

They carry on with their load.

At a bend we drive through a dense patch of Deodar forest. The trees so straight and majestic that their tops touch the sky and only shafts of sunlight manage to poke in, where ever the sun finds a gap through the holes of a green umbrella. In this darkness of daylight, the temperature drops and a chill creeps in as we traverse through. An orange pinnacle of a Hanuman temple jumps out at the end of this sanctuary.

As if this was a signal, the terrain soon changes. We're descending continuously now, and the tree cover vanishes, its beginning to get brown now and very dusty. The terrain is rough, the hills barren and deforested, loose and exposed rock is visible and in the monsoon this must be a gold mine for landslides. Its gets terrible as we approach Ghat, ravaged and plundered hills, scarred with bruised faces, scabs of rock hanging on to the gashed skin, road workers trying to build stone walls so that the hill doesn't spew its venom... All in vain! The river below is rocky and a thin black vein flows carrying some hope. A distraction like this could turn out to be very costly and sends a scare as a Tata Sumo springs up and comes closer than I'd care. The brakes are hot and dusty, there's little friction left to stop this heavy metal horse. A few more bends and we're down by the river.

The water is clear, not black as seen from above, and fast, and as we cross the Bailey bridge, down by the river I spot a man who stands towelling himself vigorously after a cold refreshing and invigorating bath. The river flows on trying to add some life.

Miracles never cease in these parts - as soon as the bridge is traversed, across the river the hot and dusty mountain vanishes. In the shadow of this hill in the air there's a chill. Suddenly the ravine opens into a river basin, flooded with sunlight. The river moves away to the other side and snakes around the basin. There's life in the basin. This is Ghat. While the road climbs up, suddenly the basin disappears and the rock converges bringing the river into a gorge. The river and I are in tandem, she below in her aqua blue splendour, while I ride a road on a bed of jagged rock. The gorge deepens and the she's bluer and laced with white at the edges, frothing in her fury, where the gorge dips its toes in. Suddenly the sun reaches the river as the gorge widens into a deep swirling aqua pool with a grey island of a solitary rock, smoothened with time, sitting in the centre of this cold majestic hole, bathed in the afternoon sun.

The sun looking me straight in the eyes, splintering into a thousand splendid suns through the visor.

A Bailey bridge appears across the river, to take you to Munsiyari. That not where I head this year.

This is the lowest point of the road, where it meets the river, to allow a crossing. The climb after this is relentless, the brakes get a breather and the engine takes over packing in some solid punches on the bends. As the terrain becomes more rugged and hostile, the truck drivers (these are the best drivers) become more accommodating and let the one eyed monster pass rather than feed them dust. I need a break. The tea stall in the westerly shadow of the hill is grimy and cold. I push on. Nature's making the bladder hurt. I have to stop. And I also decide to look at the BlackBerry. The world's woken up. I'm rudely reminded to start shifting gears. I have to send some decisions on email and fix a call for 6:30 pm. A Mexican looking road worker in a Stetson - I pinch myself, it’s incongruous.

20 km of a relentless ride and climb from Ghat and I stop to ask a village belle with a sickle ....before I can ask she bolts like a mountain goat – had I said more, the sickle would have pulled an intestine. There is no humanity here, suddenly another village lady emerges and she confirms that I have arrived at the DM’s bunglaa. What a location!! On a bend, overlooking the valley below and the panoramic view of the peaks above - they're a lot closer here than from where I was.

Chai in the garden with the munshi in the last rays of the fading sun and soon I have to go in. The lights are dim (I'm not in love) as the voltage is poor. The fire is crackling. It’s bitterly cold. I haven't taken off my riding suit. Water will heat only by the morning if the power stays thru the night.

What a ride and what a location!! And now the power's gone. It’s only the embers and I. Some one turned on a petromax. The dinner is inedible, the call with Sean from UK is uninterrupted and tonight I don’t even want my peaty brew. Somewhere it’s a melancholic heaviness driven by the embers, the darkness, the cold, the awful garish unclean house and the thought of this escapade coming to an end.  Somehow I haul myself into bed – a mattress on the floor.

Return

3 January 2013

To be in bed and have a floor to ceiling glass wall that gives you a view of the range that you see with the first rays of the sun, is a treat that I've never had. The bitter cold made me sleep well. I was warm like a lil baby and woke well before dawn. To laze and wait for a flask of tea is again a treat I haven't ever had.

A flash in the head that said- let's head back, and I have begun to listen to this side of me after the Padam episode in 2000. Packed after a quick frugal wash, there was hot water, but too cold to try and take off the covering layers and bathe, knowing that the ride was going to be dusty.

A quick view of the outside proved that the ride was going to be challenging and maybe exciting. The roads were like glass with layers of frost. Let a few vehicles churn these first and then I'd venture out!

A meager inedible breakfast that kept wanting to return out of the esophagus,  and a painful ‘load up’ in the biting cold. Today she was so cold that there was no compression. A few kicks and I'd warmed up, but not she, there's no sign of life in the engine. I had to resort to the electric starter. Thank god technology has advanced. Thrice she screamed and then came to life and complained a lot. I wiped the frost off her to make her look pretty and it made her gleam and I thought her smile would come back, while I stroked her stomach. She didn't sound good for a long time after being woken up. I tweaked her idling but she kept going back to sleep. I had to tighten the rear brake, which has screeched all the way and all day.

A friend calls as I'm departing and asks... Have you had your fill? My friend – ‘reality hit me when I was answering nature's call and the BB was buzzing.... I'm shifting gears back to reality and heading back a day early’.

A few skids on the ice, nothing that tested the armoured suit's protection, just the rear wheel's playful dance on ice. I guess my decades of riding experience and a 'still agile brain and motor actions' coordinated movements to counter the wheel dance. I must admit, it was scary and I'd started off the day with a lump in my throat - especially when I saw what the road looked like and knowing that it would be like this for 10 km in patches.

The ride becomes rough, the road surface deteriorates as the environment becomes tree less and desert like. It’s tough on the bike and to the anatomy in contact with the seat! The rear brakes are giving trouble and I have all the tools but no sand paper - I can flog myself for being ill planned.

Suddenly the road surface improves to a wide smooth road at 'Chalti' - how appropriate! There's a large wide river valley below, at places a km wide and what flows thru it is a trickle, on a river bed of pebbles and rock, polished with the flow of water over time... This is what man's done and we deny global warming. Nature will correct it self... It’s too powerful; I've learnt that in my decades of romping!

I am looking for an ideal dhabha and after many, one appears. It’s clean, large, inviting and sunny. He's willing to give me chai and phan (fan). For those who don't understand dhabha lingo - phan is like a rustic rusk... Till I spot Aaloo sabzi. Aaloo and roti with chai for lunch- it’s delicious. It’s hot in the sun and I roast for a while. I could sit here for hours. In hind sight I should have! A wash from a drum of cold water is very welcome and refreshing and gets me moving, we have a long way ahead and start contemplating riding it through to Delhi.

From the river bed dhabha we climb relentlessly, the last one, and then a gentle descend through a teak forest. It’s a lovely drive and as we approach Tanakpur in the plains, there appears a mist.

A mechanic is spotted as there stand carcasses of different bikes. He asks for a princely sum of Rs. 20 to clean the brakes. He does a splendid job without unloading the bags and I pay him 1.5x. In 40 min we're on our way to Rudrapur 95 km away. The chain and sprockets have taken a beating. These need changing. I should make it back if I don’t push out too much torque to the rear wheel.

Hell breaks loose, the weather changes to COLD and foggy. It’s now biting cold. The horn stops beeping. Stop! And one of the pair is hanging loose on its wires. Rip it off but what do you do with the naked wires? The roll of tape that was unused and in the tank bag is now in the side bags. A dog on a leash with his master, in the middle of nowhere, decides to like the rear wheel as a preferred spot. I'm NOT unloading the bags to get to the tape in this cold and at a vantage point on the road where a speeding mosquito will carry me for lunch. Innovate...Poly bags are to be found everywhere in this country. Hey Presto... There are all shapes and sizes by the road side. Of the selection a clean one is found and twisted around, and the wires insulated. Loose horn tucked in and we're off again on one horn!

I fight the cold for 10 km .... #@!* I can't take it any more. Balaklava comes on...feels better. Rudrapur is 40 km. Finally we get to Sonia Hotel... Been dreaming of a clean bed and a hot bath.... At one point in the hills I contemplate pushing it thru to Delhi!! That grandeur heroic plan is forgotten when the fog and diesel fumes hit me.

Rough as Old Boots, face streaked with exhaust soot and body caked in dust, and boots worse than everything put together, I barge into the reception where it says 'Rights Of Admission Reserved'. They look me up and down, I have combed my bald head's mane down (that's all the make over I can do), now plastered to my scalp, and they cringe at the sight and smell! I ask for my reservation - it doesn't show up. I throw the owner's name and they call him. Now they won't give me less than a super deluxe!! It’s out of my budget... Wait there's a 50% discount coming up. That sweetens the deal.

I make a litre of chai to thaw. Send an sms to say I'm safe and arrived, to a few who are on my 'emergency contact list' strung around my neck on a card (just in case I'm splattered on the road and some one needs to scrape me off with a knife).

Hot water and I don't go well together. 2 hours and they can't get flowing hot water flowing to my bath room tap. They want to upgrade me and I resent as my wardrobe is stern all over the room. Finally two buckets of piping hot water arrive after a tantrum, and I have a coconut oil bath. This art is perfected by now as you can imagine.

Tomorrow is the last leg. The challenges are different with cold fog that cuts to the bone and visibility is a few scores of feet. Of the frugal and clean wardrobe, an extra layer has been planned. The OTGs are out. The balaclava will be worn... I'm not as macho as you think. I eat a simple dinner and have a very disturbed sleep as the room is too hot and there are idiots banging doors all night long.

I left Sonia Hotel at 9 am in the bitter cold and wet fog, I had left the cramsters on the bike so the load up was that much easier and then on through the craters between Rudrapur and Sultanpur and the cold wet fog, made slow and measured progress. By Sultanpur the wetness reduced but the pain of the craters and the cold remained. The progress was pleasing as there were few vehicles out on the road. Past Rampur at a dhabha, the cold water from the tap is heavenly and warms the frozen hands, there’s dust caked on the riding suit, soon the sun trickles out and slow and steady we push along. You look so rough that the UP mafia in Scorpios with red flashing lights of self proclaimed VIPs also don’t mess with you! Gyani is welcoming and soon the progress is steady and the last part to Delhi is uneventful and quicker than ever before. We roar into the gate and start the unload. Bozo’s welcome is unmatched!

The belt knows 2 kg of weight loss. No one else will spot it in winter.

Beard's wildly grown and hair curling at the ears - Monday no one at work will see this side of me. 

That's the flip side!

I'm again asking myself - why did you do this? Will you do it again?

I'll leave you to answer that!