Being taken for a ride Part 2

In India no-one need have an alarm clock, as you can be sure that a helpful temple or mosque nearby will ensure that its chants and devotions begin approximately one hour before you wish to get up. In Bangalore, we seemed to be on top of said temple, so there was no fear of oversleeping.


I lugged my backpack downstairs to find someone who's bike was not already fully laden who could take it for me. Abhinanden and his bike had been kindly 'offered' for me and once he'd strapped my pack on with yards of bungee I had nothing to do but wait for the off.


All around me big men dressed in serious biking gear that squeaked or rustled as they moved, or in scruffy jeans and leathers, were doing many lifting and packing and strapping. Like a lost dog trotting around, looking for its owner, I went from bike to bike asking if I could help. But they'd all done it so many times before and single-handedly too, so they didn't need me 'helping' to mess things up. All offers were politely declined.


Woefully unprepared as I was, people had kindly lent me suitable clothing, as my baggy traveller pantaloons and flip-flops would not cut it on a serious bike trip like this. A pair of CP's jeans fitted me perfectly but for a few inches of turn-ups and Dipsi had also lent me a thick jumper to keep the wind out. With Biju's borrowed helmet and my box-fresh hiking shoes I was ready to go. Stifling hot, but ready - or so I thought. Then Anu, the wife of Kaushik - one of the Bang Gang - came over.


'Do you have another jumper, Bridget? You might be cold on the bike.'
'I think I'll be OK,' I said breezily, thinking that this is India, so how cold could it be?
'I really think you should wear another layer and some gloves if you have them.' Gloves?! I left England to avoid the wearing of such articles. As I didn't have any gloves I couldn't add them to my already sweltering bulk but I did have a thick hoodie, so I glumly put it on.


The bags were now packed and with a shout from Gauruv, the guys started their bikes and we clambered on. As the sound of 20+ roared and throbbed in the confined space of the basement garage, my heart leapt with excitement. This was it! We were off! I had no real idea who these guys were, where we were going, how fast wed get there or what we'd find when we got there but I was bursting with anticipation. As we streamed out of the garage in the vibrating air with the sound of 20 excited bikers revving their engines and the smell of petrol fumes spinning around us, I felt a lump of happiness rise in my throat. People from neighbouring apartments had come out to see us off and all around us faces grinned as they took photos of us on their mobiles. It felt like we were famous. Then with a humming, throbbing howl and pillows of dust in our wake, we streamed out into the road.


Tucked up behind CP, we swooped in and out of the traffic in the cool early morning air. I was glad Anu had been firm with me about the extra layer, as my hands, one placed on each knee, soon began to cool. I tucked them into the sleeves of Dipsi's jumper and once they were covered I felt utterly comfortable and at ease.


We flew westwards along the highway with the steadily rising sun warming our backs. The wind was cool and I could feel it snipping at the back of my neck and around my ankles - the only parts of me exposed. The road was smooth and all around me the new day was opening up to greet us: the sky grew paler, the light brightened and the wind on my neck lost its chill feeling, until it was just perfect! The straps on the bag of the rider in front flapped wildly like flags of victory. The sense of freedom was immense. The world folded out like a lotus flower beneath our wheels and we could pluck any petal we chose.We each had everything we needed, bagged, packed and strapped around us and we could stop whenever and wherever we wanted or we could go on forever.


We stopped sooner than anyone expected. One of the bikes had a problem about half an hour after we started. When one rider has a problem, everyone stops until it is fixed, so we all pulled over onto the side of the road. In the sudden warmth of the now-still air, my layers felt hot and I took off my helmet to cool down.


Gauruv, CP and a few others buzzed around the faulty bike, unfurling glinting toolkits as they worked to tighten the chain. It didn't take long and was soon fixed. Then, just as I thought we would set off again a shout of ,'Chai break! Chai break!' went up and tiny cups of sweet tea were passed around. It was a chance to talk to the others a bit more. Anu came up to me again and we started to talk in French, In conversation with her on the first night, she told me she'd given up her job in accounts to learn French as it would help her career in the long-run. She wasn't going to come on the ride because she had to study but her husband Kaushik - and Herself too, I think - persuaded her to come so she could use the opportunity to practice speaking French with me. I was thrilled she'd changed her mind, as it meant another woman on the ride to lighten the load of testosterone and anyway I sensed we would get on well. I was right. Over the next few days we became good friends. Anu seemed to be a timid, shy girl who was happy to stick around me as she didn't know most of the guys either. But under her quiet exterior she had a strength and certainty and a quiet self-assurance that everyone came to respect. Unlike me, she didn't try to impress to be accepted, saying to me one night, that people had to accept her as she was. Her honesty and straightforward nature meant that they did. I admired her greatly for this.


Back on the bikes, we began to leave the towns behind and found ourselves slipping through a landscape of banana plantations. Dead straight trunks strobed past us on both sides, their leaves dipping in the breeze. The heat and dust of the roads seemed somehow cooled and freshened by its proximity to this limpid green. Mile after mile of trees flowed past and the huge sky overhead was a hard, hot blue. The bikes, always together, flashed through bands of scent, barely caught before being lost again: and unidentified flower or plant here, a bonfire there, as drain, the thick greasy waft of a food stall, a wandering cow, a rickshaw's exhaust. There was always a new sensation to inhabit our noses. 

Eventually it was time to stop for lunch at the side of a shady plantation. Sitting or standing on the fragrant red earth , we ate small spicy pancakes - teplas - direct from the packer with hot green chilli pickle. Behind us farm workers cut the fruit clusters from the top of tall palms with sickles on poles metres long.


There was a total of 270km to cover that day so we were soon back in the saddle and pressing on. Now the landscape began to flatten out into the Deccan Plateau, flat, sun-baked ground, covered in palm trees, a dense bristling green doormat.


The open road beckoned to CP and moving to the front of the group , with a signal to the lead bike, he asked if he could rode on ahead - fast. As he gathered speed, the pressure of the wind on my closed visor pushed the slightly-too-big helmet up so the wind rushed against my neck. It also pushed the front down until the visor was forced  against my nose. The strap of my bag pressed into my shoulder with the air pressure. It was slightly uncomfortable but I still didn't want him to stop. The speed was a thrill, both in its hint of danger that stopped my breath and knotted my stomach and in the trust I placed in him. His confidence on the bike left me in no doubt that we would be safe. It was a thrill of controlled fear. After a few minutes he sloed again and let the others catch up.


Meanwhile the long hours riding pillion were now starting to make themselves felt. CP's bike was a sports bike and not really designed for riding hours with a passenger. The seat sloped down towards the rider, so every bump had been jolting me and pushing me forward towards CP with the force of gravity. The first few hours were fine but by mid-afternoon my seatbone was feeling decidedly bruised and tender and the friction of the motion caused by braking, accelerating and shifting when banking round corners was definitely chafing. It reminded me of my agonising camel safari in Rajasthan and I did not want to go through again the several days of perching uncomfortably on the edge of seats that had followed it! It would be OK for today but tomorrow something would have to be done. 


Throughout the day, several of the guys came up and asked how the ride was going. My replies, which began from a highly positive, ''It's great!' gradually dwindled in positivity through to the understatement of 'The saddle is just a bit uncomfortable', as the hours passed.


As the sun began to drop in the sky and the shadows lengthened their bars of shade across the road, hills and mountains began to rear up in the distance. The yellow light fell right into my visor and everything began to take on that golden 'magic hour' glow. The distant hills were shades of milky grey, fronm steel to the lightest dove, cardboard cutouts in a child's collage, placed one on top of the other.


Riding into the hills gave me a new burst of energy and revived my aching hindquarters. Lush, thick green vegetation spilled from every slope and the air seemed to hum and buzz with life. Palms wound thick with creeping peppercorn vines lined the dirt roads or towered over low coffee bushes and flecks of golden sunlight filtering through left hazy planks of brightness angling between the trees. We passed through villages in paintbox shades, the roads getting ever narrower, ever bumpier. It was so fresh and beautiful that I didn't want it to end, but my rear end felt otherwise. Gripping on and trying to shield myself from the constant jolts and lurches, my legs and heel had tensed up and were crying out for release. Eventually, as the sun slid behind the now slate-gray hills, we reached the coffee plantation where we would be staying for the night. The relief at being able to leave the bike for thenight 10 hours and 279km after we set off was heavenly! 


Later, we sat around a bonfire and the alcohol began to flow. Two new members of 60kph were given their induction. Boyish pranks such as jumping over the fire and dancing around it and being forced to dance with me (poor boys!) were all considered necessary and important rituals of membership. It was like a big bunch of brothers teasing each other. 

When the inductions and silliness died down and the embers too, I had a chance to find out what some of the guys liked so much about riding. Freedom, being one with nature and self-reliance were all there, but Param expressed it best when he said (words to this effect), 'Being in a car moves your body but being on a bike moves your soul.' I'd only been riding - and only pillion - for one day and I could already see what he meant. On a bike I feel both huge and all-powerful, yet also tiny and insignificant - no more than a moving speck in the vastness of creation, lost in the expanse of nature. Yet I feel, in that moment, as if I own the world.