Today was a rest day. This meant we would not be travelling anywhere on the bikes. Image my joy to learn that I would not have to endure the pain of the saddle for a full 24 hours. What a lucky girl I was! I could snooze for hours and not worry about packing hurriedly in a state of stupor. I could have a long, languid and luxurious lie-in on my stone-hard, narrow sleeping mat. I was up by 8am. Rubbing my hip bone, bruised and threathening the beginnings of a neat pressure sore from my Sleeping Beauty bed, I stepped out into the early morning.
Actually I had slept pretty well and would be fine once I'd had some chai and breakfast to ease the mild aches. Surprisingly many of the others were up too, and milling sleepily through the dew-covered detritus of last night's fun. The two long rows of domed tents took on the aspect of a mysterious and ancient civilisation, the heavy mist threading between them and clinging damply to their sides. Carelessly uncovered boots, forlorn outside the tents were left with a soft moisture sheen.
Snuffles and great roaring snores and were being emitted still from several tents, some sounding so much like a comedy version of a heavily sleeping man that I grinned involuntarily and tried to smother a giggle of pure childish delight. Thankfully my bare 'cell' in the house had been slightly insulated from the animal gruntings and splutterings of the last few hours, but some had still filtered through. I had drifted off to sleep with it as a strangely comforting sound, rather than an irritant, the proof of a good day's journey and the reward of sleep honestly earned. The bellows that issued (and some of them were bellows, I don't exaggerate) were those of satisfaction, of deep contented unconsciousness. By the end of the week I rather liked them.
When most of us were up, Gauruv emerged from his tent, hair askew, glasses also, looking like he had slept in them be mistake. In his hand he clutched a blue plastic bag. He dipped a hand in the bag began handing out a small packet to each person. I took mine and studied it. It was about an inch square, made of foil and covered in an Indian script. I had no idea what it was or what I was to do with it.
'What is it, Gauruv?' I asked.
'It's just a little ayurvedic medicine, something herbal, nothing dangerous. Just to give you a little trip, as it's a rest day.' I have not fallen for the spell of the ayurvediuc in India, as many people have. To me - and I speak, I admit, from little experience and no knowledge - it seems to be the science of a bunch of weeds and dubious barks, mangled to a bitter, vile pulp that one is either forced to drink, eat or - in my case in Goa - have massaged into the skin via being pounded loudly and hard on the back with hessian sacks filled with an oily mush that smelled like mouldy grass clippings. But the 'little trip' bit I was interested in...
'What do I do with it?' I asked.
'Just put it in your mouth and chew it and eat it.'
'All of it, or just a little bit.?' I didn't know if this packet was one dose or more than one.
'Just eat it,' replied Gauruv, not helpfully. 'It's not illegal or anything. Just a herbal thing.'
I opened the packet to find a flat olive green blob of mushed up weeds and dubious bark. It looked unappetising and smelled of mouldy lawn clippings so I was reassured that it must be ayurvedic. I put it on my tongue and nearly gagged. The first sensation was one of extreme saltiness, followed by a gritty, grassy, nasty vegetable flavour. It was simply inedible. I could feel my stomach heaving and my throat constricting in a reflex to rid my body of it. But willpower is a wonderful thing. In my desire and curiosity to experience Gauruv's promised 'little trip' I forced myself to keep the foul mixture in my mouth. Gagging and nearly choking, I kept it to one side of my mouth, so that the full horror of the flavour would not invade the whole of my mouth. Bit by infinitely small bit, with the aid of glugs of sweet chai (never before has syrupy sweet, sugary tea tasted so good), I dissolved the paste and managed to swallow it and keep it down. Tiny flecks of greenery remained stubbornly in corners of my mouth and every so often my teeth would crunch on a morsel of grit. I felt nauseous. Never before or since have I tasted anything quite so unbearably vile, so gut-churningly awful. When the final bit was gone, I tried to wash away the taste with cup after cup of water but only the taste of something else could rid my brain of the memory, so freshly imprinted on it, of that terrible paste. I found a piece of chewing gum in my bag and sighed with relief as its cool minty balm washed over my tongue and cleansed my mouth and my brain of its recent ordeal.
I sat back and waited for something to happen. While it didn't, I wandered off to see what was happening for breakfast. It seemed to be packets of biscuits, to tide us over until the proper Indian breakfast was ready. Dry, sweet and crumbly, Indians do biscuits very well and that morning their benign familiarity was a bright blessing.
The plan for the day seemed to be that there was no plan for the day. A rest day meant just that. We would stay at the farm and just chill out, relax, sleep and chat, whatever we wanted to do. This would be the perfect opportunity to spend some time with everyone and get to know them better. I was looking forward to it.
Dipsi appeared from round the side of the house and motioned me to come over.
'Me and a few of the guys are smoking some grass if you want to join us,' he offered in a low voice.
'Ok, sure,' I said. It might help me relax and bond with them, and somehow it seemed the thing to do. And anyway Gauruv's ayurvedic trip seemed to be having a rest day too, as I still wasn't feeling any different.
Round the corner, Jaan, Archit and Aalok were standing round waiting for us. Dipsi took out his tiny metal pipe and filled it with a mixture of grass and hash. After he'd lit it and got it going he passed it over to me. I inhaled quickly and deeply, the embers glowing bonfire orange, and nearly coughed as the hot herby smoke filled my lungs. I held it there for a few seconds before blowing it out in a slow steady stream. Just the action of releasing the smoke was relaxing. I rarely smoke anything and am not really used to it, but this felt like the right occasion. I trusted the guys and felt safe with them. I began to feel a little light-headed and tingly but it was a pleasant sensation, almost like the mild, burning warmth you get in your muscles after a stretch.
The tiny pipe didn't go far between the five of us and Dipsi lit another one. I was going to pass on that one, thinking I'd had enough, but as he passed me the pipe again I automatically accepted it. I don't know why I do these things but I do. I felt better now, my body adjusting to it's mildly altered state of consciousness. I didn't feel very stoned, just relaxed, warm and fuzzy. It felt good.
Breakfast proper was now ready and the huge pots of food that looked like the Magic Porridge Pot that would never empty were soon depleted as hungry bikers dug in and took their share. The food (although I can't remember what it was) was good and the spiciness warmed me satisfyingly. It was still cool outside and the heavy mist clung to our clothing, seeping through to give a delicate but perceptible chill. The pale sun was struggling to break through the mist and in a hour or so it would have burned off but for now it was still cool.
The effects of the grass seemed to have worn off already and I felt normal, as I rinsed my plate and cup with water from one of the huge plastic barrels that we filled with water everyday pumped from the well. Now what to do with the rest of my day. It was decided for me when Dipsi again came over and told me that he and some of the others were going to the well and would I like to go and see it? It was just a short walk away, so I agreed.
We turned right out of the plantation and down a grassy track slope in the direction of the well. On either side were low thorny hedges, behind which grew coffee bushes, their berries almost ready for picking. Fat blood-red beads in big heavy clusters along the branches, they glistened under the shiny thick green leaves. Dipsi plucked one.
'You can eat it,' he said. I put the whole thing in my mouth. It tasted slightly sharp, not as sharp as a sloe, but similar. The red casing and a thin green layer of flesh under it was soft but the green coffee bean inside was hard and cracked under my teeth. I chewed, spitting bits of the bean that were too tough.
'Mmm, it's ok,' I said, 'but the bean is a bit hard.' Dipsi laughed.
'You're only supposed to eat the bit around the outside.'
"Oh, I didn't know that,' I said with a sheepish grin.
By now we'd reached the well, a circular concrete structure about waist height with a metal grille and winch over it. As the guys struggled to get the grille off, I looked at the countryside around me - and was very surprised. It looked exactly like England!
The grassy track sloped down to a tumbledown Constable-country gate, made out of three wooden poles and below it a meadow spread out, dewy green and flat. Behind that rose a wooded hill covered with trees that looked just like the broad-leaf forests of England. Through the meadow a little stream wound its way and on both sides of it, a handful of grey buffalo grazed idly, looking, but for their long curved horns, just like gentle English cows in their pasture. The low early morning sunlight and the dew-soaked grass gave it a cool northern hemisphere light that completed the picture. I couldn't believe it! It could have been a country scene taken from somewhere along the banks of the River Cam and dropped complete in every detail into the centre of the Indian jungle. I was totally and utterly stunned out of all proportion to what was in reality a mild coincidence. How could India - wild, exotic and vibrant - possibly mimic the exact contours, subdued tones and shades and of my beautiful England? It didn't seem possible. It was amazingly, magically strange.
As I looked on at my 'English' scene in sheer wonderment, I began to notice that the edges of my vision were a little bit fuzzy and that everything sounded a little muffled, as if heard through a blanket over one's head. I lifted my hand and through the fuzzy tunnel of my vision it moved slow and languid, as though underwater in slow motion. My body felt slack and heavy and every movement was a slow, long sweep that trailed off into stillness. I realised with a sudden, appalling, sickening clarity that cut through my fluffy state that I was now totally stoned! The vile herbs and the grass combined were, an hour after taking them, finally having an effect. I was high and it was only 9am!
I looked over to the other guys, mortified to see if they had noticed me behaving strangely, if indeed I was. I now couldn't be sure. They were all busy peering into the well and seemed to have forgotten me. With relief, I began to explore this new state I found myself in. The fuzzy-limbed feeling and the slow movements felt similar to being drunk and I suddenly felt so tired I didn't think I could stand. I sank down exactly where I stood and sat cross-legged, the sharp grass prickling my legs through my trousers. My brain was empty of thought except one: that the guys should not know how stoned I was, as they didn't seem to be affected by it at all and it was mortifyingly embarrassing to be the only one so hugely, catastrophically tripping.
In a daze I looked unseeing at the vegetation in front of me. As I stared, a vine that was hanging down from one of the trees, seemed to lift out of the scene and stand out in front of everything else like in a 3D film or a Magic Eye picture. As I scanned from left to right, it stayed there, hovering above everything, perfect in every detail. I was quite impressed. Now I set my eyes on a patch of small scarlet flowers and, after a few seconds staring, they too rose from the background to meet me, dancing like tiny butterflies, their colour glowing and unreal. I heard laughter from the guys looking into the well at something, but it was loud and unreal, sounding as though it was in my head and reverberating long after I am sure they had stopped laughing.
Someone called me over to have a look at how they were drawing the water. With a huge effort of concentration, I unfolded my leaden limbs, arranged my face into what I guessed to be a natural-looking smile and walked over, negotiating the uneven ground through my fuzzy-edged vision. Peering into the well, I could see a neon green plastic water carrier bobbing up and down on the surface, as someone tried to submerge it. I couldn't' think of anything to say, I was without a single word, just experiencing.
But reality was intruding. The lads were going to have a wash and Satish didn't think I should be there. Brightly and ever so tactfully he said, 'Bridget, I think they're making some really nice food back at the camp, you should go and have a look.' My brain was so dulled I didn't register the subtext of what he meant.
'Oh no, that's OK,' I replied. 'I'm not really interested. I'll just stay here with you guys.' He looked at me carefully and said slowly, 'No, I think you'd find it really interesting.' Now the penny dropped.
'Oh,' I said, with a laugh that seemed to come from miles away, not inside me. 'You're trying to get rid of me.' Even as I said it I was appalled at my boldness. Where had that come from? What was I saying? I had to get out of there before I said something even more stupid.
Satish laughed. 'Well, I was trying to put it tactfully and subtlely.'
I turned to go, dragging my heavy limbs with me. The other guys seemed completely oblivious to this exchange and to me, so I thought they wouldn't even notice that I'd left. The walk back up the slope to the plantation was a trek of a thousand miles. The faster I willed my legs to go, the slower and longer they seemed to take every step. It was only a couple of minutes but it felt like hours. All I wanted to do was lie down and try to stop the whirling in my head.
When I got back to the plantation everyone else seemed to be occupied and didn't notice my return. I slipped away into my little room and lay down on my sleeping bag. As I lay there totally immobile I realised I couldn't even feel the hard mat underneath me or the floor or the sleeping bag. I was enveloped with a sense of total and utter relaxation, the like of which I've never had before. My body felt like fluid, moulded to the ground in the most comfortable position I had ever held in my life. I couldn't and didn't want to move a muscle. I lay there for a while, I don't know how long, eyes closed but not sleeping.
During this time, several people came in to the house, where they had stored things just outside my room. I could feel them looking at me for a few moments, but I ignored them all, not wanting to leave my blissful state. Eventually Anu came in and asked softly, 'Bridget, are you OK?' I was forced to answer.
'Yes, I'm fine. I just took that thing Gauruv gave us and I felt a bit strange so I came to lie down.'
'Are you sure you're OK? I came in a couple of times and you didn't move, so I was just checking you were alright.'
'I'm fine. What was it anyway? Do you know?'
Yes, I think it was bhang, but I'm not sure.'
Bhang! Now I understood. According to my guide book bhang is a strong form of marijuana that is legal in some areas. It can have quite a strange range of effects and the Lonely Planet said it should be used with caution.
Anu had taken some too, but not the whole packet and she seemed to be fine. Later that day found her curled up asleep in my room too, the effects having taken that bit longer to work on her. I'd taken the whole lot and smoked extra grass to boot. No wonder I was tripping so strongly!
I thought maybe some fresh air would do the trick so I went outside. Only about half the guys were there, all sitting in the shadow cast by the building, the only shade in the place. I sat down next to Dipsi.
'That stuff Gauruv gave us was really strong. I feel really weird.'
'I know. Everyone is tripping too,' he said with a grin and went back to listening to the music that Vinod was playing out on his speaker. It was some 70s prog rock or other and I nearly laughed at how stereotypical it was for stoner music. But I sat there with them too, just staring at my 3D flowers and trees, my mind an empty box. I felt nothing and thought nothing.
Most of the day passed in this way, with the only respite, joining a couple of the guys on a brief trip to a nearby village shop to buy chai. Most of the members had gone off to sleep in their tents at some point and I felt a sense of relief that everyone seemed to have been affected in a similar way to me.
The effects began to wear off about 5pm and preparations began for dinner. Today was the anniversary of the founding of 60kph, and after dinner, we all sat around the campfire. Gauruv wanted to know what everyone thought of 60kph, what it meant to them. Everyone took it in turns to say their bit. The answers that stuck with me were the ones given by Jaan and Anu.
Jaan I had found a little intimidating at first. He seemed quite serious and unapproachable, and certainly at the beginning of the ride, he seemed never to be without his sunglasses so I could never see his face or read his expression. Over the days I got to know him better and found he was a very intelligent and thoughtful man - and good fun too. Not at all the mystery I'd originally thought him to be. Being a member of 60kph, he said, had given him the confidence in himself to ride alone. He had ridden on his own before but always worried about what might happen if things went wrong. He told of a time when he was supposed to go on a ride with two other members but they both had to drop out for some reason. Instead of giving up the ride, he decided to do it on his own anyway and realised that he could do it and didn't need to worry about everything as they had taught him what to do if things went wrong and now he had the confidence to do it. He said this with such honesty and humility, admitting to the vulnerability of his fear, that I warmed to him a lot that night.
Anu, as the wife of a member, had a different perspective. For her 60kph was a revelation in the personalities of the members. She didn't really know any bikers before and had been surprised at their humility. No-one, she said, tried to outdo anyone else or boast about their achievements, they were all very humble people, whatever their background. I totally agreed with her. Everyone seemed to get on well with each other - rare in such a big group where frictions are always likely to surface eventually - and I can honestly say that there was not one person in the group that I didn't like. There were some I got on better with and spent more time with, but everyone was kind and friendly to me and accepted me for who I was, no bike, no experience and all!
Everyone had different answers, but the theme that kept coming up was that of a family. As a group they did everything together, they supported each other and they were there for each other, just like a family. I was pleased that they all thought that, as that had been my overriding feeling about the group too and it meant I had found a common link with them. As a non-member I didn't want to say anything as it wasn't my place, but their answers gave me great reassurance that they already knew how special their club was, that it wasn't an ordinary club just based around riding a bike but that it was a network of support and friendship that went far beyond a shared love of riding. If they had asked me, that is what I would have said, but in a sense I didn't need to say it. They already knew...
The family feeling was reinforced even more when, after everyone present had said their bit, they started calling members who wren't present and asking them what they thought, using the speakerphone, so everyone could hear. Even though they couldn't come on this anniversary ride, they were no less a part of the family and their opinions were as important. Still a bit sleepy and spaced out from the bhang, I lay down on one of the tarpaulins and drifted in and out of sleep while the guys called member after member. At one point I was woken up when everyone started shouting out to one of the members on the other end of the phone 'We love you!' and getting the response back, 'I love you too!'
I smiled. It was lovely to hear. I had not expected such open displays of emotion from a bunch of tough bikers and, although there was alcohol lubricating the emotional pathways - as always with 60kph! - I knew the sentiment was still a just and true one.
The night ended after midnight with loud and rowdy hugs all round as everyone wished each other 'happy anniversary' in high spirits and the warmth that comes from the camaraderie of real and genuine friendship.
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