TADIYENDAMOL - THE BARD, THE NOVICE AND NIRVANA

Between Belur-Halebidu, Dimbam and Tadiyendamol, Gautham chose the last one, cause it was the first to pop-up on his Sony Xperia touchscreen. The next day, an anxious Gautam waited for me, and when i did show up, heaved a sigh of relief and off we left at 6:45 AM.
Breakfast was at Cafe Coorg, where a late 50s biker showed up on a Suzuki GSX, i'm guessing with 600 horses underneath it. He had the complete biking gear, and smoking a cigarette, was lost in thought. We could not help but admire the rider and his stead. His deep voice indicated knowledge and experience.
From there, Gautham suggested the Gonikkoppa route. It was terrible, specially so that i had broken my cardinal rule of having someone else ride the bike. On that rode, i christened Gautham with the title, "The Novice." Keeping a steady accelerator on humps, bumps and potholes, changing gears multiple times, sudden changing of lanes ensured Gautham deserved the title; when i asked why he doesn't use the disk brake and only the rear ones, pat came the reply,"I never use disk brakes. Ever." My heart skipped a beat, and i could hear my bike heave a silent sigh.

Rural Coorg. There is nothing as pleasant as that. The air, the water, the fields, the chicks too; it is all natural. I, The Bard, could not help it. I broke into a song, quite a few in fact while criss-crossing the coffee plantations. Thankfully, there was some good in taking this route. We spotted Balarama at an elephant camp. It was majestic. Plus, i realized how difficult and scary it is to ride pillion, especially on my bike. My back started to hurt, a lot.

The Novice tried his best to push the bike, but it refused to climb some steep inclines. Thankfully, we decided to walk the rest of the way, and common sense prevailed over The Novice and we found a house to park the bike, rather than abandoning it.
A small stream goes by the side of the trail, and The Novice, being a trekker, climbed down like a Lemur and found a stream. I hesitated, but relenting, made my way down. And it was worth every moment. The water was ice-cold, and fresh. All the tension i had got washed away. A few gulps, and a soothing feeling had made its way to the heart. It was so rich in minerals, that the heat boils in my mouth healed. I sat there, forgetting time, just listening to the crickets and the gentle stream, with a lone crab watching to nip my toes.

Nirvana was found.

I huffed and puffed, and The Novice agreed that its better we do a U-turn on the trail. We had lunch, thanks to The Novice's mum and made our way back, resolving that next time, we will conquer the peak. We bade goodbye to a bunch of software engineers who continued the trek in Jockey boxers, sleeveless T-shirts, I-pad and Frooti......... hope they made it back home.
Journey to Mysore. The Novice pulled out his Xperia, referred to Google maps and we took the Virajpet-Periyapatna-Hunsur road. The sun setting on ghat sections, the orange tinge on paddy and coffee, and the workers returning home made for a memorable ride. I cringed as The Novice put the bike on potholes with sheer force. Gautham shouted out to people on the move, asking for directions, while The Bard behind him was bemused. Night dinner, at around 7:30 PM, was back at Cafe Coorg. Dosas' of Tomato, Cheese, Egg and Davangere Benne. Thankfully, The Novice felt sleepy and decided to sit pillion.
So, it was, under the watchful eyes of Mother Coorg, and a gracious Father above, we rode back home, with lights staring at us on the highway, and lighting in the sky.

Home-stay and lodges are available, in case you want to start the trek at 6 AM and not bother about lunch. You can explore surrounding places too.
4x4 jeep rides are available for the adventurous. Camping equipment may be borrowed from the Home Stay.

Lesson's learnt: Use your pillion as a substitute rider only under emergency circumstances.
Ensure he respects the road, the bike and safety.
Even your pillion has an iron-butt, respect the butt.
Trust your instinct and your bike. Leave Google Maps to know where your to-be Father-in-Law lives and works.

SUFI AND THE BIKER

The mystics of Islam propagated love. They knew no hate, jealousy or violence. Universal love was and still is their motto.
So is the biker's.

A biker doesn't differentiate between good roads and bad. Potholes are mere obstacles on the road. He enjoys cruising on the tarmac, or receiving violent jolts to his back. The destination is merely a number and a name. The journey is more important to him. The people, their faces and lives he touches, just by being there.
Someone aspires to be a biker, some to have a better life and own a bike like that, and some, just to be free like him.
The biker's heart thumps with the engine, just as a Sufi's beats with his songs. Both of them have surrendered their souls to God. They are in search of His abode. And this search continues till the last breath. Nothing can be more fulfilling for the biker than riding into the sunset. That's the image the biker and the sufi see when they close their eyes for the last time. They have reached their destination.
Both of them did not choose their destiny, rather it was the other way round. The bike chose the biker, love chose the sufi. Whatever comes their way, they take it in their stride. Rain, shine, stone, dust; nothing throws them off track. Rather, they see the beauty in all of it.
Scenes which seem normal to you and me fascinate them. Things that would just make us smile draw a tear from them. They transcend time and space on their road towards the truth. The truth being, that in the end, we are all fellow travelers, no matter what the ride.

GOOGLE MAPS, GOOD-DAY BISCUITS, GOVERNMENT AND MY GLADIATOR

All of us have taken life for granted. We assume our loved ones, and our favorite objects will be eternal. We do not realize their value until they are long gone. Very few among us are given a second chance. We find our lost love again. I am one among those. 

I was caught up in the nitty-gritties of life. I had used my bike for mundane commuter riding. I had not given its regular wash and polish. An air filter had to be replaced. On Saturday, most of friends told me they could not come for a bike trip. DRC was housefull. So i set off on my own journey.

The destination was Waynad, Kerala. I set off at 7 AM. Google maps lied to me. The village people told me that the road was non-existent. Nagarhole National Park was straight ahead, and when i did reach the gate, i was turned back. Bikes were not allowed. Government policy. I was given two options to reach Waynad. One was through HD Kote and the other via a non-descriptive village. I chose HD Kote. I had to pass through a Tibetean settlement called Gurupura. It was AMAZING! I don't think it is on the map. The streets resemble a town with forgotten people. The old men and empty streets told a tale of their own, that of longing for one's motherland.

The road to HD Kote is fraught with potholes, enough to sink the newly formed Government. On some stretches, it is butter smooth. The lush greenery on either side surprised me. It was greener than Mandya. A few kilometers and i hit the town of HD Kote. Dusty and arid describe it best. From there, i reached Kabini Dam. The resort business is booming, while the government school has been shutdown.

As soon as i took the road to Waynad, deja-vu. It was only a few years back that we had made the trip by the same road. The cab had taken a beating. The only change i saw was a mud road replacing the boulders and craters. The district-in-charge minister could have repaired it a long time back. 

Instead he chose to upgrade to a Scorpio.

I could not take it anymore. I was tired of taking diversions. I was exhausted, mentally and physically. At a pit stop, with the farmers staring why in the world would a guy wear FOX biking gear on a Gladiator, I decided to make the return journey home. 

It was easier said than done. My eyelids dropped. It was as if the bike drove itself. On the last biking trip, i rode 100 kms in one hour, non-stop. This time, i could not even cover 20 kms without a break. I took a lot of timeouts. Good-day biscuits and chocolates were my chow. 

When i made it home, safe, sane and sound, i kissed my bike. We had found love again. Our trust had been restored. I took the bike for service and even replaced the air filter.

There is fresh air in our lungs.

Be a Gladiator to ride one?

from sewage to stomach-fresh fish

a drawing lost to time

Pole of wires vs flowers

March of the farmers

Limping ahead in life

"Rolling Stone", village style

LOST IN LIFE, FOUND BY A SAINT

I had no idea what i was going to do now. I had set a deadline for finding a job. It had passed. No oppurtunities on the horizon. Neighbours spoke in whispers about the boy who stays at home. Family posed questions on marriage and paying insurance. I was lost, for words and for myself.
Dornahalli is a small hamlet off the Mysore-Hassan highway. Legend has it that a wooden doll resembling St.Anthony was found here. A farmer was ploughing his fields when he dug up the doll, and miracles and omens were set in motion. Nobody goes back home empty handed. St.Anthony answers your prayers. He is the patron saint of all things lost and found. I was wandering and He found me.
I set off with a friend on a Sunday morning. The drive was excellent. The Catholic influence was obvious in the villages. Turkeys replaced chickens. But even they couldn't help but cross the road.  Crosses on the house replaced the usual dung. But, the village charm was still there.Read more on chickens and country chicks
In the vast lands, surrounded by fields both green and barren, lies the church. You can see it from a distance and hear the gong of its bell. Hardly ten were present for the Sunday Mass. An equal number of beggars at the entrance greeted us. We took a look around the church. It was calm and peaceful, a stark contrast to the feast of St. Anthony, when the faithfully congregate in their thousands.
I did have a look at the wooden doll. 'So, the legend is true' i said to myself. But, what blew my mind away was the painting inside of St.Anthony with a child in his embrace. I couldn't take my eyes of it. For the first time in a long time, i was surrounded by peace. I felt light. I felt elated, as if i had found something which was long lost.
I had packed some cake and bread. I distributed it among the poor, and soon we were on our way back to Mysore. All the way, i could not explain the strange yet happy feeling in my heart. Something in that place had touched my soul.
Back at home, lying in my bed, i closed my eyes for a nap, when it flashed me. I had found what i had lost, running behind deadlines and opinions of people, and the expectations of society.
I had found Myself.

FROM ONE MOTHER TO ANOTHER

A TEMPLE IN THE DISTANCE

OF COUNTRY CHICKS AND A CHICKEN

A ride into the countryside never gets boring. Just approaching the village on the highway, you sense the fresh air, the hay on the road, the farmer toiling away in the distance, the boys steering old cycle tires and the girls clutching their plaits. As you take in these sights, you have seconds to save the chicken that is crossing the road.
It is no more a joke. It never is a pleasant sight, a dead chicken. The roadkill sure doesn't have any resemblance to those served at KFC. Infact, you might attend the Kumbh Mela to wash off the sin. But that is least of your worries. Right now, you concern is, 'How am I going to explain this sh*t to the farmer?'
The farmer sure is not pleased. You have made the rooster a widower. The rooster will drown his sorrows in toddy liquor and not crow the next morning. Worst, you have snatched away from the farmer the local version of 'The Golden Goose'. His source of eggs, both for himself and The Egg Factory on Kormangala road is now scrambled.
You are negotiating whether a ride on your bike, your digital camera or your Aviators are the trading cards. Soon, the country bums join in and threaten to bash you up into, what else, chicken feed. In this commotion, your eyes, courtesy the male gaze and stare gene, fall upon the farmer's daughter and her friends. You realise why village chicks are known as pure, beautiful, simple and elegant.
But, this is only for a second. The daughter and her friends giggle at your gear and gloves, with that skull on your helmet. You seriously contemplate on one thought 'Man! are those sex surveys on villages true?'. 
Your options are to payup the farmer and beat it, or stay back as a guest, click pictures of the village life and  show the daughter and her girlfriends who's the real "Daddy". And the next morning, you're more faster than Farhan Akhar in Bhaag Milka Bhaag. But, alas! the country bugger and his cronies would not allow option two.
As you bid goodbye to the chicks in your rear view mirror, pop a smile, push the start button and throttle away, all you can say is, "Just another memory on a long distance ride".

IN SEARCH OF THE MOUNTAIN HERMIT-PART 2

For all the travelling, we could see some pilgrims going in the opposite direction by walk. They were heading into the jungle. Apparently, Lord Shiva had left the place long ago. The promise that no woman should enter had been broken. This was evident when we say some ladies praying inside. So he set up camp deep inside the jungle. We did not venture there.
We made our journey to a mutt. It was pretty old. The mutt incharge agreed to let us in. We left our luggage in the care of a little kid who studied in the mutt. He watched over it with all his little mite.
The mutt housed a museum of the monk who started it. It was quite intriguing. There was even a room where a mountain was created from corn.
Opposite to this place is a tiny hillock. Stairs lead you up to a temple. Only one person can go in and one person can come out. You have to crawl to see the God. The space is the size of a carton box. It was one interesting experience.
We started off our long journey back to Mysore. We had a good 150 kms to cover. Driver fatigue did set in. So much so, that i could not stop in time before i knocked a poor lamb. It was alright. But it was a wake up call for me. A continuous riding strectch trying to prove my bravado could actually kill me, or make mutton out of a lamb.
We reached Mysore pretty late. I dropped him at the hostel and made my way to my home. It was a good ride. We almost found the Hermit in the mountains. Almost...

Inside the cave temple

The wishing tree

Me and my mounts

IN SEARCH OF THE MOUNTAIN HERMIT-PART 1

Chamarajnagar. The place drives shivers into spines of Chief Ministers', for they have lost power within months of visiting this place.Its cursed.

The place is also famous for a hermit, who reportedly got angry and went to seek solace in the mountains. A condition to any pilgrim who wants to visit his shrine, no women should be allowed inside the sanctum santorum. Men from all walks of life come to seek his blessings. The journey is tough, whether you take the road or test your faith by walking. I put my faith in my bike. Along with a classmate who was knew the place well as my pillion, we set off to Malai Mahadeshwara Hills, aka MM Hills. 

The journey was tough. You have to negotiate the private buses of T. Narasipura. These drivers are a combo of Sebastean Vettel and the Grim Reaper. We entered the vast lands of Kollegal, where political neglect was evident. The people have taken to the Gods than the government. Their names give away this fact. Simon coexists with Shiva. A breakfast of puris and freshly ground chilli paste later, with set off on the grueling journey which goes into the hills. Hairpin bends exist, so do the potholes which throw you off-balance. The monkeys are your constant companion, apart from the grueling heat which bears down upon you.

It was a test of bike, biker and pillion. Occasional stops helped to stretch our muscles and relax our brains. 

We did pull in to the temple. A quick wash at the pond and we were at the temple premises. It was maintained very well. Thankfully, it was not crowded. A gold cast face on the lingam, with the moustache greeted us. We were in the abode of Shiva.

It was afternoon and we were hungry. Thankfully, the place offered free meals as prasadam. We had a simple, yet delicious meal with the famous singers of MM Hills singing chants to the Lord in the background. 

The singers of the Lord

The temple

Malai Mahadeshwara

JAMMING IN JAMMIES WITH JAMULAPATI AT OOTY- DAY 2

After having pizza at Dominos, falling in a crush with a girl who worked there, and getting lost in the dark, we reached our pit stop for the night, YWCA hostel, Coonoor. We got our rooms and just plonked on our beds. We could not sleep. So Vikram rattled off his life experience in college and girlfriends lost. He started to weep and had a running nose too. But he was not overcome by emotion. Instead, the smoke from the mosquito coil got the better of him.

We started early the next morning. A healthy breakfast of dosas, sambar and coffee fueled us. We headed to  Dolphin nose and surrounding areas. It was breathtaking. A narrow road, mist, blind curves and to top it all, a fall 200 feet down. We did reach the place, sipping tea and eavesdropping on the legend that lovers commit suicide here; a fall so great that body remains fit into matchboxes. That sent shivers down our spine.

Next were a few gardens here and there. We left after a light lunch, at Dominos, again and for the last time, i saw the girl on whom i had a crush. From there, we took the longer route back to Mysore. The road was pretty bad and Vikram raced ahead. He even overtook a Volvo and almost collided head-on with a truck. I rode a little cautiously. I did steal a few glances of the tea estates below. 

We had to speed up. The gates at the Karnataka border closed at 6 PM. Once we had crossed it, the drive through Bandipur was awesome. The light was fading, and the animals were out. I saw a wild elephant and a Gaur. This massive beast was elegant. This was the first time i was seeing one at close range in the wild. I finally caught up with Vikram, and after a cup of coffee later, the journey towards home began.

I enjoyed this journey. The early morning walk, freshly brewed tea and simplicity of life charmed me. Ooty and Coonoor are a must visit for any biker. The biker soul gets revved up after a ride to these places. One of the best long distance rides i ever undertook.

JAMMING IN JAMMIES WITH JAMULAPATI AT OOTY- DAY 1

15 minutes to go before the exam. I was outside the hall when i saw a boy studying under the shade of a tree. I had a quick chat with him. Five years later, he was my biker bud on my first inter-state ride.
Vikram was your chocolate boy, with good looks and a great sense of fashion. He had the same bike as me.  His knowledge of books was quite impressive and since i was an avid reader myself, our friendship grew stronger. After my Master's exams were over, Vikram suggested that we go to Ooty. It would also be the first time i had stayed overnight during a bike ride. My parents agreed and off we rode to the beautiful place.
Vikram was the perfect guy for this. He had studied in Ooty and had been there before by bike. He knew places which were not found in tourist maps. The road to Ooty, the one with hairpin bends was a tough one. I had a clumsy bag tied at the back which often shifted its weight. I was left with no choice but to carry it on my shoulders, which tired me. The bikes were put under stress up the steep incline. Yamaha Gladiators were not meant for this. The worse part was when a SUV full of gorgeous girls was parked at the side, and the bike just stopped, as if to stare at them. It would not move from there. The incline was just too much. I was left huffing and puffing, trying to push the bike.
The cold air, the mist, the smell of tea and the sight of those tea-workers with baskets filled with green leaves; no matter how many times you visit, you never get tired of the place. The old British style houses told a tale of their own. Our first stop was a grave. The peace i found in that place was just surreal. It was a very old one, with some graves dating back to the 1800s. The in-charge of the place was kind enough to let us inside the chapel.
After many churches and schools, we made a stop at a park, where we spotted an old guy, his young wife and two photographers who made them pose in awkard positons. This was when i came up with my most innovative phrase for lovers in public places, 'Mr & Mrs. Dick Banger'.

MUGILPETE,PARADISE VIA HELL'S ROAD- PART 4 MAMA I'M COMING HOME

Because the cell phone reception was poor, i could not share my triumphs with my mum. But, once we started on the return journey, i could not think of anything else except narrating the entire episode to my parents. So excited was i, that i did not notice that i had completed 100 kms straight, without stopping for a break. My pillion, Gautam, did not share the same enthusiasm as me. He on the other hand, ended with a rock solid butt, and could not even feel his own farts.
I stopped at Coorg Cafe. Though it is modeled on Cafe Coffee Day, the food here is so much better. The pudina chutney was too good. It was around 7 PM when we started from the pit stop. I avoid riding in the dark. It is a real strain on the eyes with all the glare, and demands extra concentration. But, i did it and soon, i was narrating the entire incident to my dad and screaming about like a little girl at home.
This journey taught me that biking is more than riding to your destination. The true beauty of it is in appreciating the journey and exploring the places. Taking in your stride the unplanned and unexpected are also part of the ride. I have to thank Gautam for being so helpful and patient. I have to thank my bike that it endured the journey. The Kodavas were very helpful and a special thank you for the locals. I have to thank the Highway which ensured we got home safe and sound.
Coorg is wonderful place. But as the locals told me, everything green doesn't mean prosperity. Monsoons and lack of good roads hinder the progress of the place. When they do build one, vast tracts of forest are consumed. Tigers used to roam the place, now replaced with deer and the occasional boar. No wonder, with all these difficulties, Kodavas become tough, man or woman.
This ride taught me to appreciate true friends and nature. I'm a better man for having done this ride.

Until next time....

MUGILPETE,PARADISE VIA HELL'S ROAD- PART 3 AT GODS GATE

The actual scenery wasn't like the movie. It was pretty dry. They say this place is heaven in October. Gautam had some experience in trekking. I had none. With the afternoon sun bearing upon us, i talked my iron butt out to Gautam. He was interested in the view, i was trying not to faint and tumble down. I had seen enough episodes of 'I Shouldn't Be Alive' on Discovery to know that things can turn bad quickly. There was not a single soul in sight. No signs of animal life, and we were literally on the edge of the forest. Anything might spring up and grab us.
I lost it when i saw a section of a spinal cord. Gautam brushed it off as some animal's. I was sure the Veerappan Ganeshan guy must be killing visitors, feeding them to his dogs and chicken and scattering the remains. Stones stacked on one another at regular intervals resembled graves to me, but it turned out to be mileposts.
The arch gate was finally in sight, when we saw a tiny auto parked. We checked around, but there was no one. We kept on walking, only to face a couple of bikes and a Santro. These guys had taken an easier route, which we would find out later. We also stumbled upon a forest guard, who was the Tamil actor Surya's look alike.
When we reached the check post, we were greeted by a young forest guard. I was amazed to see the room, inside which lay two cots and an iron trunk. Beside it was a man-made lake. The guard said that elephants and even tigers drop in to have a drink. AWESOME!
Another hill up, and we were at a watch tower. It looked down on the valley. Surrounding us was the Pushpagiri reserve and in the distance, Kumara Parvat. The wind was at its best, and when it decided to take a break, the sound of bugs and dry shrubs rustling took over. I knew I was closer to God when i looked down upon a forest. We were above birds, and below a sole hovering eagle. No words to describe it. Period.

MUGILPETE,PARADISE VIA HELL'S ROAD- PART 2 TIPPING TIPPER

Never had i heard the engine raring to go this much. It was deafening, in spite of the heavy helmet on my head. The road was a series of steep drops, with sharp corners which led to walls or down estates. This was fascinating and scary. The entrance to these estates is something to be seen to be believed. It seemed either 90 degrees up or 90 degrees down, never straight. They are always located at sharp corners. So if you miss your turn, you'll be tumbling down and get the Axe effect, coffee flavour.
I braked, rode in first gear and even stopped to control my descent. Finally, an old lady told us that two roads lead to Mugilpete. We continued straight. This is where it all began.
It looked as if the road was dug up from hell, to facilitate Satan to show off his dirt bike. The colors of the mud were red, yellow and pink. Maybe Gay rights are supported in Hell too. To climb the steep incline, Gautam told i must accelerate and not loose momentum between gear shifts. Having treated the bike as a soft humming marvel, it was painful to hear it struggle, thump, twist and creak. I could clearly feel the heat emitting off the engines.
If not for Gautam, i would have abandoned the trip or taken a different route. With his encouragement, i pushed forward. And then, i was faced with a wall of dust. It looked like a mammoth was charging at me. But it was a tipper. These trucks, with loads of soil, weigh tons.On the downside, it did not seem to have enough braking power. It horrifyingly slid down for a head-on crash. Thankfully, it stopped just in time, my eyes met with the driver and we both exchanged a sheepish smile.
Further up, the bike sunk in the sand on an incline. Some pushing later, Gautam drove ahead, while i walked. I puffed and panted, and with my biking gear, bandana and pot belly, covered in mud, i provided entertainment for the construction workers. It was almost noon when we reached the entrance to Madalpatti.
We decided to park our bike and trek the remaining 4 kms. The Veerappan like Ganeshan, with his four dogs and 14 chicken, old rusty jeep included, agreed to watch over our bike. Thus, we started off to see for ourselves the famous place where Mungaru Male was shot.

MUGILPETE,PARADISE VIA HELL'S ROAD- PART 1 BEST MONDAY EVER

Screaming, shouting, honking, running, swearing; this is your typical Monday morning. But for me, on the 11 Feb, 2013, it was deciding, in a split second, whether to swerve left or right. I had to avoid either a red KSRTC bus or a grey majestic bull. Typical Indian Highway.

Me and Gautam* had set off to Mugilpete (a.k.a Mandalpatti) in Coorg district. Any ride to Coorg is always welcome. This was to the second highest peak in the Deccan Plateau (so i have been told). Gautam was my pillion for this ride. This was my second ride with him, and i was comfortable with him and he with my bike. 

We set off at 7 AM.  

State Highway 88, or Hunsur road as it's called, is a pleasure to ride. Well paved, less number of speed breakers and unlike the Bangalore-Mysore highway, there are sign boards to warn you of these "humps".

I noticed that the fuel indicator was dropping fast. This was because of our combined weight, the gear and sadly, the fact that i was er...overweight.

Unlike the Banglore-Mysore road, which is peppered and salted with dhabas and eateries of all stars and sizes, Highway 88 doesn't offer you that many options, except in major towns and cities. Our pitstop for breakfast was Cafe Coffee Day.We did "sit down" for sunshine and a happy tummy. The Belgian shot is worth it. But someone needs to teach them the art of making a simple cheese sandwich. Mine was served with corn, palak paste and cheese. I managed to force it down with coffee.

Refilled and refueled, we headed to what seemed like endless diversions. If not for the locals, we would have been lost. After the last diversion, Mugilpete was roughly around 15 kms. Before completing this stretch, we stopped for a classic bikers' pee break. Unzip and let it all out in the midst of nature.
Up ahead, i had no idea what was  about to hit me.

ONE PILLION IN A ZILLION OR NONE

Many friends are aghast when i tell them that i go on long rides solo. They often ask why they or anybody else were not invited. Having a pillion rider is always good they say, from a safety and companionship point of view. I agree.
But i have never been much of a "group" person. I'm addicted to the peace the road provides. The greenery, the black tarmac, the smell of oil and dust hitting your face; ridding into the sun is just too much of a temptation to resist and i don't want to share it. Having a talkative pillion is worse than a punctured tyre. You loose interest in the scenery around you and you wish that this trip would end soon. Relationship problems, assignments, chicks/dudes, parent issues and what not crop up, when you are right in the middle of a lush green valley, with the aroma of coffee and slight hint of mist. You wish you could pop a wheelie, dump you pillion and make a run for it.
In most of the bike accidents, you would have noticed that the pillion is more seriously injured, or killed, than the rider. This increases responsibility on the rider's shoulders. Your pillion should have the same interest in riding, exploring and importantly, knowing when to SHUT UP. Encouraging you to overtake, stare or honk at the eye-candys' bum or just stretching can throw you off guard, specially when you're driving at speeds over 70 kmph.
I have had only one pillion rider, who also acted as my navigator. There have been others, but i usually avoid taking one in the first place, girl or boy. If i don't know the route, or if the place is better explored with someone who has been there and done that, a pillion rider is worth it. Having a pillion with riding knowledge is even better. That way, he/she can take over riding if you are fatigued.
 The above principles apply to a group too. Different bikes, riding speeds and attitudes make it a challenge. The habit of occupying the entire road and causing a nuisance to others is also an issue.  Go for Har ek rider jaroori hota hai  only if you guys are Brokeback Moutain (gays for the non-movie buffs), bromance riders or simply a bunch of nut bags of bikes.
For me, there can be only be one pillion in a zillion, or even better, none.

DUMPED BY A BITCH, ADOPTED BY THE HIGHWAY

I had begun to master the bike. I had done some stupid tricks and taken unnecessary risks too. I paid the price in scratches on the bike and bruises on my body. One thing i was sure of though, that this beauty was built for much greater deeds. So i decided to take it on long rides on the highway. Initially, it was not more than 40 kms and always with a more experienced partner on the pillion  The going was good, until one day, the unthinkable happened.
No, it wasn't an accident on the bike. It was on a personal and emotional level. A girl, YES A GIRL, dumped me unceremoniously. I was crushed and went into depression. I realized why they call it a heart break.
I had heard about this place called Bylukuppe, on way to Coorg. It was a Tibetean settlement. I had heard about the peace and tranquility of the place. I hoped that it would be the cure for me. I informed my parents that i was heading on a short tour, alone, and will be back by evening. I left early, and reached the place by afternoon. I sat, watched the monks pray and from out of nowhere, i felt a sudden peace envelope me. Basking in tranquility, i headed out to the parking where i saw the board. COORG AHEAD.
Till this day, i do not know what happened in that moment. But a few hours later, i found myself in Coorg. It was as if some divine force possessed my bike and it drove itself. I refueled once i reached the top and found myself staring at the road below at Raja's seat. I struck a conversation with a guy over there, and soon, he was my unofficial and unpaid tourist guide. Coincidentally, even he had gone through a heart break. We bonded instantly, or you could call it bromance. We had a great conversation while exploring ancient forts and ruins, just like our love lives.
We eventually parted ways and i was on my way back home. I did stop periodically to ask for directions and even picked up a guy who asked a lift till Mysore. "Hop on" i said, and even treated him at Cafe Coffee Day. The country bugger was shocked that a coffee costs 50 bucks! But he was grateful for the lift. I reached home at 8 pm.
A gang of bikers, 8 of them, were shocked when i told them that i am from Mysore and i have no company, when they overtook me at Coorg. They were right. Only a crazy person, or one lost in love,would drive all the way to Coorg, solo and back to Mysore. I had even dozed off, temporarily, while driving back. I had pushed my bike and my body to its limits.
This incident was the starting point of many more bike adventures, especially solo ones. Not once have i met with an accident nor crashed. I have always made it back intact, with the bike. I guess i have a guardian angel, and have been adopted by the highway.

SAVED BY THE RUBBER ON MY MAG WHEEL

This happened when i was on route to BR Hills. It was near a town called Sollehalli. The speedometer read 70 kmph, when on the corner of my eye, i saw a hue of grey and blue. There was a tinge of red too. I applied the disk and took a sharp deviation to check it out. It was a cattle fair. Bullocks so massive, that the new Safari Storme would look like chicken. Plus, they were some cute calves too.
The brilliant thing about this were the colours of the horns on the cattle. It added to their majestic size. Plus, the entire fair like atmosphere, from vegetables to chaddis. I preferred my jockeys and did not buy any.
I took a lot of pictures. As usual, there were curious onlookers. I clicked away with glee. Little did i realise the mob that was gathering behind me.
I was taken back when an old timer asked me to handover the camera. He said that he was some sort of sarpach aka goonda of the land. Photographs were not allowed. He had a group of people with him, some with machetes and axes, which was normal in a cattle fair, but sure made me sweat. My bike was approximately 12 feet away. I could break for it. I had seen enough episodes of COPS. By this time, there were other comments, such as 10 grand in cash. I did not have that much, and even if i did, i would not part with it easily.
Someone from the crowd came forward and asked if i would delete the pics. I agreed and so, some of the most amazing pictures of a cattle fair were gone. Some exchanges later, which did not make sense, i was let off. I realized that these guys did not see my bike, else they would have taken that, no questions asked. I started it and before they could look back, i became Jason Bourne and sped away. Thankfully the return journey, on the same route, was without any incident.
I kept wondering as to why did they object to pictures of bovine. And then it flashed me; i had seen trucks with Kerala number plates and some among the crowd were Muslims. Putting two and two, those cattle were headed for slaughter houses. They were destined for biryani in Mandi Mohalla and steak at Barbeque Nation. My photos could have saved them.
But i don't blame them either. The region was reeling under a drought. Bank loans had to be paid, loan sharks were knocking on their huts and the government had long forgotten about them. Looking back, i'm lucky that i wasn't chopped up and mixed with beef. Worse, with dad having a catering business, i would have ended up on my own frying pan, literally. I'm happy to be alive. As the French say, C'est la vie`.

THE BEGINNING

I'm writing this as i listen to Agnee's MTV Roadies theme "Ghar se hum chale". Boy i love that song, as much as i love biking. I have no idea what i'll become in life, but i'll definitely be a biker. Its something that i was just born to be. Boon or curse, you cannot shake off something if you are born to do it.
I am not an expert, but i'm no novice showoff either. I humbly say that i have clocked around 5,000 kms. It's a pittance compared to the other experts and Gods out there. I don't even own a cruiser. Yet, i have managed to bring back myself, bike and sometimes a pillon, alive and in one piece.
NOT ONCE have i crashed into anything or anyone, except a goat, which fortunately is alive and not roadkill. It's been wonderful so far, with many adventures and close calls. I wanted to keep an account of it. Question was, should it be personal or public? Should i be modest and keep my mouth shut, or should i brag about it?
Joy and knowledge are stuff that multiply when they are shared, and biking incorporates both. So, i decided to blog about it. You may agree with it, you may choose to criticize or just bang your fist on your helmet. But  i hope you take away something from it. And if you think i can improve, in terms of biking or blogging, please feel free to accelerate and rant away. And if you've got any interesting stories of your own, spit it out.

HERE WE GO, ON A LONG DISTANCE RIDE.......