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.
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| Be a Gladiator to ride one? |
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| from sewage to stomach-fresh fish |
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| a drawing lost to time |
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| Pole of wires vs flowers |
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| March of the farmers |
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| Limping ahead in life |
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| "Rolling Stone", village style |
