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Across 3 States: Story of My First Lone Long Ride
The sight of my deadly flaccid skin made me sit for half an hour, simmering inside and shivering on the outside. I felt a certain helplessness, unlike any felt in normal life. I gulped down two hot cups of tea, hoping it would impart some warmth. I wanted to sit for a while more. The wind hardly dried me, instead spreading a damp chill throughout. I realized that the only way I could dry up was to reach my destination and change my clothes. This thought quickly galvanized me back to action. Only this time, in the dark.
I’m Nikhil, perhaps one of the youngest riders at 22. This is the story of my first ride. It was after my college, IIT-Guwahati, life had ended, and an IT job was about to begin.
The journey of my life, kick starts…
The morning was pleasant. Standing outside the home, the large and shining headlamp on the FZ seemed to stare down the road from under the load of luggage. A saddle bag, with one part hanging to the left and the other part hanging to the right and covered in plastic to avoid any damage from the hot exhaust coming from the raised muffler of the bike, was stiff on the pillion seat. Over it I, put my laptop bag and stretched the two bungee cords to create enough tension to hold everything in place. Two hooks went into the holes near the pillion foot rests, one into one of the multitude of holes in the purposeless, yet stylish silver painted metal piece near the rear brake foot pedal on the right, and the other end was hooked to the sari guard that comes only with Indian motorcycles. The FZ, from every angle, was ready to go. But I was not from any. Perhaps because I saw that look on my Mom’s face.
Three days ago…
I had to leave in 3 days. There was so much I had to do at home before leaving, but time was very little. All I could do was prepare to leave. I had no plan, knowing only that I had to leave on my motorcycle to reach my destination 770 kilometers away. Nobody else knew it then.
When I shared the thought with Mom, she couldn’t avoid thinking that this could be the last thought I’d ever share with her. In her opinion, I was only risking my life by doing this. While my brain consciously and subconsciously started picking up information that could be helpful, hers started to gather everything that could stop me.
She started bringing me all two-wheeler accident news. I was arranged a meeting with a man in his 30s having an intramedullary rod inserted into his left leg to support his shinbone broken in a two-wheeler accident. He was traveling solo to Rajasthan. Fortunately, he got help at the site of the incident. She told everybody that I would be riding alone. I could so clearly see them go blank at the idea, but not wanting to disagree with Mom they were all taking her side. My friends' Moms also tried to dissuade me. Everybody tried to dissuade me.
Mom wanted to stop me at all costs... and I still had to do it. What I needed the most at that time was her support. I simply felt I could not do without it. My behavior started to change. I became more irritable. The nervousness was apparent. This ride looked more daunting every passing hour, and sleep was hard to come by that night.
Two days ago…
I had already figured out my route and the place I’ll be spending for the night. My biggest concern was Melghat Tiger Reserve. Melghat means 'meeting of the ghats'. The area is a large tract of unending hills and ravines scarred by jagged cliffs and steep climbs. There are no villages in the core area. Sure, a paradise for bird watchers. But what about lone riders?
A 50 km long narrow road stretches across it. I had experience with steep and blind curves of ghat roads in very heavy traffic. The fact that there won’t be any traffic in Melghat at all was surprisingly scarier. The weather forecasts promised heavy rains in this area.
After this road, I would have some cities and 350 kms of NH7 to my destination. I had an option of choosing an alternate route, passing through a wildlife sanctuary. This route was shorter, yet would take more time because it had only 150 kms of highway road and towns on the way. Wondering whether a wildlife sanctuary is any better route than a tiger reserve was perplexing to put it mildly, more so given that I would riding on an animal
myself, the FZ.
One day ago…
Now was the time I thought I’d arrange a meeting for my Mom with someone who had firsthand experience in motorcycle touring. This meeting lifted my mother's and my collective spirits. It was a welcome change from all the accident news I was being fed over the past few days. I had, finally, gained my Mom’s support for this ride.
The FZ is not a bike tuned for touring. It is made for commuting within city limits. It can stop in the middle of nowhere if not taken care of properly. Being a Yamaha, its spare parts or skilled mechanics would not be available easily on my way. I kept everything necessary and all I had to do now was take as much rest as possible. The real test of man and machine was ahead.
It wasn’t easy to take rest either. Despite all the safety gear and the meeting, the impending risk was hard to ignore. I tried hard to stay distracted. I wondered if it was thrill or concern, but I decided to leave the thought there and eventually, I slept.
The journey, day one…
The trip-meter read 0. The first thing to do was to fuel up the bike and get the tire pressures correct. As I inquired the petrol pump attendant regarding the roads ahead, another one asked me where I was heading. Upon hearing my answer, his reaction was nothing I hadn’t faced. He saw no point in traveling on two wheels for such a distance and went on to suggest ways of transporting my bike. The trip-meter read 0.2 now. What a start, I thought. The more the idea of this ride was being disregarded, the more adamant I was becoming to do it.
After fuelling up, I and my FZ were both ready to munch up kilometers. It was 7 am and we had all day ahead of us. The first 50 km were quick and we were equally warmed up. I took a ‘poha jalebi’, memory of the state of MP which was soon going to be left behind.
The wildlife sanctuary came next. I had chosen this route and not the one through Melghat Tiger reserve. There were no rains, but sun instead. Sweating was not something I anticipated. The landscapes were beautiful and roads loveable. It was peaceful. A thought that it could be the lull before the storm left my mind as quickly as it came. The curves were getting tighter and tighter. I avoided a potential major accident when I ran over one of them, immediately stopping and started again, this time more alert and careful with my speeds.
The trip-meter read 100. From out of nowhere, something happened that had shattered my focus for the next few kilometers. All the haunting thoughts from past few days rushed back. With just 100 kilometers up, I was thinking whether my mom was right. I was too distracted to ride. When a truck passed by me, some dirt went inside my right eye. I still cannot understand how it got inside my helmet beyond the visor. But at that speed, it hurt. Trying hard to look at the road at all times, trying to force my eyes open, I pulled over. When I opened my eyes, my visor had a splash of blood at the top left side.
I had to stop and get a hold on my thoughts. I saw no dog on the road and a bird must have hit the truck windshield, I reasoned. The blood had dried, I couldn’t clean it. It did not obscure much vision. I knew that in two days, I would have put all of this behind me as a good experience. I carried on.
Farms and straight roads followed for next 50 kms. The trip-meter read 150 kms. The tires were hot and the engine was burning. The FZ needed some rest. I was also nearing the border between MP and the state of Maharashtra. I made a few phone calls while still within the state coverage. Happy after talking, I resumed. Soon, MP ended, and so did the roads.
The population density had fallen drastically. I could see manufacturing plants under construction all along the way. They all looked similar but there were no signboards to inform who they belonged to. All of them were abandoned, perhaps due to the rains. I was yet to encounter rains.
The trip-meter read 250 kms. I reached a highway police check post. The policeman sported black sunglasses through which I could see his eyes. In his typical Marathi-Hindi, he wanted all the documents of the vehicle. Before I could take out my license, he also asked about my destination, upon hearing which, all the languor in his eyes dropped and excitement rushed. He called his peers forgetting about the documents. One of his peers, also behind black sunglasses had a few more questions to throw about my background and purpose of visit. His sunglasses allowed me to see his eyes. After his questions, he offered me tea and cigarettes. His eyes were still and still staring. I accepted what he gave.
It was only then when we reached the tea stall that he silently spoke. I was still wondering why he was paying for the tea. He had a son studying in class 12th. I smiled and there was nothing else he said that I didn’t know. His son wanted to get into IIT, had already completed one year at a respected coaching institute, and he wanted me talk to him and share some tips. So I did. I left after fifteen minutes, satisfied by my endeavors.
This really got me thinking about my days back in IIT Guwahati. College was over and the corporates were waiting. Life was going to completely change hereafter. The ride ahead was relatively slow and relaxing.
Trip-meter read 340. The ride for the day had ended.
The journey, day two…
My FZ was young and inexperienced with the odometer read only 677 when I started. Following good practices, I did not want to take the engine speed above 6000 rpm before it became 1000 km old. This roughly meant 75 km/h of speed. I rode under this limit the first day.
On day two, I set the trip-meter back to 0 when the odometer read 1007. It meant I could take the FZ to its limits. Conversely, I could not make the mistake of overrunning a corner like I did the previous day and escape unscathed. I had to gauge the roads and traffic faster and accurately. Day two was going to be mentally draining.
I had rested enough in the hotel last night. I had repacked and reloaded my luggage. Something that Mom did for me before the ride, and all moms are good at. And after a refreshing morning walk, I felt physically ready.
There was 200 kms of road in Maharashtra before I get into the state of AP. This was going to be the biggest challenge for the day, or so I thought. In the first two hours, the roads were so bad that I could only cover 50 kms at an average speed of 25 km/h. The fact that the break-in period of 1000 km on the FZ was over was useless after all. High speeds there only meant that the next pothole was coming faster. I was bored to sleep in its literal sense. But I had to keep moving. I could not alter my route and I had to keep moving.
Next, I encountered ghat roads. They were hardly two lanes wide and broken in numerous patches. A blind left led to a small piece of straight road and then another left was all I saw. On my left and right was the lush jungle standing on a downward slope. A joyful site, but not just for me. A large monkey, in that small piece of straight road, came with a big grin on his face, hopping on one leg then another, alternating between lanes, akin to a little girl prancing home after school. Though I was on moderate speed, a single touch could have sent me flying. I had no way to go but race ahead when he was close enough and jumped on the other lane. But he never let me do that. He paused when I was close and he let me pass. I drove past him, thankful, stealing a backward glance to see him continue playing. His happiness was contagious and left me grinning as well. I felt very
close to nature. After the next left, I also saw my first vehicle in some 10-20 kilometers.
The places after the ghats, at a higher level, were where I encountered rain. Disheartened by the distance covered since morning, I took a final stop for snacks and water at noon. The trip-meter read 100 and the journey ahead had to be in rains. Until now, my speed was limited only by the condition of roads. I could speed only for miniscule patches. It was like riding off road. Water took the difficulty to another level. The visibility from inside the helmet dramatically fell and keeping the visor open meant the rain hitting hard on the face.
This struggle continued across cities, from highway to highway, for hours. I could not take out my mobile phone to see Google Maps, and the papers with the route had washed away. I had some idea of the roads and resorted to asking locals and following signboards. When I hoped the struggle would only end with Maharashtra, Maharashtra answered me with four smooth lanes of road, at least for a while.
The rains continued and my lack of preparation became painfully apparent. My jeans and shoes were not waterproof, leaving me drenched. Similarly, my gloves were not waterproof, letting my hands get wet. My jacket was waterproof, but in vain. The dynamics at high speeds are simple. Air enters through your sleeves and your shirt spreads like a parachute. So the sleeves are to be tucked inside your gloves so tightly that the air drag does not get it out. Since water reached my hands penetrating through gloves, it entered inside just like air does – through sleeves. So these 50 kilometers did more harm than good. I was mentally already prepared for it and had to reach Hyderabad before I lost light. Still 320 kms to go.
After 50 kilometers, I was disappointed again to see that the next 50 kilometers before the state of AP were going to be bad again. This area received heavy rainfall. While the other two-wheelers took shade on the way, I carried on. I was hungry and exhausted in equal measure and no more relaxed.
I immediately knew I was out of the confines of Maharashtra as soon as the roads improved. I rode as fast as I could, confident to not encounter any potholes. But I did keep seeing some from time to time, there to teach lesson to people who trust fast and easily. Happy to avoid them, the madness of the past six hours gradually began to fade. I was lost in the scenery. Farms were now replaced by rice farms. I particularly remember seeing a big beautiful lake. It was near a village that was unlike any I had seen before. The village had almost entirely Muslim population. The hoardings were not in Telugu, but Urdu. Moving on, I saw an FZ in another village. I had heard people here love bikes and I had seen the reason. They had roads where one falls in love with riding. It is perhaps because of the way they discover riding, very different from riding in the midst of a horde of chaotic cars honking around ready to touch you from all sides.
I crossed Nizamabad, a city after a long time. The trip-meter read 250. Ahead, the open roads of NH4 were inviting to ride on. The roads were perfectly elevated at every curve replacing the need to slow down by a challenge to maintain the pace. The engine sound is no less than music to my ears at high speeds; and inside the helmet, you almost feel like Iron Man. With feeling like Iron Man, comes challenges fit for Iron Man. It was getting really noisy inside the helmet at that speed. It seemed like my brain was trying to process all that it was hearing, trying to figure out what to discard and what to store. The ride was becoming mentally draining.
More than 150 kms to go when I’ve been riding wet, hungry and thirsty since noon. I had been riding continuously for more than four hours. Not long on the windy and rainy NH4, I started shivering. The challenges were now showing up one after another. It was already four in the afternoon. I did not want to lose daylight. I wanted to reach as fast as possible, but with wide saddle bag at my back, my FZ was finding it hard to go beyond 93 km/h. So I got down behind the front visor, and managed 105 km/h.
At this speed, I could not afford to lose my line on the road. If I did not turn exactly with the curve I could crash into the side. Or worse, anybody overtaking me at a higher speed could be harmful. One SUV did, and it felt very dangerous. It must have been at 140 km/h. The long road began to overpower me. As I was riding in that awkward position, my back started hurting and my mouth went dry. I kept pushing myself, clinging tenaciously to the singular desire of reaching within daylight.
50 kms from my destination, when the trip-meter read 380, I stopped at the toll booth. I took out my gloves to drink water and the sight of my hand scared me. The water made all the skin prune and wrinkle. I stretched the skin of my forearm slightly and it stayed that way. My skin had lost its elasticity. Afraid at the sight, I quickly sat down and prioritized drying up first. I had an option to change clothes, but decided against using hands and feet anymore.
The sight of my deadly flaccid skin made me sit for half an hour, simmering inside and shivering on the outside. I felt a certain helplessness, unlike any felt in normal life. I gulped down two hot cups of tea, hoping it would impart some warmth. I wanted to sit for a while more. The wind hardly dried me, instead spreading a damp chill throughout. I realized that the only way I could dry up was to reach my destination and change my clothes. This thought quickly galvanized me back to action. Only this time, in the dark.
I had lost daylight. The FZ in the night, on a highway is useless. Its headlight is neither powerful, nor focused. These were going to be the toughest 50 km. NH7 was not immune to small potholes either. Daylight is sufficient to see it from a distance, so that even at high speeds, one can avoid them. In the nighttime, however, it is not the case. Slowly, I entered Hyderabad hoping to ride on the city roads under big streetlamps. Turns out that Hyderabad neither had good roads, nor sufficient lighting. I took my first bump of the journey. Thankfully, there was no apparent damage to my FZ. No rims were bent. After an hour and a half, there was one last red light before my finish line.
And so ended my journey Across 3 States. That is the name I had given to this journey.
This story was written for contesting in Search for True Wanderers by Wrangler. The best stories are selected by public voting. Please show your support by voting for it here and sharing the link.
-Nikhil
Me before the ride.
Photo courtesy: Mom!
I’m Nikhil, perhaps one of the youngest riders at 22. This is the story of my first ride. It was after my college, IIT-Guwahati, life had ended, and an IT job was about to begin.
The journey of my life, kick starts…
The morning was pleasant. Standing outside the home, the large and shining headlamp on the FZ seemed to stare down the road from under the load of luggage. A saddle bag, with one part hanging to the left and the other part hanging to the right and covered in plastic to avoid any damage from the hot exhaust coming from the raised muffler of the bike, was stiff on the pillion seat. Over it I, put my laptop bag and stretched the two bungee cords to create enough tension to hold everything in place. Two hooks went into the holes near the pillion foot rests, one into one of the multitude of holes in the purposeless, yet stylish silver painted metal piece near the rear brake foot pedal on the right, and the other end was hooked to the sari guard that comes only with Indian motorcycles. The FZ, from every angle, was ready to go. But I was not from any. Perhaps because I saw that look on my Mom’s face.
Three days ago…
I had to leave in 3 days. There was so much I had to do at home before leaving, but time was very little. All I could do was prepare to leave. I had no plan, knowing only that I had to leave on my motorcycle to reach my destination 770 kilometers away. Nobody else knew it then.
When I shared the thought with Mom, she couldn’t avoid thinking that this could be the last thought I’d ever share with her. In her opinion, I was only risking my life by doing this. While my brain consciously and subconsciously started picking up information that could be helpful, hers started to gather everything that could stop me.
She started bringing me all two-wheeler accident news. I was arranged a meeting with a man in his 30s having an intramedullary rod inserted into his left leg to support his shinbone broken in a two-wheeler accident. He was traveling solo to Rajasthan. Fortunately, he got help at the site of the incident. She told everybody that I would be riding alone. I could so clearly see them go blank at the idea, but not wanting to disagree with Mom they were all taking her side. My friends' Moms also tried to dissuade me. Everybody tried to dissuade me.
Mom wanted to stop me at all costs... and I still had to do it. What I needed the most at that time was her support. I simply felt I could not do without it. My behavior started to change. I became more irritable. The nervousness was apparent. This ride looked more daunting every passing hour, and sleep was hard to come by that night.
Two days ago…
I had already figured out my route and the place I’ll be spending for the night. My biggest concern was Melghat Tiger Reserve. Melghat means 'meeting of the ghats'. The area is a large tract of unending hills and ravines scarred by jagged cliffs and steep climbs. There are no villages in the core area. Sure, a paradise for bird watchers. But what about lone riders?
A 50 km long narrow road stretches across it. I had experience with steep and blind curves of ghat roads in very heavy traffic. The fact that there won’t be any traffic in Melghat at all was surprisingly scarier. The weather forecasts promised heavy rains in this area.
After this road, I would have some cities and 350 kms of NH7 to my destination. I had an option of choosing an alternate route, passing through a wildlife sanctuary. This route was shorter, yet would take more time because it had only 150 kms of highway road and towns on the way. Wondering whether a wildlife sanctuary is any better route than a tiger reserve was perplexing to put it mildly, more so given that I would riding on an animal
myself, the FZ.
One day ago…
Now was the time I thought I’d arrange a meeting for my Mom with someone who had firsthand experience in motorcycle touring. This meeting lifted my mother's and my collective spirits. It was a welcome change from all the accident news I was being fed over the past few days. I had, finally, gained my Mom’s support for this ride.
The FZ is not a bike tuned for touring. It is made for commuting within city limits. It can stop in the middle of nowhere if not taken care of properly. Being a Yamaha, its spare parts or skilled mechanics would not be available easily on my way. I kept everything necessary and all I had to do now was take as much rest as possible. The real test of man and machine was ahead.
It wasn’t easy to take rest either. Despite all the safety gear and the meeting, the impending risk was hard to ignore. I tried hard to stay distracted. I wondered if it was thrill or concern, but I decided to leave the thought there and eventually, I slept.
The journey, day one…
The trip-meter read 0. The first thing to do was to fuel up the bike and get the tire pressures correct. As I inquired the petrol pump attendant regarding the roads ahead, another one asked me where I was heading. Upon hearing my answer, his reaction was nothing I hadn’t faced. He saw no point in traveling on two wheels for such a distance and went on to suggest ways of transporting my bike. The trip-meter read 0.2 now. What a start, I thought. The more the idea of this ride was being disregarded, the more adamant I was becoming to do it.
After fuelling up, I and my FZ were both ready to munch up kilometers. It was 7 am and we had all day ahead of us. The first 50 km were quick and we were equally warmed up. I took a ‘poha jalebi’, memory of the state of MP which was soon going to be left behind.
The wildlife sanctuary came next. I had chosen this route and not the one through Melghat Tiger reserve. There were no rains, but sun instead. Sweating was not something I anticipated. The landscapes were beautiful and roads loveable. It was peaceful. A thought that it could be the lull before the storm left my mind as quickly as it came. The curves were getting tighter and tighter. I avoided a potential major accident when I ran over one of them, immediately stopping and started again, this time more alert and careful with my speeds.
The trip-meter read 100. From out of nowhere, something happened that had shattered my focus for the next few kilometers. All the haunting thoughts from past few days rushed back. With just 100 kilometers up, I was thinking whether my mom was right. I was too distracted to ride. When a truck passed by me, some dirt went inside my right eye. I still cannot understand how it got inside my helmet beyond the visor. But at that speed, it hurt. Trying hard to look at the road at all times, trying to force my eyes open, I pulled over. When I opened my eyes, my visor had a splash of blood at the top left side.
I had to stop and get a hold on my thoughts. I saw no dog on the road and a bird must have hit the truck windshield, I reasoned. The blood had dried, I couldn’t clean it. It did not obscure much vision. I knew that in two days, I would have put all of this behind me as a good experience. I carried on.
Farms and straight roads followed for next 50 kms. The trip-meter read 150 kms. The tires were hot and the engine was burning. The FZ needed some rest. I was also nearing the border between MP and the state of Maharashtra. I made a few phone calls while still within the state coverage. Happy after talking, I resumed. Soon, MP ended, and so did the roads.
The population density had fallen drastically. I could see manufacturing plants under construction all along the way. They all looked similar but there were no signboards to inform who they belonged to. All of them were abandoned, perhaps due to the rains. I was yet to encounter rains.
The trip-meter read 250 kms. I reached a highway police check post. The policeman sported black sunglasses through which I could see his eyes. In his typical Marathi-Hindi, he wanted all the documents of the vehicle. Before I could take out my license, he also asked about my destination, upon hearing which, all the languor in his eyes dropped and excitement rushed. He called his peers forgetting about the documents. One of his peers, also behind black sunglasses had a few more questions to throw about my background and purpose of visit. His sunglasses allowed me to see his eyes. After his questions, he offered me tea and cigarettes. His eyes were still and still staring. I accepted what he gave.
It was only then when we reached the tea stall that he silently spoke. I was still wondering why he was paying for the tea. He had a son studying in class 12th. I smiled and there was nothing else he said that I didn’t know. His son wanted to get into IIT, had already completed one year at a respected coaching institute, and he wanted me talk to him and share some tips. So I did. I left after fifteen minutes, satisfied by my endeavors.
This really got me thinking about my days back in IIT Guwahati. College was over and the corporates were waiting. Life was going to completely change hereafter. The ride ahead was relatively slow and relaxing.
Trip-meter read 340. The ride for the day had ended.
The journey, day two…
My FZ was young and inexperienced with the odometer read only 677 when I started. Following good practices, I did not want to take the engine speed above 6000 rpm before it became 1000 km old. This roughly meant 75 km/h of speed. I rode under this limit the first day.
On day two, I set the trip-meter back to 0 when the odometer read 1007. It meant I could take the FZ to its limits. Conversely, I could not make the mistake of overrunning a corner like I did the previous day and escape unscathed. I had to gauge the roads and traffic faster and accurately. Day two was going to be mentally draining.
I had rested enough in the hotel last night. I had repacked and reloaded my luggage. Something that Mom did for me before the ride, and all moms are good at. And after a refreshing morning walk, I felt physically ready.
There was 200 kms of road in Maharashtra before I get into the state of AP. This was going to be the biggest challenge for the day, or so I thought. In the first two hours, the roads were so bad that I could only cover 50 kms at an average speed of 25 km/h. The fact that the break-in period of 1000 km on the FZ was over was useless after all. High speeds there only meant that the next pothole was coming faster. I was bored to sleep in its literal sense. But I had to keep moving. I could not alter my route and I had to keep moving.
Next, I encountered ghat roads. They were hardly two lanes wide and broken in numerous patches. A blind left led to a small piece of straight road and then another left was all I saw. On my left and right was the lush jungle standing on a downward slope. A joyful site, but not just for me. A large monkey, in that small piece of straight road, came with a big grin on his face, hopping on one leg then another, alternating between lanes, akin to a little girl prancing home after school. Though I was on moderate speed, a single touch could have sent me flying. I had no way to go but race ahead when he was close enough and jumped on the other lane. But he never let me do that. He paused when I was close and he let me pass. I drove past him, thankful, stealing a backward glance to see him continue playing. His happiness was contagious and left me grinning as well. I felt very
close to nature. After the next left, I also saw my first vehicle in some 10-20 kilometers.
The places after the ghats, at a higher level, were where I encountered rain. Disheartened by the distance covered since morning, I took a final stop for snacks and water at noon. The trip-meter read 100 and the journey ahead had to be in rains. Until now, my speed was limited only by the condition of roads. I could speed only for miniscule patches. It was like riding off road. Water took the difficulty to another level. The visibility from inside the helmet dramatically fell and keeping the visor open meant the rain hitting hard on the face.
This struggle continued across cities, from highway to highway, for hours. I could not take out my mobile phone to see Google Maps, and the papers with the route had washed away. I had some idea of the roads and resorted to asking locals and following signboards. When I hoped the struggle would only end with Maharashtra, Maharashtra answered me with four smooth lanes of road, at least for a while.
The rains continued and my lack of preparation became painfully apparent. My jeans and shoes were not waterproof, leaving me drenched. Similarly, my gloves were not waterproof, letting my hands get wet. My jacket was waterproof, but in vain. The dynamics at high speeds are simple. Air enters through your sleeves and your shirt spreads like a parachute. So the sleeves are to be tucked inside your gloves so tightly that the air drag does not get it out. Since water reached my hands penetrating through gloves, it entered inside just like air does – through sleeves. So these 50 kilometers did more harm than good. I was mentally already prepared for it and had to reach Hyderabad before I lost light. Still 320 kms to go.
After 50 kilometers, I was disappointed again to see that the next 50 kilometers before the state of AP were going to be bad again. This area received heavy rainfall. While the other two-wheelers took shade on the way, I carried on. I was hungry and exhausted in equal measure and no more relaxed.
I immediately knew I was out of the confines of Maharashtra as soon as the roads improved. I rode as fast as I could, confident to not encounter any potholes. But I did keep seeing some from time to time, there to teach lesson to people who trust fast and easily. Happy to avoid them, the madness of the past six hours gradually began to fade. I was lost in the scenery. Farms were now replaced by rice farms. I particularly remember seeing a big beautiful lake. It was near a village that was unlike any I had seen before. The village had almost entirely Muslim population. The hoardings were not in Telugu, but Urdu. Moving on, I saw an FZ in another village. I had heard people here love bikes and I had seen the reason. They had roads where one falls in love with riding. It is perhaps because of the way they discover riding, very different from riding in the midst of a horde of chaotic cars honking around ready to touch you from all sides.
I crossed Nizamabad, a city after a long time. The trip-meter read 250. Ahead, the open roads of NH4 were inviting to ride on. The roads were perfectly elevated at every curve replacing the need to slow down by a challenge to maintain the pace. The engine sound is no less than music to my ears at high speeds; and inside the helmet, you almost feel like Iron Man. With feeling like Iron Man, comes challenges fit for Iron Man. It was getting really noisy inside the helmet at that speed. It seemed like my brain was trying to process all that it was hearing, trying to figure out what to discard and what to store. The ride was becoming mentally draining.
More than 150 kms to go when I’ve been riding wet, hungry and thirsty since noon. I had been riding continuously for more than four hours. Not long on the windy and rainy NH4, I started shivering. The challenges were now showing up one after another. It was already four in the afternoon. I did not want to lose daylight. I wanted to reach as fast as possible, but with wide saddle bag at my back, my FZ was finding it hard to go beyond 93 km/h. So I got down behind the front visor, and managed 105 km/h.
At this speed, I could not afford to lose my line on the road. If I did not turn exactly with the curve I could crash into the side. Or worse, anybody overtaking me at a higher speed could be harmful. One SUV did, and it felt very dangerous. It must have been at 140 km/h. The long road began to overpower me. As I was riding in that awkward position, my back started hurting and my mouth went dry. I kept pushing myself, clinging tenaciously to the singular desire of reaching within daylight.
50 kms from my destination, when the trip-meter read 380, I stopped at the toll booth. I took out my gloves to drink water and the sight of my hand scared me. The water made all the skin prune and wrinkle. I stretched the skin of my forearm slightly and it stayed that way. My skin had lost its elasticity. Afraid at the sight, I quickly sat down and prioritized drying up first. I had an option to change clothes, but decided against using hands and feet anymore.
The sight of my deadly flaccid skin made me sit for half an hour, simmering inside and shivering on the outside. I felt a certain helplessness, unlike any felt in normal life. I gulped down two hot cups of tea, hoping it would impart some warmth. I wanted to sit for a while more. The wind hardly dried me, instead spreading a damp chill throughout. I realized that the only way I could dry up was to reach my destination and change my clothes. This thought quickly galvanized me back to action. Only this time, in the dark.
I had lost daylight. The FZ in the night, on a highway is useless. Its headlight is neither powerful, nor focused. These were going to be the toughest 50 km. NH7 was not immune to small potholes either. Daylight is sufficient to see it from a distance, so that even at high speeds, one can avoid them. In the nighttime, however, it is not the case. Slowly, I entered Hyderabad hoping to ride on the city roads under big streetlamps. Turns out that Hyderabad neither had good roads, nor sufficient lighting. I took my first bump of the journey. Thankfully, there was no apparent damage to my FZ. No rims were bent. After an hour and a half, there was one last red light before my finish line.
And so ended my journey Across 3 States. That is the name I had given to this journey.
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-Nikhil
Me before the ride.
Photo courtesy: Mom!
I had similar thoughts in my mind after the Ladakh ride after graduation..
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