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A trip which reminded me how much I love my old bike after upgrading to another bike.
In 2017 my work had taken me to Delhi from Bangalore. I was now in the heart of the great plains of India, not a great thing for a biker as it meant straight boring roads and broad flat, endless lands, featureless except for unsightly clusters of industrial towns and gnarly ridge forests.
Another big change this year was I was that I was no longer in love with my Apache RTR 180 which I had bought in 2014. Hard as it was to admit, the once mighty beast now seemed slow and its power not as awesome. You see I now had my heart set on a bigger, better bike! Something faster, perhaps more refined, a Yamaha R3 seemed like a perfect choice. The gods were kind and soon enough a blue and silver R3 came into the stable.
Over-protective of the pretty fairings I would take out the R3 only for sissy rides around Delhi. I took pictures of it standing in my garage, my chest swelling with pride. I washed it and worried about preserving its glossy paintjob. I did things like buying bike cosmetics (polish and wax).I wrote about it. Dreamt about it. In short did everything except ride it. I spent inordinate amounts of time reading shitty online articles about it.
Meanwhile the Apache, relegated to a commuter, transported me faithfully to my office and back, without a single complaint at my unfaithful ways. Made me feel doubly guilty every time I rode her -- the once stonking hooligan reduced to an errand girl.
***
First trip log on XBHP. Picture taken somewhere near Kasauli
***
Then came the long Diwali weekend...
It is easy to get caught up in the 9-to-5 routine and forget to take out time for our true passions. So with the Diwali weekend coming up I was resolved to make a getaway from the city. Plans were made, trip logs consulted and two of my friends along with me zeroed in on Kasauli, a peaceful town in Himachal Pradesh. This sleepy Victorian hamlet was about 300 km away at a height of about 6,000 ft and we eagerly googled pictures of mountain roads skirting along green slopes and nameless valleys thinking of all the cornering fun we would have.
However just a day before ride both my friends said they could not make it for one reason or the other. Now it was up to me. I could either waste a three-day weekend in front of my TV or set out for the ride alone
The night before the ride found me tossing around the bed unable to sleep. One part of my brain was squirming with discomfort at the thought of the 8 hour ride and the other part taunting me for my lack of courage.
Unable to take this mental back and forth any longer, I snapped up from my bed - checked the watch - it was 3 a.m. This is it. If I dint go now I would never leave. My kit was already laid out, so I quickly put it on. Woke up my mom and told her Im leaving for the ride. Not only did she not shout at me for waking her up at this ungodly hour but she actually got up and made me a strong cup of coffee! Not all heroes wear capes.
At 3:30 am I was out on my driveway and I still had one crucial decision to make. To my left was a flashy new bike oozing with advanced technical wizardry and to my right a trusty old companion. Instinctively, without breaking my stride, I turned right, slid the key in and thumbed the starter, A familiar khirrrr of the starter and then the bassy grumble of the Apache broke the inky silence.
***
The NH 44 from Delhi to Chandigarh is superb
***
Riding through the deserted city roads, the excitement of the ride started building up. The thick fog of early dawn reminded me of one of my first trips to with the bike, a short trip to Nandi Hills, near Bangalore.
My adventures with the Apache RTR 180 had begun in early 2014. At that time I was toiling away at my first real job Working through the night and sleeping through the day in Bangalore... like most other folks in the city. After a year of saving up I bought a gleaming white Apache 180 from Tristar TVS. I was immediately bowled over by the boxer of an engine, ever eager to punch all the way to redline and its deft handling. The thing never ever broke down, never heated up in my trips all across South India. Its capable brakes had saved my ass more times than I would care to think of. And did it all of this nonchalantly and without fuss. I was in love with it in all the ways that a guy can fall in love with a bike.
The bike was always there for me, supportive, forgiving and fun. We shared the same eagerness for the open road. No trouble was too large that a midnight ride to Kolar or a weekend of riding the twisty ghat roads to Kudremukh could not solve. Together the Apache and I had clocked in about 30,000 kilometers, across the western coastline, through the beautiful lush green forests of Karnataka and once even up till eastern coast to Pondicherry, Tamil Nadu.
***
The first sighting of the hills!
***
The NH 44 is free, smooth and fast coming out of Delhi. Relatively free except for a few short stretches near small towns. Rushing past the ever expanding suburbs of Delhi, I was now close to Panipat with farms stretching out on both sides of the highway. The morning was gray and still, the air fresh, and to my right the sun was yet to break through the tree tops. The ride to Kasauli was now on in earnest.
The Apache responded with barely concealed glee. She had been constrained to the stop-go traffic of the city for far too long. Pouncing ahead with every generous pull on the accelerator, the bike filtered past over-laden tractors and a few shivering motorcyclists here and there. We were making good time I thought, as milestones kept flying by.
Normally I try and make pitstops every 100 kilometers or so, but this time things went differently. As it happens when old friends meet after a long period of separation, time (and in this case tarmac) just flew by and I was somewhere around Kurukshetra before my first break.
Once past the non-descript city, I started spotting carts with Mausambis piled high and a manual juicer on each placed at every 30 feet next to the highway. I stopped next to one and downed two generous glasses of some intense Mausambi juice. Riding is thirsty work! Sufficiently restored I started with new vigor towards Ambala, determined not to stop again till I saw the Shivaliks-the foothills and the charmingly named Himalyan Expressway. After a short stretch of about 40 kilometers, I was at Zirakpur, the last major town in Punjab before the road dipped into Himachal.
Side note: I had planned to stop at Pinjore (Just before Zirakpur) to see its famous Mughal Gardens but when it passed by I did not feel like stopping.
***
The road curves and climbs all the way from Zirakpur to Kasauli.
***
The road after Zirakpur is pure joy to ride especially if the traffic is less. As is the sorry case with most hill stations in India, there is a lot of construction going around Kasauli and I was told to expect a lot of trucks on the winding hill roads but luckily this morning there were not too many. The road is being two laned so some parts of it are yet to be paved. As I climbed higher I was greeted with the sight of tea houses and holiday homes. Pine trees dotted the hill slopes along with land movers gouging out great chunks of earth.
Lapping up the hair pins and the elevated turns, the Apache was now in its zone. I have always felt that the Apache is a great one-man bike. As soon as you add a pillion the bike huffs and puffs, and feels short on gearing but if you are riding solo it has enough push and pull to conquer any road.
I reached Kasauli by about 11, remarkably fresh and invigorated! Which is not usually the case with me after a 7 hour ride. In fact I was feeling so great that instead of finding a cheap place to stay as I had initially planned, I kept riding till I reached the main town and then stopped at a cosy looking dhaba which smelled of freshly made parathas and chai.
Kasauli is one of these little himalyan towns where it seems like time stopped just before the modern civilization took over. Cobbled roads and narrow lanes house markets and little cafes with rusty tin roofs. Colonial bungalows with small well maintained gardens nestle along the hill sides while monkeys laze in the winter sun. There are hiking trails leading in to the forest around the most popular one of which was called Gilbert’s Trail. The weather is so pleasant here that I could walk through the forest for close to three hours in the afternoon without getting tired or sweaty.
***
Gilbert’s Trail
The toy train crossing at Dharampur. This train runs from Kalka to Shimla.
***
However as the evening was setting in I had to make an important decision. Should I find a hotel and stay the night in Kasauli or should I just head back to Delhi? While it is a nice place, I had seen all the main places around the town. Having ridden alone I also did not feel like staying here. But on the flip side if I chose to ride back that would entail a back breaking 7 hr ride to Delhi. This would mean more than 14 hours of riding in a single day! I had never done something like this!
The time was almost 5 in the evening now. Still unsure of what to do, I walked around the Tibetian Market. While eating a plate of momos and pondering over my memories with the Apache I realized that our bond had evolved into something more over the years. From my initial squid-like flights of excitement when I first got it, to my current state where I had acquired something faster, better and smoother but still picked the Apache for the ride, I realized that a strong force existed between us. A deeper, abiding sense of surety and safety. This epiphany was all the motivation I needed. I was no longer worried about the ride back! I drank another cup of tea for courage, swung a leg on the bike, A quick khirrr and the familiar steady grumble put to rest any remaining fears about the return journey.
***
The Heritage Market (aka Tibetian Market) at Kasauli
***
As usual the trip back was just a buzz of highway traffic, getting blinded by high beams and counting the kilometers. My hands were numb and my back and thighs aching. I reached Delhi without any incidents just after 1 in the night. Inside my helmet I was beaming. And it was all because of my Apache, she had not only kept up with me, but showed me how I could be more than what I thought was possible of me.
From my house at 3:30 in the morning to back in bed by 2 in the morning the next day, the Apache and I clocked 700 kilometers in a single day which is a personal best for both of us!
More importantly I was once again reminded of my love for riding bikes. When you are working it is easy to get swept away in the daily grind and waste your weekends in a haze of movie marathons and home-delivered pizza. The Apache’s tough spirit showed me that more than the bikes I owned, it was about the hunger to ride them that mattered.
Its easy to forget the difference between the two once in a while.
***
The Apache after a thorough wash the next day.
***
In 2017 my work had taken me to Delhi from Bangalore. I was now in the heart of the great plains of India, not a great thing for a biker as it meant straight boring roads and broad flat, endless lands, featureless except for unsightly clusters of industrial towns and gnarly ridge forests.
Another big change this year was I was that I was no longer in love with my Apache RTR 180 which I had bought in 2014. Hard as it was to admit, the once mighty beast now seemed slow and its power not as awesome. You see I now had my heart set on a bigger, better bike! Something faster, perhaps more refined, a Yamaha R3 seemed like a perfect choice. The gods were kind and soon enough a blue and silver R3 came into the stable.
Over-protective of the pretty fairings I would take out the R3 only for sissy rides around Delhi. I took pictures of it standing in my garage, my chest swelling with pride. I washed it and worried about preserving its glossy paintjob. I did things like buying bike cosmetics (polish and wax).I wrote about it. Dreamt about it. In short did everything except ride it. I spent inordinate amounts of time reading shitty online articles about it.
Meanwhile the Apache, relegated to a commuter, transported me faithfully to my office and back, without a single complaint at my unfaithful ways. Made me feel doubly guilty every time I rode her -- the once stonking hooligan reduced to an errand girl.
***
First trip log on XBHP. Picture taken somewhere near Kasauli
***
Then came the long Diwali weekend...
It is easy to get caught up in the 9-to-5 routine and forget to take out time for our true passions. So with the Diwali weekend coming up I was resolved to make a getaway from the city. Plans were made, trip logs consulted and two of my friends along with me zeroed in on Kasauli, a peaceful town in Himachal Pradesh. This sleepy Victorian hamlet was about 300 km away at a height of about 6,000 ft and we eagerly googled pictures of mountain roads skirting along green slopes and nameless valleys thinking of all the cornering fun we would have.
However just a day before ride both my friends said they could not make it for one reason or the other. Now it was up to me. I could either waste a three-day weekend in front of my TV or set out for the ride alone
The night before the ride found me tossing around the bed unable to sleep. One part of my brain was squirming with discomfort at the thought of the 8 hour ride and the other part taunting me for my lack of courage.
Unable to take this mental back and forth any longer, I snapped up from my bed - checked the watch - it was 3 a.m. This is it. If I dint go now I would never leave. My kit was already laid out, so I quickly put it on. Woke up my mom and told her Im leaving for the ride. Not only did she not shout at me for waking her up at this ungodly hour but she actually got up and made me a strong cup of coffee! Not all heroes wear capes.
At 3:30 am I was out on my driveway and I still had one crucial decision to make. To my left was a flashy new bike oozing with advanced technical wizardry and to my right a trusty old companion. Instinctively, without breaking my stride, I turned right, slid the key in and thumbed the starter, A familiar khirrrr of the starter and then the bassy grumble of the Apache broke the inky silence.
***
The NH 44 from Delhi to Chandigarh is superb
***
Riding through the deserted city roads, the excitement of the ride started building up. The thick fog of early dawn reminded me of one of my first trips to with the bike, a short trip to Nandi Hills, near Bangalore.
My adventures with the Apache RTR 180 had begun in early 2014. At that time I was toiling away at my first real job Working through the night and sleeping through the day in Bangalore... like most other folks in the city. After a year of saving up I bought a gleaming white Apache 180 from Tristar TVS. I was immediately bowled over by the boxer of an engine, ever eager to punch all the way to redline and its deft handling. The thing never ever broke down, never heated up in my trips all across South India. Its capable brakes had saved my ass more times than I would care to think of. And did it all of this nonchalantly and without fuss. I was in love with it in all the ways that a guy can fall in love with a bike.
The bike was always there for me, supportive, forgiving and fun. We shared the same eagerness for the open road. No trouble was too large that a midnight ride to Kolar or a weekend of riding the twisty ghat roads to Kudremukh could not solve. Together the Apache and I had clocked in about 30,000 kilometers, across the western coastline, through the beautiful lush green forests of Karnataka and once even up till eastern coast to Pondicherry, Tamil Nadu.
***
The first sighting of the hills!
***
The NH 44 is free, smooth and fast coming out of Delhi. Relatively free except for a few short stretches near small towns. Rushing past the ever expanding suburbs of Delhi, I was now close to Panipat with farms stretching out on both sides of the highway. The morning was gray and still, the air fresh, and to my right the sun was yet to break through the tree tops. The ride to Kasauli was now on in earnest.
The Apache responded with barely concealed glee. She had been constrained to the stop-go traffic of the city for far too long. Pouncing ahead with every generous pull on the accelerator, the bike filtered past over-laden tractors and a few shivering motorcyclists here and there. We were making good time I thought, as milestones kept flying by.
Normally I try and make pitstops every 100 kilometers or so, but this time things went differently. As it happens when old friends meet after a long period of separation, time (and in this case tarmac) just flew by and I was somewhere around Kurukshetra before my first break.
Once past the non-descript city, I started spotting carts with Mausambis piled high and a manual juicer on each placed at every 30 feet next to the highway. I stopped next to one and downed two generous glasses of some intense Mausambi juice. Riding is thirsty work! Sufficiently restored I started with new vigor towards Ambala, determined not to stop again till I saw the Shivaliks-the foothills and the charmingly named Himalyan Expressway. After a short stretch of about 40 kilometers, I was at Zirakpur, the last major town in Punjab before the road dipped into Himachal.
Side note: I had planned to stop at Pinjore (Just before Zirakpur) to see its famous Mughal Gardens but when it passed by I did not feel like stopping.
***
The road curves and climbs all the way from Zirakpur to Kasauli.
***
The road after Zirakpur is pure joy to ride especially if the traffic is less. As is the sorry case with most hill stations in India, there is a lot of construction going around Kasauli and I was told to expect a lot of trucks on the winding hill roads but luckily this morning there were not too many. The road is being two laned so some parts of it are yet to be paved. As I climbed higher I was greeted with the sight of tea houses and holiday homes. Pine trees dotted the hill slopes along with land movers gouging out great chunks of earth.
Lapping up the hair pins and the elevated turns, the Apache was now in its zone. I have always felt that the Apache is a great one-man bike. As soon as you add a pillion the bike huffs and puffs, and feels short on gearing but if you are riding solo it has enough push and pull to conquer any road.
I reached Kasauli by about 11, remarkably fresh and invigorated! Which is not usually the case with me after a 7 hour ride. In fact I was feeling so great that instead of finding a cheap place to stay as I had initially planned, I kept riding till I reached the main town and then stopped at a cosy looking dhaba which smelled of freshly made parathas and chai.
Kasauli is one of these little himalyan towns where it seems like time stopped just before the modern civilization took over. Cobbled roads and narrow lanes house markets and little cafes with rusty tin roofs. Colonial bungalows with small well maintained gardens nestle along the hill sides while monkeys laze in the winter sun. There are hiking trails leading in to the forest around the most popular one of which was called Gilbert’s Trail. The weather is so pleasant here that I could walk through the forest for close to three hours in the afternoon without getting tired or sweaty.
***
Gilbert’s Trail
The toy train crossing at Dharampur. This train runs from Kalka to Shimla.
***
However as the evening was setting in I had to make an important decision. Should I find a hotel and stay the night in Kasauli or should I just head back to Delhi? While it is a nice place, I had seen all the main places around the town. Having ridden alone I also did not feel like staying here. But on the flip side if I chose to ride back that would entail a back breaking 7 hr ride to Delhi. This would mean more than 14 hours of riding in a single day! I had never done something like this!
The time was almost 5 in the evening now. Still unsure of what to do, I walked around the Tibetian Market. While eating a plate of momos and pondering over my memories with the Apache I realized that our bond had evolved into something more over the years. From my initial squid-like flights of excitement when I first got it, to my current state where I had acquired something faster, better and smoother but still picked the Apache for the ride, I realized that a strong force existed between us. A deeper, abiding sense of surety and safety. This epiphany was all the motivation I needed. I was no longer worried about the ride back! I drank another cup of tea for courage, swung a leg on the bike, A quick khirrr and the familiar steady grumble put to rest any remaining fears about the return journey.
***
The Heritage Market (aka Tibetian Market) at Kasauli
***
As usual the trip back was just a buzz of highway traffic, getting blinded by high beams and counting the kilometers. My hands were numb and my back and thighs aching. I reached Delhi without any incidents just after 1 in the night. Inside my helmet I was beaming. And it was all because of my Apache, she had not only kept up with me, but showed me how I could be more than what I thought was possible of me.
From my house at 3:30 in the morning to back in bed by 2 in the morning the next day, the Apache and I clocked 700 kilometers in a single day which is a personal best for both of us!
More importantly I was once again reminded of my love for riding bikes. When you are working it is easy to get swept away in the daily grind and waste your weekends in a haze of movie marathons and home-delivered pizza. The Apache’s tough spirit showed me that more than the bikes I owned, it was about the hunger to ride them that mattered.
Its easy to forget the difference between the two once in a while.
***
The Apache after a thorough wash the next day.
***
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