9 Day Ride

Mugger crocodiles inhabiting Vishwamitri river in Vadodara are facing high stress levels, finds a study that analysed their stress hormones and reported it in the Conservation Physiology Journal. I bet the crocodiles are not as stressed as I was when I found out that my Royal Enfield service centre was not accepting vehicles for service for at least a week due to backlog of flood affected vehicles (the crocodiles reaching the low-lying areas during flood is what spiked my interest to read about them) and also that they would find out if they can service it even after a week. I would have to postpone my bike trip to next year if I did not get my vehicle serviced in time. The mere thought of it induced more stress. Nevertheless, I dropped my bike at the service centre and waited to see what happens.

The service centre guy called me on the third day to inform me that they were putting my bike on the service pod. This did reduce the concentration of stress hormones in my body. Over next two days he called me up repeatedly to inform me about the repairs my twelve-year-old Bullet needed. One of the major repairs was the need to replace the whole wiring which would take uncertain time due to non-availability. I was anticipating this as I had faced problems with engine startup and turn indicators in the last one year. You do not normally get straight nine days off from a working job for a bike ride. I had resigned from my current job and it was the last fortnight of my notice period. A weekend, a paid holiday and a benevolent manager helped me get these many days of leave. I did not want to let go of this chance of a bike ride, so I asked him to leave the wiring as it is and firmed up my mind to face any problem on the trip. I was certainly more stressed than the Mugger crocodiles of Vishwamitri river.

I got back my bike just the evening before the day of my trip leaving no time to pre-test it before the upcoming long trip. My service centre mechanics have this uncanny ability to damage two things when attempting repair on one and the damage is usually evident after a day or two. This happens with almost every service so I do some adjustments myself, either in the Bullet or in my riding style. It happened this time too and I had to restrict myself to the national highways due to one of the problems, which could be well due to some other reason, but I am contented by blaming it on the service centre due to oversight.

I wanted to go south for the ride, but scanning through the meteorological data I realized that there is more probability of rain in the southern part of India during this time of the year. Looking north, I found Prayagraj where I always wanted to go on my Bullet so I planned a route in that direction. I always want to go anywhere on my Bullet.

Getting Ready

I left on 24Sep24 at about 6.45 am and planned to reach Khandwa in Madhya Pradesh, a mere 420 km of ride. Riding less than 500 km on day one is sacrilege, but I decided on it anyway, which turned out to be a right decision by the time I reached Khandwa. It had rained the previous night making the weather pleasant. As soon as I was a little away from home a light drizzle of rain started. Generally, a rain at the start of any venture is considered as a blessing from God, but here the case was different. Long rides with wet clothes are a thing I want to avoid as it causes great discomfort in the bottom of your body, apart from getting your luggage wet. To my perturbation, I faced this discomfort on the fourth day of my ride but later on that.

After about 24 kms of the ride, the clutch wire snapped. It was early morning so the traffic was negligible. Almost mechanically, I took my bike to side and started replacing the clutch cable. I always carry one spare when on ride, everyone who rides a Bullet should. Bullets are notorious for their clutch cable breaking almost periodically and the replacement seems to be a consistent source of income to the company. My Bullet’s clutch cable gives away at almost every 11,000 km. The process of replacing clutch cable is now so ingrained into my mind, I could do it blindfolded.

Replacing the clutch cable

After replacing the clutch cable, I was all wet due to perspiration due to humid atmosphere. I removed my jacket and kept it in the backpack where it lay till the end of ride.

As soon as I reached Dabhoi, one of the shoulder straps of the small bag which I was carrying on the front broke. This bag is almost 9 years old and I have been constantly using it for about 4 years for office work and then later for every ride. Two things broke within 30 km of the ride. I did not know what more was to come.

My first stop for rest was just after crossing Bodeli where I had poha and tea for breakfast. There I came to know that the bridge over Bharaj river near Pavijetpur has broken so I will have to take an alternate route adding about 30 kms to the ride. This was the third hurdle so soon in the ride. The spirit of taking things as they come, facing it and finding a way out, has accumulated inside me over time, but the realization of it has been very recent. The road that I had to take was in a bad condition and with water accumulated in the pot holes; the 30km ride was less than enjoyable. On this ride covering six states, I can now confidently pronounce that the quality of roads in Gujarat has deteriorated. This and other experiences related to the areas where we would normally expect the state government to do their duty paint a gloomy picture for the ruling party in the next state assembly elections, unless, of course, the politicians start playing their tricks on public just before the elections, which in all probability will happen. Recency bias would come into effect.

Entering M.P.

Now the road that I took from Vadodara to Khandwa is almost all state highways with small stretches of national highway. Some of the state highways are converted to national highways but I believe that’s it. Only the nomenclature of highways has changed, the infrastructure remains the same.

The particular feature of state highways, apart from markets encountered every few kilometers where you find a series of vendors selling fruits, prominently bananas and cattle sitting on the road like they own it and indifferent to traffic movement, are the speed breakers that come in varying sizes and shapes. And a striking feature of these speed breakers are that they come up unpredictably, specially to a new person. My average speed on the ride was reduced greatly due to so many speed breakers constructed on the roads and they also made me tired.

So, after jumping across some speed breakers and reducing the speed at many to avoid the jump, I devised a clever trick where I would reduce my speed just a little and also avoid the jump. I did not ride over the speed breakers in a straight line but as I approached a speed breaker, I took a slight but swift left turn traversing my bike slightly along the length of the speed breaker instead of across it. This way I could feel less bumpy without reducing the speed. After performing this nice little trick at one of the busy roads, I found the motorists behind me appreciating this by madly honking their horns and even going to the extent of taking off their one hand from the steering, raising and jerking it while screaming in pleasure as I could see it the in the rear-view mirror. I could not hear what they were saying as I sped away from my likely fans.

Then there are rumble strips. These are a cluster of closely placed speed breakers of very small width and height ranging anywhere between two to fifteen in a cluster. When passing over it, if you keep your mouth slightly open and make a continuous “aaaaaa.....” sound from your throat, you could produce sound resembling a particular Hindustani classical raga. There would be different ragas depending on the number of speed breakers in the cluster and how fast you are going. It is an intriguing experience and I recommend trying it.

As always, I would take my Bullet at high speed where I could on some of the rumble strips, thus dampening the vibration I was feeling. It gave a sense of win over seemingly foolish person who decided to build that rumble strip there.

It was late afternoon, when at one of the road crossings I was going over a rumble strip at high speed I nearly avoided colliding with another bike rider coming from opposite direction. He appeared from behind a parked bus, thus being in my blind spot and took his right turn in the direction towards the village. We both saw each other, panic hit us and we applied our brakes for a fraction of second and passed each other unhurt. My heart jumped into my throat for a moment and then sank back to its position. Or so it seemed. I do not know about the other person’s heart, but it would also have moved from its position. I realized that the rumble strips are put there for a reason and in the remainder of the ride, I rode slowly over them.

But the state highways have lot of trees lined along the length of road so it gives a shaded place to rest and you meet variety of people who come curiously enquiring about you when you are resting.

I entered Madhya Pradesh at around 10.30 am. Passing through Alirajpur, I reached Kukshi by noon. Apart from water, I was not carrying anything to drink this time so decided to buy some packed fruit juices here. However, the two shops I went in were selling the fruit juice tetrapacks well beyond their written expiry dates. So, I bought buttermilk packs and went on. This experience of having buttermilk during rest breaks instead of packed fruit juices is refreshing. I would always prefer it now.

In Kukshi, I observed an old woman selling unusual combination of things on her cart. Generally, if you are selling fruits, it will be all different kinds of fruits. The same goes with vegetables or clothes. This woman was selling bangles, eggs and live chicken. And the chickens were not tied or caged; they were sitting on the cart, just like that. Suppose someone buys bangles from there and whenever she wears it, she will be reminded of the associated chicken smell. The repulsion would be great, unless she liked the smell of chicken. The mere thought of this is unsettling. And then nearby I also saw people just standing in the market holding two to three pairs of chicken for sale and at a place a potential customer carefully inspecting a chicken. There must be some sort of chicken festival going on. Or maybe it is the way chickens are sold in Kukshi. I don’t know and didn’t try to find out.

After leaving Kukshi, as I got out on the outskirts, I had lunch of thepla and buttermilk under a neem tree and rested for about 10 minutes before moving on. Due to recent rains the Narmada river was swelled up as I could watch from the Kasrawad bridge.

Lunch

Lunch stop

Swelled Narmada River from Kasrawad Bridge

Road to Khandwa

Road to Khandwa

I was facing some problem with the front brake since morning. When applied at high speeds, it would cause quick up and down vibration in the front suspension and the handle. This was not normal and I felt it first time in my Bullet, so I would simply let the speed come down and then apply the front brakes slowly. At a point I hit a deformation on the road sideways as I was holding the handle by one hand, the other being employed to scratch an itch on my stomach. This is where the vibrations got converted to sound. Whenever the Bullet would pass over a pothole or go over a rumble strip the front fork and handle would vibrate with ‘khad...khad....khad..khad...’ sound coming from below the head light assembly. My hands, shoulder and head along with the helmet would vibrate matching the depth of pothole or height of the rumble strip. The front shock absorbers were now almost useless. I checked for a known problem by putting the Bullet on main stand, keeping the handle straight and then shaking the bike by holding its rear. In normal condition the handle should stay straight, but here it turned to one side all the way coming to rest with a metallic thud. This worried me and the sounds coming from the front of Bullet kept me on tenterhooks till the end of my ride. I was just hoping the front part of the bullet doesn’t come off when I am at high speeds. And that’s the reason why I had to restrict myself to the national highways later in the ride.

There was nothing I could do except curse the service centre people and kept moving on while thinking of many ways I would go to the service centre when I got back and scold them.

Due to this problem in by Bullet and the state highways with its various deformations, I was longing for a national highway as it would have negligible pot holes and almost no speed breakers. At a place called Julwania I saw a national highway overbridge and as I approached it the excitement started building up as I was keen to get on it to continue my ride to Khandwa. But there was no way I could get on that road and all my excitement deflated as I passed below it. Soon after, I stopped at a place to ask for directions to Khandwa. The guy responding to me said that first I should go to Khargone and then to Khandwa.

“Why are you asking me to go to Khargone? Just let me know the directions to Khandwa” I said aloud, in my mind. Immediately I realized what he meant. Khargone is on the way to Khandwa. Then I asked him about the national highway I just passed and I came to know that it is the Mumbai-Indore highway and it doesn’t go to Khandwa. Thanking him, I moved on and via Khargone, coming across an eye-opening text written behind a tempo, I reached Khandwa riding over many speed breaker and rumble strips.

 

Tempo wisdom at the bottom

After checking into a hotel and freshening up, I went to roam the markets and came across legendary singer Kishore Kumar’s ancestral house, Gauri Kunj. The green entrance gate to the house lays hidden among the bright displays of shops flanking it.

Kishore Kumar's ancestral house at the centre

The house is just there without any signboards, or directions drawing attention to the house. I mean given the impression of Kishore Kumar’s voice & style on the Indian public the government or the singers who make their living by singing in the Kishore Kumar nights should make some efforts to highlight it. If they are already doing it, then these are not visible. There is a Kishore Kumar memorial though in Khandwa.

The hotel manager had pointed me to a nearby dining hall called Prabhat Bhojanalay near Bombay bazaar, forewarning me about a similarly named restaurant in the same locality. I found the original one and had a tasty and satisfying dinner there. My stomach was full but in my mind I still wanted to eat more. If I was not on a ride, I would have surely gorged upon the food.

The original Prabhat Bhojnalaya in Khandwa

Next day I left by 6 am for Jabalpur after having a dissatisfying tea near Khandwa railway station. I believe there should be a law against bad tea makers.

As I travelled on the road immediately outskirts of Khandwa town, I saw lot of murder of crows every few meters on the road. They would come down to eat something on the road flying away as I approached. I almost believed it was a bad omen. I have never seen these many crows in my life; it was an unbelievable sight. It seemed as if all the crows from nearby area gathered on that road.

Till Narmadapuram I had to ride on state highways. My first stop of the day was at a water body I came across. One of the benefits while riding alone is getting to stop anywhere and go anywhere. It was a nice quiet place where I spent some time alone in pleasant weather looking at the water.

 

Breakfast stop

The second stop at Timarni was very satisfying where I had a very soft poha and samosa. A little more effort by the people of Malwa and they can come up with a poha which melts in the mouth. I went towards Narmadapuram and reaching there I tried to get on the national highway connecting to Jabalpur and I was moving in that direction. Somehow, I got on the wrong road, crossed the whole of Narmadapuram and came to an abrupt stop when I saw a board giving directions to Jabalpur via a state highway. I got irritated and was about to scream in anguish when I got off my bike and decided to have some bananas from a nearby stall. While eating the bananas I realized that I was standing below the national highway overbridge and all my anguish disappeared. Though it was a little detour, I was about to get on the correct road to Jabalpur. Grinning to myself I thanked God for this. I happily went on the national highway and opened my Bullet’s throttle.

For lunch, I had an aalo paratha with daal at a Dhaba. It was a steal at Rs 50.

Having satisfied my stomach, I rested at Dhaba for another 10 minutes or so and moved on. After crossing Bareily it started to rain lightly, but I did not stop. However, I faced another problem. My Bullet engine started to jerk, that is, the firing inside the cylinder would stop for a fraction of second causing the bullet to lose speed very slightly and restart again and the bike would lurch forward with a jerk from the renewed ignition and power from engine. This was a known problem, and repairing it would mean exposing the electric wiring to the rain so I could not stop yet. I just hoped that the ignition would not stop altogether till I reached some sort of shade where I can work upon my bike. The number of jerks was on rise as I rode. After some time, I saw a board stating toll being 1 km away and somehow, I reached there.

At the toll there was a dhaba so I decided to have tea first and then attend to the bike. After tea and some rest, I opened the fuse box and started to expertly work on the wiring. One of the four wires connecting to the fuse box was loose and I had got it fixed earlier by inserting a small twig into the cavity between the wire and the casing. The twig would come out occasionally and I would just take my bike to a roadside and fix it. This twig was missing, maybe the bike service centre guy looking at this anomaly decided to remove it exposing me to the risk of a stranding on the ride. I took four matchsticks from the dhabawala and inserted it one by one into the cavity. The electrical connection got established but gave away immediately. I removed and inserted the matchsticks many times and tried but could not get the connection. Fearing the connecting fuse must have blown away I removed it and found it intact. Now I was worried.

Holding the fuse in my hand I contemplated my life. After weighing options between spending rest of my life at the dhaba and getting my bike to the nearest service centre that could be anywhere, and the consequences of it, I decided to check the other fuse. The metallic connections of it were corroded and some part of the metal was eaten away. I cleaned the corrosion and reinserted the fuse. The electrical connection got established. I looked at the first fuse in my hand and it hit me that all these times, it was the second fuse and the second pair of wiring that was the real culprit and I have been tending to the first pair. This explains why I was never able to repair the connection in a single attempt. At this instance, it took me so much time to repair that by the time I was done and was leaving, the dhaba owner had forgotten whether I had paid for the tea or not. Showing him the UPI transaction, I relived myself and got onto my bike.

Happily, now I rode on to Jabalpur, getting wet in the intermittent drizzle I met along the way. I was trying to outrace the rain and it worked sometimes, or so I believe. About 50 kms to Jabalpur, I stopped and made an online hotel booking to save me the hassle of hunting around.

Misty mountains on the way to Jabalpur

As I was to enter Jablalpur, I decided to ask for directions to the two guys at a car workshop. One of the guy who responded was leaning back on the car with his hands folded and did not budge from that position while giving directions to me. Without moving his hands, he said, “Ye bridge se jaana, ek chaukhanda (cross roads) padega, ek aur bridge aayega. Us per chadh jana, fir ek signal aayega, wahan pooch lena kisiko” The last words he said in a dismissive tone of not taking any responsibility ahead if I got lost. Just when I got down from the first bridge, I asked for directions to an e-rickshaw driver. He gave the directions and said “thank you” in the same breath.

Encountering rain at many places during the day, I was getting dried by the evening. As I reached Russel chowk, it started raining heavily and I had to stop for a while taking shelter in a small shopping complex. Spending about 20 minutes there, the rain got less intense and I moved on to the hotel getting wet again. From the start of the trip, I was worried about encountering rain and was trying to avoid it. And now I got wet in the last few minutes before reaching the hotel. The hotel was cozy and it was still raining when I came down after freshening up. I could not go out to eat and had to stay put in the hotel and had dinner there with a heavy heart. It is a blasphemy to not eat local when travelling.

I decided to visit Bhedaghat being on my list since many years. Though I had a little upset in the stomach - a big hinderance to the trip - I was feeling hungry and had poha for breakfast. There was a tea stall next to the poha stall and remarkably the stall had a banner where they advertised about their ability to book a flight. Imagine having a tea and it gets in your mind to travel to some place. You can immediately book a flight then and there. What a convenience!

Flight booking facility at a tea stall

After breakfast and tea, I went to Bhedaghat.

Marble outcrops at Bhedaghat

At the parking area you would find many tea stalls having names like “Bewafa chai wala” or “Diljale tea point” along with few couplets. There used to be real heartbroken lovers who would be putting this type of shop names in past, but now it has become a trend. Or maybe really the girls of Jabalpur were merciless, ditching their boyfriends providing them an opportunity to give a catchy name to their outlets.

Walking through the lanes leading to the water fall, I came across some great tattoo ideas displayed boldly.

Tattoo designs

Even before I reached the water fall, it was visible. The Dhuaandhaar water falls on Narmada River at Bhedaghat was raging with mist uprising like smoke that gave the waterfall its name. The water was overflowing over the ghats where devotees were bathing. The local boys were fishing out the coins thrown in the river by devotees by casting a magnet tied to a rope into river. I saw some good catch there.

Dhuandhaar falls

I bought two conch-shells (shankh) from the ghat. Apart from the quality of shankh and the benefits of blowing one, the shankh vendor also enlightened me about the unstable income due to seasonal swelling of the river submerging the ghat. To give me an idea how much the river level rose this rainy season, he showed me a wire rope going across river overhead and I could see plastic and tree debris entangled in the rope. It was about 7-8 m high from where I was standing and the vendor told me that water overflow even above it. Given the rains this season, I thought it was quite possible. Just imagining the volume of water being discharged through the river by taking a judgement from the height of the rope, I shuddered at the mere helplessness of us human beings against nature. I also did not bargain much with the vendor for the price of shankhs.

At about 9 am I left Jabalpur. I was praying to God that my stomach doesn’t turn bad ruining my trip. So, when I came across Chaubey Lassi Shop in Jabalpur with colourful pots and banners declaring its establishment in the year 1933, I decided to have a look.

I read about various type of concoctions they make with curd and I decided to have one “paachak dahi” to keep my digestion in check. It turned out to be a thick buttermilk with salt, cumin and some other spices. While drinking the buttermilk, I saw a poha stall on the other side of road with lot of people around it swarming like a bee. It was too good of an opportunity to taste a roadside local food to keep my stomach in check. And they were also serving jalebi. After some battling in my mind, I took the risk and had poha and jalebi. It was my second poha of the day and I am glad I had it. The jalebi was delicious and the buttermilk did help that day.

I was bound for Rewa. Just before Sleemanabad, I came across a display board mentioning about a marble quarry and I got curious. Having seen videos of huge marble blocks being quarried and the machines slicing them into sheets I was very much looking for an opportunity to see it in live. Taking my chances, I took a detour and went off-road to the marble quarry. I came across abandoned mines and as I rode in search of a working mine, I caught glimpse of a water body to have a proper look I took my bullet to the highest point possible. The abandoned quarry pit was filled with water over a large expanse forming a lake, the water being emerald green in colour due to the limestone. Three sides of the lake were enclosed by high walls of the marble, the walls being cut vertically straight almost as if by a sharp knife. There were people bathing and washing clothes at the opposite end of the lake. I went down to the shore at my end to find the water so crystal-clear that it was difficult to differentiate between land and water where the water was still. The gratification of being on a bike ride and that too alone was fulfilled for the day.

To top of the quarry

Breath taking view of the pit filled with water

Crystal clear water of the quarry pit

Marble blocks line up along the path

Getting out from the quarry I went on towards Katni. After Katni, the road was flanked by continuous hill on both the sides. This is the Kaimur Range, the eastern portion of the Vindhya Range mountains. The hill run continuously along the road seeming to never end. There are quite a few cement factories along the way. Just before Maihar I had lunch at a dhaba, the food being cooked after I placed order. It was very satisfying to have freshly cooked food on a road side dhaba. Having lunch and some rest, I moved on towards Rewa.

Kaimur Range mountains in the far background as seen from the lunch stop just before Maihar

I reached Rewa at about 3.30 pm and saw a board declaring Prayagraj (board mentions Allahabad, the older name) only 140 kms from there, i.e. about three hours.

I decided to skip Rewa and go to Prayagraj estimating that I would reach there by 7 pm latest. But God wanted me to ride into the night so I missed a turn somewhere while coming out of Rewa and had to do 40 km extra.

At a dhaba on the way to Prayagraj

The realization of mistake came at  rest stop and the thought of doing extra kilometres made me tired and I just squatted where I was standing, there being no other place to sit. An aged villager going along that road stopped by me and enquired about me and then offered rest at his village and even suggested massage to ease the pain in my limbs and body. It was very generous of him, but I did not take his advice. After some chatting about myself, my family, his family etc, I took his leave and moved on.

The place where I realized that I had missed a turn somewhere was just at enough distance from my intended turn that if I decided to go back or take the new route the overall travelling distance would have been roughly the same. While deciding to take the new route, I was more worried about bad roads than the extra kilometres I would be doing and delay in reaching Prayagraj. I decided to take the new route. Night fell by the time I got back on the intended route.

Just after a place called Sohagi, there is Sohagi Hill and it has an unlit road along its contour that seemed almost magical in the night. I did not expect a hilly road and far away I could see street lights of a small town. Except the low sound of my bike going downhill, the surrounding felt silent. It was a very dark and I could not see the road properly and I could not make out beforehand where the next turn would be, still my bike would turn at an appropriate angle and at correct speed to prevent me from hitting anything or going off-road. I tried to be careful but could not be. I just rode along. There was a bike a little ahead of me and sometimes I could catch glimpse of its tail light going in opposite direction than me, which just meant the road turned that way. I felt as if someone was watching over me, a policeman in his uniform to be specific, just walking easily on the right side of me matching my speed, as I traversed that road. I don’t know why I felt about a policeman watching over. The experience was weird.

I got caught in stagnant traffic at the entrance of Uttar Pradesh state (later I found out that a policeman was checking documents of a truck right at a cross road on the highway causing the blockage) and spending about 10 minutes held up, I turned back and took the wrong side of the road. As soon as I entered a populated area, with about 20 kms to Prayagraj, I stopped for enquiring about directions. I was taking advice from a person on how to reach Prayagraj, when another guy appeared suddenly in front of me from nowhere, admired me for few seconds probably taking some time to absorb the fact about a lone rider on a bullet. Then he interrupted the other person I was taking directions from and spoke, revealing that he was from Kutch, Gujarat and came to meet me seeing my Gujarat number plate. I got a feeling of brotherhood and asked him for directions. He suggested to use Google Maps. The first person also then said the same thing.

As I entered Prayagraj, through a dense & busy market, another person whom I asked for directions suggested using Google Maps. The people of Prayagraj seemed to not come under the divine Indian obligation of giving directions when asked. After this second instance, I did not ask for directions to anyone, but used Google Maps. I reached Civil lines at about 9 pm.

I checked into the Platinum Inn hotel that I had booked online just after spending half an hour in Civil lines looking for a budget hotel. The room was tiny with interesting features. I had to wriggle between the bed and wall to go to washroom. The shower is fixed and too close to the wall so if you have a belly, it would touch the shower handle. The fan was set at full speed and I could not find the speed regulator of the fan. With the air cooler also running, I just got under the blanket as it was easier than spending an hour waiting for someone to repair the fan. The next morning, I saw an unspecified remote that controlled the speed of the fan. The hotel is trying to make you comfortable, but fails on some counts.

After freshening up, I went to Civil lines for dinner. After a customary hunt for thaali type restaurant, I gave up and just sat at a road side eatery and had roti-sabji and some rice. Just behind the second table from where I was sitting, a person was standing beside the table and washing his face vigorously, splashing water on his face and rubbing it. Some water droplets flew and landed on the person quietly having dinner sitting near him who screamed for him to stop. The person washing his face was surprised as if this was first time he was being screamed upon while washing his face. After a few seconds he asked the other person who was having dinner, “did the water fell into your food?” The other person avoided the question and lectured him briefly on his behaviour and then continued with this dinner as if nothing happened. Such are the amusements with roadside eateries.

Next morning, while roaming around Civil lines for some breakfast, I came across a person selling jalebi and curd, just that and nothing else. I saw the brevity of his stall as a reward for my pains of last night ride and at the hotel. Having jalebi with curd for breakfast partly fulfils the purpose of life.

Dahi Jalebi for breakfast in Prayagraj

After that I had bun-maska and tea. Shortly I left Prayagraj with intention of reaching Kanpur, visiting my maternal aunt on the way just about 17 kms from Prayagraj. After spending some time with my aunt and eating samosa-chola that my cousins brought, I moved on along the road AH1. AH1 is Asian Highway 1, traversing countries like Japan, China, Vietnam, Thailand, India, Pakistan, Afghanistan, Iran etc ending at Lisbon.

Some distance before Kanpur, I had a nice lunch of aloo-tamatar sabji at a dhaba. Surprisingly, it reminded me of home cooked food and after lunch I just rested there, savouring the taste of food I just had for few minutes before starting again.

At about 20 kms before Kanpur it started to rain. I rode till I was about to get wet to my undergarments and stopped at a dhaba for shelter. However, while standing under the shelter, the water ran down me into my undergarments, the event I was trying to avoid. Riding with wet undergarments is an awfully uncomfortable experience. The rain turned to a drizzle and I started again only to encounter rain again. It was raining cats and dogs and in no time I and my luggage & undergarments got all drenched. With nothing to save, except time, I decide to keep riding. The rain drops were hitting my exposed fingers and the back of the hand like thousand needles in rapid succession and the visibility was no more than 10 metres I would say. I could have stopped, but there were very few vehicles on the road due to the rain and I could just keep on riding at high speeds even in the rain. Not letting go of this opportunity, I pressed on and lived every second of the ride in the rain. The pain of needle like rain drops was a unique stimulating experience.

As usual, I missed a turn somewhere and got onto the elevated road that runs over Kanpur. There were many water-logged patches on the road so I reduced my speed to avoid hitting a hiding pothole put there by creative employees of the government’s road construction department. Twice it so happened that a big vehicle overtook me at a water-logged patch spraying warm water in the air and I felt as if passing with my Bullet through a warm waterfall curtain. At the moment when inside the water curtain, just for a second or two, I could not see anything and by God’s grace, I did not hit anything. I also thanked my Bullet for not giving up ignition as it would have not been possible for me to expose the wiring to the rain to repair it. I was looking for an exit so I can get into Kanpur, but the elevated road, which I believe is AH1, seemed to continue unbelievably forever above Kanpur and only after I exited Kanpur that the elevated road met ground and I stopped. The rain has subsided till then. Looking at the map, I realized that Orai, as indicated by numerous milestones I came across, was in the south. I wanted to go north, so I took a U turn and entered Kanpur. It was about 3.30 pm with lot of daytime left so I decided I wanted to go to Kannauj.

It rained many places while on my way to Kannuaj. The road I took was a national highway, expansively built by the government. The only problem with the new good quality national highways is that it rarely allows you to interact with any other person for directions. And with the rains, the chances go down to zero. I could not even take out my mobile handset to see the maps. After almost reaching Orai earlier that day, I was worried that I would reach somewhere else instead of Kannuaj and miss the chance to buy some perfumes, for which Kannuaj is very famous, it being known as Perfume Capital of India. After spending some worried kilometers, I slowly instilled the confidence in me that I must be in the right direction. And I was.

The temperature had dropped due to rain, or so it seemed as I was shivering when I was checking in to Hotel Hari Sharnam in Kannuaj. I was still wet. The hotel was a pleasant place with a lawn surrounded on three sides by the rooms. I was glad I found this hotel. I had not pre-booked agreeing to waste of my time hunting for a hotel, as I did not want to handle my mobile phone in the rain. That says how much it rained on the way from Kanpur to Kannauj.

Changing into dry clothes, I immediately approached the hotel desk and casually asked for suggestions for a place to buy perfumes, trying to keep my voice normal so that he doesn’t take me for a tourist visiting Kannauj only for perfumes. I feared that he may be knowing some perfume seller from where he would be getting commission and could send me there. The shop owner would then charge me exorbitantly. Believe me, such things happen. The hotel guy suggested me the name of largest shop in Kannauj for perfumes and I found out that I was not taken for a ride.

Coming out of the hotel lobby after understanding the address and way to reach there, I reached my bullet in the parking and my heart sank. The drive chain was dry as a bone. Whole day of exposure to rain had washed off all the lubrication. By the look of it no one could say that it was lubricated any time in its life. The drive chain before this, that was replaced by this chain had unbelievably broken mid-way on the road.

I could not go ahead without lubricating the drive chain so I did just that, first spraying WD-40 just to remove any dirt or grime if there as any left in the crevices. Then after waiting few minutes to let the WD-40 act, wiped off the chain with a news paper and applied chain lubricant that I had bought in Khandwa. Satisfied with the glistening chain, I went to find out the largest perfume shop in Kannauj.

I came out of the hotel and took a narrow road that seemed to ran along the length of Kannauj. It was called GT road. I was surprise to realize that it was the Grand Trunk Road, one of the oldest roads known to the commerce. The narrowness of the road defied the word Grand in its name. May be it was wider earlier and now encroached upon as the commerce took other routes. Needless to say, I lost my way realizing the mistake only when the road started to seem deserted with the typical city shops and population disappearing. I turned back and somehow found the turn that would take me to the market.

The largest shop, Lala Kedarnath Khattri & Sons was bathed in fancy lights and smell of perfumes. After few minutes in the shop, the sense of smell was useless. The mixed smell of all the perfumes that the customers check before buying doesn’t allow one to differentiate. All the perfumes that I tested smelled the same. Even the coffee beans are ineffective. Upon the shop keeper’s suggestion, I went outside the shop to test one of the perfumes and then I started trusting the shop and the perfume label indicating the smell. I bought eight different perfume oils just by the name on the pack and came out delighted. The perfume once applied properly lasts whole day. Later I also ordered online from home, at the same price as in shop.

Being very satisfied after having a dinner of dum-aloo and roti at a nearby small dhaba, I went back to the hotel and slept. Next morning while packing my bags I found out in disbelief that even though hanged whole night outside the room for drying, the jeans pant of precious day was still wet. Maybe the water seeped in to the soul of the jeans pant.

As I left the hotel for the day’s ride, I saw a vendor selling chole-bhature & rice for breakfast on a thela. I parked my bike next to him and went on to risk my stomach to the delicious road side food. It was a good decision. Moving on after the delicious breakfast, I had tea nearby and was served in a kulhad. The memories of lower lip getting stuck to the kulhad during first sip of the tea came rushing back and made me wet my lips profusely before drinking from it.

From Kannauj I was destined to Bareilly for lunch. My Bhaiyya and my lovely Bhabhiji lived there.

Just after Kannauj, the road took me to Farrukhabad, an army cantonment area. Coming out from Farrukhabad, I found that for several kilo-meters the road was under construction. It was on this road that I realized again why does a vehicle need suspension. First time it was when I was in Gulbrandsen Chemicals when I took a bike of my senior from the Canal Road. I was going to attend the police verification for my passport and my senior took this opportunity to ask me to take his bike. Its rear shock absorbers were totally damaged. Riding it on the very poorly managed Canal Road from Ekalbara to Bhayli in Vadodara had made me conscious of the various bone joints in my body.

On that road just outside Farrukhabad, not a single second passed without me cursing the service centre guys for the condition of my bike and praying to God to keep the front wheel of the bike intact. I safely crossed that road and promised myself to get the bike repaired as soon as I get back from the ride.

During one my rest stops at a dhaba, I came across a dhaba-wisdom. I was having my tea and the dhaba owner was reviewing the list of vegetables that was to be bought from the vegetable market yard. After editing the list, he added his wisdom. He asked his employees going to procure the vegetables to wear only a vest on the upper body and do not let anyone know that they are buying the vegetables for a restaurant. I was surprised with this particular instruction and upon inquiring the dhaba owner explained to me that if the vegetable vendors know that a buyer is from dhaba, they will charge double the going rate. I was enlightened.

Leaving the dhaba, and riding onwards as I stopped for tea again to get it in a kulhad. It was a nice day. At Faridpur, I found the main road was closed and I had to take detour. I was on a narrow lane inside Faridpur when I saw a horde of people on two-wheelers coming from the opposite side. It was so sudden, I did not abandon the thought of Faridpur being under attack by people on two-wheelers. I was later to find out that there was railway crossing just ahead, where I spent about 15 minutes in sun waiting for a train to pass. And after that I spent about twenty more minutes getting lost and traversing through mud pathways between fields to reach a motorable road. I realised it later that the irritation of it could be seen in my eyes in the photo clicked somewhere between the fields.

Spending my precious time at one more railway crossing, I reached Bareilly to my bhabhiji’s home just after two pm, good in time for a late lunch. I was just feeling a little guilt of delaying the lunch of my brother’s family.

Even after spending a lazy half an hour after sumptuous lunch and yawning multiple times during that time, much to the disappointment of my brother I decided not to stay back and moved on and decided to go to Moradabad. Coming out of Bareilly – it being also an entrance to Bareilly for the traffic on the opposite side - I saw a big Jhumka installation done by the local government. It weighs about two quintal and the information publicly available mentions the cost around twenty lakhs which is unbelievably low given a government is involved in it.

The Jhumka of Bareilly

To the uninitiated, jhumka & Bareilly were connected in a song in a Bollywood film ‘Mera Saya’ released in the year 1966. To believe some reports, jhumka became a national obsession after the song “Jhumka gira re…bareilly ke bazaar me”. However, my bhabhiji had explained me just about an hour ago that it was just a song and no jhumka did really fell in the markets of Bareilly.

After admiring the jhumka for about 10 minutes, I moved on, but not before tying my super wet jeans from the previous day onto the Bullet's fuel tank to dry it out and rode like that till I reached Rampur.

Similar to the Jhumka point of Bareilly, there is a Chaku chowk at the outskirts of Rampur. Upon reaching Rampur, I took a detour to see this huge, partially opened Rampuri knife installed there.

Chaku Chowk

Rampuri chaku was made infamous by Bollywood movies of 1970s-80s, wielded by the goons of the movie. It is a folding knife that opens with a threatening click. The knife would get slip out of hand if it is not held properly as blade springs out with force following the clicking sound. The knife opening in front of someone at an isolated place, with the blade pointing towards their body was enough to immediately release copious amount of adrenaline inside the body of the victim.

Returning from the Chaku chowk, I had tea beore entering the market to buy a knife. The tea seller with whom I was discussing the Rampuri knife and asking about directions to a shop where I can buy one told me about it being favourites of the dacoits and robbers, a fact that I already knew. We discussed that now-a-days there are no dacoits, they have either taken up some other job or have become politicians. We both agreed on the second option. After my tea finished, he directed me to Chakku market.

It is just an old city market, the name being reminiscent of the thriving business few decades ago. I could find only two shops in the market selling the Rampuri knife. I bought one for the sake of being in possession of something very classic and with a legacy. Coming out of the shop I saw a person handing something small very quickly to the pillion of a bike rider. Usually, ganjaa is supplied in this way, or maybe it was something more forbidden.

I rode out of Rampur market stopping just outside to ask for direction to a Pan shop owner. He quickly gave me directions with a sense of urgency and reminded me of Lallan Miyan from the movie Chasm-e-baddoor where Lallan Miyan was suggesting Jomo to take his bicycle when following a girl.

The hotel I was put up in Moradabad, was a house converted for the purpose. All around it was a residential area. After checking in, I went around looking for dinner. Near railway station, I came across a restaurant where a person standing just outside the restaurant was asking passer-by’s whether they want to feed the poor in his restaurant. I also got asked and I said I am looking for dinner myself. He did not invite me inside the restaurant. I had dinner at a small dhaba nearby.

Zubia, my colleague from UOP was from Moradabad so I took her help to get suggestions for best Mordabadi Daal for breakfast and I am glad she directed me to Baburam Misthan Bhandar in Bartan Bazaar. Though the daal was not ready yet, I had it at another place nearby and came back to eat Jalebi. I am glad for the Jalebi. The daal was just getting prepared during that time at Baburam’s shop. I missed it by about twenty minutes, but the daal I had elsewhere was also amazing and smelled the same so I believe the taste here would also be the same.

Moradabadi daal...

...and the set up

Jalebi at Baburam's

7.30 am at Baburam Mishthan

Back at the hotel as I was preparing to leave, there came a group of fortune tellers with a bull with the most threatening pair of horns I had ever seen on the head of a bull. If the bull had to hit someone, he would have to do it sideways.

The fortune teller's bull at Moradabad

There were four people in the group with three of them having an intimidating appearance, speaking in a booming voice and the fourth playing a drum. One of the people would stand near the bull and ask him a series of questions and the bull would nod or shake his head, giving the impression that the bull was understanding spoken human language and was saying yes or no. This made the onlookers believe in divinity of the bull. An intent observation revealed that the person standing near the bull had a stick in his hand with which he poked the bull and the bull would change the nod of head to shake and vice-versa.

One of the three intimidating people, who seemed to be their leader, would then speak in the same booming voice to a resident irrespective of whether that person was their door, balcony or just in front of him. Interestingly he would mostly speak only to the female member of the family. The leader would tell her about her past to gain confidence and would then proceed to tell her about the good fortune that awaits her. Then he would go on to ask for alms like rice, daal, even some money emphasizing it is not for them but for the bull.

While I was filming that was transpiring around, one of the fortune tellers started pestering me for the alms even though I told him that I was a guest there. Earlier I had realized that they were from Maharashtra and I spoke to the drum beater in Marathi language befriending him who came to my rescue when I was being pestered.

The fortune tellers left after about 30 minutes and I left after them.

The most important thing I realized I had to attend since I left Moradabad were my shoes. Due to the rain it has seen previous day, the sole was getting detached from upper part of the shoes. More so because it was old.

Riding on the highways, it was difficult to find a cobbler so I thought of giving it a try at Garh Mukteshwar, it being a place that would be quite populated due to its religious significance.

Just after crossing the bridge over river Ganga, I stopped at a tea stall, had a cup of tea and proceeded to enquire for the cobbler. One just turned out to be sitting under the bridge. Leaving my luggage at the watch of the tea seller, I went under the bridge. The cobbler had an indifferent look at my shoes and told me that if I want to get only the front side stitched it will be fifty rupees. If I wanted to get it stitched all around then, “100 ka note lag jaayega”. I got it stitched all around and gave him the “100 ka note”.

Passing Hapur, I reached Ghaziabad by lunch time.

After a hearty lunch and very satisfying tea in Ghaziabad, I rode on towards Delhi and reached Connaught Palace (CP). I rode my bike in a circle around the CP as I always wanted to do it when I was staying in Delhi. From there I went towards Alwar and as usual lost my way. Delhi roads are expansive and confusing. The Google maps are not that helpful; Delhi needs more sign-boards and less traffic. Somehow, I entered Gurgaon and to my delight I passed next to the old UOP office, hitting nostalgia.

DLF Building 9B in the centre

Even though it was Sunday, the roads were clogged with cars as two underpasses nearby were closed. Navigating through the traffic, I somehow went towards Faridabad which is in the direction opposite to where I wanted to go. Night fell along the way. After going in wrong direction for few kilometers and by the announcements made on sign boards, I realized the mistake and got back on track towards Alwar after asking for directions continuously.

It was becoming a tough decision on selection of a dhaba for dinner, mostly due to majority of them being on the other side of the road and also because the road was thinly populated with dhaba. At about 10 pm, I decided to stop at the next one I saw. It was an uninteresting dhaba and I was their only customer at that time. They advertised their speciality as tandoori paratha and I ordered the same. This turned out to be basically a Kulcha.

Entering Alwar at about 11 pm, I had an awkward experience. I reached a different hotel with similar name and tried to check-in into it. When the reception did not find my booking that was done online and already paid for, they suggested that I recheck the hotel name. And also, it turned out that the employees knew about the other hotel I was looking for. So, I believe that the guests trying to check into the wrong hotel was a regular event and both the similarly named hotels had their share of amusement seeing the guests confused to not find their bookings at the hotel. I reached my intended hotel very close to midnight.

I woke up late next day and went to a local shop suggested by hotel for breakfast.There I had the combination of kadhi-kachori, samosa-aalo sabji and jalebi for breakfast, finishing if off with a tea. The samosa-aalo sabji combination was new to me.

Breakfast place at Alwar, also sells Kalakand

Samosa with aalo sabji

I also bought Kalakand, a sweet made by boiling off the water from the milk and very famous of Alwar. I went back to hotel and got ready by 9.30 am. This is very late, almost like cancelling the trip, compared to getting ready between 5-6 am generally. Then left for Kota.

Leaving Alwar

But first came the Sariska Tiger Reserve. The road in the reserve was in a very poor condition. All the time I was passing through the tiger reserve, I was worried about breaking the front of my bullet when I happen to ride at high speed on this pothole ridden road trying to escape a tiger chasing me. Though it did not happen, but the road did tire me.

Going further, around noon time, I halted abruptly when I saw a fort on a hill at the right side of the road. The Bhangarh fort was further down the road and has been known to be a haunted place. After sunset even the government does not allow any tourist to stay back and the fort is closed. This fort I was looking uphill was called Ajabgarh Fort.

Ajabgarh Fort that spooked me

The hang of Bhangarh forts haunted stories, made the name of Ajabgarh fort appear mysterious in my mind. There was an unpaved road leading to the fort. I was looking uphill contemplating a detour to the fort and possibly getting scared by some ghosts. It also occurred to me that maybe the ghost would start following me after I left the fort and would be riding pillion on my Bullet with me, till it got an opportunity to twist my neck or swaying my bike to an oncoming vehicle. The ghost would even opt to live with me forever in my home. There were as many possibilities as shown in the horror movies that I had dared watch. Suddenly I started feeling alone, the place seemed to be release eerie vibes. After thinking much over it and considering the damage to the front of my Bullet, I decided to move on without visiting the fort.

Then I entered Ajabgarh village and was immediately taken back in time towards the end of 16^th century. The village itself seemed spooky to me. The houses in the village were of ancient design and it is quite possible that they have not been reconstructed since the time Ajabgarh fort was built. Maybe the old man I saw reading a newspaper in the veranda of his house was also from the 16^th century. I did not dare ask. I was awed looking at the houses and it did not occur to me to click a picture.

I was very much tired and was taking frequent rests. Coming out of Dausa, my body decided to go to Jaipur instead of Kota and take rest for the day having lunch on the way at a Rajasthani dhaba or so as the name announced.

Lunch

Entered Jaipur. Sitting here, I booked the hotel

The hotel I booked in Jaipur was a steal at the price I got it due to the lean season. This room was worth double the price I paid. After checking in, I decided to rest for an hour before exploring Jaipur. I slept for four hours. By the time I woke up, it was time for dinner. With a remorseful feeling, I got ready and went to hunt for local dining hall restaurants. This time I missed finding a good one. However, it was not about the dinner that I was feeling bad, but for the time I lost sleeping in the afternoon. Nothing more to do, I came back and slept. I was really tired.

Next morning, I got up a little too early as I missed the kachori at a shop near my hotel. It would have taken more than half an hour for the kachori to get ready. Satisfying myself with poha and tea, I left for Udaipur reaching there by 4 pm. There is a tunnel dug into the hill that declares the entrance to Udaipur.

Entrance to Udaipur

After checking into the hotel, I went to Pichola lake but did not enjoy as much when I had visited it earlier with my wife on a 3-day romantic bike trip we did.

Lake Pichola

Later in the evening I went to Santosh dining hall near Surajpole to have Daal-Baati. There was a shop opposite to my hotel that was selling hot milk and even though full of stomach, I had it to my heart’s content. I was stuffed so I spent sometime walking on the roads. I came back after sometime and went to sleep. The hotel had a window AC installed and the air blast coming out of the AC was lifting up the curtain thus exposing the outer hallway to me and vice-versa. Being alone I was indifferent to it, but made a mental note of checking for such thing in a hotel room for next time.

Next day I left for Vadodara.

This was my longest ride of 9 days doing 3300 kms and covering 6 states encountering various terrains and weather. The heavy rains encountered in Kanpur taught me the preparations required for riding in rain and now I can even plan for a ride in rainy months or to the southern part of India. As always, the people I met have been very helpful. As Mr. Adam Smith had noted – people are generally good. One thing that I thoroughly enjoyed apart from the ride was food. It is one of the many benefits of a diverse Indian culture.

Route