Genesis

Have you ever embarked on an adventure that seems like an adventure to you, but folly to the rest of the planet?
Something that seemed like fun to do where you were concerned - sure, a tad risky, a tad unsafe, but fun nonetheless - but insanely idiotic to everybody else.
They'd sound dire warnings, and they'd cajole and curse, and yell and scream, and throw their hands up in despair.
They'd quiz you about the practicality of your plan and shoot it down. That whole other jazz... you know. Common sense.
But you'd still go ahead and do it. Because.
And halfway through that madcap scheme, when there was no light at the end of the tunnel, and the world looked dreary and dark and bleak, and it seemed as if those guys were right after all, and you were not - right then, you'd wonder whether you should turn back.
And just when your shoulders drooped, and your head hung low, out would pop the impish grin.
"Balls!" you would say with a manic laugh. "I'm gonna do this! Hah!"

Kulkarni lives for those moments. That's his raison d'etre.

And a little outside of Dhavengere, when the cold wind blew effortlessly through the calcium in his bones, and the road rode roughshod underneath his steed's newly shod rubber, and when he took the bike to the side of the road and did a series of little jumps to keep himself awake - that's when Kulkarni had his Magic Moment.

Because who else would choose to ride a 100c bike from Bangalore to Pune in the last week of December? Voluntarily, that too.
Who else would be standing on the shoulder of the roughest patch of NH-4, at 1 at night, hopping from one foot to the other in a bid to keep himself awake?
Me!

It hadn't seemed such a bad idea when the planning was underway. Leave at two in the afternoon, ride hard until midnight, sleep at a lodge. Ten hours at an average of fifty kilometers to the hour - and that's more than half the journey done.

I should be in Pune by around two in the afternoon, easy as pie.

I had, as I mentioned earlier, a newly furbished Yamaha, fitted from head to toe with new genuine spare parts. It shone and it glittered. It had a refurbished headlamp assembly, new spokes, new shockers, new speedo, new cables, new wiring, new tires, new levers, a new seat, new gas filled shockers at the back, a new carb, a new air filter, a new tail lamp assembly, a new fuel-cock, a new spark plug, a new fuel tank and an old chassis.

And an old me.

The bike was delivered to me, sparkling bright and ready to go, at 11 in the morning. All I had to do was show up at work, do no work, and leave by two in the afternoon.

At one thirty in the afternoon, I realized that I had no gloves, and no woollen cap. In December, with night riding involved, somewhat necessary accessories.
At two in the afternoon, a colleague requested that he be dropped home, else he would miss his flight.
And at two thirty, I was stuck in a traffic jam, en route to said colleague's home.
At five, I was done with shopping for said articles.
And at six thirty, I was finally outside Bangalore city, on NH-4.
850 kilometers to go, plus around four hours of sleep. So say 22 hours or so.

Here we go now. Hang on, me dearies.
:)