Two riders, one bulky, the other not at all.
Helmets, gloves, GT with a jacket and a sweater, self with (and to this day my body shudders in unfond remembrance) just the one sweater.
A tank full of petrol, and the remainder of the night.
Right, here we go.
The good news about leaving really really late is that there is hardly any traffic in Bangalore. Empty streets, yellow lamps, and hell for leather. MG Road, past Malleswaram, past Yeshwantpur, and out on to the NH4. The initial wiggles having ceased, one settles in for the long haul.
Not too much into the post-initial-wiggles, one notices that it is cold. Bitterly cold. Ooh, aah, man that is cold. One huddles behind GT (and those who know the two of us must now wonder how that is possible), and one hunkers down for the long haul. One wonders at self - five years and counting of going for crazy rides, you'd THINK something as elementary as accounting for the weather in November would have been dealt with satisfactorily.
Not so, of course. One sweater for cover, and the contributing sheep needs to look sharp about it the next time around - this is bloody useless.
It's wonderful how the human mind can tune out everything else on it's soirees on the bike. Trucks roar past you, GT swerves dangerously around corners, flirting with unseen boulders and craters, cars zoom now in this direction and now the other, but all you are aware of is your self directed diatribe and the cold. Wonderful ability to have, that. Enables you to pass the time magnificently. You take in and file away stuff that is of importance - for example, for the second time in rapid succession, you've passed policemen standing on the shoulder of the road, on the other side. Looking at you with the kind of wistful look that Dracula might have bestowed on those that got away. Or trucks and the other worldly messages on them. "Horn Please OK!", "Use Condoms" "Hum Do Hamare Do" and of course...
Until, that is, GT slows down uncertainly and starts looking around for street signs. And when GT turns and grins sheepishly, you know that you're probably on the wrong road. Hmmm.
So you turn back, and try to reach that part of the road where you and the right direction parted ways. Having done so, you immediately meet aforementioned Draculas. Senior official is a little further away, leaning against a bike that is precariously perched on it's side stand, talking with two guys. Said guys look like they had stepped out to replenish that which had merrily gone down the hatch. Junior official harrumphs, plods towards us, hitches up his trousers, and asks GT for his license. License having been inspected, junior official asks us, with a kindly gleam in his beady eye, about our destination.
"Poona!", we offer up in chorus.
"Poona? Where is that?" he volleys back.
"Maharashtra... you know sir, Poona, Maharashtra?"
Junior official's server hangs. Furrowed brow in place, he bravely takes on this cerebral challenge. One can make out the gears spinning furiously in the cranium. And just as that ancient machinery is about to collaps under the unaccustomed strain, Mr. Senior Official strolls up to see what this here is all about.
"Poona, huh?", he enquires, stalling for time. "Poona.... hmmm"
Plainly, neither know what to make of two bhaisaabs, astride a Bullet, at one in the morning, outside Bangalore in freezing weather, planning to make it to Poona.
"Hmm... Poona" they mutter in chorus, handing GT back his license and sliding away,"Poona..."
And as we start the bike, in desperation, one of them offers up this gem: "Quite far no... Poona?"
We, brave denizens of La-la land, do not deign to reply.
Having summarily dealt with the second team of Draculas in similiar fashion, we get back on to NH4, and continue on our merry way.
A little way down the road, already shivering uncontrollably at the back, self takes over the steering, and meets the frigid elements full on.
And realises, in full measure, that it is
Publish Post
Status: Two in the morning, cold, stiff wind, barely out of Bangalore, a long way to go.
In other words,
Status: Screwed.
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