Feature

Text & Images: Jared Solomon
Rider Religion
	There is something about us ‘riders’ which no one can explain or quite understand. Our need for adventure, our desire for thrill and our path of uncertainty are all characteristics of a free spirit, wandering in no direction and reaching nowhere. It is called movement and follows the same physical principles as energy. A river is much the same way. It is a flowing water body with massive energy and runs free constricted only by gravity, which is also a form of energy. All these different forms of energy ultimately share the same qualities but their source is different. The rider’s source of energy is his heart and soul, while a river’s source is a glacier high up in the sky. Therefore the rider is much like a river. Both have a source of energy and follow a path, and in due course, both will eventually fulfill their destiny by reaching the end, which is an endless abode of openness. In this sense the river reaches the ocean while the rider reaches nirvana. To put my analogy together I decided to head to the source of energy for both my mind and the holiest of rivers. Up in the mountains is where I find myself and attain inner peace, it is my source of energy, and just like me the Ganga also has its source of energy up in the mountains in a place called Gangotri. And if your religion is riding, then you would know that there is no better bike to ride up to those mountains on than a Royal Enfield. The Royal Enfield, much like the Ganga, is also a religious diety in India. There is no better machine to tackle any kind of Indian terrain, which is why the Enfield is worshipped by its faithful devotee riders. Royal Enfields are fast, powerful, (now) reliable, fixable, and easily maneuverable. The Indian rider will swear by these bikes and ride them till either they or their bikes die. My stead was the Classic 500 suited in its appealing post-war style covered in turquoise green. However stylish the bike maybe, it lacks an appeal of size. This Classic 500 is small and low and this makes it incredibly easy to handle twists and curves but it doesn’t make a heavy rider look good. Nonetheless how I looked on the bike was the least of my worries. My plan was to be as original and orthodox a rider as possible. I didn’t check the internet to see how the weather would be in the places I was traveling and I didn’t get any road maps, I just cruised and let fate move me forward. I took no precautions. Ehm, it’s been brought to my attention many times before that I am insane. I usually am very impatient and very reckless. This is something that I need to work on as a rider. Now you can make fun of me all you want but the experiences I faced on this journey in the mountains were no jokes, but wonderful learning experiences all together.
	Again, as hard as I tried, I still managed to leave Delhi later than planned and ended up riding to Mussorie in the scorching heat. I also forgot to buy proper ropes to secure my backpack so I had to borrow Ashish’s belt, some shoe laces and nylon ropes to secure it – the consequences of which you will soon find out. So I didn’t cruise, but blazed all the way to Mussoorie and completed the journey in only four-and-half hours – the Classic 500 can reach 120kmph easily and if you dip your body forward, 130kmph is manageable but highly not advisable. I stayed in Landour in my family cottage for the night and planned to head out early morning. The night however was unforgiving and a severe rainstorm ruined my early morning departure plan. Not just the rain – when I woke up the next day I also discovered that my rear tyre was flat. The power lines were down throughout Mussoorie, so no petrol pump could help me. I had to head in the opposite direction and luckily found a lovely fellow who fixed my flat for a mere Rs.30. It was 11am and I was behind my schedule again. My next destination was Uttarkashi. I took a shorter route along a brand new road which goes through the village of Dhanaulti and reaches Chamba, which is only 100km from Uttarkashi. I couldn’t stop even once to enjoy the views of the lovely countryside or the Tehri Dam Reservoir because I was running late and wanted to get to Gangotri before nightfall. The roads weren’t too bad, but in some places they were mostly rock and mud, but the Classic 500 took them on with no problem. As luck would have it, when I finally reached Uttarkashi 3 hours later I had another flat tyre. It took about 45 minutes to fix and another Rs.30. I decided to grab a quick bite and rush towards my destination. The roads from outside Uttarkashi were brilliant but half way through, they become really bad. The Classic, however, was unfazed and I was overtaking SUVs of all sorts which couldn’t handle the dirt tracks as well as the Classic.
	Gangotri is about 100km further north of Uttarkashi and a lot higher. I could feel the air getting really cold and to make matters worse about 40km into the ride it started to rain. I had not brought any rain gear so I parked under a thick tree and waited – I was freezing myself to near death. I literally shouted and cursed the sky for giving me such bad luck and I swear to you, after my verbal assault the clouds shifted and the sky was absolutely clear with the evening sun lighting the way for me. Finally my luck had turned. Or so I thought. I made good pace and moved along the narrow dirt roads crossing streams and mud pools. I kept checking my tyres to make sure another damn puncture wouldn’t occur. Finally a sign read the distance to Gangotri – 25km. Phew – I had made it! Almost. I must’ve only travelled 15 km before another sign read ‘Gangtori 25km’. What? Is that possible or am I hallucinating of the fresh mountain air. I was annoyed now. My wrists and fingers were numb, my back was sore and my butt hurt so badly that I couldn’t take the pain anymore. I found a nice peaceful spot with the most gorgeous view I have ever witnessed and took a small break. I was in Dharali, just a few more kilometers from Gangotri. It was nearly nightfall and I decided to jump back on the Classic 500 and make way to Gangotri. As I reached the gates to the little town, a nice boy offered me a room. So he hopped on the back of the bike and led me to a nice little hotel right on the river next to a temple. I was freezing. I forgot to bring a proper jacket and really regretted my orthodox approach to the ride. I rushed into my room and jumped under the blankets to make my body warm again. I finally had enough courage to get out of my room and check out the town. To be honest, the place is nothing special. It smells rotten and it’s sad to see that the river Ganga gets polluted right at its source. It’s shameful when you consider how sacred the people make it out to be.
	The next morning I woke up at 5am and decided to make my way back to Delhi. I estimated that it would take me around 10 hours to get back, but that was a huge miscalculation. So I bid farewell and made my way back down. The scenery in the morning was breath taking I must have stopped at least 20 times and stared with amazement with my jaw dropping to say ‘WOW’! The mighty Himalayas are beautiful and they reflect just how insignificant I am to this world. The roads had no traffic at all and so I picked up speed. The Classic 500 was really fun to ride. It really did a phenomenal job and I felt honored to ride it. 6 hours later I reached Chamba again and was already regretting my decision to leave. As I approached Rishikesh another misfortunate incident occurred. The belt and shoelaces I borrowed from Ashish to hold my backpack in place had somehow loosened and my bag began to fall towards the right hand side of the bike – right over the exhaust. I however was busy enjoying my ride and was unaware of the imminent danger. I do not know how long it was hanging there but eventually another commuter rushed up to me and pointed to the rear right side of my bike. I looked back and was overwhelmed and shocked at what I saw. My backpack was on fire, actually it was in flames. It was terrible and I stopped immediately to put out the fire. Luckily a shopkeeper came out with a pitcher of water and threw it on the bag. Everything was burned. I had lost all my clothes; thank God the bike did not catch fire along with it and blow me up into smithereens. The whole trip had its ups and downs but this was the worst. I dumped the burnt bag and just ignored what had happened and pushed forward to Delhi. Another 6 hours later and I was home in Delhi. Although things didn’t go too well, I still can never forget the thrill of riding the Classic 500 in the mountains on those roads. It was amazing. And the scenery will be embedded into my mind and soul forever. The lesson to be learnt here is always be prepared for the worst. Even if you think you are invincible, you must understand that things can go wrong at anytime and you have to be ready to face them. Even the muscular and unbreakable Classic 500 had its fair share of problems. And the first thing I did upon getting back is get a travel-kit and gear for myself. The ride does not have to have a purpose. The rider does not need an excuse. It is in our nature to do stupid and risky things even if we know better. Just like the mighty Ganga in all her might, she is reckless and violent and without purpose. Inevitably for us riders there is no other solution but to escape on a thoughtless journey. Eventually we must ‘Ride or Die’!