Travel has never been my forte. Especially on a motorcycle. I’d been on sub-100 km rides on my little 110cc steed back when I was young and stupid. Almost every one of them to my grandmother’s place 40 km away from home. The machine was underpowered, the seat was uncomfortable, and my hands and feet would ring like a tuning fork at the end of every ride.
Not a very pleasant experience.
Neither have birthdays been big. A few unsavoury experiences that coincided with my birthday have made me believe that my birthday is jinxed, leaving me with a bad aftertaste at the mere thought of it.
I’ve always taken both travel and birthdays with a grain of salt – unless prodded and pleaded by my friends, I try not to engage in either.
So, this year, I decided to ride to Hampi for my birthday.
The Journey
Hampi has always been on my mind for quite a while now. Memories of the boulders and ruins kept coming back to me like flashes from a past life. I’d been to Hampi on a family trip long ago – when my mouth had fewer teeth and my mind not nearly as corrupted as it is now. But my only memories of the place from that time are carefully curated in a photo album, tucked away in a drawer somewhere.
The fascination for the place turned into a near obsession by the time I had put a good couple hundred kilometres on my new motorcycle. So began the fervent planning to catch a glimpse of the erstwhile Vijayanagara empire in its glorious ruins.
On the night before I was to ride, I stayed at office past 10 pm, finishing up a campaign that just *had* to go out that very night. It was nearly 12 am by the time I came back home, packed for the next day and hit the sack. I had carefully planned to leave home at 5 am to beat the morning city traffic.
I woke up at 5:30 am.
6 February, 2020. Happy birthday to me.
It was 6 am by the time I left home. Just a blue bag hanging off my shoulder, perched neatly on the back seat, a denim jacket to keep my warm and a helmet to keep my noggin safe.
I took off, with the sun steadily rising behind me. Driving down the familiar road towards Nelamangala, I was overcome by a sense of detached familiarity. I’d never seen the roads as empty, or the air as fresh. Bangalore’s roads are at their prettiest when the city is still lulled by the early morning slumber.
My plan was to stop for breakfast at Tumkur and head down the Hiriyur-Chalkere circuit before branching off to smaller roads to avoid the bad roads at Chitradurga. But the roads were so good and the weather was so pleasant, I continued on the NH48 till Hiriyur, stopping for breakfast at a little shop on the highway.
These open roads were just perfect for the torquey engine of the motorcycle. While it handles city traffic deftly on daily commutes, it can munch miles on the highway with equal elan. Cruising effortlessly at 100 kmph, the engine only begins to strain at around 120 kmph. The wind noise and stressed grunts at triple digits prove to be minor annoyances, but not discouraging by any stretch.
The stretch between Hiriyur and Chalkere is an absolute bliss of nearly 50 km. Either sides of the road are interspersed by plains and farmlands, with rocky boulders standing tall and stretching up to the sky in the distance. The road was vastly empty, save for the occasional villager riding down the road in a Splendor or a TVS, just going about their business on a Thursday morning.
Thus endeth sunshine and rainbows.
I did not take the road straight to Ballari because I wanted to save 30 km. In the process I added a good one hour to my journey, I’m sure. Instead I took a diversion at Rampura and went through narrow, winding roads that traversed through mining areas.
Was the road bike friendly?
Nope.
Was it fun riding down that road?
Also no.
It was a literal pain in the ass. The FZ25 does not have a good seat. It’s wide enough to house your frame, but it’s also hard as a brick. Frequent breaks to stretch your legs and nurse your sore bum are a mandate if you’re touring on this machine. And the breaks become frequenter if the roads are shit. Like here.
The only solace was the solitude – with the thick, dry foliage on either side of the narrow road to keep me company. The occasional mammoth mining trucks carrying red dust and rocks, moving at the speed of a fast snail looked right at home in the midst of nowhere. An ironic comedy of man’s unforgiving greed surrounded by bleakness of nature that looked like it had just given up.
I also saw fields being burnt and a dead goat hanging off a tree along the same route, which were also cool.
The rest of the journey was quite uneventful until I entered Hospet.
Lush green fields, nice roads and white folks on Honda Navis.
The original plan was to head to Hampi and take a ferry to the Hippi island. But the Tungabhadra was running quite low, and the ferries weren’t transporting motorcycles.
Irked, I turned around and braced myself for the additional 25 km ride.
The old adage, “you can’t stay mad for too long in Hampi” was true to every syllable.
Yeah, that’s an actual saying which people say it all the time.
By the time I reached my “guest house” all was fine and dandy.
Actually, it was more than fine and dandy. It was…
Not a very pleasant experience.
Neither have birthdays been big. A few unsavoury experiences that coincided with my birthday have made me believe that my birthday is jinxed, leaving me with a bad aftertaste at the mere thought of it.
I’ve always taken both travel and birthdays with a grain of salt – unless prodded and pleaded by my friends, I try not to engage in either.
So, this year, I decided to ride to Hampi for my birthday.
The Journey
Hampi has always been on my mind for quite a while now. Memories of the boulders and ruins kept coming back to me like flashes from a past life. I’d been to Hampi on a family trip long ago – when my mouth had fewer teeth and my mind not nearly as corrupted as it is now. But my only memories of the place from that time are carefully curated in a photo album, tucked away in a drawer somewhere.
The fascination for the place turned into a near obsession by the time I had put a good couple hundred kilometres on my new motorcycle. So began the fervent planning to catch a glimpse of the erstwhile Vijayanagara empire in its glorious ruins.
On the night before I was to ride, I stayed at office past 10 pm, finishing up a campaign that just *had* to go out that very night. It was nearly 12 am by the time I came back home, packed for the next day and hit the sack. I had carefully planned to leave home at 5 am to beat the morning city traffic.
I woke up at 5:30 am.
6 February, 2020. Happy birthday to me.
It was 6 am by the time I left home. Just a blue bag hanging off my shoulder, perched neatly on the back seat, a denim jacket to keep my warm and a helmet to keep my noggin safe.
I took off, with the sun steadily rising behind me. Driving down the familiar road towards Nelamangala, I was overcome by a sense of detached familiarity. I’d never seen the roads as empty, or the air as fresh. Bangalore’s roads are at their prettiest when the city is still lulled by the early morning slumber.
My plan was to stop for breakfast at Tumkur and head down the Hiriyur-Chalkere circuit before branching off to smaller roads to avoid the bad roads at Chitradurga. But the roads were so good and the weather was so pleasant, I continued on the NH48 till Hiriyur, stopping for breakfast at a little shop on the highway.
These open roads were just perfect for the torquey engine of the motorcycle. While it handles city traffic deftly on daily commutes, it can munch miles on the highway with equal elan. Cruising effortlessly at 100 kmph, the engine only begins to strain at around 120 kmph. The wind noise and stressed grunts at triple digits prove to be minor annoyances, but not discouraging by any stretch.
The stretch between Hiriyur and Chalkere is an absolute bliss of nearly 50 km. Either sides of the road are interspersed by plains and farmlands, with rocky boulders standing tall and stretching up to the sky in the distance. The road was vastly empty, save for the occasional villager riding down the road in a Splendor or a TVS, just going about their business on a Thursday morning.
Thus endeth sunshine and rainbows.
I did not take the road straight to Ballari because I wanted to save 30 km. In the process I added a good one hour to my journey, I’m sure. Instead I took a diversion at Rampura and went through narrow, winding roads that traversed through mining areas.
Was the road bike friendly?
Nope.
Was it fun riding down that road?
Also no.
It was a literal pain in the ass. The FZ25 does not have a good seat. It’s wide enough to house your frame, but it’s also hard as a brick. Frequent breaks to stretch your legs and nurse your sore bum are a mandate if you’re touring on this machine. And the breaks become frequenter if the roads are shit. Like here.
The only solace was the solitude – with the thick, dry foliage on either side of the narrow road to keep me company. The occasional mammoth mining trucks carrying red dust and rocks, moving at the speed of a fast snail looked right at home in the midst of nowhere. An ironic comedy of man’s unforgiving greed surrounded by bleakness of nature that looked like it had just given up.
I also saw fields being burnt and a dead goat hanging off a tree along the same route, which were also cool.
The rest of the journey was quite uneventful until I entered Hospet.
Lush green fields, nice roads and white folks on Honda Navis.
The original plan was to head to Hampi and take a ferry to the Hippi island. But the Tungabhadra was running quite low, and the ferries weren’t transporting motorcycles.
Irked, I turned around and braced myself for the additional 25 km ride.
The old adage, “you can’t stay mad for too long in Hampi” was true to every syllable.
Yeah, that’s an actual saying which people say it all the time.
By the time I reached my “guest house” all was fine and dandy.
Actually, it was more than fine and dandy. It was…
Good cliffhanger, friend.
ReplyDeleteThis one made me nostalgic. This is Manjula Desai btw(as if it matters). Was too lazy to login and comment.
ReplyDelete