The Monsoon Ride 2015 - Varshada Sparsha 2.0 ...extreme curves

"For a Pilgrim, only at the end of an arduous climb up a mountain, will the Divine reveal its utter resplendence ".

 The Monsoon Ride 2015

Varshada Sparsha 2.0 – extreme curves

 Day 1: (The Happy Start)

After a year and a month, on a Friday evening, we were back in Shimoga City. Our Monsoon Ride 2015 had kicked off at Pingara Bar and Restaurant, chatting over spicy snacks and some cool delightful gold coloured concoctions of many shades. We shared our memories from the previous year's Monsoon Ride. (http://hrishikenatravelogue.blogspot.in/2014/08/the-monsoon-ride-2014-varshada-sparsha.html )

Other than Speed Demon, The Saint, Mr. Carbman, Mr. Bolt, The Farmer and myself, we had The Star, Mr. Widow and The Guru, for this year's edition of Varshada Sparsha, with a rather saucy tagline ..."extreme Curves"

We discussed some critical views on the quality of Royal Enfield bikes, how poor their service was, other new age bike technology, tyres and many such crucial topics for a bunch of riders.  

About the Ride we were about to embark upon, all i had to say was..

"Tomorrow, the moment you are unable to avoid a fall, leave the bike and walk or jump away"

Before drowsing away to sleep at the hotel, i felt a little apprehensive....

"Can our Bullets make it? The 2 KTMs seem pretty comfortable and the Kawasaki 650 has the build of a bull... these three will definitely thrash it out... but what about our Bullets? What if someone takes a tumble? ...Hope all the bikes have engine guards! ...Conquering the Mighty Kodachadri is indeed a big challenge"

The thought gently stirred itself into the good level of intoxication and watered down into a dreamless sleep.

Day 2:( The day of The extreme curves)

The peak of Kodachadri, (The hill of Kutaja- or Girimallika - Jasmine of the hills), stands at around 1300 m from mean sea level. On top is a holy place called Sarvajna Peetha, a place dedicated to the Great Shankaracharya, who would meditate there. A holy place visited by lots of people mostly from Karnataka and Kerala, before embarking upon their annual Penance journey to Shabarimala, in Kerala. Keralites have a special place in their hearts for this place and Goddess Mookambika at the nearby town, Kollur.

A late start got us under the hot sun on a Saturday morning. A quick check enlightened us that Mr. Carbman's, virus prone, cow loving bullet, (http://hrishikenatravelogue.blogspot.in/2014/08/the-monsoon-ride-2014-varshada-sparsha.html ) had traveled about 300 kms to reach Shimoga, on engine oil vapours in its oil sump. As we filled up our fuel tanks at a fuel station, the bullet swallowed 2 liters of red coloured lubricant like a bloodthirsty beast. We rolled out westwards from Shimoga on a straight flat road in a queue, except Speed Demon, who by his usual habit, had vanished into oblivion.

A deviation at Ayanur took us left, on the flat curvy roads towards Kodachadri. The weather was good and the bikes played along well with the rider's mood. 

The group broke into fragments. Some of the riders found an old fort nearby and rode up the fort with a beautiful view of a lake. 







Finally, we all met up at Ambika homestay at the foothills of Kodachadri, where we dumped our luggage, gobbled some food up, threw some coffee/ tea/ buttermilk into the intestines and chuckled at The Guru's witty dialogues.

If you have seen the logo of HIS MASTER's VOICE (the HMV Record company), there is a gramophone with a huge speaker, into which a dog is intently looking, with unbroken attention. Well, when 'The Guru' starts off on his rolls of narratives, all the group members are as attentive as the dog, at the beginning. Progressively (In case we had a similar logo like HMV) it would be inevitable that dogs would be lying on their backs, with laughter induced seizures on the floor.

We started the ride up to Kodachadri by 12 PM, on a beautiful flat serpentine road for a few kilometers. We took the left turn where the road would change the game for us...

"A deviation to the left and we are now on a slushy mud road, where the deep tread marks of the old time Mahindras, are the only Tyre signatures. The group slows down as the bikes start to slide. Panic gently creeps up our spines."

I continued to tail the group, a little worried about how the terrain would change. Suddenly, Mr. Widow, Mr. Carbman and The Star came to an abrupt halt. Far, on the banks of the slushy road, i could see Speed demon, guiding Mr. Bolt on how to get the bike across the slush pool which was as wide as the road and about 20 meters long. The sight in front of me caused the shrinkage of certain personal assets. A Mahindra 4X4 crossed this section of the road with people clinging onto it , giving us a strange hostile look ..

"This is my turf you imbeciles, dare not tread on it"... glared the 4X4 at me and my Bullet, very much in a way the great villains of the black and white celluloid days would glare, at their about to be ravaged innocent female victims.

What we did not know, at this point, was that the next few Kms was a road made in Hell.

As Speed Demon helped the Bulleteers, The Saint and The Guru, who seemed to have crossed this mess pool easily, waited attentively. The Farmer, followed by Mr. Bolt crossed with extreme caution. The star followed them..

" The Star, who has suffered a broken hand a few months ago, wrestles with the slush, through his bike's handle. Just when i think he has succeeded, the bike slides to the right...The Star, as advised, carefully bails out, leaving the bullet crawling on the ground. Other riders who have crossed, run to help him pick the bike.

The Star mounts back onto his stardom, accelerates...

'not yet buddy' says the slush ....and the bike now slides left and stands perpendicular to the road, as if it has a mind of it's own, outrightly rejecting the rider's request to head straight. Some more help and The Star gets back in the right direction and continues"

I traced the tread marks left by the other riders, and crossed over as the next event unfolded in front of my eyes which were now trying hard to focus due to the bumpy road.

"The Star, attempts to turn left, up the first major curve and falls with the bike. The bail out is unsuccessful this time. Now the bullet has mounted The Star. Things shrink again for me. Mr. Speed Demon, quickly dumps his KTM and rushes to help The Star, who is pinned to the ground."

The engine guard had provided just enough gap, preventing the rider from taking the full impact of the fall, but the bike gently rested over the rider like a tired beast.. I skipped a beat, but was relieved to see that nothing serious had happened. The hurriedly abandoned KTM also crashed and broke a mirror .

Time just stood still for a moment. My mind raced to and fro over the lineup of events that had occurred. Few hours ago we were probably the safest looking riders on the highway. Now, bikes were leaping into the lap of mother earth, riders were trekking up and down to help the bikes trapped in slush and the fallen riders.

All the riders halted for a few minutes, with minimal chatter. I didn't know what was going on in their minds.

But, the spirit with which The Star shrugged off the incident and got back on the bike, left us not much time to think about which way to go. 
From where most of us stood at that point, there was only one way for us, ahead and up the hill. Giving up was not an option for me as i had charted this route for the ride.

We continued slowly, choosing the best possible path to climb the steep slippery surface, balancing our bikes on the outer and inner edges of the shapeless valleys of the road. 

Decades of heavy Monsoon Rains seemed to have set the perfect surface every year for the artistic tyre treads of the 4X4s, to carve perilous sculptures out of it. 

At that point a thought occurred to me....

".... we have not only taken on the Mighty Kodachadri, but pitted our Iron Horses against the 4 X 4 Metal of the Mahindra, with its occupants grinning at our plight as they pass by us..."

We slowly crawled up the tight curvy stretches. I had realised by then, that to rev up the engine was to invite trouble. I advised many of my comrades to bank on low rev torque which will get the bike's wheels to roll and hold on to the terrain, instead of skidding away from the intended direction. Especially the bullets seemed very good for this kind of work where low rev was the key.

The bullet operators quickly acclimatised to this reality and switched over to a low rev riding mode, with the clutch released as much as possible and climbed up the steep slippery terrain like spiders. The sounds of the well spaced thumps of my bike was the chant of the hour. In spite of the absolutely devastated surface conditions of the road, we got our bikes to cling to the surface and march up diligently.....though it was not the case with all of us.

As i looked up at the steep road, i saw The Guru and his Kawasaki, approach a left turning curve from the middle of the road and climb up to the outer line and attempt to turn left,

"The bike's limited turning radius, higher seating position and the wrong entry point into the curve puts the rider in a tight situation. The bike goes off balance and quickly embraces the road.. Luckily, The Guru has a clean bailout. Helped by Mr Bolt and The Farmer, the bike is pushed back on track."

The Guru rode up the steep section and parked the heavy bike. Next came The Saint, who cautiously approached the same curve.

"The Guru sends across his advice flying down the undulating, slippery slope of the road, telling him to take the outer line, like the way he himself did it. The Saint maneuvers around as advised and the same catastrophic result is replayed in front of us, again with a safe bailout."

After the rather misleading advice, The Guru sent across his sinister assessment of the fall to The Saint... saying ..

"Same spot... same spot..."

(What The Guru was thinking here is a very intriguing thought for me. LOL )
The Farmer Declared that Bullets were the best for this terrain.

The ride continued and after the next few extreme curves, the slopes gently eased out. We were now traversing the upper contours of the mountains, riding over jagged rocks and gravel, criss crossed by tiny rivulets. These sections of the road were exceptionally beautiful. I can only imagine how it would have been to ride up, in peak monsoon. I did miss the rain, which had not yet blessed us.

The deep valleys had innumerable shades of green. The sky was cloudy but allowed the sun to take a peek at us, once in a while. The cool wind was ethereal. 

7 of us had made it to this point where we stopped for a break, absorbing the timeless beauty of nature. Two of the riders had turned back and found themselves a little stream and indulged in a good water massage.

No matter what was said about the Royal Enfield bikes the previous night, as a standing testimony to its capability, all the Bullets had made it till here, without a glitch. A sense of pride filled our hearts to have reached this far on the most unforgiving road i had ever seen.

"We restart and in no time, Speed Demon has vanished. After riding about 200 meters, to my left is a vehicle track which climbs up at an angle of about 70 degrees, creating a jump up onto the mountain slope. The track then continues to climb at around 50 degrees angle, slowly curving right to reach the top of another mountain, with rocks sprinkled on top of it. The Star races up this road and heads straight to the top"

Mr. Widow, me and Mr. Carbman followed the trail. Mr. Bolt and The Farmer rode up behind us. The track levelled near the top, and the bikes were now balanced on the central rib along the length of the mountain, with steep falls on either sides. The visual this mountain offered on either sides as we rode, was enchanting. We caught up with The Star on the peak of this mountain,...

"..Where is Speed Demon, was my question.."

For which, The Star pointed his finger yonder, at another mountain peak, which looked much closer to the clouds than where we were. 

Far on top of the peak, a tiny looking Speed Demon stood in his own melancholy, looking away at what seemed to be an endless journey that lay ahead of him.

After riding up two dangerously steep sections, without thinking about how i would ride down these slopes, i parked the bike and trekked up to the peak to meet Speed Demon. Here awaited an exhilarating 360 degrees panoramic view of The Western Ghats, at cloud level. 

My mind was silenced for a few seconds. Every time i turned around, the panoramic canvas had a new landscape painted on it by the moving clouds. This made the landscape of the greens, greys and blue sky change perpetually in absolute silence, holding the Pilgrim's attention. We were indeed the Pilgrims who had not turned back from an arduous climb. By sheer willpower, we had taken upon ourselves an extreme physical and mechanical endurance challenge, and we had won.

"We have slipped, fallen, some injured. The bikes have taken the brunt. But we have ridden hard to reach these dizzying heights to reap the rewards. To come face to face with The Divine, looking straight back at us with its utter resplendence."

I could see the tiny little bikes of my comrades, climb down and up the mountains to reach us.

On one side, we could see the Govt Guest house of Kodachadri, where the Vehicle trail ended and behind it, was the Peak of Kodachadri, which could only be trekked. We spent some time on this peak.

After what we had experienced, over the past few hours, we cautiously rode down the 2 steep drops, and then reached the road that leads to the Guest house. The ride to the guest house was as gruelling, but it didn't matter any more. We all had mastered the art of rock climbing with bikes.

Now, the Mahindras and its occupants who passed by us, saw us with a bit of a serious look. The drivers seemed very intrigued by seeing us match their 4X4 performance and scramble our way to the top.

Just when i was assured that we had matched the Mahindra on its own turf, something caught my eye on the rear view mirror. I could see a small bike ridden by a local chap, who showed his entire collection of denture, with a little boy as his pillion whose eyes were wide open. To add insult to injury, he honked at us to make way for his royal chariot to pass by...

"...WTF..? ....this chap looks very happy to see us along these roads, asks me where we are from, compliments Mr. Widow for the efforts of reaching so far, overtakes and belts his way out of our sights.... Just unbelievable"

For all that we had been through, he made us look like Jokers ... LOL. As told to me later, Mr. Widow complimented back to this fellow telling,..

" ..you are great Saar... riding on these roads with a stepney seated behind you..."

We all had a good laugh at the guest house. A service of cold water from a tap, recharged us and a good long smoke settled my mind.

We carefully untangled our bikes down the perilous mountainous roads, with minimal chatter, and with no folly in our riding technique. The ride down was easier but was strenuous on my arms. We all reached the safety of the check post at the foothills of Kodachadri.

Eventually, we too found the little stream, that the 2 riders who had turned back had taken a dip in. The Star stripped and plunged into it, while some of us just dipped in till the knee. Speed Demon, The Star, Mr. Bolt and The Farmer gave an under belly wash for their bikes by daring into a river crossing act on the little stream. The Farmer's was the most memorable, as he almost nailed his bike into a wall of mud on the banks, before pulling it back on track.

As they carried on with their water sports, i stood there with a hungry stomach and a smoke in my hand...my mind drifted..

"Standing on the bank of this little stream, I look up for a while, trying to mentally trace the path that we had taken to reach the top ...i cannot see, what i am looking for... But, i know now,.. The Divine resides somewhere there on top...forever"

Back at the homestay, a late lunch at 5 PM of some cold Veg. Pulav, warm Puliyogare, oily Chattambade and curd rice brought back life into our tired bodies, and some of us decided to take a nap. I sat outside the homestay chatting with Mr. Widow, waiting for the 2 riders who had gone to visit the temple at Kollur. 

I was surprised to know that this was Mr. Widow's first ever bike ride. Also got to know he had slid and fell on the way down, and with no one around to help. Somehow, he had managed to pull himself and his bike up all by himself. His strained forearm needed some medical attention.

By 7.30PM, the party had started and by 8.30PM, The Star was fully charged and had delivered some memorable performances as he sang some old Kannada and Hindi songs, adding to the intoxication of the starry night.

The sky outside was clear and a stellar visual spread looked down upon us on a chilled night. The sleep was deep and refreshing at the end of the longest day of my life.

Day 3: (One Day of Monsoon)

The monsoon had evaded us on the first 2 days. The rains had evaded this region from the past 25 days and hence it didn't feel like a Monsoon Ride this year. I had mentioned this casually to my comrades while we were on the ranges of Kodachadri, and wished for rains. The Divine had probably heard me and blessed us with what i had asked for...probably blessed us with excess of it, on this day.

On day 3, it started drizzling by 8.30 AM. We force fed on some badly made Kharabath, cold ugly dosay and chutney, served from dirty looking vessels. By the time we started our ride by 10.30AM, the rain had grown stronger with a moderately heavy downpour and we were all forced into our rain wear.

 We were fully drenched before we completed the first 15 to 20 kms, and had to stop at a small hotel for something decent to eat. Hot Pooris fried over an old wood fueled flame, with chutney and hot saagu. This was also a part of the blessing i guessed. The cold rain and poor breakfast at the homestay, made me hungry and i ate half a dozen of those delectable Pooris, with the rain continuously pouring outside. 

With our stomachs consolidated with coffee, we slowly rumbled in the drizzle, towards Sringeri town. Our destination was to reach Sakaleshpura by evening, via Sringeri, Balehonnur, Aldur and Mudigere. The road was bumpy in the beginning, but the damp curvy bitumen roads were very inviting. We took the narrow and rough Thirthalli bypass road and headed towards Agumbe.

Once the bypass ended, we were on yet another race track.

We were hit hard by pounding monsoon rains for the the last 15 Kms to Agumbe. My knuckles were hit by blunt needles, reminding me of Day 1, during the previous year's Monsoon Ride.

We were soaked to the innermost crevices by the time we reached Agumbe and had to take a break. We warmed up at a small shop which served tender coconuts, tea, etc. 

Agumbe, the town known as the Cherrapunjee of the South, also happens to be the fictional town of Malgudi. (Of Malgudi Days tele-serial). Agumbe forests are a safe haven for the King Cobra. Several King Cobras and other species of deadly snakes are saved from human settlements, by the team of experts in Agumbe Rainforest Research Station.

The rain kept its tempo and did not subside till we were about 20 kms out of Agumbe, towards Sringeri. We reached Sringeri by 1.45 PM, with the engines running on vapours. All the beasts were fed first, and we moved into the town, for some lunch. We were as usual, hungry people, who loved feeding, when not riding.

When we were about to leave Sringeri, all the pride i had about my Bullet vanished and now i felt the words on quality issues with Royal Enfield, rudely come back to me. The bike developed a strange electrical issue. Any electrical operation like horn, light, indicator, even the brake light, if triggered ON, would cut the off power to the Fuel Pump and the engine would not fire. As advised wisely by The Saint, i unplugged the brake light wirings from the tiny sockets and continued, so that braking didn't affect the engine work. But the bike seemed to have developed its own intelligent way of extending the trouble into the electrical system, seriously hindering the engine operation.

I informed this to the group and wanted a couple of guys to stay along with me, in case of a complete disaster. The Farmer and The Saint tagged along with me, as the rest of the group headed towards Sakaleshpura. The bike finally croaked at Balehonnur, ...at around 3PM...Sadly on a sunday evening.

A mechanic checked but didn't know electrical work. He linked us up with a moody car electrical works chap. After a lot of pleading and buttering, he turned up by 4 PM. He conducted some serious diagnostics on the bike, with sparks flying each time he touched the metal parts of the bike, using a highly complicated handmade customised tool of... 3 pieces of wasted electrical wires.

".. Nothing is working Saar... one last attempt, if it works you can take it home and get it checked with a specialist. Else, i don't know what to do...what to do saar...i am a car electrical fellow.."

My heart sank, as i assisted this Electrical genius, by holding one end of the wire at the battery terminal, for his last ditch attempt to bring life back into my Bullet.

Then there was a Divine intervention (i guess). The Neutral light turned on, and the fuel pump on my 500 EFI hissed. I lifted my head to see the check engine light just turn off. The Jungle genius had done it. He used the same 3 electrical wires and created a bypass of some sort and fastened the wire to the engine guard. He humbly requested us not to mention if someone asked who did this.. (seriously, don't know why?). We paid him and were now speeding to reach Sakaleshpura by night fall. The road was fantastic with neat curves and we were in a splendid mood for racing.

We reached Sakaleshpura Planter's club by 7.15PM and it was already dark. Mr. Bolt had left the group by then, and continued riding back to Mysore due to other engagements. Every thing that we wore was spread on every possible furniture in our room along side currency notes, all the secret contents of our wallets, mobile phones, ...everything, for drying. A good hot water bath charged me up for the evening party.

We all assembled at the balcony of the beautiful bar of the Planter's club and partied with a lot of relief at the end of day. As Madira Devate trickled and eased into us,  The Guru had taken over the stage from The Star this evening. We got to hear some absolutely stomach splitting narratives from The Guru's good old days of the early and mid 90's in Bengaluru. Hilarious occurrences between The Guru and those from the Venus, The Guru and the cops and many more. The narratives gave me a clean pair of lungs, at the end of it.

A long day of curvy roads, unforgiving rains and a little bit of splendid evening sun, had ended well with a great dinner at the planter's club. This edition of the Monsoon Ride had officially ended as we all slept well.

Next day, The Star and Mr. Carbman were to start early and reach their workplace by 10AM. The rest of us planned the long way back home via Madikeri to Bengaluru, to gulp up one last measure of riding the curves in the Western Ghats.

As i finish writing this blog, ...

It dawns upon me that the risks were much greater than how they appeared, when we took them....

The dangers were as real as they could get....

The only thing that made it possible was the deep rooted desire for adventure...

Sitting amidst this chaotic city life, my mind escapes and goes back in time, to the mountains and the roads that we had passed through.

A fantastic Monsoon Ride 2015, had put us to test, on human and mechanical endurance, and it had ended safely on a victorious note.

Looking forward to 2016, ........ i wonder ....where the next Monsoon Ride will take us? 

down south? 

or will it be up North? 

or could it be the .... North east and beyond?.

Only time will tell..

SLr