The Strawberry Run!

As the juices flowed from between the astoundingly red and pink slices of strawberries, Aaron and I looked on with hungry eyes. My mind was busy making the scenario even more interesting by throwing in a hot brunette and some molten chocolate, but obviously Aaron had other thoughts on his mind because he suddenly said, “Look at her pants”. I thought he was just being discreet and that he actually meant look at her legs. But he was indeed intrigued by the strawberry skin pattern that was on the pants of one of the staff at the Mapro outlet. What I had not noticed during my blissful indulgence in far from real fantasies was this example of how the strawberry, in some way or the other seems to be omnipresent. The whole of Mahabaleshwar has this underlying theme, this presence, this unusual essence of strawberries. So, it was not surprising that our two day ride to Mahabaleshwar was lovingly and appropriately named 'The Strawberry Run'.

Since its announcement, 'The Strawberry Run' had created quite a stir. Everybody wanted to go! But work and other related responsibilities reduced the numerous initial, enthusiastic ‘ayes’ to 16 definite and confirmed ones. As the day arrived, people were busy gearing up, getting their bikes ready and getting excited. Tanmay could not sleep the previous night and a lot of us spent quite a few waking hours in bed, waiting for dawn to finally arrive.

When the day arrived, the guys from Ponda - Kalpesh, Akshay and yours truly - met up and rode to Banastarim. Early morning rides are always fun since traffic is sparse, the climate enjoyable and all other forms of life are just waking up. A little fog in the beginning sort of set the tone for the ride considering that we were off to a hill station. We didn’t do anything heroic or exceptional in terms of speed or style of riding as we too were in the process of waking up and getting our engines and tyres warmed up.   First stop was at the Amona brige for a photo shoot. Sparkling bikes, sparkling gear and clean, fresh and smiling faces were recorded and saved. A day filled with riding meant that only the smiles would remain so till the end. Our next stop was at the rendezvous point near Sanquelim.  We got there after our customary running in with an idiot on a Royal Enfield and a moron on a Pulsar, who somehow assumed that a geared up rider is always looking for a scuffle. They came up beside us, revved hard, took pride in their lack of gear, looked down on us for wearing helmets and in general made a nuisance of themselves. Apart from that, the ride was sedate and comforting. The trees, rivers and plains of Goa in stark contrast to the buffoons we ran into, were inviting and welcoming and the sun had just begun beaming down upon us as we waited for everybody to gather.

We had a little time on hand before the other GEARheads were scheduled to arrive. So without wasting a moment we started the standard biker chat about sexy bikes we would probably never own, The Isle of Man, MotoGP and hot chicks - in that order. After that, we checked to make sure the bungee cords were doing a good job of holding our luggage in place and just stood around kicking some stones and dirt around till we heard the rumble of the rest of the brood arriving. We looked on with anticipation at the corner around which the riders were expected to arrive. And when they did, what a sight it was! Just the image of gear clad riders moving in formation with lights burning and bikes gleaming was enough to make everybody on the road stop and stare. It was evident from their faces that the residents of the quaint, quiet village had not prepared themselves for so much excitement on a sleepy Saturday morning.   With the customary introductions and quick photo-shoot completed, we officially began 'The GEARS Strawberry Run'.

The first bit was the one everybody looked forward to - the twisty bits of Chorla Ghat. And it did not disappoint. The roads were amazing, the scenic beauty was breathtaking and the narrow, bendy bits of tarmac had very little traffic. We all tried to be Rossi on the curves, butts out, knees abandoned to gravity and crazy lean angles. I am sure some guys followed amazing lines and got close to having perfected the corners. I made all sorts of mistakes, slid all over the place, almost ran off the road on many occasions but somehow managed to stay alive. But it was incredible fun. Getting it wrong and averting crap-inducing situations always put a smile on my face and I am sure every single rider, perfect or not, had an absolutely wonderful time.

The road continued on to Belgaum, where we joined really crazy traffic. The strain began to show as we cursed and jostled our way through the nasty rickshaws, lethargic pedestrians and rule-breaking two-wheelers. We soon adopted the 'When in Rome' rule and and fought tooth-and-nail to get out of the city. Upon our exit, we took a much-welcomed breather on the wide and beautifully-smooth Belgaum - Kolhapur highway before setting off towards Kolhapur. Our goal was to reach Kolhapur by lunch time.

The highway run saw every rider test his bike and himself to the maximum as it is full of excellent straights with great all-round visibility. We could all hit the rev limiters in top gear, set maximum speeds and see how our bikes did in crosswinds and panic-braking situations. We actually panic-braked quite a bit as most truck drivers on this route are extremely unruly and do not consider life forms on two wheels to be in any way significant. They changed lanes and got in the way in the most ridiculous fashion and we had to make sure we didn’t end up being roadkill. We fell back on the wisdom of one Mr. Calvin of 'Calvin and Hobbes' fame - “Ride fast or be roadkill”. The second issue was pedestrians. They very studiously and purposely avoided all zebra crossings and popped up like gophers through the foliage along the road dividers. We had to work overtime to make sure we didn’t grant those pedestrians their death wishes.

After an incredibly eventful ride of 110 kilometres, we were at the lunch stop - Mc Donald's Kolhapur. We must have made quite a sight as we walked into the place. All heads turned towarqu us and stared as their Mc Maharajas leaked molten cheese and mayo. They went back to eating when the cheesy puddles got bothersome in their laps. Here we met our fellow member, Aniket, who was to join us for the rest of the ride. We ordered our food, found comfortable spots and settled down for an hour and a half of downtime.  Stories about the ride so far made up the lunchtable discussion. We finished by about 2:30 PM and geared up again for the next bit of the ride.

It was a 90 kilometre cruise over the same highway till the left hand turn off to Mahabaleshwar. Here, the riders truly spread out. Post lunch speeds varied and people settled to whatever speeds suited them and their motorcycles. On the largely somnolent stretch I distinctly remember my bike turning into a Ducati 848, a BMW R1200R, a MV Agusta Brutale and maybe some Benelli here and there. The saner bit of my brain says I was dreaming but I want to believe that it really happened. We stopped at the turn off towards Mahabaleshwar and waited for all the riders to arrive. Here something interesting happened. Now you should know that Tanmay and his new Hyosung had started their honeymoon quite early in the ride. By noon time Tanmay had been at it for nearly 5 hours, and told us that his new bike was very demanding and that he already had a terrible lower back and shoulder pain. We didn’t help matters by ribbing him about his rompy love life. So after lunch, Tanmay decided he would make sure he showed his demanding new partner a good time and in a fit of passion and excitement rode off in such fervour that he missed the turn off to Mahabaleshwar and sped towards Pune in a mixture of bliss and heady excitement. By the time the effects of the endorphins died down, he had overshot the turnoff by 20 kilometres and had to make his way back. As we waited for him, an industrious Fakir came over and very casually and effortlessly relieved us all of ten bucks each. Once Tanmay and two others who had strayed were back, it was about half past four and we started the last leg of the journey to Mahabaleshwar.

We rode through great village roads, hit Panchgani and really began enjoying the breathtaking ghat leading to Mahabaleshwar. The scenic beauty was astounding and the roads were so good that nobody, not a single rider gave up his bike in favour of a camera to take photographs of the great landscape. It was a hoot climbing the ghat and hitting the curves as hard as we could. By the time we had reached our destination at the MSTDC Resort, the only points we stopped at were where the cops stopped us for a routine check and the check-post just before Mahabaleshwar. At every stop onlookers were full of questions. The big-bike guys got the standard questions - cost of bike and fuel average. We, average guys got the - “How crazy are you really to ride 500 kilometres on a bike?” kind of questions.

When we reached the reception of the MSTDC cottages at Mahabaleshwar, we took a short break before being shown to our accommodations. Here I sat thinking about what I (and the others) had expected on arriving at Mahabaleshwar. We had all pictured ourselves in riding jackets and dirty denims, helmets held at our sides and a swagger in our steps walking the high, narrow roads of Mahabaleshwar as the girls checked us out with yearning and love in their eyes. We dreamt that the image of bikes and bad-ass bikers combined would be irresistible to the fairer sex. Well, (as I was to find out much later) the dirty denims didn’t work at all and the admiring glances from the girls were reserved for Mr. Tanmay Kamat and his sexy Hyosung GT250R. He was, by his own account, the recipient of a few flying kisses. So, as a team, we had scored.

We relaxed for a couple of hours at the cottages where we were joined by fellow GEARheads, Selwyn and Anant, from Pune. We then headed out to dinner, and after the customary restaurant selection process found one and settled down. The food was good, the aerated drinks lacked fizz and the waiters were a little incompetent, but we managed. At our post-dinner meet and banter program we decided to be up early and start out so that we were back in Goa before it was completely dark. The next day we did manage to start out quite on time after a good breakfast at the monkey-infested PWD Cafeteria. We were all rested and refreshed and one of us was doped on pain meds (the non opioid ones of course). We started off with gusto, hitting the ghat again with tremendous excitement. We had just gone up less than 12 hours ago, but it seemed every bit as wonderful as on the day before. The road is truly brilliant and one cannot get enough of it. But, as soon as one sees the sheer drop along the side of the road, the excitement gives way to cautiousness. Slowly Keith Code got pushed out of our brains, our wrists were reigned in and we made sure we did not stray from our lines. Once we were down, we stopped off at the Mapro outlet, where everybody enjoyed all forms of preparations made from fresh strawberries. Having done justice to the title of our ride, we set off with enough strawberry products on us to attract some kind of fruit tax or the other. Especially Ashvek who lashed a very conspicuous box filled with fruit stuff to the tiny little tail of his R15. We followed the same route as the previous day and were back to Kolhapur by lunchtime. Fed, watered and fuelled up, we rode on to Belgaum, ploughed through the traffic again and set off for home.

With the scent of Goa looming just past the border, we ripped through the ghats, which made us shiver at the end of the run. Not due to the sheer pace but on thinking about what would have happened if the oncoming traffic had strayed into our lane. We were happy we only had to imagine it and not witness it. There were a few close shaves though, mainly because of the narrow roads where the trucks climbing up show zero consideration to oncoming traffic. But without debate everybody agreed it was the most fun bit, we chased corners with abandon and came out all leaned over with engines and exhausts screaming. In short, it was EPIC. Once back to Sanquelim, we all stopped off to say our goodbyes and with promises of another ride soon, we sped off homeward.

On my way home I started to think. There was this one incident- on the way back I had separated from the group at Belgaum to attend to a bit of business before rejoining the rest. I was standing at a store waiting for my receipt when I heard a female voice behind me say, “Yuck, look at the dirt on his jeans.” I smiled at my earlier notion that dirty denims would be admired as a sign of ruggedness and endurance by the ladies. The dirty denim which was so abhorrent to the girl behind me, I wore as a well-earned battle suit. And it HAD been a battle out there.  I was literally spat on, bullied by other road users and almost got killed, but I enjoyed every moment of the ride in spite of all of that. I realized that my bike and I had endured it all and really had a great time. Given a chance, I would do the exact same thing all over again without even washing the bloody jeans. And I'm sure the same was true with every other person who rode along with me.

So, why did we do it? The answer came to me soon after. I was up early with an hour to kill until I actuallyhad to get up and do something worthwhile with my life. I was staring out blankly through my window with a mug of hot tea in my hand. There were three kids on the road outside with one bicycle between themselves. They all seemed to be in Grades 5 to 7 and were starting their holiday routine. Seeing them I realized that our rides made us, well, them. We were with our mates, had no other plans, had the whole day to ourselves and could go pretty much anywhere we wanted. We had two blissful joy-filled days, greedily grabbed from the jaws of work, responsibility and boredom, and we were with the one man-made thing we love most - Motorcycles. The ride was really about the bikes, they were the real stars; the whole lot, from the big and burly Hyosung ST7 to the puny (by comparison) Yamaha FZ16 and all the other sexy sports and nakeds in between. How much and why exactly we love them is very difficult to explain, so I seek help from one Mr. Richard Hammond, a biker and one of the presenters of the hugely popular BBC’s Top Gear auto show. He said, “ ’Me and the bike'. We endure it together. I wouldn't feel the same way about a car. So, why the extra bonding business with a bike? It's because they've only got two wheels. One of my esteemed colleagues is forever moaning that a bike falls over when you park it. And yes, it will. It needs a metal prop to lean on, or you, the rider, to hold it. And that vulnerability is key to its appeal, I think... I am left with the rather beautiful image of rider and bike, fused into one, better machine, working together. Without me at the traffic lights, my bike would fall over, stranded. Without my bike, I would be left at those lights when they change, equally stranded. Together, though, we can tackle the lights, the traffic and even a careless farmer's muddy surprise on a greasy bend somewhere in Herefordshire.”

I would like to add to his statement and say, with a motorcycle’s vulnerability, is also its power. Its power to do serious damage to the rider, a power it has no control over. The power which we, the riders, channelize and harness. A motorcycle’s power with its vulnerability and its unique give-and-take relationship with a human rider makes it strangely and beautifully alive and that is probably why we love them so much.

- Dr. Ashwin Mysore