Kolkata to Hyderabad on a Bike

Early mornings and late nights are when you can hear the city breathing. It’s when you can feel the city to its soul. And I’m so glad I planned my way out of the city at such time when I could hear it breathing one last time. Once I had reached the highway out of the city, it was only after that my paranoia started to settle down. The rumbling of the engine had started to feel more like music now. The rhythmic transmission of gears and curves, it felt like home. Like it was where I was supposed to be. Like it was what I was supposed to do. My plan was very simple and had no complications. Drive as long as you can, as far as you can, stop wherever you felt like stopping, smoke a cigarette, hydrate yourself, feed yourself, and repeat.

Travelling alone especially on a motorcycle may sound a little overwhelming but it has its own perks. Sure you don’t get anyone to help you if any trouble was to break loose on you. But you also don’t have to deal with drama and liabilities. When I started the trip, I focused more on the latter part but the former part didn’t quite leave me alone as well, but we’ll get there when we get there.

My first stop wasn’t much far away from home. Mandarmani, not very far from Odisha-Bengal border as well. Very quiet, about 10 people on a 3 km long beach and it was clean. There wasn’t much to that place but to my amazing good luck, the weather that evening was simply amazing. It was cloudy to the point of a storm but no storm. The wind sounded as if it carried the ghosts of all the men who once lost themselves in the deep ocean. It was hauntingly beautiful. And so more it was after a few joints. It was a high tide that night. I spent some good 3 hours sitting alone on a broken pillar on the beach doing nothing; absolutely nothing. It was the most beautiful feeling I had experienced in a very long time. As if time had stopped, and it stopped for me. The howling winds put on the most enchanting score and the setting sun made the sky bleed.

Day #2

I tried to leave the place next day as early as possible which I’ll figure out later wasn’t early enough. It was all good and merry and as any normal journey would be when I left from that place in the morning. The first few miles were through broken stretches within local villages which fell on the border of Odisha and Bengal but then after that, I found the highway and everything went back to normal; at least it seemed like it did. I was doing absolutely fine, rocking over 100kmph easily and then suddenly the bike halted. It coughed a little and then finally the engine shut itself. I got down the bike and fidgeted with carb and spark plug socket to check if everything was fine, which was. I tried to figure out what exactly had happened but nothing I was doing making the bike start. I dragged the bike for a few 100 metres and found a local bike workshop. I asked the mechanic to take a look at which even after my repeated requests, he refused upfront on the face saying we don’t service Enfields. So I turned to uncle Google for help and located the nearest Royal Enfield Service centre. I called them up for an on-site breakdown servicing. The technician came after some 40 minutes. Took almost 3 hours to figure out the problem and fix the bike.

I knew I was already late and running behind time. I should have reached my next stop for the day. I decided to not stop for the meal and would have food straight at the resort I had booked in Gopalpur, Odisha. I reached Gopalpur sometime around 9 in the evening which I should have by 5. Anyway, shit happens. Right? You can either let it drag you down with you or dust it off. I drove at un-natural speeds for an Enfiled bike. Which did cause the bike a few damages, not engine wise but other mechanics. Nothing major, just a few loose bolts here and there. I had already decided to stay in Gopalpur for another day and fix the bike.

Gopalpur is some 20 km away from the highway and that 20 km stretch gets pitch black during nights. No Street lights, almost non-existent population. Only the silhouettes of small mountains which I could see under the clear moonlit sky. It was scary but amazing. The resort was located on a slope from where the road would directly lead you to the beach.

As the keys to my rooms were handed over I asked the attendant if there was a place somewhere near where I can get a few beers. The owner of the resort was himself sitting in a room in front of the reception with his father with glasses filled with whiskey came out and asked me to freshen up and come down there. “We ourselves are always on a lookout for people to have drinks with.” I nodded and went up to my room. I settled in my room and cleaned up. took a short nap and then came downstairs to look for dinner. To my surprise, the father-son duo was still going on with their booze.

“Hi…”

“Join us”, the old guy said.

“So you’re coming from Punjab?” He asked.

“I’d like to think so but no, I’m riding from Kolkata.”

“We thought you’re coming from Punjab. I saw the number plate on your bike,” said the son.

“I used to live in Punjab at one time.” I said, “I moved to Kolkata almost two years back”

“Where are you going?”

“Hyderabad.”

“Waise hi ghumne or something else?”

“…something else,” I said.

“I once used to do a lot of bike trips,” said the old guy pouring some whiskey in his glass. “I owned a 76 model Jawa CL-II” He continued, “My friends and I would deliberately go to all the worst roads ever to drive a bike on.”

“Why the worst?” I asked.

“They change you… they change you for the better.” He said, “Paved roads are fun to ride. But putty roads, boulders, fields, mountains… they teach you how to ride.” This discussion ran for something over 3 hours before I finally bid my farewell to them for the night and went back to my room to sleep. Although I was dead tired- But sitting with them and talking… For that whole time, I had forgotten my body needed rest as well. Long story short — It was a day well ended.

Day #3

The next day I woke up early despite sleeping late. I smoked a cigarette and pulled my tools out of the bag and went down to the parking area. I spent the morning fixing up the bike. By the time I was done it was already lunchtime. I freshened up and went out to explore the town a little. I found this really small shack on the beach. The weather was humid but it wasn’t hot. I spent around 2 hours roaming the town before coming back to resort. The attendant called me up and gave me some weed wrapped up in a newspaper with a chillum and said, “Sir bol ke gaye hai apko dene ke liye”(Sir asked me to give it to you) I was nothing but all smiles. I smoked up and the rest was just a trance.

Day #4

I left Gopalpur at around 5:30 in the morning. The morning sea breeze begged me to stay for a few more days but the calling was greater for me. I drove for about 3 hours without a stop before reaching Vizag. I didn’t get to take a trip around the city but I did stop there for breakfast. The day was beautiful and the roads were more so, the weather was favourable and everything else was just falling together to make a great day ahead, till someone crashed their van behind my bike. The rear fender was all damaged. I couldn’t really argue with the guy because, language. I somehow drove to the nearest bike repair shop and asked them to take the rear fender off the bike. I knew I wouldn’t be able to carry it along so I left it with them. Spent another hour at the bike shop and then I was on my way again.

Day #5

I started my last day of the ride as early as 4 in the morning. One, I didn’t want the evening office traffic to be the first thing to hit me in Hyderabad, and two, I couldn’t sleep properly well because of mosquitoes. And with something or the other happening with me or my bike on every ride-day, I was mentally prepared that day for anything the world had to throw at me. For me, it was like — What’s the worst that could happen? I started off the morning with the first bracket of my ride being 120 km. I stopped at a roadside stall for some tea and something to eat. It was about the time when the sun was rising, I finished my breakfast and tea. Ok, let me tell you something. You are on a highway stretch and both sides of the roads are covered with a tree belt and beyond the belt is barren land for as far as your eyes can see. And from that horizon you see the morning sun gliding up the sky slowly like your lover who woke up after a good night’s sleep, playing hide and seek with the clouds as if she asks to sleep a little more and then finally rises up, spreading and gleaming all her warmth and when that warmth falls on your face — At that moment, you are in euphoria.

The weather was beautiful and so were the roads. I was doing really 110–115kmph easily and the ride couldn’t go any smoother. As I was nearing Hyderabad — As much joy I felt, it was almost equally saddening. The ride was almost over. The joy of having it done, having ridden so far for so long and all on my own, and the sorrow of it all being over. It’s like one of those things with which you have that love-hate kind of relationship. You hate going through it while you don’t want it to get over as well. It was Eid that day and the city greeted me with herds of people dressed in whites moving in unison on the roads either or bikes or walking. It looked like nothing I’ve ever seen before. This never came to my mind that It was essentially an off day for people and instead of office traffic I was witnessing the festive hurdles. I had already arranged for my accommodation and everything else needed, even before I started the trip. I reached there sometime around 2 in the noon. I rode about 600 km that day — Ideally I should’ve been tired but that didn’t happen. I threw my bags in my room, checked my phone, countless notifications, I called up my friend and said, “Oi… Pohuche gechi!”(I reached!) with a grin almost as wide as my face. We talked for another few minutes and then I informed my parents about my arrival.

A couple of people have asked me since then, “What was it like?” and all I could tell them was it was one of the most painful yet most beautiful things I’ve done. I guess that’s why Ibn Battuta said, “Travelling leaves you speechless and then turns you into a storyteller.”

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