The third day of the Wayanad Inter State Get To Gether dawned for me at 5 AM as I got up to see our friend Navin gearing up for his solo return ride home. I dispensed away with a bath, deeming it an unnecessary hassle. Geared and ready to leave, I bid a few awake xBHP'ians good bye and set off into the misty cool Wayanad countryside at 6 AM. I had planned the route in detail the previous night itself and the landmark from where I had to turn right to reach Mananthavady was being mentally recited again and again. So with no hassle I found the deviation and the fun truly started.
In the early hours of the day the ride through the country side roads from Sultan Bathery to Wayanad was nothing short of miraculous! Surrounded on both sides by dense greenery and occasional plantations it was simply a joy to ride on. The roads were surprisingly good with clearly marked distance information at regular intervals. The stomach was yearning for a glass of hot tea or coffee but on this Sunday morning no shops were open. The visual delights of the route however obviated any hunger pangs from being too evident. Taking deviations from Panamaram and scouting my route through Mananthavady town I finally was on the road leading to Thirunelli, Kuruva Island and Mysore.
As the kilometers went by the scenery became more and more denser and to me , slightly scary. My dear cousin brother had so lucidly warned me about heightened elephant activity in the region and especially about a rogue bull elephant he had apparently seen the previous day. Mindful of the scant chance a biker has of survival when faced against a wild elephant my trepidation was not little especially as I saw masses of bamboo thickets uprooted by the sides of the roads, an act of power which I attributed to the wild elephant herds roaming in these parts of the Nilgiris.
As I took the leftward deviation just after crossing into Karnataka border my senses were more and more heightened. Mindful of every sound, watchful of every corners all the while navigating through heavily cratered Ghat roads it was a tense ride. However in a short while a Tata Indica car overtook me and from then on I stuck to its rear, maintaining position behind it all the way to Thirunelli. An idiot Maruti 800'er did however mar the joy of riding through verdant green forests by repeated honking and even though I repeatedly gave abundant room for him to overtake the prized jackass did not know how to maintain a faster pace nor to overtake.
However as the cratered stretches gave way to some beautiful stretches of smooth roads I built up my speed and enjoyed the scenery abundantly. As I neared Thirunelli I saw the resort my cousin was staying at but decided to stop at the temple first. Parking my bike in front of a row of buses, vans and cars as the lone biker I must have presented a strange figure clad in my armored riding gear and putting a coin in the temple's offering receptacle (Bhandaram).
After taking a few clicks on my mobile phone I retraced my route to the Agraharam Cottages. The narrow cobbled path down from the road to cottage was extremely slippery and it was only with great concentration that I negotiated my Hunk down the path. Having parked my bike and being escorted to my cousin's cottage I spent some time resting and getting acquainted with three of his colleagues.
After enjoying a welcome cup of tea and sumptuous breakfast we started off on a small trek to a nearby jungle stream. My worn Army boots have zero grip and I am in constant threat of skidding and falling even in the best of pucca tarmac. So imagine my plight as I trekked down the soft and skiddy Wayanadan clay wearing my boots, Fox knee guards and my Cramster K2K 2.0 jacket in a continuously pouring rainfall? After negotiating the downward slope through plantations we negotiated a muddy jeep trail and finally we neared the jungle stream.
The spectacularly beautiful jungle stream had a peculiar kind of bridge spanning across it. From our bank a concrete bridge extended halfway across the river span from where an improvised bamboo bridge connected to the other bank. Our helpful guide informed us that the other half of the concrete bridge was blown away in the previous monsoon in a flashflood in the stream. Sure enough downstream we could see massive concrete boulders broken away by the fury of a stream that was for the moment quite placid. A massive tree was also banked by the remaining half of the concrete bridge providing excellent scenery and also reminding us of the potential force that this stream could assume. As we looked upstream in half horror, half expectation our guide informed that these flash floods come only after about two or three days of continuous rainfall. And it had been raining continuously for at least the past three days that I had spent in Wayanad.
As our more nimble friends went to the other bank and to the forest me and my similarly herculean cousin brother stayed and enjoyed the vistas around us. After a while we trekked a while further up the river bank to visit a jungle resort, a seasonal resort smack in the middle of verdant greenery. The beer bottles arranged in a corner, indicative of recent occupants also brought to mind vastly interesting possibilities for the place.
After some time here we started trekking back to the resort. The going as usual was still more tough for me as the prospect of riding back to Cochin was looming ever largely in front of me. The prospect of skidding was also ever large and a small skid while walking from the Resort's restaurant to the cottage also drove home the fact that my shoes have to be replaced.
At around 11.30 having bid good bye to my cousin and his colleagues I set out on my return ride. My cousin had instructed me to wait for some other vehicle to take the lead but after waiting for a minute by the roadside I decided that this is another moment of casual disobedience and started off. The return ride to the Mysore Highway was even more enjoyable than the ride up after my cousin informed me that all those uprooted bamboo thickets were the work of JCBs the previous day and not elephants as I had so luridly imagined. It was while reaching the junction that I noticed the sign board indicating Kuruva Island - 6 kms. Having come this far, why not a short jaunt! So I revved on up the road to Kuruva Island, a beautiful tarmac and a far cry different from the potholed road to Thirunelli. The steep descent to the Kabini River also added to the thrill of the ride. However the Kabini River had been swollen in the rains and nobody were permitted to the island, whose charms I was and am blissfully unaware of. Having taken a few clicks and a call home to give a status and location update later I set off on my return ride proper.
Having come to Wayanad via the Thamarassery Churam on Day One, I had decided earlier on that I would be returning via the Periya Churam. From Mananthavady, which had gotten far more crowded than it was in the morning I found the Kannur road which goes through the Periya pass.
The farmlands of Mananthavady soon gave way to plantations that dotted the countryside as I followed the beautiful Mananthavady- Kannur road. The rain which had by now slowed down to a drizzle only added to the beauty of the ride as it gave a pleasant undertone to the subdued purring of my Hunk. Stopping for a while near Boy's Town I had some delicious coffee and Ullivada, Parippuvada and Pazhampori from the tea stall.
Having given much needed recuperation to my sore backsides and gotten fresh on the crispy cool mountain air I set off in a brisk pace. Stopping at Periya to buy some tea for home I was soon negotiating the Periya Churam which was dark, green and cool, even at 2 PM in the afternoon. Soon I was riding through the Aaralam forest bracing myself for the plains and its associated humidity which would soon hit me in force and did so from Kannavam. Now I had to remain mindful of the traffic and usual road idiots who make life hellish for any sensible rider. As soon as I left Wayanad District and entered Kannur District roads also started deteriorating in quality. Perhaps it is due to the extreme infestation of Communism and Marxism in Kannur that roads here are so poorly maintained.Perhaps the die hard communists of Kannur wanted to recreate a Road of Bones, the dreaded road which is such a hallmark of Soviet Russian entrepreneurship!
Politics however took a backseat as I reached Thalassery and the hunger pangs became more and more obvious. It was while attending a call from home that I was even aware that the time had been 4 PM! Reaching Mahe after filling the fuel tank to the full I hunted for a good non BAR restaurant while negotiating the extremely horrible roads of the Union Territory. Just out of Mahe I did meet Vineeth Areth a fellow xBHP'ian who was now returning from Wayanad. It was a surprise meeting but soon we were each on our different ways. Loaded up on extra cash at a nearby ATM it was however only at Vadakara that I could have some food. At the Indian Coffee House in Vadakara I had a heavy lupper (lunch-supper) and was soon on the way.
By now my exhaustion was starting to become more pronounced but I had decided that I would reach Cochin.The 250 kilometers to Cochin was a morale buster so I focussed on short hops. First focus was on reaching Calicut and reaching the Calicut bypass before nightfall as that seemed a tricky road to find. At times as I drove through outskirts of Calicut City I feared of having lost my way but eventually before dark fell I reached the junction from where two days earlier we had took the turn to Wayanad. By now my Fox knee guards were biting into my calves with extreme pain and a severe thunderstorm also forced me to lift up my visor fully lest I be blinded by the visor in the tricky dusk light. As in my return ride from Bangalore it was now a race between my endurance and my exhaustion. I started fixing target points to aim for, the first being Kottakkal, a major junction.
Bikers may rule the roads during day time, but at night bikers are at their most vulnerable. Night riding, especially in a land of zero traffic sense where no one EVER dims his head lights is scary in itself but add to that heavy rainfall and extreme exhaustion? Oh yeah, it sure is fun. It is in such times that the rider in me gets the most philosophical. As expounded in my earlier blogs riding is an intensely spiritual and philosophical thing for me. It assures me of my capability to be determined, it assures me of my strength to stand up against adversities, it assures me of my inherent free spirit whose personification is always me, the lone rider. Battered by rains, blinded by headlights and ever fearful of crazy riders I maintained a steely will that no matter what, no matter how late, I will reach home.
As countless villages and towns went by I was praying more and more fervently for Kottakkal to arrive so that I may take a break. When on rides I dont like to stop every now and then. I usually stop only at the edge of pain and exhaustion and always I set targets accordingly. At Kottakkal first I drove into a drive in motel and asked for bike parking. The guard pointed me to a parking spot far to the interior and denied me permission from parking near where several cars where parked. Mentally swearing at the jerk who like most people considered bikers to be second rate citizens and the wagon driven fellows with extreme obsequity, I did not stop long. However a few hundred meters away I saw a Fast Food Joint where I decided to rest for a while. Refreshing myself with some snacks and a leisurely rest later I was back on to the road, with my next destination - Trichur.
The good roads, well positioned reflectors ensured a steady clip to Trichur where for the first time I decided not to take the Pannithadam-Kecheri road and instead drove through Kunnamkulam, a town which normally so crowded was at this time of night, nearly 9.30 PM quite deserted. The rain started picking up intensity and as I drove through Trichur City it was actually blinding. As I drove round the Swaraj Round rain was so heavy that even my blinking was slow enough to remove the water from my eyes and it was actually getting fuzzy to my own eyes. In Trichur that night I must have been the only biker on the roads. In fact as I reached NH47 from Thalore I must have been the only person driving any vehicle with less than 6 tires.
As I reached NH47 however the ride became more relaxed as the 4 and occasionally 6 lane highway enabled me to maintain a steady and fast pace, dodging occasional trucks. The rains had also slacked off by then. On the watch out for any good restaurant to have a dinner I finally stopped at Hotel Crystal Palace near Karayamparambu Junction just out of Angamaly. Refreshed by a warm dinner I was finally on my home run.
I have always maintained an edict that it is always the last few kilometers of any travel that are the most fraught with danger. The exhaustion, the relief and the complacency of being near to home and in familiar roads breeds a lack of caution that is extremely dangerous. Thus mindful I was riding through Kalamassery and Edapally Junction when the question I asked in the beginning cropped up in my mind. I did not answer "YES" immediately neither did I say "NO". A few seconds of soul searching was what it took for me to come up with the answer of "Am I ready and willing to go on a similar ride tomorrow itself?".
The answer was Yes.
In a heartbeat.
Often I had wondered whether my passion for biking and riding was merely a thing of contemplation during times of comfort but at this time I realized that it does not matter to me how bruised, how battered, how exhausted I was, for the sheer pleasure of riding, I am willing to bear it all as part of the game. It was then that I realized that the Wanderlust for me is not a passing flu, but a genetic infestation that would be in my bones forever. It was then that I realized that I was born to ride.
