Bike Trip to Mahabaleshwar: The Victoria Secrets ride (Oct 2004)

(The photographs in this post are mobile-phone captures of printed photographs; hence the lack of clarity.)

Disclaimer

Let me state this upfront: Not a single one of us in this group is a pervert, even though we are a disparate bunch of individuals with some very esoteric interests, given to bouts of eccentricity every now and then, but never perversion! The thing is, the hotel that we stayed in had only one functional cable-television channel: Fashion TV. Do not ask me how that is possible; sadly, it was so for the whole duration of our two-night stay in Mahabaleshwar.

Helmets on the outdoor breakfast table at Karnala: Abhishek's Bieffe, Kaushal's MPA, my doomed MPA, Madhav's Studds, and Victor's cap :P

Now we spent most of the two days riding our motorcycles in the western ghats, even going to the boarding-school town of Panchgani about 20 kilometres away. So when we returned each evening to the hotel, we needed something - anything - to serve as background music. So, FTV stubbornly stayed on the TV to regale us. Invariably, we all stole a glance or two, sighed at the sight of a few of those skinny, lingerie-clad models, and continued with our banter about motorcycles, rock artists, stand-up comedians, and other things. But FTV persisted in its depravity and decided to make almost all its shows lingerie themed. As though they had to ensure that the brand, Victoria's Secrets, registered in our ride-weary heads.

Bandannas, Balaclava masks, Bikes, and Babes

An ideal motorcycle ride should have had Ducatis and Harley Davidsons, with us handsome, able-bodied riders in leather overalls, with "biker chiks" riding pillion. Instead, we all had bikes of not more than 180cc and with Kaushal hopping from bike to bike as pillion rider. So much for the biker chiks! And the motorcycles, in turn, included a 100cc and a 150cc Hero Honda, a 150cc and a 180cc Bajaj Pulsar, and...a Hayabusa! At least the owner of this 150cc Bajaj Boxer, Victor Rodrigues, made his motorcycle seem like one. For instance, at the point where one turns onto the Mumbai-Goa highway, Victor sped off so fast in the wrong direction, towards Alibag, that biker Abhishek could not catch up with him despite putting up a chase at 120 kmph! It was only after Victor slowed down when he realized that he was on the wrong road that Abhishek caught up with him.

Zen and the Art of Mis-motorcycling

There were other minor mishaps before we reached Mahabaleshwar. Perhaps it was the outcome of the slight arrogance we guys had developed, after our successful and hassle-free ride to Kashid Beach a few seasons ago. A little after the Hayabusa incident, Madhav's Hero Honda CBZ's clutch cable snapped. But the ingenious Maddy had a spare cable and could fix it all by himself! Then, at a pitstop near Indapur, my brand new helmet decided to jump off the rearview mirror on which I'd left it dangling. The visor cracked and so did something in my head. I ripped off the remains of the visor and even flung my helmet back on the road. Er...those were days when I was a bit of an impatient chap; let's just say only so much and leave it at that!

Finally, before reaching Mahad, Victor's bike keys popped out and locked the handlebar, while he was still riding the motorcycle! Fortunately, he managed to slow the bike down without any mishaps and pick up the keys from the roadside. The remainder of the ride, up the lovely winding road to Mahabaleshwar, was uneventful and charming at the same time.

On the road to Panchgani

'Lucky' by Chance in Mahabaleshwar

It is said that this hill town of Mahabaleshwar receives the highest or second-highest rainfall outside of the Himalayas and the Cherrapunji region. During the rains, most hotels shut down, literally cloaking themselves whole in plastic sheets! The dampness gets to you after a while, when the heavy, lashing rain does not relent, and the fog reduces visibility to a few feet. But in autumn, just after monsoon, the hill town is clad in various hues of green with only a sweet nip in the air. We rode around and went as far as Panchgani (Where Victor fell off a horse and hurt his back; thankfully, not too grievously), had two meals at Lucky restaurant - famous for their delicious paaya soup and boti kebabs - indulged in what we do best: gather in the room, eat, drink, chatter away, and of course, endure FTV.

All the bikes neatly lined up at Table Top, Panchgani

Of Reckless Minds and Rides

On the third day, it was time to return home. Our group had split into Puneites and Mumbaiites, and so, the Puneris would ride back to Panchgani from where the Pune-Bangalore highway would take them to Pune, while we Mumbaiites had to return to the Mumbai-Goa highway. All those bewitching ramp models parading up and down in Victoria Secrets lingerie loomed in my head as we rode down the ghats. After we descended and stopped for a quick snack, I realized that the rest of the lot also had VS on their heads. We could have well had pennants in the livery of Victoria Secrets attached to our motorcycles.

Even after we descended from the hills to the plains, I wondered what it would be like to have a rendezvous with one of them svelte models. Doe-eyed beauties, the fragrance of rainwashed earth, the satin caress of their dark skins, their almost barenaked, beckoning bodies. The imagery was as clear as the blue skies and green earth that sprawled ahead of us. It was like a PowerPoint slideshow in the skies, the images of those lovely women flashing one after the other on the blue celestial canvas.

Just before reaching Mahad, it was as though the fantasy magically changed to reality. Quite unabashedly, and literally, I ran into this dark-skinned belle. I remember vividly, even now, how I was hurled at her, how my hands and my face pressed into her belly, and how she moaned aloud. And surely, there was the scent of fresh earth on her, this earthly dusky beauty.

Only after I tumbled over her and landed on my butt did I realize that hers was not the scent of earth but that of fresh dung. I was still lying on my back on the tarred road in a cloud of dust. The dark skinned belle let out another moan, a bellow actually, and returned to the roadside to take a look at what had hit her. At a distance, I saw my friends pull up their bikes to the roadside and a pair of denim-clad legs running towards me. Help was on the way, I thought and smiled, but the pair of legs ran past me and stopped next to my fallen bike. He lifted the bike up, propped it on its stand, and then came running back to me. Somewhere in the shrubbery nearby, I am sure I heard the mocking twitter of a lapwing.

"You're all right?" Abhishek asked. A pair of hands dug into my armpits from behind me and helped me stand up. Victor was clicking his tongue all the while that he helped me up. Fortunately, I was not hurt, thanks to the denim jacket and gloves and helmet and other such paraphernalia. Even the bike was mostly okay, except for the shattered headlight and its visor. The handlebar was slightly bent, but I rode it a little to check if I could manage the remainder of the ride on the bike, and I could. So Victor and I ripped off the headlight, and we decided we had to ride as fast and safely as possible in order to reach Mumbai before nightfall. I waved at the little crowd that had gathered around us and at the buffalo I had run into. Thankfully, she didn't register any  further complaints. Her tail swished twice and she turned around and walked away, quite steadily. I was happy to know that she had also escaped unhurt, if only a little shaken.

Shaken but not stirred

Later, when we stopped for lunch, my friends described the scene. I was riding in front of them, and it was a fairly straight, flat road for a long distance. A herd of buffaloes crossed the road fairly ahead of us, but we had still slowed down a little. Before the last buffalo could cross to the other side of the road, a state-transport bus came flying down, blowing its shrill horn. The last buffalo panicked. Instead of crossing the road quickly, she turned around and ran, once again, across our side of the road. Now the rest of the bikes had disc brakes; my poor Hero Honda Splendour did not. My friends saw me disappear in a cloud of dust and realized that I'd run into the buffalo. The impact threw me over the handlebar, made me somersault over the buffalo and land on my back.

Great 'Un'expectations

I was nicknamed Buffalo Soldier, and for the rest of the ride home, the gang found two reasons to make me the butt of all their rejoinders. First, of course, there was the buffalo incident. Then, after lunch, I called home called home to tell wife dearest that I'll be a little late, but I could hear her weep and snort. I thought one of these chaps called home and reported the incident, but that was not the case.

"I'm pregnant!" she declared and wept again. "What are we going to do now?"

At that point of time in life, neither wifey dearest nor I was expecting a baby. She was looking to join Qatar Airways as airhostess. I was considering moving to Doha and looking for a job for myself, so that I could join her in Qatar. There was also some talk about relocating to Pune where I'd procured an instructional designer's job in the same organization that the Puneite-gang worked in. And then, I hear this.

That 'accident' had me more shaken than this one. I hung up with a few futile attempts at placation, and told my friends, in a daze" "I think I'm going to be daddy."

The laughter that broke out in the biker ranks was deafening.