Motorcycle Diaries Story 3: Happy Birthday Red Demon

My RS200, fondly known as the Red Demon, turned two last week. Two years ago, while it was still in the running-in period, Jose and I rode to Nandi hills. I had to keep the bike under 6000rpm, which was difficult because the Red Demon begs to be rode hard and fast.

On the way up to Nandi. Note the missing registration number on the plates.

I'm more of a motorcycle tourer, not a speedster. Besides, the racy seating on this motorcycle is a stark contrast from the laid-back seating of the 'Bluecephalus', the former Avenger that I sold before I moved to Bangalore. 

Behold the RS200, the Red Demon, with its stickers

View from the hills

We rode through the city to Hebbal; I was entering the main city areas on a two wheeler after two years! Staying in benign BTM earlier and then in ridiculous Kadubeesa-whateverthatshitwasahalli, I restricted myself to the peripheries of Bangalore, notably along the dreaded Outer Ring Road. The 'real' Bangalore, however, is in the heart of the city literally. With the Avenger, I didn't dare venture into the city for the fear of being apprehended by traffic policemen for whom catching non-KA vehicles was as much fun as gambling in Las Vegas (They do strike gold too with the fines that they impose on non-KA vehicles!). 



So, with the Karnataka registered Red Demon, I finally got an excuse to venture deeper into the city on weekends. Well, did I do that often in the last two years? Nah I didn't :P



The ride was smooth and uneventful. Being a weekend morning, we got to see many Hayabusas (which I don't like) and Kawasaki Ninjas (which I do!). Even the occasional cyclist in full gear sped by whenever we took breaks. I was pleased with the ABS on the bike despite it being a single-channel one. Anything is better than nothing, they say. The feedback from the front ABS brakes are nicely fed to the back wheel, thus aiding safe and effective braking. Almost all my falls from previous bikes have been because of wheel lock, so that was why I had been adamant on buying a motorcycle that had ABS. No complaints at all. Even now, two years later, the ABS has helped me often on my commute to/from office. 

Dosas and filter coffee on the way back home

I don't remember the name of the restaurant, but as we returned from Nandi Hills, we stopped at this restaurant for breakfast. The dosas and filter coffees were good! From here, and after covering the highway where I had to resist the temptation to go vrooom, at Hebbal, Jose continued straight into the city, while I turned left on the ORR and headed home.

Now the bike is bereft of those puerile stickers. It now stands shining as good as new in the mezzanine parking at the workplace. 

Heart in the Hills: An Attempt At Poetry

Over there, where the stream gurgles,
before it rolls into the vale.
And through the latticed curtain of deodars,
the morning light twinkles.
Over there by the ledge, where our chalet sits.
Bedazzled by the snow-capped peaks.
From there, watching the changing colors of the hills.
Blue, golden, purple, crimson.
The theatrics of dawn and dusk.
At night, in the tender moonlight,
The hearth and your embrace keep me warm.
In the morning, under the eaves we sit,
Our feet swinging over the ledge. 
Watching the valley,
Your head resting on my shoulder, 
Our hands clasped, we sit,
Wrapped in the morning mist.
Is it really mist, or wisps of your breath,
Or perhaps vapors rising from our coffee mugs?

Over there, when the breeze whistles,
as if happy to have kissed your toes. 
When the trees rustle and the soaring kites mewl.
The mountain birds croon in the greens.
Over there, when the whispers of the valley rise,
We lock lips, as the prayer chants rise. 
Conch shells. Drums. Cymbals and bells. 
The calls of the azaan. 
The merriment of the boarding schools.
Tinkling bells of yaks.
Sighs of wanderers.

Where the gentle rhythm of your heartbeats.
The rise and fall of your bosom.
The tenderness of your mouth, the twinkle in your eyes.
The fragrance of orange citrus Shea butter in your hair. 
The warmth of your slender hands.
Over there, on the hill, on the ledge, by our chalet,
I will meet you again.