Avi heads to Bike Week not knowing what to expect. He barely makes it in one piece, but then finds what he’s looking for!
If you ride a bike, you know that there’s a feeling you get when all your senses are at 100%. You probably also know that when you ride with other people, you share that feeling, and are connected with each other. This is what I think bonds those who ride. I was looking for this feeling when I rode down to Goa a few weeks ago for India’s first Bike Week.
Heading out of Bombay, I just couldn’t hit those notes. I wasn’t getting into the ride for some reason. I kept waiting for what was around the next corner, and not enjoying where I was. About 400 kilometers into the ride, I saw some bikes parked on the side and knew that they were on their way as well – hopefully this would change the mood. It didn’t. The three of us rode on, and on the way we picked up a BMW Funduro.
Then it happened right in front of me. The guy on an Enfield was well past 100km/h going past two trucks in the fast lane. The truck didn’t see, or care about, the bike and just cut into the fast lane. As if in slow motion, I saw the rider do all he could to miss the truck – but they inevitably collided. Luckily, the rider got thrown off and rolled onto the divider. The truck went over the bike, smashing its wheels, and smashing my sense of reality. I stopped and prayed – luckily the rider was alive and mobile. He sat down, thankful to be alive, and then got angry.
The rider went to the truck driver, and beat him close to an inch of his life. Then came the backlash, the villagers. They came and started beating the rider. By this time I had passed them, and didn’t know what to do. I stopped a few more riders, but none of us could get into the brawl. We would have been killed. I didn’t know what to do at that point. I could go back and get into it, or I could ride on. I couldn’t leave him, but I was scared to fight the 100 odd villagers. Just then I saw the rider running away from the crowd, waving his hands yelling, “help-help.” Behind him dozens of villager chasing ready to shred him to pieces. I got the engine going, he made it, and jumped onto the back of my bike. I rode like the wind, and made it to a restaurant 30 kilometers away. His friends were there, and he was alive. My duty was done.
The rest of the ride was just managing my nerves, and was not fun in the least. I made it to Goa by nightfall, found a hotel, and shut down the horrible day.
The next morning, after a nice ride out to the beach, a beer and some good fish at a shack, I was ready for some biking action.
The India Bike Week setup was massive – that’s the first thing that struck me. These guys had been advertising this thing like crazy for the last few months, and the set up was just like any other bike show I had been to around the world. Since this was also the first Harley HOG (Harley Owners Group) national meeting, they had sponsored a part of the event, and that meant only Harley’s could park inside. I didn’t like that at all, but that’s the sign of respect in riding.
Inside was everything you can imagine a biker would want. Beer at Rs. 50 each, classic bikes, babes in bikinis (not the prettiest), custom choppers, gear for sale, music, and lots of riders. As soon as I rode in, I met some friends from Delhi – who had ridden their Harley’s for a week from Delhi to Goa. They saw my bike for the first time, and, since two of them were Dosco’s, I showed them the Doon School sticker on the side of my bike. He cheered, showed respect, hugged, and the feeling was back. The Bike Week had started for me.
The rest of that Saturday was spent getting to know the thousands of riders there. I met guys from Hyderabad, Bangalore, Delhi and the North East – all of whom had ridden down, and all had stories to share. The day just got better and better! I got my first dose of inspiration. On the main stage was unveiled India’s first V-Twin 700cc bike. A Café Racer designed beautiful Red Devil (in my mind). The two creators were on stage, and they looked like proud parents. It took them more than five years, but they designed and built this machine from the ground up. I connected with Dean and Anand, the proud parents. I saw an opportunity, and wanted to see this bike of theirs in most garages in India – let’s see how that comes to life.
The rest of the day was a party. I met the Great grand daughter of Mr. Harley. She came down for this event, and told us how she was blown away that we could actually ride like we do in India. Before I knew it, there was nightfall and the organizers were calling for the last song. I had become friends with them by now, and thanked them tremendously for setting this up. We all headed out after that and went to a corner in Goa under a banyan tree. One restaurant, all the travelers and more drinks.
Sunday started on the beach again, this time nursing my state. Chilled out all day, ate ice cream, drank a lot of water, and watched bikes riding around. Came back to my old Portuguese house converted into a hotel. Spoke to the owner about the generations who had lived there and got a little culture in just by walking through the house.
On the way back, crossing the mountains was everything you dream of in a ride. Everything worked well, the weather, the traffic, the natural curves flowing from one dream into another. I had a bunch of Harley’s behind me and we all just cruised through – sharing that feeling I was looking for.
India Bike Week, or weekend, was interesting to say the least. It was something new. For some, it was a celebration of riders – for some, a chance to meet friends. For me, a statement – saying that we too have the ability to celebrate our lifestyles, other then just chasing our tails all day.
Seventy, the event management company (which has ‘event’ within the name), took the risk, put up the money, and gave this a shot. I don’t know if they made money, or just enjoyed what they did. But I hope they realize what they did for the community. This gives us a platform to get together (hopefully year-after-year) and make friends nationally.
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