BullAdi

Getting dirty in the moonlight

Another weekend – no good movies to watch, not in the mood for “visitings” – something has to be done to make it different from the other five days of the week. What could be more fun than cleaning my Bull? !! (I have been postponing it for a while now). So, off I went with my toolkit and the pail full of “bike-cosmetics”. After getting done with the water wash, it was time for the “cosmetics” – shampoo for the paint, liquid cleaner concentrate for the chrome, Brite-O for the rust, Autosol to buff the aluminum and finally the wax to polish the Bull (not to mention the grease and the oil for the moving parts). Hmmmmm time well spent. Its 6 O’clock in the evening and its time to take my shining Bull out for a ride.
I was hoping to catch the guys at out regular hangout. Beasent Nagar beach has always been the unofficial meet-up place for the MadBulls (aka MadrasBulls). And sure enough, from around the corner I could see the other Bulls (also shining) lazing by the beach side. The next 3 hours were spent catching up with every one and reliving the trip to Horsley hills where we all rode to, last week.

Just when we thought we’d disperse for the day, some one remembered an invitation to a party that was given to the entire group. Pone calls were made for the whereabouts and directions. Sure enough we were all expected at this ranch/farmhouse outside the city some 30Km away.

Finally 10 of us took off on our bikes. Only one guy knew the way and the rest followed him on the ECR (East Coast Road) dodging the heavy traffic. As we crossed the city out skirts the traffic had dwindled leaving the open roads for us. We had to stop for a few of the Bulls to tank up. I got my air pressure checked. Just as we were about to take off we heard three other MadBulls roll into the bunk. They were also heading for the same party. Thus the entire pack got on to the road in a single file and drove steadily. The beauty of the ECR is that it is laid along the shore line for its entire length. Once in a while you get to cross a bridge over the sea water. The sound of water lashing onto the pillars and the sight of the open sea on that dark night was a eerie but exiting feeling. We rode on till the pack leader decided to cut right into what was a dirt track.

This silly excuse of a road (a path actually) weaved left and right into the dark (what lay beyond could not be seen as our head lights were the only source of light). The guy riding in the front was the only one who could see the road ahead the rest were driving into a cloud of dust thrown by the bike infront (and I just cleaned my bike :-( . The turnings were tricky as loose gravel lay scattered and it was very easy to loose control (very easy, it turned out to be). From afar one could see the dancing lights of out bikes on this bumpy rough terrain which lead us into the gates of the farm house. We were greeted by our good friend who invited us, sitting on his 535. We were directed to take our bikes along the dirt track (which has changed to soft sand by the way) into the open grounds of the property. Here I was surprised to find a proper obstacle course setup for the horses. On enquiring I came to know that the owners of the place not only rear horses but also coach horse riding. This was complimented by the thorough breds standing in the stables.

The Paaardy *
We were among the first ones and got the DJ to play the songs of our own choice. We were told that a couple of rock bands are due to perform later in the evening and with the guests filling in slowly, tings were looking promising. The first of the bands was an all girl band who did a very good job of imitating Nelly Furtado. The second band took half hour to tune their equipment and then went on to bore the audience by singing their “own” compositions. By then most of the guests have gotten comfortably high (me on orange juice) and solo who was a bit more irritated than the others by the racket going on, decided to show the punks on stage what the real music was. On his que, we all started our bikes gradually revving them to peak. Every time the band decided to sing another of their “own” compositions, they were greeted by the thump of 13 bullets. The fun went on for a while and then we called it quits before some one got offended. By mid night it had gotten scruffy in there and we all exulted at the idea of a small ride. Fresh air and apparently for some food (getting out of a party for food is probably the lamest excuse ever for a ride) is what we rode back 7Km for. Riding at midnight on a highway (one as ECR) is a different fun altogether. Ride we did, to this restaurant called ECR Dhaba which was about to be closed. Got the chef to rekindle the stoves and probably for the first time the waiter decided the order (depending on what was available), not us. Had a surprisingly good meal considering the make-do arrangements. While dining we received a call from another MadBull who was lost on his way to the party. Apparently he and his friends (a car full of people) were at some other boring party and decided to chance their luck with this one. We asked them to rendezvous at a landmark (a tea stall on the road side) and tagged them all to the party. Things looked better by the time we got back, the band playing some recognizable tunes and more people had joined in. We all parked our bikes and got ourselves comfortable on our respective bikes. Under the clear sky with thick air and pleasant breeze from the seaside, with a live band performing - the weekend has just started.

Everyone bites the dust
Unknown to us, Solo (who was comfortably high by then) decided to take his bike out for a spin. When he came back, he looked as if he was in a 10 round boxing match. He had bad scratches and bruises all over him with a badly cut upper lip. I later came to know that it was at the same treacherous turning where the loose gravel lay scattered that Solo lost control over his bike and hit the ground hard. Solo is one of the best riders I have met and is known for his control over the beasts we ride. One can understand how bad this dirt track was, in spite of Solo’s excuse fro his “slow reactions”. We immediately left the party (t’was boring anyways) with Solo riding pillion with Jai and Yakub decided to hitch a ride back on my bike. The plan was to get Solo cleaned up and be taken to a hospital. Once we ere back on the ECR, we all locked our throttles at 60kmph and cruised back to the city. Even with the knowledge of your fellow riders accident just minutes ago, you cannot but help enjoy the ride on the ECR. It is the combination of the well laid roads and the cool breeze from the sea that has a bewitching effect on a rider. I dropped Yakub at his place and called Antony to check on Solo’s condition. After confirming that all is well, I headed off to end my day (it was almost 3.30 in the morning).

It is always fun to ride alone in the night, through the otherwise busy junctions with open roads. With the plan to hit the bed in a short while, I was all set to get comfortable. Just as I was turning to Velachery, the cop at the check post decided to stop me. I have just done 70 KM odd ride out side the city and I get stopped meteres away from my house. As dictated by the guy with the lathi, I parked my bike (making sure I pocketed the key before he snatched it) and went to the main guy. He already had a small group of people in front of him. He gave me a nod and I ever politely asked him for the reason why I was stopped. I produced every document he asked for, I was not speeding, and to his dismay neither was I drunk. With no other choice but to let me go, he quoted me as an example to shout at the other poor imbeciles – who, I am sure, still must be cursing me for parading with “more than necessary” documents.

Thus the day ended definitely being different from the other five days of the week.

Lessons learnt:
Do NOT drink and drive – no matter how good a rider you are
Carry all the necessary papers all the time.
Do get on to the ERC when ever you can.

* Vocabulary courtesy : Dosai

posted by Addy @ 1:45 AM