Some more pics from Gingee Fort ride

Farewell, my friend.

After 28000km, 3.5 years, 20 services, weekly washes, countless rides, mountain peaks, densest forests, greenest fields, exciting roads, beautiful pictures and pleasant memories came a day when I had to part company with my beloved friend.

I worked hard for well over a year to prove something to myself and to the world. In the end, I achieved it and got my bike as a reward. I had to wait 6 long months for my bike to be conceived and delivered to me. The wait was mixed with curiosity, excitement, frustration and even depression, but it was worth every second. It was one ‘pleasant’ summer evening that I got my first chance to swing a leg over my friend’s saddle. A crowd of onlookers had gathered to watch the spectacle of ‘the kid and his new toy’ and I went straight at the kickstarter and immediately stalled it. I repeated the same process a couple of times before my new found freedom revved it engine and idled steadily. That day was also the farewell to my another bike [a 1986 Suzuki AX100] which made way to accommodate its next generation.

The bonding between my bike and myself was intense. We were not a rider and his motorcycle, but a warrior and his stead. We talked to each other, understood each other’s likes, dislikes, whims and fancies. Several bikers have names for their bikes and consider them equal to their babies, but I considered my bike as a part of myself, an extension of my body. One doesn’t give separate names to a part of his body. We fitted each other like a hand and a used leather glove. I felt the pain of a scratch, a ding or a bump more on my bike than on myself.

As the responsibilities and rewards of my cubicled life grew upon me, the time I spent with my bike kept dwindling. But biking was a pleasant excuse to break away from it all. A weekend ride to a peaceful place, with the wind on my face, away from the hustle and bustle of a metropolis would invigorate and recharge my senses. I loved planning for longer trips but never got to execute one. Parental restriction and offspring obedience, if that can be called bad, became the regular ‘vetoer’ of all plans. I loved to explore interior Tamil Nadu, Northern Kerala, hilly Karnataka all by myself. I even had some secret plans for North East India. May be, someday, I will get a chance to do all these because I didn’t just dream about them, but fantasized about them. Somehow, I did not have any fascination for Khardung La and Marsimik La.

[Refer my blog for some of my travelogues]

When my bike was not playing the tourer, it served as a workhorse. It took all the rigours of the city commuting in its stride. It has even carried many septagenarians in comfort.

The year 2005 separated me from several wonderful people, some of whom I may never meet again. Some went to the different ‘corners’ of this spherical world; while a few, out of this world. My bike was my only consolation and it was ever ready to respond to my call for a ride. It never let me down, never.

The birth of 2006 had some changes to my immediate life, the changes that could potentially part company of my bike. Then I did something unexpected, posted an advertisement for my bike. There were many forthcoming buyers, not surprising as they were in commensurate with the condition of the bike. But I chose to hand it over to a person with whom my bike will feel at ease, where it will have a comfortable life.

On a Friday the 13th, I started my bike for one last time with a gentle kick and it purred to life and settled in an idle. I passed my bike to its new owner who was gleaming with joy at his new acquisition. My entire family watched and waved good bye to my friend as I stood helpless falling in line with practicality. As the bike revved with its signature exhaust note and moved away from me, I stood without blinking an eyelid lest I should miss a frame in the last shot. The new owner waved goodbye to me with the joy of a ‘just married’ couple.

My eyes followed the bike’s every movement till it rode into the horizon in the East and was visible no more. I turned away with a heavy step, without a tear in my eye and packed my bags to head West in an iron bird that would carry me to the Land of the Free. But the pleasant memories of my bike will reside in me for eternity.

Conquering Forts and Dams

As I pushed my bike out of the garage this Saturday morning, I looked at the sky - circumspect, after a hatrick of weekend washouts; courtesy: a ravaging Northeast monsoon. Whenever I took the bike out during the past few Saturdays, the rain would come down heavily on me. I had slept for a few hours and had dreary red eyes, but this was my riding day.

The ride out of Chennai, heading towards NH45 is nothing to write about except for the ubiquitous presence of noisy and flashy cars. The sun was yet to rise and I had to rely on my 35W halogen to find a good riding line amidst innumerable potholes. I heaved a sigh of relief after going past the ‘NH 45’ post. The road splits into a 6lanes of smooth tarmac. I could stretch my legs and enjoy a quaint sunrise over a cuppa Tea. [Sorry, I made up the last one]

The traffic on NH45 is very light and runs past Ford’s Chennai facility and the upcoming BMW assembly plant. I guess BMW will Indianise their Bangled 1,2,3..7 series in the bylanes of Chennai. Ford has planted lots of trees in their campus that kept their upcoming cars away from the prying eyes of moto-photo-enthusiast and their lenses.

My bike, a Classis 150cc Pulsar, has gathered lots of rust of late, but it surprised me, as always, during the ride with its mile-munching abilities emitting a low growl sound track. The 50 and 100km mark on the trip-meter was dismissed in no time, with a ‘duck-crossing’ livening up the otherwise insipid ride. The NH45 connects to the NH66 through a small village road with a train crossing that helped me with a saddle-break.

If the NH45 is a tolled 6/4 laner, the NH66 is a single-laned beauty. The scenery is stunning with its rocky cliffs and road-abutting water tanks. The 30km ride to Gingee fort was best spent in cornering hard and fast. The pilgrims heading for Thiruvannamalai contribute to the traffic, as expected zip past in their hired Qualises/Innovas. [Depending on which Gen you belong to, but basically they are the same -> loud honking + loud music + overloading + over speeding= biker’s nightmare]

The locals are very helpful with directions and so please thank them for even small favours. I did have a pre-conceived notion about Gingee fort- a moderately built and over-hyped place that passes off as a tourist destination. But I was proved wrong, the fort is truly magnificent and it symbolises victory and power. It has got separate swimming pool, gymnasium, marriage hall, gardens, cannons and pathways. It was like going back 500years in time without actually leaving the present. The trek up to the top is truly arduous in the form of step granite steps. The fort is actually on top of a granite hillock and had been a safe-haven for many a ruler. There is no history of any ruler being defeated in battle while staying in this fort. How can someone climb that flight of steps and fight in the battle without succumbing to exhaustion?



I had planned to ride till Sathanur dam, a further 65km away. I was running out of time and I had to be back home by 6pm in Chennai or face the wrath of the city-motorist armed with his array of honks and high beams. There are lots of trees lined along the NH66 that should keep this route wide open to a biker even during peak summer. The proximity to Banglore also throws up lots of cars with Soft-Pros nut look alike at the wheel. They are no better than a tourist cab driver, probably they are venting their pent up anger from the cubicled environment.

For the spiritually inclined, there are the temples of Thiruvannamalai and Ramana Maharishi Ashram. The later is famous for the ‘Who Am I?’ quote.

The road to the Sathanur dam is only as wide as an Ambassador car. The rural scenery with quaint country side hoses and cattle set up an idyllic environment that needs to be enjoyed by puttering through and not a high speed rip, which in any case is impossible due to the rain-ravaged roads. The children wave and smile at you, the women look at you as if you were an astronaut. The men folk, well, don’t do much anyway and just stare.

Thanks to the monsoon, the water in Sathanur dam stood at 110ft, held in place with just an iron gate and dam walls. It is scary to be on the wrong side of the dam, the potential energy can rip apart everything in 50km vicinity. The attached crocodile farm has some mighty reptiles but photography of any form is strictly not allowed.

The ride was a tough one, having to cover 450km in one day and to spend time in the fort and dam. I had to keep a strict eye on my watch. A shower on the way did help in cooling the temperature and gave an earthly-fragrance, but didn’t dent my travel time. As usual, the tougher the ride, the more pleasant is the experience.

Generally, I don’t like mentioning numbers like km, time, speed etc in my trip log, but for the benefit of future riders.

[5:45am] Start [0km]
[7:45am] Tindivanam [120km]
[8:45-10am] Gingee fort [150km]
[11:00am] Thiruvannamalai [195km]
[12:20-1:20pm] Sathanur Dam [230km]
[5:45pm] Chennai [435km]

[6:00pm] Home [455km]