DO NOT TAKE THAT ROAD
The first thing Jen said when we woke up and were lying in bed this morning was, “I don’t want to get in the tuk tuk.” Understandable after yesterday’s harrowing escape from Mumbai. I’ve really never experienced anything like that. I’m okay with the one time, but let’s not make a habit of it.
Speaking of the escape from Mumbai, the horn is the number one tool in Indian driving. As Americans, we find all of the honking completely rude and annoying. At least until we start driving ourselves. It’s simply the most efficient way to say, “Hi, I’m here, I’m near you, and let’s both agree to do what needs to be done in order for neither of us to die, if that’s cool with you?” And so far, it always has been. I was totally timid about using the horn the first time I got behind the handlebars, but soon enough, you start to understand the rules. Indians don’t care what’s happening behind them, only what’s in front. So a nice little beep to say you're passing is essential to keep them from swerving into you at an inopportune time. I’ve been using a beep beep beep / beep / beep beep configuration mostly. Which I translate to I am here. Thanks. Bye Bye. There’s nothing aggressive about the beeps - it’s more of a Road Runner cutesy sort of thing. Except for the trucks. So now, I’m as horny as the next red-blooded local in India.
There is this one type of truck horn that I will have nightmares about for the rest of my life. It sounds like an elephant undergoing shock treatment, while also being sawed in half, while also being tickled on the bottom of its feet. It is horrifying, and I hope you never have to hear it.
Today, we tried to get back on the country roads a bit more. The first bit was incredible. Women in colorful saris carrying massive jugs on their heads without even a consideration of the balancing act they were unconsciously performing. The morning light was perfect as we rolled through tiny neighborhoods, getting looks that seemed to indicate a goofily painted tuk-tuk was a rare sight.
Then we slogged on some four-lane through Nashik. And then it got good. 14 to Saputara got less and less busy as we went, and then it started. We started to climb, and once we got to the town, we knew we’d headed in the right direction. What a great break after the last two days of being pinned in by trucks and noise and all manner of hellishness. We stopped and got a bite, some rice, and some Indian ramen. It was damn good. Saputara seems to be a bit of a tourist town - there’s a lake, and I’m not sure what else.
Jen and Adele have been using the bathroom at the Indian Oil or whatever gas stations we stop in. The women’s washroom is usually out back, and they are something to behold. Jen came out and said, “It was like a murder scene where the weapons used were urine and feces…” Every once in a while, Jen comes up with a line that makes me angry and jealous that I didn’t come up with it.
At some point during the day, Paul and Adele started hearing a noise. Driving like this is just like driving a motorcycle long haul. You start to become one with your machine, and you notice anything out of the ordinary. He had run off the road just a bit; there was a little curb, and we think he dented the inside of the back left tire just a bit, causing a little rub inside there somewhere. We decided that it’ll be fine.
Then we continued north, and this may have been the best road of the trip so far. Winding and steep, but very well maintained and paved. It was a pleasure. The tuk is no Porsche, as you might imagine, but it was fun nonetheless. Then we descended into the Dang Forest, which was supposed to be a major region for teak, but I wouldn’t know a teak tree from a baseball bat made of teak, knocking me in the head. It was pretty, though. Over rivers with women washing clothes, through small bustling towns, headed toward our lodging for the night, which Adele found. We followed the map, which told us to take a left on what turned out to be a goat path. Absolutely not passable. Adele messaged the host, and they said, “DO NOT TAKE THAT ROAD.” We found out later that it was a muddy mess, and that the bridge that crossed the river was missing. So we went around a different way, another 30 minutes.
We pulled up to the place, and from the outside it looked like some sort of industrial or farm facility. I couldn’t wait to see what it was all about. We walked into the rooms, and holy shit. The entire place is made of stone, and it’s just gorgeous. It’s run by a young couple, and they’ve got it going on. Can’t wait to hang out here. It’s only 4pm, so we have some time to kill - which is great. The first thing everyone did was rinse out some clothing, and the resulting water looked like pea soup made with dirt. Time to chill…
I can offer no sensible grounds for doing this ridiculous adventure - except that we’re raising money for Cool Earth and World Central Kitchen - please make our suffering matter and help if you can!
Team Curryish George Fundraising Page
Team Vindaloo Magoo Fundraising Page
Track our Journey HERE - look for Team Curryish George & Team Vindaloo Magoo
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Dude. Light a stick of incense and drive (ride?) carefully. Listen for bagpipes. ;)
"The road goes on forever and the party never ends." -Robert Earl Keen