diblogs

Motorcycle Zen

Two days late, but alas.

March 14th, 2026. I undertook my first bike ride!

The objective was simple. For the fact that I'd survived my accident, a token of gratitude had to be expressed. And the best way to do it?

Ride off to a Shakti Peeth. Chamundi Hills.

To describe the ride in detail would take a lifetime. But here goes.

The preparation had started a few days earlier. Born out of a simple 'hey, why not?', I'd fixated on riding my bike to Chamundi. Mom was a little perturbed, but I couldn't blame her. It's been only about two months since I've recovered, and though the bike has left a couple of scars on the bike and me, I'm still a fool to get back on the saddle.

On the 13th of March, filled up with petrol, aired up and ready to go, the bike was at its zenith. Fresh from the service centre, I didn't need to worry about the brake pads or oil, as most of it had been replaced. Yes, the accident was that horrific.

To commemorate an accident on the Ides of March is just too good to ignore.

For protection, I wore Supra's gear — the Studds helmet, his gloves, and his jacket. The helmet did end up hurting me, mostly because of the smaller size. This led to frequent headaches and deep red spots all across my forehead, leading me to periodically remove the helmet, hydrate, and soldier on. His jacket, however, was perfect for riding.

And so, 14th March was the date. I'd been brooding on the route. There were three possible options —

In lieu of distance, numerous Reddit posts, and an objective bias for greenery, I'd chosen the Kanakpura road. A part of the desire also stemmed from how often Dad travels there. One might always hear him saying how every alternate week he had to be there for work, and taking the Kanakpura road was always a joy. I couldn't help but see it for myself.

At 5:45 AM, I head out. I should've left earlier, but a previous night of tomfoolery with the boys and Among Us had led me to fight myself up. And right off the bat, there were two main issues. Exiting the city & navigation. Each problem in a class of its own, with the former a by-product of the latter.

As part of replacing my handlebars, Triumph chose to throw away my beautiful phone mount. This led me to inevitably rely on Google Maps. Now, while I'm super, super, super grateful for the audio feature, how the Google Maps lady talks about circles is horrific. The third exit from the roundabout? How am I supposed to know what that means?

The first 30 km were purely acclimatisation. Figuring out the right downshifts and upshifts, when and how to lean, and gaining focus and composure. That was all one could do within the city. I tried to settle in, to grapple with the fact that I'd be cosplaying a nomad today, coasting through roads like a rebel. By 6:20 AM, I'd found myself taking the NICE Road from Nayandahalli. Overcast with grey clouds, I couldn't help but worry if it'd rain. The weather, wind, and vegetation pointed towards it, but as always, Bangalore thought otherwise. The skies lay in wait, yet not acting as though holding me at gunpoint.

Cruising through NICE Road, I yearned to pick up the pace. 40...60...80...100. Inevitably, flashbacks returned. It'd been a frequent sight always before I slept — me lying in a pool of blood as the bike lay torn to shreds beside me. I pulled back the pace. Another time, I affirmed to myself.

Riding through the Kanakpura exit, I'd finally entered the hallowed grounds I'd been so keen to explore. The maps had shown patches of greenery and water bodies littered around my route. I couldn't help but chuckle as the realisation settled in. About 50 km in, and I couldn't believe I was doing it. I was on my first ride. Solo.

It felt different.

It felt surreal.

Beside me, the sun rose to answer his call to arms as the moon rested for the day. Majestically announcing himself to all who bear witness, it seemed like a sight that one might find oneself at a loss for adjectives for. Bathed in orange, I was but a trespasser stealing a glance at his full view.

For the next 45 minutes, I found myself riding with a willing companion. As fear tried to lay claim to my 'experience', holding me back, his orange hue convinced me otherwise. An unfamiliar camaraderie seemed to be growing as dawn conquered the skies. It was the sun's world, and we were but characters in it.

Soon, I had to bid him goodbye. He was about to clock in, toil away for 8 hours, shining for those who took him for granted. Set in front of a small pond, it seemed a picturesque setting enough to wave him goodbye. As I pulled the bike to the side, I noticed a third companion, his scooter parked aside. I felt grateful that a fellow vagabond joined me in waving him goodbye. A local resident who was grateful for the experience he enjoyed every morning.

Weren't we all surprised when, instead, he'd come to wash himself off after doing his business by the pond.

To call oneself a vagabond when touring is apt.

Coasting through the roads, it seemed endless yet welcoming. To a traveller, the journey untrodden seems daunting, scary. But on the bike, it's like home. You absorb the towering hills of Ramanagara and Channapatna, who wish you well as you move onward. Washed in a sea of green, fields of paddy, wheat, and small reserves of forests all greet you as you go by. With planting season around, farmers were hard at work by 8:00 AM. Every crossing, side road, or village beckons you to take a detour to explore. To leave no stone unturned. To keep riding till your legs fall off.

Not to win, not to drive the farthest. But to experience.

One might be preoccupied by a dozen different thoughts fluttering about for your attention. Yet, the bike asks only one.

'Are any of those thoughts worth it?'

The bike demands all from you. To enter each corner right, brake in advance, explore just right, and keep smiling while doing all of it. Music can take a backseat. A podcast about medieval Europe can take a backseat. Your Slack message can take a backseat. You don't brood over time gone, decisions made or plans ahead. You just dissociate and drive.

What might I have missed if I'd hung up the boots before I started? I'm glad that's a question I might never ask. Mother Nature seemed to have convinced me otherwise.

As I powered through, some observations of the bike seemed evident. As I piloted it at 60–120 km/hr, the bike exhibited a range of emotions worth examining.

At 80–90 km/hr, the bike is in its zone. A sweet spot. Everything clicks here. However, as you accelerate, 90–110 seems unsettling. The bike can go there, but it always asks you, 'Are you sure you want to go there? I can take us there, but do you really think you should?' 110 onwards, the vibrations kick in. It just doesn't seem so worthwhile anymore to push. He's reluctant. To best describe it would be an 'anaerobic zone' for the bike itself, pointing out to you the futility of any further efforts.

Steaming through, I'd reached the foothills of Chamundi by 10AM with ample coffee & sightseeing breaks. As I weaved through the curves uphill, I couldn't help but reflect on where I was two months ago. A broken tooth, a scarred face and a fractured wrist. The memory is still fresh. Green fluid oozes out of the engine, as though crying in pain. A missing headlight, a broken instrument cluster and a dislodged wheel. I just remember rushing to the bike to gauge the impact. Circling it to assess damages. I'd passed out for a mere 5 minutes, yet those 5 minutes haunted me for the next 50 days.

It'd seemed unreal. To get back on and travel. And I'd be lying if I said I moved on from the accident. Yet for those brief moments, weaving through the hills of Chamundi, I found myself awash with confidence. With a conviction to ride better. It'd be easy for me to disregard the accident. To claim myself as god's chosen child for surviving something so horrific. Yet, deep down, I realise it was but a stupid mistake I'd made, a stupid mistake I'd paid for dearly.

And to redeem myself is only possible through a soulful exploration of what I might've lost, ride better and to cherish every turn I'd taken, taking and would take henceforth. Truly a religious experience indeed.

With the Darshan wrapped up by 11:00 AM, I had ample time to visit a couple of bakeries and belt Mylari dosa.

But going downhill took me 45 minutes. And as usual, Google Maps showed her charm. Broken roads, renovating roads, barricaded roads, and isolated roads. All were fair game. To learn that I'd experienced almost all of Chamundi Hills as a sheer coincidence was a plus I hadn't thought of. I'm sure the kind gentleman who was operating a JCB would've had a laugh seeing me pass him 5 times. If only I'd asked :(

Such coincidences, however, are welcome. To say I'd experienced all-terrain roads might not seem so far-fetched. Yet it provided me with sights galore. From enjoying the Mysore skyline to sitting on towering boulders without any parental supervision, detours have now been made part of the plan! Yet, the toll of summer looked evident. Dried branches, crumbling vegetation were sights that didn't look so pleasing to the eyes. One might only wonder what of the wildlife here.

But they remain as an afterthought as I rushed to Local Friendly Bakery. This lady had made herself super viral by posting her sweet treats on IG. Well, now it's time to put it to the test.

It was pretty average, 7/10ish. But who'd complain? I was just glad I had something to munch on. And munch I did. Polishing this + Mylari dosa off, it was time to head back.

The heat had taken its toll. I'd chosen the expressway. And boy did I regret it. The return to BLR seemed not quite fruitful to describe, with wide concrete roads giving sight to a dried countryside, peppered with KFC, McD and restaurants galore. For my vagabond soul, it felt like a cheap escape.

What a joy to be riding again.