Motorcycle

Continued from here Trying our luck, in this case meant speaking entirely in Indonesian, asking around for someone who might have a surplus, and then negotiating the purchase or trade without the benefit of local currency (which we had divested ourselves of in Belitung, as we were intending to leave the country). While we were attempting to nap, a precocious pre-teenager named Chandra paddled up in his dugout, asking for books, water, and/or footballs. We offered a few gifts, and then I asked (sensing his “can do” personality) if he could help me find solar (diesel). With the help of Google Translate, I learned that he could help, but only if I came with him right then. I hadn’t slept a consecutive 3 hours in the last 72 and the prospect of undertaking such an adventure was daunting, to say the least. ...

“It looks like the rain has let up a bit, should we make a run for it?” I asked, equivocating. “Its probably as good as any time,” Dad replied. We had been enduring monsoon rains for hours, holed up first at the Cafe del Mar and later at Abba. It was getting late and we still had to pack. So we made a dash for it and, as if cued by some rueful sadistic god, the rain intensified. Too late to change course, we soldiered into the torrent. Dad helped my pull my bike out of the muddy garbage heap. I was ankle deep in brown water and suddenly grateful that I was: a) wearing my sandals; and b) immunized against Hep A. ...

We had a tasty breakfast at the local + organic ABBA restaurant (where, I kid you not, they play non-stop Abba), and then headed out for coffee and an Internet fix. I have to admit that the power surge that blew up my laptop power supply was pretty annoying, but i still managed to get over it after a few minutes. The downside to this is that I will be typing all of my posts on my iPhone from here on out (please forgive the typos), and l will have to be more stingy with photos. ...

After getting situated in our hotel room, the first order of business was to get a couple of motorcycles so we might regain a modicum of control over our adventure. Dad had an aesthetic interest in the Royal Enfield. So we asked our host if he could arrange such a thing. After a little back and forth on the details he went off to see what he could do. A few minutes later he came back with the details and within 30 minutes we were staring at two of the most beaten up bikes left in India. The first Royal Enfield bikes were built in India in 1955, and I suspect that ours were from the first batch. ...

Bangalore November 8, 2009 Darkness falls abruptly here. At 6 p.m. it is raining hard and the light is abandoning us. Tucker hangs onto the luggage rack of our ancient 100 cc. Hero Honda with a steely grip as I pitch and weave through the crush of Mysore traffic, wiping the fog from my glasses and searching for any clue as to where we might be. Mysore is laid out like a Mandala, with roads radiating outward from the Maharaja’s Palace. An endless web of crooked lanes link the rays, with confusing traffic circles at key intersections. Watchtower Circle, New Statue Circle, Devaraja Urs Swamibatami Circle. Their names are helpfully scribed in Kannada, the predominant second language of Karnataka state. Occasionally a sign in English will give a vague nod in the right direction, but I am forever disappointed in my hope for clear direction. When the sun is out I know my compass points, but in the dark of night in the rain it is dead reckoning only, hopefully in the primary meaning of the phrase. Still, the fact that Sateesh’s motorcycle has no working lights or horn raises the vague possibility of second meanings. ...

Tucker and I are planted on platform number 9 waiting where the porter has deposited us for the 3 p.m. Tippu Express to Mysore. It is 1:30 p.m. and Tuck has settled in for the long wait, putting his backpack down on the dirty cement platform and perching atop it with easy adaptability. I am standing at parade rest, one hand gripping my matched luggage. It is hot, but not oppressive, and the hundred or two other passengers have made themselves as comfortable as possible, chatting, rearranging belongings, trying to position themselves on the platform to be located properly for their car when it arrives, or staring at us. I am trying not to stare back, but with little success. Oddly, there are no flies despite the fecund air and abundant garbage. ...