Day 7: Rest in Delhi
After a week of continuous biking – often for over 10 hours a day – finally a day of rest.
Choosing to rest for a day in Delhi proved beneficial. I discovered that the left side of the saddlebag was torn from the base. I got it fixed at the Sadar Bazaar at Delhi Cantt. My brother had made a hasty decision to accompany me in my ride further. Hence, he had a few stuff to buy, mostly to fight the bitter cold we were expecting. We both bought riding boots that reached well above the ankle and promised excellent protection against dust, rocks and water.
I enjoyed a treat of chhole bhature, and later, matar kulche, something I don’t get to eat in Goa – some places do serve them, but they don’t taste as Punjabi as I like them to be.
The day flew by, and by evening, we made plans for an early morning exit from Delhi to reach Mussoorie well in time. We expected the heat to play the spoilsport and wanted to cover as much ground as possible while the air was still cold and the Sun, balmy.
Kicking off a little later than 5:00 am paid off. We crossed the busy roads while they were still sleeping. The main highlight was the long flyover immediately after Akshardham, which helped us fly past Ghaziabad.
As we hit the main thoroughfare connecting Ghaziabad to Dehradoon and Mussoorie, traffic increased manifolds. All sorts of people, on all kinds of vehicles, ramshackle cars, imposing SUVs, horse carts, mopeds, and bikes, crowded the road. We found ourselves pushed off the road a couple of times, and had to negotiate pits and bumps and drains to keep moving. Google map suggested that we take a left turn, and traverse through a road running parallel to the Yamuna nehar (canal). We weren’t too sure initially, however, we were not also in the mood to travel on the horrible road amidst the chaos.
The decision proved to be right. We could manage a speed of over 60 kmph, and the proximity of water kept us cool and in good spirits.
We stopped at a wayside eatery for tea and some snacks. After the break, we pushed on, and after a few more kilometres, left the blue waters of Yamuna that flowed calm and serene at some spots and gushed angrily at others. We had left the Yamuna for the time being, but in the coming days, we were to accompany it almost till its origin!
The journey till Dehradun is nothing to remember about. Owing to major road construction work underway, we had a tough time moving ahead. It was mind-boggling, with all sorts of objects – from overloaded trucks menacingly blowing their horns and threatening to shove all and sundry out of the way. Not to mention the cars of all makes and sizes hell bent over breaking all driving rules to get ahead, while a swarm of two-wheelers just going about anywhere on the road!
Having struggled continuously under a hot sun for hours, we decided to break for lunch. Dehra was not far away, and Mussoorie was only 30 km away from Dehra. So, we had a lot of time to cool down and have an excellent meal – or so we thought.
After an hour-long break, we thumped on towards Dehradoon, and the road condition only worsened. To top it all, thousands of private and tourist cars were scrambling up from Dehradoon to Mussoorie; it was summer vacations for school children in Northern India, and Mussoorie is a hot-spot for local tourists.
To save you from a description of what we endured, I will only say that it took us over two hours to cover those 30 kilometres.
But by the time the Sun prepared its exit behind the lofty mountains, we were comfortably sipping tea and enjoying piping hot pakoras sitting on our hotel’s open terrace. The view from there was uplifting, and a cool zephyr coming up from high up in the hills proved to be alleviating to our sore limbs and tired minds.
Sniffing the delicious aroma of pakoras, two adorable pahadi dogs came to investigate. Extremely polite and gentle, these lovely creatures turned from hosts (they were the hotel owner’s pets) to guests, appreciating our hospitality one fritter at a time.
As the sky turned from the shade of molten gold to vermilion red to finally an all-devouring greyness, as the sunlight slowly ebbed away, I couldn’t help but think about the next day. It was undoubtedly a big day for me; I was hoping to meet Mr. Ruskin Bond. The author I loved, adored, and got maximum inspiration from. I had called the owners of the Cambridge Book Depot, the bookshop where Rusty came down for a couple of hours twice every month to sign copies of his books. I had made a few calls to the shop owners, explaining to them that I was planning a ride from Goa to meet Mr. Bond, and if it was possible. All they had to tell me was that it depended on Mr. Bond’s health, and of course, the weather.
At least, till that evening, the weather was beautiful and was praying for Mr. Bond’s good health, which I had been doing for some time now, quite inexplicably, and continue to do so even now.
Vroom Tales: Solo Riding Experiences 