Head or the Heart - Lessons learnt on Indian Roads
Everyday that I put my key in my motorcycle and move beyond the safety of my home. I am confronted. Confronted by that eternal battle. The one that can leave a man exhausted. Relationships in tatters, the battle that can kill hope, love and dreams. Steals the romance from life and lovers. Leaves one believing that being safe, practical and unreasonably logical is the better way to live.
I am confronted with the battle between the head and the heart! Between the flow and the ridged. The rule bound and the flexible.
Every time I swing my leg over the seat of my motorcycle and head out onto these Indian roads.
Having grown up in New Zealand and having found myself pushing at the edge of the rules and regulations that confine the very tidy New Zealand culture. I have found a deep love for riding the Indian roads. A love that has become my teacher.
There are so many moments to feel distressed, annoyed and out right angry at what appears to be ignorance and wilful dismissal of accepting one’s actions and behavior may impact others.
The collective cultural understanding of simply pulling onto a road and ignore all traffic coming up behind you at speed. The stopping abruptly because you want to talk to someone on the roadside. The use of high beam lights in suburban areas, white light that blinds you and creates sun like glare if you wear glasses. For gods’ sake use your dip!!
It would appear that there is an utter ignorance of others or care for how your actions might impact beyond what is good for you. You might say a lack of civic awareness.
These things can be such a challenge, making you send a silent prayer before each ride that Lord Ganesha will clear the way ahead for you.
But, every time I ride off onto these beautifully chaotic roads, I have found myself reflecting on the lesson so regularly presented to me. Head or Heart?
Two months ago, my business partner Manu and our wives Durgesh and Yasmeen, took a very pleasant 180km drive to the city of Pali, an industrial town with a population of approx. 250,000. Not a city high on any tourist route, but it was the city that Manu had left his 2009 Royal Enfield classic 350 Bullet, in the care of his brother.
Upon arrival we found the bike is reasonable but unloved condition. Hard tyres could be addressed, fresh fuel would be a help, a leaking fork stanchion, stiff throttle and dry chain, all small matters. But the absence of a front brake was more then I was willing to leave unaddressed for a 180km ride on Indian roads. I have previously joked that you can ride a motorcycle in India without brakes, but not without a horn. Confronted by this reality, the wisdom of self-preservation won over.
Discovering the fluid had completely dried up and turned to that particularly firm jelly substance which only serves to clog the brake hose. Manu and I headed off down the road to small roadside scooter repair shop. Where the young mechanic insisted that there was no need to bleed the brake. Just fill up the reservoir on the handlebar.
Being presented with this rather poor solution I purchased the brake fluid, and we did our best to give ourselves a soft version of a front disk brake. One helpful bystander insisting that there was no need for concern as only the back brake is needed! As the front brake is dangerous to use! In a frustrated attempt to explain at least 60% of stopping power was in the front brake I received the ubiquitous head wobble that said, ‘O.K Sir, but I don’t believe you.’
Deciding we had prepared the bike as much as we could for a gentle ride home, we said our goodbyes to family, and I took first shift of riding.
I could feel the bikes age and lack of care in the bearings, chain and suspension, but the engine thumped along satisfyingly with a sense it was happy to be on the open road.
About an hour and a half in we reached an utterly stunning section of tight valley road. Closed in by green trees and shadowed by and flowing river with smooth rock pools. It had such a sense of familiarity about it, the langur monkey’s sitting in family groups watching their world. Cars pulled to the side to feed them and enjoy this natural wonderland. I realised that I had ridden it before on a tour in 2019.
Pulling over to allow the car to catch up, I told my companions I was going to ride ahead and just give into this beautiful twisting valley road.
Taking off again, I was in a deeply peaceful place, a feeling of real goodness had swept through me as I swept the bends, enjoying the dappled light. The kind of peace motorcyclist know and seek.
When suddenly, coming into an uphill right hand bend a large black Mahindra Bolero SUV careened around the bend, overtaking on a blind corner and heading directly towards me. Running parallel the white Nova he was trying to foolishly and poorly pass!
From this deeply good place I was sitting in, panic rose! ‘Fuck I am going to have a head on!’ My head said. ‘Brake, brake hard.’ I heard my heart say. I locked up and began a broadside towards the grill and bumper of the black Bolero. Noting the equally panic-stricken driver and passengers.
From that calm place inside I then heard, ‘Release the back brake!’
Intuitively I did, praying our hastily and rather poorly repaired front brake was going to hold. The rear end pulled straight, and I felt the driver side of the Bolero fender brush past my knee, catching my pants and race on by.
Not my day to die!
I pulled over and was absolutely wild, this fucken idiot had almost killed me, killed my vibe and left me screaming obscenities at his disappearing rear. I was seriously shaken, but not so much that I was on the verge of kicking the bike over and chasing him down to put my fist through his window.
But again, that good feeling inside, that calm place spoke, and I found myself asking; did I want this absolute idiot of a person and their ignorant behavior being the dictator of my path? Was I going to let this moment of fear, steal from me the goodness I was feeling within?
Settling my self with a few deep breaths, I decided that I would turn back to the good that was inside, that was mine, the bike and the road. Kicking into gear I headed off, up the bend that the Black Bolero had swept around the wrong side on.
Working on reconnecting to myself and consciously feeling what it was taking to choose that feeling while my mind wanted to go over and over what had just occurred, reacting to the adrenaline and fear. Risking a feedback loop that would have me abandoning myself to the story of nearly dying.
But I kept turning back to the good, the calm and the feeling of being in flow once again, albeit, slower and leaning hard up against the left shoulder like an outrigger under sail finds safety in that support.
When, four bends later, having settled into myself, a brand new 2 door black Thar 4x4 Jeep came swinging wide around another right hand bend and it was only because I was riding tucked into the edge of the bitumen, did I not have to repeat another emergency maneuver!
Having been in recent practice, I let rip a rather eloquent stream of abuse from my mouth, satisfyingly landing through the Thar’s open window and showing a moment of shock on the drivers eyes. Fucken Thar drivers! (I do own one of the last of the original models!)
I looked to the skies, declaring, ‘For fucks sake! Come on! Really! I needed that lesson twice?’
Pulling away, I once again decided not to be derailed, or de-roaded by the ignorance of the arrogant self-entitled drivers that spill across these roads.
I talked myself down and turned back even more determined to reclaim my path of calm that riding such a road brings as a smile, from deep inside to a motorcyclist’s face. You riders know what I am talking about.
In truth, it was not until I arrived at the summit, pulled over to wait upon Manu in his Land Rover Discovery with Yasmeen, that I had the chance to unload my experience to her sympathetic ears, did I truly find that feeling fully again.
I can only hope that in both drivers cases, the close encounter with a white faced Firangi abusing biker on a beautiful, narrow Rajasthan valley road would leave a lasting impression and cause them to reconsider their self-serving driving style that is an unfortunate consequence to the guidelines that rules are on Indian roads.
You see 90 % of the time these rule-less, unregulated roads work, an intuitive flow exists, in a surprising and beautiful way. Roads are a shared space, they do not belong to one vehicle, they are the true byways for people, livestock, camels and carts, buses and trucks. They are a network of life!
It could be said it work in this moment also. No damage done!
But human consciousness is a crucible and just as the same words have different meaning according to the wisdom of a speaker. The ability to move 2 tons of steel has different consequences according to the awareness or ignorance of the driver.
Choosing to remain in the heart is a daily choice, each time I put in my key and start my bike. I will experience dozens of reasons to feel angry, outraged, distressed and at times full of self-righteous judgement. But would I give up that freedom of flow and intuitive magic that happens on loosely regulated roads?
Never! Because every day I climb on my bike and start that phut aphut single cylinder 500 that has joined the choir of India, adding to the mantras, bells, drums, voices and fireworks of her symphony, playing my part with the horns and barking dogs, I feel so alive! Connected and engaged in a world that can exist without the fearful and controlling telling me how I must navigate an unlined multi-lane road. Where children hanging off the back of Rickshaws and young men perched on bus roofs smile and wave as I see my line, take my gap and add to the ribbon of colour that are these wonderful India roads.
Roads that are ridden best when you ride from your heart.
By Jono Spark – A Firangi Phut-phuts guide to slow living.
