Rajasthan – A Roadside Meditation

I know I have ridden far from the highway when at the tea stops, the cups shrink to under two inches and the horizon seems endless. So when I pull up beside a bright blue shop under a Khejri tree, the official state tree of Rajasthan, I order not one, but two cups of chai.

The bench I sit on lets me lean against the brick wall of a government school to watch life go by on the hard packed dirt road. Kids in uniform and masks seem in no hurry even though it’s well past their morning assembly. Post lockdown there must be marks for just showing up.

A diesel goods train rumbles by the railway crossing barely fifty meters from where I am sitting. As the yellow and black stripped barricade goes up, a bullock cart leisurely rolls across with a man and woman sitting cross legged beside each other. She uses the loose end of her pink sari to cover her face, known as “ghoonghat”, a common practice among married women in these parts.

I get back up to order more chai and smell the incense burning below the framed picture of a local deity. The spice-induced tea concoction brewing in the wood fire makes it a heady smokey mix. The shopkeeper acknowledges my order by nodding his head and showing his index finger, implying that it will be ready in a minute.

Standing beside me is the sole customer. A man in local attire of cotton dhoti-kurta and a bright turban. He is lighting his rolled-up cigarette known as ‘bidi’ and curiously looking at my bike. He seems unsure about me and to be fair I do look odd in my bulky dust covered riding gear.

Taking my sunglasses off, I smile and greet him with a “Namaste”. A little at ease, he shoots the standard questions I get asked in most of rural India. Where are you from? How much is your bike? What average kms to a liter does the bike give?

 

One isn’t expected to literally answer such questions. I mention where my parents are from, not where I grew up or where I am currently living. And I don’t mention the on-road price of a Royal Enfield motorcycle, I say it is worth three camels.

Our chai arrives and we talk a bit more about local and national news, the lockdown and its impact. The pandemic gives us a common ground to acknowledge the fragility of life, even empathize with one another, and imagine what the new season could bring.

As I ready myself to resume my ride, this ritual makes passersby stop and stare at me pulling down the helmet, putting on the winter gloves and then awkwardly getting on the bike. As I ride off, I hear the man with whom I was conversing telling the bystanders “chalo, chalo, picture khatam ho gaya!” (move along people, show’s over!)

 

Our rides to the beautiful state of Rajasthan re-start on 24 October 2021. To check out the ride, click here.

We had reached the furthest westward destination of our March ride through Rajasthan, the dusty, 15th century citadel town of Bikaner, when the walls of Covid-19 started to close around us. We were still three days ride from our end destination in Delhi and Josh radioed to me through our helmet intercoms that the window to leave the country before lockdown was closing. It was now clear that we were going to have to pull a couple of long, gritty days to make the looming deadline and get everyone to the airport and on their way to their home countries by then. Since that final day, the 21^st of March 2020, Two Wheeled Expeditions, like every other travel company on the planet, has been idled.

It was two years earlier at my last employer’s corporate offices in Silicon Valley that the wheels to ditch my career in the IT consulting world and start this company were set in motion. The firm where I was employed as a business unit lead managing 500 people and a $20m sales target was consolidating and generous payouts were being offered to those who decided to leave. The fact that I had an unused business class ticket from San Francisco to Delhi sealed the deal: I took the money, shaved my head to a Mohawk, dyed what remained pink, flipped the corporate world a big middle finger and registered Two Wheeled Expeditions as limited liability company. 22 years of adventure riding and one and a half circumnavigations of the globe provided the street cred. From that day on, passion would become livelihood. Six months after launch we hit our stride. The new bookings every month put us on target to fill our 12 tours for the year, the great reviews were rolling in and the team and I got the validation we hoped for: we got the balance right. Price, tour quality and excellence in service delivered the experience our clients had thirsted for. The trajectory was unabashedly upward.

Then came Covid 19 and we all know what happens next. The collective civilization of our planet has been upended, economies have seized and hundreds of thousands have died. We have not had it easy; no one has. But if there is anything that this teeth-kicking pandemic has provided us with, it is time. Time to master baking, to perfect cocktails and to reflect on everything that is going on around us. This article is a collection of thoughts and learnings extracted from the experience and implemented as we do everything in our power to keep our dream alive.

• Don’t Back Down – The old song by Tom Petty accompanied me through the toughest days on the road during a seven-month ride around the world. Not even Talban drug smugglers who stood in our way in Pakistan’s Baluchistan province could withstand the mantra. The message is simple: every day a tide of doubt and even despair gathers around our feet. The stream of negative reports on the future of the economy is relentless and each one of them drives you deeper into a mire of hopelessness. But we humans are resilient and the yearn for adventure is nestled deep in our psyche. That truth keeps our motor torqued and our momentum unfettered.
• Set achievable, near term goals that support the grand vision – Being consumed by everything that cannot be controlled affects so many people right now. But if riding a motorcycle around the world taught me anything, it’s that breaking down any problem into small, manageable chunks helps you overcome being overwhelmed. Stay the course on your vision and make plans, even in the tiniest increments, to maintain momentum.
• Reset, retool, pivot – When we’re boxed in, we have to play the hand that has been dealt and find a viable path forward that leverages our strengths: the assets, skills, capabilities, and market position we have built. In our current world, we have to accept that fact that the overwhelming majority of the public will not be getting on a plane any time soon. Whether and for how long this is true is beside the point. Being successful entails taking risks and also hedging against risk. Looking for business opportunities that leverage what you are good at in new markets is a strategy for survival.
• Your people are your most valuable asset. Protect them at all costs – The airlines are facing an unprecedented dilemma. With massive fixed costs and passenger volumes down 95%, logic says they should reduce their personnel costs in equal measure. But the fact is, there is a staffing level below which business becomes unviable and a rebound impossible. With small companies like ours, the team is everything and without them you have nothing. Fight to keep them with your last dollar.
• Balance the excessive focus on problems with a regular inventory of everything that is going well – Many of us are in pain right now. There are so many uncontrollable, negative forces impacting us and it is very easy to get sucked into the vortex. While riding my motorcycle a couple of weeks ago, my mind stuck in the quicksand of negativity, I turned my attention to taking an account of all of that is good right now and my mood turned upward. Positive thinking is an immensely powerful force so harness all you can.
• Keep yourself mentally and physically strong, even when it seems impossible – The battle is only beginning, so better toughen up. My routine now includes daily meditation (an app), yoga (via Zoom), running (on the street) and weight training (shopping bags laden with books), all in the comfort of my small flat in London. Nothing can beat you when you feel ready for the fight.
• Seek out the sources of positive energy in your life – On dark days, and many of us will have them, seek out the people in your life who radiate positivity. People like this can help put things into perspective in a time when clouds may be obscuring yours.
• Stay connected with your audience and provide them with hope for future adventure – You have spent a great deal of time and money identifying and connecting with your customer base. Even if people are currently not buying what you’re selling, constantly remind them of why they sought you out in the first place. Eventually normalcy will resume and the world will once again take flight.
  

  Our last ride group – Friends for Life

• Manage cash wisely – Like almost every business except those selling designer surgical masks, we all need to manage costs. This has not stopped us from paying full refunds to all clients who had to cancel. Our company was founded on a principal of treating customers like friends. We actually, literally actually, love our clients and the last thing we want to do to people we love is alienate them.
• Ride your fucking motorcycle – When in doubt, I fall back on two wheeled therapy. Whatever your escape is, do it.

 

These are the shittiest of times, my friends. We all long for something: the touch of another human, to visit someplace new, to enjoy a meal at our favourite restaurant or a pint at our local pub. But even on the darkest days I can still see a light even if it is sometimes hard to find. We will ride again because we must. There is no option because as adventure bikers, it is the dream that makes us feel alive.

Two Wheeled Expeditions will resume operations with our 01 October 2020 ride through Nepal. To get the details on all of our upcoming rides and plan YOUR escape, check out our Expeditions page. Thanks!

It wasn’t supposed to be this way. Rajasthan, arguably the most exotic of India’s 29 states has been a fixture on our expedition calendar from day one and it never, ever gets boring. Goats grazing on the roof of a bus, a cow roaming down the middle of a busy highway and a face full of colored powder during Holi keeps things interesting. It may also be that leaving Delhi during the rush hour heave and arriving in the open Thar Desert is the closest thing to teleportation available. One moment you are engulfed in the throng of microcars and Tata trucks and the next you’re gliding past camel carts guided by saffron-turbaned farmers. But all bets were off in the age of Corona Virus, as every human being on the planet is now painfully aware.

The decision to proceed with the tour group of eight was made at a time when, with the exception of China, the world still seemed relatively virus free. India’s population of 1.3 billion had only a handful of confirmed cases and they were confined to the southern state of Kerala. The 22 infections being treated there where cause enough to cancel our Southern India ride, but the rest of the vast country was still untouched and so all systems were go. It only took two weeks for the world to change completely.

Barreling down a dusty highway on a motorbike with seven of your new best friends while camels and goats stream by can provide the ultimate distraction from a world that seems to be melting down by the hour. As a group we made a pact to ignore news apps on our phones as much as possible. But since the new best friends were also clients, Josh and I had an obligation to remain on top of the situation and alter our plans as the situation necessitated. More challenging than keeping track of the deteriorating situation, however, seemed to be maintaining a buoyed mood in the group. This is a bucket list ride and our job is to deliver that experience. Despite our efforts, the sense of gradual emotional degradation was palpable, and we just had to give people the space they needed.

It only took a face full of paint to kick the mood back into positive territory. Lunch and chai breaks during each day’s ride are a highpoint of every ride. We blow off some steam, exchange stories about all of the bizarre things we’ve witnessed, and the group dynamic strengthens. After the sweet chai was done and we were ready to blow the alarm to gear up, a posse of 20 somethings rolled up in full-on Holi face paint glory and it didn’t take more than a minute for our untainted group to become a target. After 15 minutes of colored-powder warfare and endless belly laughs, the stress levels were reset to zero and we were on our bikes again.

Jaipur, Jodhpur and Jaisalmer were their gorgeous, exotic selves and the group could not be happier: Stunning surroundings, delectable cuisine, beautiful hotels, awesome biker friends from around the world..adventure motorcycling bliss. It wasn’t until we hit Bikaner in the far west of Rajasthan that things began to unravel. What started as a complaint to the bureaucratic front desk manager about the construction underway on our floor turned into an issue about a notice they had just received from the government of Rajasthan. The directive was that all citizens from a long list of countries were to leave the borders of Rajasthan by midnight, 6 hours hence, or be subjected to a mandatory 14-day quarantine in the hotel. One of the countries on the list, the UK, was the home of one of our guests. We broke the news to him and the rest of our crew calmly and with purpose: we had already started the process of booking him a taxi for the 9-hour ride to Delhi airport fearing that other states may soon follow suit. The frenzy that ensued to get him packed, loaded and on his way was surreal for all of us: after 10 days together, with one stroke of the government’s hand only 7 of us remained.

We were two days’ ride from Delhi and, with the sense that the escape window was rapidly closing, we decided as a group to cut the remainder of the tour short and head to Mandawa the next morning. It was the right choice: the mood deteriorated as all the guests struggled with reservation agents to reschedule their departures. The Indian Government had ordered that all flights into and out of India would be suspended in a week’s time and flights were being cancelled in droves.

Our last night on the road was arguably the best. Our favourite hotel in India was waiting for us in Mandawa, the bar was fully stocked, and the pool was ours alone. We had no idea how horrible the state of the world would be in only three weeks’ time, but our party vibe definitely had an ‘end of the world’ celebratory tone and rode a wave of music and Kingfisher Beer into the wee hours.

The morning’s anticipated translucent haze mired the departure preparations only a bit. The team had internalized the daily ritual and knew we had a tough, long, chaotic ride back to Delhi. We were only 10 minutes into the ride when we hit the first roadblock.  With Josh at the lead and me riding tail, he gave me the news via our intercom: the Rajasthan government was sealing the border with neighbouring Haryana and all traffic was being turned back. We kept calm and kept probing the periphery of the state, but we are denied exit repeatedly. We toyed with going back and waiting things out at our beautiful hotel – but we sensed this was not going to be a short-term event and pushed on. Taunts of ‘Corona’ accompanied our ride through densely packed town arteries, and I sensed an uncomfortable tension. India has a reputation for spreading malicious rumours like brushfire via WhatsApp and those frenzies have been known to turn violent.  Ultimately Josh turned to his Malayali charm to tap local intel on the best ‘agricultural’ routes across the border. The circuitous track took us through the back alleys of villages, over wheat field cow paths and finally to a beautiful, treelined country lane that led us six hours later to the national highway and back to Delhi.

When everyone managed to depart India by the 19 March lockdown, the government stated the freeze would last 7 days. Of course, we know now that was excessively optimistic and tourists who decided, voluntarily or not, to remain likely find themselves sheltering in place in India to this day.

We are hopeful that measures taken to stem the contagion will bear fruit in India. India is our home and the epicentre of the most exciting adventure touring on Earth. We count the days until we are back in the saddle, doing what we love.

We arrived in Bikaner shortly after noon and I had a mission: to find a replacement for a nut that had fallen off of the bolt that holds the clutch lever in place. We have had a few parts go missing over the last two months, some through the constant abuse, others falling victim to sticky fingers. But nuts, not unlike people, all have a purpose of varying importance. Some can vanish yet their departure remains fully unnoticed, while the absence of others can cause whole systems to collapse. This particular nut was on the more indispensable end of the spectrum.

We headed around the perimeter of the 16th century Junagarh Fort wall to a restaurant for lunch and on the way back, I stopped in at a small shop with a pile of bicycle parts out front and enquired about their nut stocks. A kid in his late teens presented a box containing all shapes and sizes of nuts, bolts, washers and other fastening devices but, not knowing exactly what size nut I had left somewhere on the 200 miles of tarmac behind us, I said I would come straight back with the bike so we could size it properly.

Five minutes later, I was parked in front of the young man’s shop, one of dozens of six foot wide places of business on this congested street, and beckoned him to come with his collection of hardware so we could find the perfect fit. Then, similar to the effect of throwing chum into a sea of shark-infested waters, the crowd began to gravitate toward my big BMW R1200GS. The kid did his best but could not seem to find the right one and we found we needed to remove the hand guard in order to properly access the mateless bolt. To his aid came an older man, perhaps his father, who seemed to take control of the situation and was joined by two lower ranking assistants. I tried my best to be a part of the process but as the nucleus of activity became denser, I found myself gradually relegated to spectator status.

What I didn’t perceive was that, while I was observing the four manpower effort to replace my lost nut, the crowd around us had swelled to such mass that three of the four lanes which form the ring road around the fort wall were blocked. From all sides, arms and hands reached through the spectators lucky enough to have a front row seat to touch the machine. Others, not knowing from behind that I was the owner of this deity from Bavaria, shoved me to the side to get closer to the gleaming metal. I was machine gunned with questions in Rajasthani and felt like a disgraced congressman facing a panel of barking senators investigating moral impropriety. Then came the queries in English, the same ones I had fielded one hundred times before: how much does it cost, how much fuel does it use, how many gears does it have, does it run on gas or diesel. That last one always confuses me.

As the four men on center stage continued to fiddle with the nut, the driver of a camel cart parked on the periphery of the bulging, odorous crowd of fifty men, his perch offering him an ideal vantage point to observe the alien activities below. With both his wide load of grain on the rickety wooden cart and his tan, furry beast towering over the men and machine spilling over to the fourth and final lane, the artery was clogged. The ring road around this city of 50,000 was now effectively closed all thanks to my bike and that little two cent nut.

 

Two Wheeled Expeditions offers tours through Rajasthan from October through March every year.