Motorcycle Diaries 3: Hampi

Tangled's post.
Wabby's post.

John Travolta in Hampi - Exclusive Photograph! Don't Miss!!

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Wabb: Should I get the shaving kit? I have spare disposable razors.
Crap: Naaaah. More luggage space. I'm too lazy to pack it anyways. And I'm figuring that there must be a barber in Hospet.
Wabb: (Stops dead in his tracks) All right.

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Four adventurous brats set out for the highway at 0545 hours on a chilly saturday morning. Conversations of a previous night, no sleep, Wabby-made coffee mugful, and a quick Navy Cut started this road trip. Tangled ought to have had a broken nose for reasons best left unsaid, but much to my chagrin, she didn't.

Wabb: "I hate milk powder."
Crap: "Why?"
Wabb: "Cos' it's surrogate milk. Fucking milk powder. Don't even know where it comes from. All you know is it's white!"

Oooh yeh, the highweh!


(And the road becomes my bride)
...And the road becomes my bride
I have stripped of all but pride
So in her I do confide
And she keeps me satisfied
Gives me all I need

...And with dust in throat I crave
Only knowledge will I save
To the game you stay a slave
Rover, wanderer
Nomad, vagabond
Call me what you will

But I'll take my time anywhere
Free to speak my mind anywhere
And I'll redefine anywhere
Anywhere I may roam
Where I lay my head is home


"Fair is foul and foul is fair,
Hover through the fog and filth air."

Shakespeare mama didn't know I'd be ripping his lines but the fog was amazingly... um... foggy and dense. Had to stop every 2 or 3 minutes to wipe the condensed water from my glasses. The balls were frozen. Oh yes they were. They had to be thawed out; pit-stop, with the help of tea and Navy Cut.

40 kms in 3 hours. Terrible time. But the lost souls found salvation in a coffee day where three of the four journey(wo)men laid their troubled and perhaps overfilled bowels to rest. Coffee, breakfast of chocolate doughnut and some-veg-roll-type-thing, and one small incident with the water-spray-gun-in-the-loo later, off they went. Photos were snapped. Cigarettes were smoked. Naariyal paanis were had. Horn was blown in morse code. After much ado, the adventurers shifted from a 6 lane national highway to a 2 lane state highway (with a few potholes, that caused much hurt to the region surrounding the orally antipodal orifices of the 4 crusaders) and headed straight for Hospet.

Tungabhadra!

Hospet greeted us with no accomodation. But Tangled, the enterprising one , rose to the occasion and got us accomodation to rest our butts in. Tired. Weary. Proceeded for dinner. Masala papad would become the staple diet of the Wabb and the Crap.

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Crap: When do you open?
Enthusiastic Barber: Seven. But I'll come at six-thirty if you want. When can I expect you?
Crap: (Looks at Wabb) I know! I know! Don't say it!!!
Wabb: We should have got the shaving kit.

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Orion after dinner. Tangled and Crap in total awe of the crystal clear night sky. Discussion followed.

Tangled was supposed to wake all of us up at 0430 so that the group could watch the sun rise over the ruins of Hampi. Excuses and failed plans later, We left at around 1000 hrs instead of 0600. Mohammedan tomb en route.

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Crap: (Looks at Wabb) I know! I know! Don't say it!!!
Wabb: Y'know, we could've gone to the barber's shop.

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A few excellent pics of ruins, a somewhat-total waste of a government approved guide, a little dabbling in history, coconut water. And oh yes, smokes.

Crap: Y'know, every time I take a step, I am walking on lands where so many battles have taken place and gallons of blood have been spilled.(Points to a stone slab on the ground, walks and stands on that very spot.) For all you know, the slab of stone I'm standing on might have been graced by the feet of, say, Krishna Deva Raya or probably even Tenali Raman at some point of time. I'm literally walking over a thousand-and-odd years of history.
Tangled: Never thought of it that way. OHMYGOD!!!
Crap: Strangely, I don't seem to be fascinated by it. (Shrugs shoulders and continues walking.)

Tungabhadra.

A 100 kilometre ride round the Tungabhadra after a gratifying lunch (there's a reason Masala Papad was the staple diet.) Mountains, landscapes and photos. Wabby's first night-highway-ride and my second.

A Thunderbird on low beam, a Pulsar on high beam. Side by side. High visibility. Stars above. Fell into the infinity of the night sky. Orion, again.


(And the earth becomes my throne)
...And the earth becomes my throne
I adapt to the unknown
Under wandering stars I've grown
By myself but not alone
I ask no one

...And my ties are severed clean
The less I have the more I gain
Off the beaten path I reign
Rover wanderer
Nomad vagabond
Call me what you will

But I'll take my time anywhere
I'm free to speak my mind anywhere
And I'll never mind anywhere
Anywhere I may roam
Where I lay my head is home


Tired, weary, Hospet again. Dinner (Yes, Masala Papad again. This time, with whisky!) Whisky seemed to ease the throbbing headaches of the Wabb and Crap to a mellow steady headache. Sleep.

Wake up. Check-out. Highway at 0500 hrs. Night-ride. Weave in and out of lines of trucks.

Tungabhadra.


But I'll take my time anywhere
I'm free to speak my mind
And I'll take my find anywhere
Anywhere I may roam
Where I lay my head is home

But I'll take my time anywhere
Free to speak my mind anywhere
And I'll redefine anywhere
Anywhere I may roam
Where I lay my head is home


Ride ride ride. Screech to halt at a dhaba on the highway. Breakfast - 4 coffees. 3 plates of Egg rice, 2 double-omelettes, 1 half-boiled. Cigarettes. Fields facing us. Mountains yonder. And a peeping sun rising from in between the faraway mountains amidst hues of burning hell and blue seawater.
Some moments are just priceless, timeless.

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Crap: (Looks at Wabb) I know! I know! Don't say it!!!
Wabb: Shave?

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More stops. More tea. Maybe coffee too. More kilometres under the belt. One more stop on the highway, at a coffee day.


Carved upon my stone
My body lies, but still I roam

Wherever I may roam [x4]
Wherever I may wander, wander, wander
Wherever I may roam [x4]


Mission accomplished.
Rode our way through history.
Created history. (Fossilized piss, remember?)
900 kms of sheer freedom.
Four people.
Three bloggers.
Two bikes.
One hell of a time.

PS: Egg rice for breakfast at a remote dhaba 320 kms away, anyone?