Thursday, 9th December
BikeShuffle: Desmonk Dekker – 007 (Shanty Town)
[audio:http://shambolic.com/blog/files/2010/12/09-007-Shanty-Town.mp3|titles=007 (Shanty Town)]
Trasi – 08:35
Actually, I’m not quite sure where I am. Been pegging it north on the NH17 since seven this morning, passing through towns and crossing rivers like stages in a video game. I make it another 240k’s to Chaudi from here, by all accounts a sizable day. So it’s going to be less about places and more about endurance. That, and where to take a shit. Although I’m loathe to dwell on these things, it’s a simple fact. And the prospects aren’t brilliant.
At least back on the coast, I’m seen as less of a freak show. The truckers that are sat in this humble hotel paid me barely a second glance. And for once, there is no crowd of guys standing around my bike, gazing at it or asking ‘how much you pay?’
It’s always the guys who take an interest in ‘the tourist’. Never the women. Why is that? Even in the road, where the gender imbalance is a little more redressed (as compared with places you might stop to eat – where women are always accompanied and would never initiate a conversation). But in the road, with people walking, carrying loads, goading oxen or generally going about their business, it’s always the men who look up at the sound of a different engine, or if they catch sight of the gangly freak and make eye contact, then you can be assured of a full head pivot at the very least, if not the shout or the jaw-drop that tends to happen in more remote areas. But the ladies, even if they do make eye contact, will quickly look away, either from a sense of propriety or a complete disinterest in whatever foreign thing has passed through their space.
Ok, so I can test the theory now. A lady has just entered the shop with her young son. It looks as though they are on their way to school. He gives me a fairly involved once-over, gliding around behind me to have a look at what’s happening on the laptop. This is something that every gent here in the hotel has done at least once. But the boy’s mum carries on chatting away oblivious.
Don’t get me wrong. This is cool. I’ve nearly had my fill of being a one man geek show. But I’m pretty interested in what causes such a profound difference between genders here. Is it modesty, propriety, or is it the fact that so much of the daily work falls to the women here that they don’t have time for such frivolities?
Bhaktal – 10:25
Man. This bites the big milegas. Someone has taken the NH17 – that most reliable of highways – and swapped it for one big fucking pothole, causing my spare brake shoes and my beloved lungi, of many years service, to bounce out into the road somewhere in the last ten k’s (oh why couldn’t it have been my foot-fraying sandals?).Those are two sorry losses. And still 180ks to go.
Bhaktal Part II: 10:57
Just met someone on the road riding a chopped 500cc Enfield. Andrés from Argentina is the first person of a western persuasion that i’ve seen since leaving Hampi. He’s currently blasting up the coast looking, if anything, even dirtier than I do. Can this be solely down a difference of 150ccs? We swapped bikes for a bit, and I can certainly attest to the additional grunt of the 500. Add to that the minimalist seat, draper bars and a rear tyre that could have come off a truck, and it becomes a pretty fearsome proposition. (note plastic container of oil jammed in above the gearbox for easy access. This beast is thirsty).
I should note: each word I type is being read aloud by a gentleman approximately three cm’s from my left ear. He is looking over. He is smiling, and….yes! He has finally twigged to what’s happening. Although he is still continuing to read. What is your good name, sir?….
Honavar 13:55
Break down!
After a particularly brisk stage trying to keep up with Andrés and his pig-assed 500, I heard the characteristic squelch of a defeated electrical system and knew that I was in for at least an hour of mechanical faffery once we stopped for lunch. As estimates go, this proved to be pretty much bang on. Although I did learn a trick or two about electrical troubleshooting. It goes something like this: replace the battery with a known good one (stick old one on charger for as long as is required), unhook wire from battery to points, see if it sparks on any bit of grounded metal (dental work is inadvisable), if not, try the wire to the condenser….actually, this was as far as we got, then we both looked at the tiny box on the battery cable itself and discovered that it contained a fuse. Which had blown. Job done.
Gokarna – 10:25 pm
I found Andrés watching the sunset over Om Beach and nursing a beer. With a long shared history of bike breakdowns and, it turns out, Ibizian and London diversions, we had no trouble talking the sun down. And then some. Although the guilt gland did twinge a little over the course of the evening, since technically I should be at home right now. However, the hour of mechanical jiggery pokery left me with three hours more driving and only one of daylight. Tash bravely quelled the disappointment in her voice and handed me over to speak to the boys. Egg wanted to know how many kilometres I had driven today and how many more I had left tomorrow. Dumpie only asked if I could stay away a little longer so he could have some more Mama time.
