December’s Contender

'Twas the month of December when it suddenly dawned, That insidious notion: another year gone. And thus to the interweb we scurried all a bumble, To post many pics (have a bit of a mumble). And yet, as years go, it treated us well. Consider: only in balmiest beauty did we dwell. We met lots of people, too many to remember, And that was just in the month of December. So here are the photos, in time-honoured dollop; Proof that life is too short to be lived as polyp.

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The Quality Curse

I seem to just want to write new stuff. It’s an extension of ‘do’, and in my world, ‘do’ has always been better than ‘not-do’. I guess I just like the unbridled possibility of the next sentence far more than the harsh constraints of the last one.   This bodes well for volume, but not brilliantly for quality. And, unfortunately for me, it is this last which everyone is seeking. It's rare stuff, after all; like some sort of elixir for eternal youth. Perhaps, that is why everyone is chasing it. Eternal youth speaks to you of timelessness, durability. Rarity. I’m aware that I tread close to the same quality ruminations that Robert Pirsig gave voice to in Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance. At least that's what I can still recall from my last reading, circa 1993. I suspect that there were good reasons for his quality fixation -- especially if you take into account the poor man's diagnosis for schizophrenia and subsequent shock therapy treatment.    But quality can a worthwhile obsession, since it is a concept which cuts to the quick of humanity. We always carry with us a notion of how good something is in relation to something else, and that something else is usually aligned with an abstract ideal which has the capacity to say more about us as people than a signature or a fingerprint. Take India for example. Like me, it has little trouble with volume, but quality continues to be elusive.   I’m currently on my second set of bicycle tyres, fifth pair of inner tubes (and those are patched to within an inch of their lives) and second rear axel. The handlebar tape has gone, and the headset is already notched. That's after a thousand kilometers. The cycle of purchase, fix, fix again, and replace is so short here it makes your head spin. A mania for quality in the practical world…

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Day 7 – Toast on the Coast

Thursday, 9th DecemberBikeShuffle: Desmonk Dekker - 007 (Shanty Town) [audio:http://shambolic.com/blog/files/2010/12/09-007-Shanty-Town.mp3|titles=007 (Shanty Town)] Trasi – 08:35Actually, 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…

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Day 1: The Excursion Diversion

December 3rd, 2010 BikeShuffle:  The Police - Walking in Your Footsteps [audio:http://shambolic.com/blog/files/2010/12/02-Walking-In-Your-Footsteps1.mp3] Patnem Following a new high in kiddie antics yesterday, I think the missus may have spotted a look of pain which got stuck on my face and didn't come off.  She asked if perhaps the 20x7 childcare might be getting to me, just a little (i'm discounting Dumpie's four hours of school).  From there, it was an amazingly quick and congenial discussion that, unbelievably, saw us decide that  I would drive up to Hampi this morning in order to scratch (and hopefully eradicate) the bike itch which has been plaguing me ever since we got back to Goa. Result! So,  we're looking at a rather involved scoot -- about 370 km's each way -- not likely to be something that can be done in a single day.  This gives us a little bit of flexibility on routing, and rather than take the standard Highway 17 and 63 route, I think i'm going to go by way of the Anshi National Park.  Will be travelling minimal,  and with no spares or tools beyond my LeatherGirl it does mean that even small mechanical problems in the boondocks could prove to be a major headache (although I just know that cocktail fork is going to come in handy!). Anshi National Park Snake! Stretched out and sunning itself on a sharp turn.  Nearly spanning the road.  I thought it was a tree branch at first and lazily steered to the left to avoid it.  As I got closer I could make out the head, watching me, and then it gave the smallest slither to allow a small gap at the side for me for me to ride through.  Must have been over two metres, since there was very little road left, and he wasn’t even fully stretched out. I found myself wondering whether they could strike fast enough to bite you if…

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Intro: ¡Ay, Karnataka!

By the missus' extremely good graces, i was allowed to gallivant across a fair old stretch of south India last week, notching up about 1,000 kilometers of bone-jarring goodness on a bike that is, miraculously, still intact (apart from four snapped spokes, some minor welding and much tightening of nuts).  Being of a fairly nerdy persuasion, i took the laptop and diddled away whenever anything struck me as odd, amusing or noteworthy. This turned out to be fairly often, and if nothing else, it fostered some fairly ridiculous scenes where whole crowds were jostling behind me to catch a glimpse over my shoulder of this wondrous device. So, if you will indulge this experiment in serial posting, i'm going to try chucking that material up here at a rate of one day's driving for each day of reality. I am a lazy sod after all, and this beats having to think up something new to say about it. Those of you with only lukewarm enthusiasm for this plan need not worry, i am going to turn off the email notifications for this batch, which means you can enjoy the run up to Christmas without getting spammed into 2011. So saddle up, y'all. Tomorrow we ride! View South India Road Epic in a larger map

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Photo Backlog – September & October

have finally found sufficient bandwidth (and runt-free moments) to upload some pictures from the last few months. so, here they are for September and October as the pictures no doubt confirm, we continue to have a cracking time....(arf) Uncle Chancealot seems unaware of the wardrobe failure

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