wheeling my kit bag through Indira
Gandhi Airport on the outskirts of
Delhi. I was met by Toby and Anna
from Ride Expeditions who helped
me load my luggage into a cab,
requesting that the driver puts it
inside the car rather than unsecured
on the roof rack.
Once we hit the mid-morning
traffic, I was instantly wondering
whether this was a good idea at all.
Seven lines of traffic battled their
way down the four-lane highway
accompanied by a supporting cast of
scooters, cycles, rickshaws, Tuc Tucs
and the occasional cow. The prospect
of riding a bike on these roads
suddenly seemed very, very unwise.
Once at the hotel order was
somewhat restored. I met my riding
colleagues for the next fortnight
– three Aussies, a Kiwi and a Brit
currently working in Pakistan.
Within a noticeably short time we
defaulted to the motorcycling norm,
sinking a few beers, and talking
bikes.
We took a tour of Delhi in a
small fleet of Tuc Tucs, parting the
chaotic traffic in what felt like a
scene from a Bond film, dodging
death at worryingly frequent
intervals. The drivers took us to all
the tourist destinations, ignoring our
instructions with a cheery smile.
The high point of the trip came
unexpectedly when at the top of a
tower in the 500-year-old mosque.
As we looked over the enormous
city of Delhi, one of the Aussies
announced, to both us and a group
of locals, that the city used to be
Mumbai before they changed the
name. His staggeringly inaccurate
geography earnt him peals of
laughter and derision, not to mention
the nickname ‘Mumbai Dave’. That
lasted the whole ride.
With the set off point for our trip
some hours away at Manali, we made
the journey north the next day in airconditioned
cabs to avoid a long and
strenuous first day. The Aussies were
suffering, having only left the local
nightclub some two hours prior to
our 5am start time.
By evening, we’d travelled through
some stunning scenery and witnessed
some of the scariest overtaking
manoeuvres ever attempted outside
of Formula 1. The roads tight and
busy, I considered whether my will
was up to date.
Arriving at the plush 1920s hotel
at around 6pm, all this was forgotten
and after unpacking it was time for a
beer and curry, the meal that would
become our staple diet.
Day one dawned and after
breakfast the rumble of engines
announced the arrival of the bikes.
Eight identical Royal Enfield 500
Classics lined up outside the hotel
reception and looked stunning in
their cream and burgundy livery.
We quickly kitted up, chose a bike,
and set out following our local guide,
Anu, who rode like Michael Dunlop
TRAVERSE 100