Enthusiastic locals. Photo: Tanja Kisker

Our mechanics, left to right, Ramesh, Alsma, and Monton. Photo: Tanja Kisker

Honora and Rita. Photo: Tanja Kisker

Tanja on a different kind of ride. 

Our guides, Bernie & Ellen. Photo: Tanja Kisker

Markus in front of the Taj Mahal 

Post-ride libations in Bambora. Photo: Markus Maier 

A proverbial holy cow. Photo: Markus Maier 

More Rajasthan ride pictures

The morning gas-up ritual. Photo: Markus Maier 

Up-date on Norton Chopper

I haven't said anything about my Norton Chopper project in some time. That's because it is still not fired up. A few weeks ago, I took the project to Frontline Cycles in Longmont to get their help with the last few items I was having trouble with. They completely started over on the wiring, and that is now a done deal. However, Len found a number of other things that he said were just not right. Mostly these had to do with the rubber mounting of the engine. It seems I had hard-mounted the exhaust and some other parts which were then attached to either the engine or the tranny. So I had to redo those. I had also not understood how the rear brake master cylinder swtich worked, so I had to re-engineer that completely. Then the kick start shaft I had bought on e-bay was not correctly machined to accept the pedal mount. I had to take that apart and re-machine it so it would work correctly. Now I am just waiting on receiving the correct front brake couplings and the right spacers for the clutch within the primary. Once those things have been correctly installed, I should be good to go. To me that means within the next couple of weeks. However, we'll see what the real deal is.

Honora's version of our India trip

It seemed a whirlwind of preparation that last week, and then we were off on Dec. 19th.

Bob and I used United 'miles' to get as far as Frankfurt, via Toronto and London. We did have a nice day in London, where we took in a theatre production and tried to get a good nights' sleep before meeting up with Ian and Allison in Frankfurt the next afternoon (they flew direct from Denver to Frankfurt). We had a nice meal together and walked around the Frankfurt outdoor Christmas market in the old city, had a cup of mulled wine, listened to some music and got in one more good sleep before the long trip to Delhi the next day.

How can I begin to describe India? Despite its growth as a recipient of US technology outsourcing, it is still one of the poorest countries in the world, with extremely uneven infrastructure. While Bob had been to India three times prior to this visit, it was the first time for Ian and I, and I will admit to some culture shock those first couple of days. One example that stuck in my mind was when we were, on the first day, driving out from the Delhi airport along one of the major highways to the south. There was major construction along part of this road to lay in a new water/sewer system. There were many large, round, cement culvert pieces sitting along the road and in the median of the road, awaiting the construction crews to get to that section of the road to lay them into the ground. Meanwhile, some people had moved into to these sections of culvert, and were using them as housing.

That first day, we drove south and west into Rajasthan on an all day journey that took us to a small village called Mandawa, where we arrived well into the evening, cold and tired, to a lovely hotel, improbably located out in the middle of the desert. Now here's where I must admit to the major part of this journey that we did not tell you in advance. It was at this hotel that we picked up our motorcycles. The entire rest of the journey was done on two wheels... up until the last day. We knew you would worry more than you already did about our well-being, so we decided to wait until after the fact, to give you "the rest of the story."

This trip was a true and exciting adventure for us, and not for the faint of heart, to be sure. India by itself challenges most Westerners emotionally, unless they have no social or political conscience at all. This is the more true when you do a lot of interacting directly with everyday Indian people in cities and villages, which we did, often thanks to Bob's ability to speak Hindi. Then there was the learning curve of the motorcycles themselves and the Indian traffic and roads, but more on all that in a moment. On top of that, we were with a very international group (mostly Germans, two Swedish, one British), six women and ten men, with interesting dynamics. The four of us were the only Americans and everyone else on this trip had questions and concerns about US politics and motivations. While we did our best personally to be gracious, participatory, open, and very much NOT "me first," I must honestly tell you that our national image abroad is extremely poor and Europeans (as well as educated Indians, Turks on airplanes, etc.) are not shy in letting us know it. I tried to speak as much German as possible (and managed to get some good German language lessons from a couple of the people on the trip) to avoid the impression that Americans are too insulated or too arrogant to learn any other languages and I hope that helped in some small way. All but one of the others spoke some-to-quite-fluent English and were interesting, well educated people. We ranged in age from Allison at 19 to Gunnar Soderstrom (Swedish) at 60, a retired, wealthy, mechanical engineer whose hobby is motocross cycle racing.

The tour guides were a 40-something couple from Germany who live part of the year in the Indian state of Goa, southwest of Bombay. They were good, if not great tour guides, lively people, and considerate of all of us. They did speak good English, which of course they would have to do in order to be tour guides in India. They also were excellent riders, with a lot of motorcycle experience, and their riding confidence rubbed off on me personally a great deal, and was a huge help throughout the trip.

So we started our trip with short riding session to try to get used to the bikes, Royal Enfield "Bullets." These were 500cc, one cylinder, four stroke little bikes... very durable, but with their own learning curve. They are no longer made by Enfield in England [same as the small arms company in England], but come in three sizes in India. Ours were the largest motor they make and, for their size, they had great low end torque which came in handy going around trucks and buses on the roads. The initial difficulty with these bikes is that the gear shift is on the right instead of the left as we are used to on American and Japanese motorcycles, they have a kick start ignition instead of a push-button, and there is no little green light to tell you when you are in neutral, which of course you must be before kick-starting. It took me several days to get the hang of finding neutral and successfully managing the kickstart, which was a kinesthetic skill not related to strength or size, but did have it's own trick. I had to have Ramesh, our head mechanic, start my bike for me inumerable times, and he and Aslam, the other mechanic, were very proud of me when I finally was able to reliably start it on my own. Ian and Bob had fewer problems, but they were able to do the kick while straddling the bike and standing on one leg, whereas I was too short and had to start it with the kickstand down, not sitting on the bike. Also, the seat was a couple inches too high for me to "flatfoot" the bike, but I learned after a few days how to deal with that in most situations. By the end, the right foot shifting became very natural and I have a great respect for the durability of these tough little motorcycles.

Motorbike is a great way to see a country (although I also like walking tours for similar reasons). Much more up close and personal than from the window of a tour bus, especially as we stopped for tea and lunch breaks in the same places that regular Indian people eat. Indian villagers were friendly and curious, and very open to speaking with us. Bob's ability with Hindi allowed us to find out a little more about their lives than otherwise, and often we would have a crowd of the unemployed, the retired, or the very young surrounding us all talking at once. They wanted to shake our hands, find out "From which country do you come?" "How do you like India?", touch our motorcycles, have us take their photo, etc. (By the way, if you go to India, take a box or two of cheap pens. All the children asked us for them and we had unfortunately not brought any. I could easily have given away a few hundred pens!)

The total trip was close to 2000 Km or 1300 miles. We averaged 100-150 miles per day with several planned stops per day, and often a few unplanned ones. Our luggage came in the company chase bus with our mechanics, spare parts and tools. They went everywhere with us and I have to tell you that these guys were incredible mechanics. They could, and did, fix a fuel line, change a tire, take apart a motor and put it back together, or whatever else had to be done, in record time and with a smile and good heart. They were our back up support team and made us all feel safer and more confident.

We visited all the most interesting cities and villages and sights in Rajasthan as well as little villages barely on anyone's map. It is largely a dry plateau, but has dunes, mountains, lakes, and the long and interesting history of the Rajput and Mougul Empires. In fact, most of the hotels we stayed in were converted palaces of Maharajas who were stripped of privileges during the administration of Indira Ghandi and had to find another way to support themselves than on the backs of the peasants. These buildings were beautiful and often amazingly restored. I felt like a princess to be staying such hotels, surrounded by villagers living one-room huts. India's contrasts are startling. We visited such cities as Jodhpur, Udaipur, and Pushkar, visiting fortresses and temples and other sites. But my favorite hotel was a restored fort on a high plateau in the mountains in the village of Bambora, surrounded by rice paddies and water wheels, and adjacent to a small and very friendly village where we managed a guided tour by a couple who were the hotel musicians. They spoke no English, but were gracious and happy to show us their little town. The woman helped me to purchase some lovely sari fabric and made sure I got a good price! We watched to sun go down that day over the hills from the rooftop terrace of the hotel, while sipping Indian spiced tea. Our room there was so beautiful it made me feel like a Maharani.

Indian roads. We rode on every possible type of surface from four lane highways to sand and gravel lanes and trails, rutted and potholed dirt, through streams, and on tiny mountain roads with endless switchbacks. Needless to say, I feel that I am a much better and safer rider than when we started. I think Bob and Ian would say the same. I was scared some days 100 times but I believe new learning curves keep you young and new experiences keep you alive and aware. I would not have missed this trip for all the tea in India!

Then there was the Indian traffic. We almost always came to whatever town or village where our next hotel would be at rush hour, but we also passed through villages and towns and large cities every day. The traffic in an Indian city defies explanation if you have never experienced it. The roads are crowded with every type of vehicle from bicycles to 3-wheeled taxis, to carts and wagons, large trucks and buses. As if that were not challenge enough, there are just as many pedestrians as there are vehicles, as well as dogs, pigs, goats and sheep wandering the roads, water buffaloes and camels pulling imbrably huge loads, and, of course, the ubiquitous cows, which are everywhere and usually not tethered. All of these are moving at their own speeds, weaving and flowing in an unfathomable dance that defied logic much less traffic rules. There were rarely traffic lights and the driver or rider with the loudest horn wins. This was, for me, the greatest challenge because you were going slowly, up and down shifting every few seconds, and needed 360 degree vision. It was a sort of moving meditation or tai chi and I think most of us felt a certain small sense of triumph when we all arrived at the next destination without having run over anyone or gotten lost from each other!

Ian deserves special kudos on this trip, because he did all of thr above with a passenger on the back of his bike and he rode very, very safely and well. [BTW] He called us today from Istanbul (Jan 16), where he and Allison are having a wonderful time visiting a college buddy of Ian's and are slowly en route to school in Barcelona, which runs from Feb 6th to March 4th.

After 14 days on two wheels we arrived at the city of Bharatpur, where we bid farewell to the bikes and our back-up crew and met the bus that would take us to Agra, the city of the Taj Mahal. Hopelessly touristic, but undeniably one of the worlds most visually stunning structures, it is the story of the Taj that, perhaps, impresses most. Built by an emperor in memorium of a beloved queen who gave him 14 children, he watched the completion of the building from a prison cell after being deposed by his son. Today, he and his queen rest in the crypt below the main floor. We spent a couple of hours just wandering the gardens around the building and enjoying its visual harmony, which for me had the impact of both calming the mind and touching the heart.

That night we returned to Delhi and said goodbye to the companions who had accompanied us on this intense and fascinating experience. We are definitely still internally processing this trip and we will be for many weeks and months, I think. It was unlike any adventure of my life.

The whole wonderful group on the last day at lunch, making our way towards Bharatpur. 

Strung out like ducks in a row. 

Me 

Ian and Allison 

Honora driving through a small village. Photo: Tanja Kisker

Honora heading to Bambora. Photo: Tanja Kisker

Bernie and Tanja with two locals. 

The intrepid and incomparable Phil. Photo: Tanja Kisker

Typical light in-town traffic. Photo: Tanja Kisker

Arriving at the hotel in Jaisalmer. Photo: Tanja Kisker

Beers after a long day in the saddle. Photo: Tanja Kisker

Sharing the road. 

Winfrid and Dominic trying to get started again after a pee break. Photo: Tanja Kisker

Our morning gassing up ritual. 

Typical Indian kid staring at us staring at him. 

The type of traffic we had to negotiate around a hundred times per day. 

Bernie and Ellen, our two guides. Totally great people! 

Yet another tea stop by the side of the road. 

Honora on her bike at a rest stop near a reservoir. 

My son Ian sitting on his Bullet at another tea house. Our chase bus is in the back. 

Morning tea stop in the Thar desert 

Bernie, our Classic Bike India guide, introducing us to our bikes and how to kick-start them. 

Royal Rajasthan pics

Meeting our Enfield Bullets in Mandawa. 

Classic Biking In India: Royal Rajasthan by Enfield Bullet

Motorcycling in India where all roads are one way – whichever way you happen to be going – with no speed limits other than the fastest you can go in any and every situation, no rules of the road except he who honks loudest and flinches last goes, and every conceivable user: cars, trucks, busses, motor rickshaws, peda-rickshaws, bicycles, skooters, motorcycles, herds of sheep and goats, dogs, pigs, camels, horses, water buffaloes, and cows, even the occasional elephant and dancing bear, and people, people, people. Forget that you’re driving on the opposite side of the road – that’s the least of your worries. Now throw in an Indian-made Enfield Bullet which shifts on the right, one up and three down, and brakes on the left. Did I mention the suckers are kick-start only? Sound like your kind of fun? It was for my wife and I and my son and his girlfriend.

For 15 days at the end of 2005, the four of us joined 10 other intrepid souls and two guides from Classic Bike India on a motorcycle tour of Rajasthan. For those geographically challenged, Rajasthan is in the northwest of India next to Pakistan and is mostly desert, the Thar desert to be specific. Sort of looks like southern Arizona or New Mexico. Running roughly north-south through the middle of the state are the Aravali Mountains. Rajasthan is the home of the fearsome Rajputs, kick-ass horse and camel warriors with bright yellow, red, and orange turbans and truly monumental handlebar mustaches. The women look like a flock of birds in their bright saris and jangling gold and silver jewelry. On the top of most major mountains are medieval walled fortresses and palaces. Think Arabian Nights and Sheherazad. Rajasthan is classical India at its most romantic. Having lived in India for some time 30 years ago, it was always my favorite part of that subcontinent.

I found this trip by Googling “motorcycle tour + Rajasthan.” There are a number of companies that run similar trips, but I chose Classic Bike India because they had a trip at the time my family and I had open to go. The company is owned by an expatriate German in Goa who runs motorcycle trips all over India and Nepal. (The one in Ladakh really sounded scary.) Each trip is guided by one or two English-speaking Germans who have lived in India for years, and the whole group is followed by a chase bus with three crackerjack mechanics and trunks full of tools and spare parts. The chase bus also carried all our luggage. All you had to worry about each morning was being ready to ride between 8-9 A.M. Everything else was taken care of by our guides and mechanics.

Because this is a “German” company, most of the other riders were Germans, with two Swedes and a Brit thrown in for good measure. Lest you think we were roughing it, each night we stayed in a Maharaja’s palace or fort which had been converted into a 4-star “heritage” hotel. Breakfast and dinner were included at the hotels as were song, dance, and puppet shows most nights. We pooled our resources for lunch and ate wherever we happened to stop. That meant mostly rice, dal (lentils), vegetable curry, and nan, a flat bread baked in front of your eyes. In addition, we stopped for chai, spiced Indian tea, once in the morning and once in the afternoon. We typically road 150 miles per day, with some days less and others more, for a total of around 1,500 miles. Except for one late afternoon, we were always at our hotel before sunset.

India has only three seasons – winter, summer, and monsoon. December-January in India is winter, but that meant the temperature was in the 60-70s every day with sunshine and not a drop of rain the whole two weeks. The mornings could be chilly; so layers were in order. And being in the desert, the temperature went down rapidly once the sun went down. That meant putting on a sweater or jacket and for me with no hair, a beanie as well.

The Bullets were single cyclinder, 4-stroke, 500cc verticals which looked straight out of the 1960s. When Royal Enfield went belly-up in Britain, the Indian factory bought the rights to continue domestic production, and not a whole lot has changed since in the way of design. This is where the company gets the “classic” in its name. It took most of us a few days to learn to reliably start the beasts, but once going, they were relatively indestructible. Although the roads were mostly paved, there were a couple of days that made one think “motocross.” On the odd occasion when they did break down after hitting a water buffalo, stripping a cam gear, or popping a tire, Aslam, Ramesh, and Monton, our three mechanics, had us back on our way, typically in minutes. Ok, the engine rebuild did take over night, but my son was back on his bike the next morning.

The places we stayed at night are the stuff of legends – Rudyard Kipling, Gunga Din, and all that. Bikaner, Jaisalmer, Jodhpur, and Udaipur were all Rajput capitals dominated by sandstone and marble forts. Luni and Bambora were typical mud-hut Rajasthani villages where are hotels were restored forts. Pushkar was once a sleepy little pilgrimage town sacred to Lord Brahma, dreamer of the universe, but now a trendy hangout for Israeli hippies. At Kusa, we rode camels in the desert with dunes like out of Lawrence of Arabia, while at Ranthambore, we took a jeep safari in the national park and saw two tigers, one only yards away. As for libidinous supplies, beer flowed freely at dinner and most lunches and, in Jaisalmer, we found a state-licensed store which sold bhang, a form of marijuana. The enterprising third-generation owner, the affable Dr. Bhang, offered bhang cookies and chocolate, several sorts of bhang milkshakes, and smokable bhang as well, all in mild, medium, strong, and super strong strengths. In Jodhpur, a guard in the Maharaja’s winter palace offered black-tar opium out of the pocket of his kurta to the more intrepid. Interesting, but I have to say we passed on that. Shopping was yet another diversion, what with the cotton and silk sarees, Rajasthani miniature paintings, silver and gold jewelry, and other fabric goods.

However, the thing that I enjoyed the best, besides the constantly varying riding, was the people. English is an official language in India. So it was always easy to find someone who we could speak to. In addition, I still speak a little Hindi from my salad days. Indians are incredibly friendly, and you can’t stop without gathering a crowd. While some tourists find this annoying, my wife and I got into it with the result that we got taken into locals’ homes, saw temples off the beaten track, tasted things other members of our tour did not, and met some really great, down-home people. No matter where we went, our caravan was greeted by huge, white-toothed smiles and waves. What a great feeling!

While this trip was not for the faint-hearted, I recommend it whole-heartedly. It’s the kind of once-in-a-life-time, wild-hair trip every biker with a taste for the exotic should do. Although the riding was sometimes challenging, my family and I all came back better riders for it. Hopefully, we also came back better people too. For more information about Classic Bike India, go to www.classic-bike-india.com.