I am off to Diveagar for a weekend overnighter with my biking club, Bikers’ Creed India (notice the grammatically correct apostrophe, one of the reasons I love this club!) tomorrow at 0530h IST.
But before that, I had to get my stuff sorted.
My machine (the BattleCat III) including tyre condition & pressure, fuel status, chain, seat, electricals, lights, toolkit, etc. was first priority.
My armour, including my helmet (the BT headphones need charging regularly), its visor, the dark inner visor, the strap, my jacket with all its pockets of crash guards on the elbow, back, and shoulders, the inner waterproof jacket and its zips and waterproof protections, my shin & knee guards (and their fasteners and hinges), my gloves, my riding boots (with an extra pair of laces) and socks, my riding pants, club tee shirt (quick dry), and the underwear (and handkerchief) I am going to wear tomorrow was next. I had to check the integrity of the armour and also look for any tears, cracks, or damage to clothing or protective gear.
Then came my backpack (and water bottle & first aid kit) and its various components, including packing squares, carabiners, straps, velcro, zips, pull-chords, and fasteners. Was it clean? Was anything broken or torn or cracked? Did it all close correctly and tightly? Did it all go into each other?
Next were the clothes: One set of clothes including outer and inner clothes per day plus one extra set of everything, one set of night clothes, towels (one large and one hand-sized), sandals, cap.
Finally, it was the turn of the other (equally important) non-clothing items: sunglasses, prescription reading glasses, sunscreen, bug repellant, shaving/toilet kit, toilet paper, rubber bands, insulating tape (you’ll be surprised how tough this one is, though I could not find my reel of tape today, and will have to go without for this trip), perfume, medicines (check expiry), multi-purpose knife & plier set (also serves as a weapon in a pinch), torch (weapon, ditto), charger cables, auxiliary charger (this has to be charged first), extra batteries (both AA and AAA), driving licence, credit cards, club membership cards (and affiliate membership cards – you’ll be surprised where you can find a use for these), liquor licence (yes, technically, India is a prohibition country and Maharashtra residents need a licence to drink), ATM cards, body+organ donation card (this has to be prominently displayed in the wallet just in case), sanitiser, and spare cash.
Of course, the other (once again, equally important) stuff like a book for reading (or my Kindle), a diary to keep notes (and a pen), a laser pointer (if we get clear skies) to point to stars, identity documents (and photocopies), spare passport-sized photos, a bottle of whisky, empty plastic bags, a couple of dishcloths and an old newspaper to wipe things (nothing in particular, just anything: it could be my helmet visor or the seat or my hands or whatever), and anything else I may need on the trip, were also readied.
All of this was then packed into organised containers (the packing abovementioned squares) and inserted into the Kreiga waterproof 30 litres backpack, the mouth of which was then folded and sealed.
In the morning, the bag will be mounted on my shoulders, the clothes worn on my body, the boots on my feet, the armour on or in my clothes, the helmet on my head (and turned on to receive signals from my phone), the phone in the housing attached to my motorcycle handle, the watch on my wrist, the key in the ignition, and off I will go.
Why all this fuss, you ask? It’s literally a couple of days and a night. To a place less than 5 hours driving distance away. In a developed state like Maharashtra. In a group of expert riders. During the day. What, possibly, could go wrong, Kedar?
Well, let me tell you a story to answer that. This is originally from either Ernest K Gann’s ‘Fate is the Hunter’ (the book that inspired my father, and countless men of his generation) to take to the skies or Antoine de Saint-Exupéry’s ‘Flight to Arras’. I forget which. I only remember my father telling me this. So, I shall recount it like him talking to me (he used to call me ‘Jumbo’).
‘There are two kinds of pilots, Jumbo. One of them sees a storm approaching, jumps in the plane, takes off, takes the storm head-on, defeats it, and flies through it in triumph. The other kind sees the same storm approaching, opens his maps, defeats the storm on the ground, jumps in the plane, takes off, and flies around it in triumph. The difference is this: The second pilot dies in his bed surrounded by his loved ones. Remember, you cannot stop the storm from existing in your life. But you can choose where to give battle. Choose wisely.’
And that, ladies & gentlemen, is why I prepare like a maniac. Fix me a stiff one. Get a good night’s sleep. And then, ride like hell!
