Built for speed. But also comfort.

So, this happened. After a brilliant Tamhini climb (clocking, at the top end, 130kmph) and descent towards Mahad, we stopped at an airy restaurant-cum-inn for brunch, only to realise that I had left my ignition on or some accessory or the other had caused a drain on the battery and it had died on me.

Of course, having 25 other motorcyclists and hardcore biking enthusiasts with us meant we removed and checked the relays, fuses, and battery terminals, as well as attempted a jump start using another bike. No joy.

So, finally, the RSA was called, and help is on its way. Meanwhile, Vikas, my right-hand man, was woken from his Sunday siesta and even before I could tell him that I may need his assistance, swung into action, making all the calls, reassuring Maa that I was fine, and last heard from, was picking up the car from my home to start towards me, about three and a half hours away.

Me? Well, I’m built for comfort, you see. Not toil. So, three youngsters from the club worked on my bike, opening all the parts and checking them, then replacing everything back to its original condition, as the club’s captain, Shohrat Shankar, supervised this operation like a conductor of an orchestra. I spent my time having breakfast and sipping masala chai while being an observer to this organised chaos. Of course, I got my hands greasy too, but that was merely symbolic in nature and more as solidarity towards the proletariat sweating on my problem than to provide any specific solution.

The Sweep and another member offered to stay behind (you see, that’s a club rule: No biker left behind), but since it was neither a health emergency, nor an accident, nor was I stranded in the middle of nowhere, I chose to be alone and sent them all away to carry on with their ride.

Now, I sit under the fan in a nice, well-stocked, empty inn with clean toilets and even rooms (with a decent swimming pool, no less) should I choose to stay, being served anda-pav and Thums Up as I await the RSA tow truck to arrive, while I introspect on life and how lucky I, Serendipity’s favourite son, have been the entire half a century I’ve been around.

By the way, whoever said biking is about roughing it out hasn’t met me yet. Aao kabhi haveli pe!