Sticky logo
Search
They say that you either love traveling in India or you hate it. They say that India is beautiful. They say the traffic is terrible. They say that India is spiritual. They say that India is hot, dirty, and full of insects. I say that India is all of that, and so much more. I say it is where you will find some of the best and most colorful dual-sport riding in the world.
India is a huge country. Think of it as more like a continent: stretching from the high peaks of the Himalayas down to the Arabian Sea. India is a mega diverse country—and not just in terms of biodiversity. India is the second most populous country in the world with over two thousand ethnic groups. India has over four thousand miles of coastline, and has twenty-two official languages. Lucky for me, English is one of them.
Good Horn, Good Brake, Good Luck
It’s a fourteen hour flight from Newark to New Delhi, so I have quite a bit of time to chat with my Indian seat mate. He is astonished that I am traveling to India to ride a motorcycle for a month. While motorcycles and scooters are certainly a part of the culture there, it is an unusual form of transportation for women. We chat about traffic, tourism, and motorbiking to the far corners of the earth. At the end of the flight, in his charming sing-song accent, he wishes me “Good Horn, Good Brake, and Good Luck.”
Himachal Pradesh
One of the truly incredible aspects of traveling in India is that you can ride one hundred miles, and experience a completely different set of cultural beliefs, traditional dress, and gastronomical delicacies. Himachal Pradesh, where I have chosen to ride, is literally translated as “in the lap of the Himalayas.” Himachal Pradesh is the least urbanized of India’s twenty-eight states, within a breath’s distance of the Himalayas, so where better to explore the natural beauty of northern India?
Bijli Majadev: Lord Shiva and the Lingam
I’ve just finished a two week trans-Himalayan motorcycle tour with Motorcycle Expeditions of India. Two days of rest in Manali, the quaint mountain town at the northern end of the Kullu Valley, and I am ready to explore again. I’ve caught my wind—literally—as we’d ridden to over 18,000 feet on the tour and camped alongside the marmots. Buddhi, Motorcycle Expeditions’ partner and primary guide, knows that I like the roads less traveled and offers to take me to see a remote temple that few tourists visit.
We take off early from Manali and ride through a couple of settlements, then stop for tea next to an impressive waterfall. I offer to take pictures for a couple. They, in turn, want a picture of me. I ask Buddhi how he knows they are on their honeymoon, and he points out the woman’s beautiful bangle bracelets. In his society they are a cultural marker just like a wedding ring.
We leave the waterfalls and ride through a deep, old-growth forest. Time almost stands still here, so much so that the “road” now transforms into a double-track that winds through woods, a small settlement, and directly through a farm yard with mud and manure at least a foot deep. Further along the trail, we compete for traction with a herd of cows on a narrow ledge, steadfastly ignoring the steep drop inches away that bleeds out into the Himalayan panorama.
We ride in first and second gear, slogging through mud, ruts, and more manure, and finally arrive at the temple which is eerily empty save a hermit, a groundskeeper, and a pack of dogs. We take turns watching the gear as we individually explore inside the temple. I remove my shoes and launch a tempest of flies as I mount the steps. Inside the temple is a phallus covered in lard. The smell is foul, contrasted by beautiful flower bud offerings to Lord Shiva and intricate carvings inside the temple. Welcome to the enigma that is India.
Already exhausted after eighteen miles of rough road that has taken most of the day to travel, I am dismayed to think about the ride back to Manali. We now have to race the sunset to get off the mountain before darkness makes traversing the slippery wet clay and mud impossible. We have not eaten and I am grumpy. Adrenaline alone carries me through axle-deep mud, over slippery clay, and down the muddy track in the eventual dark.
