Pune to Kanyakumari on a motorcycle

  

The flag that defined our ride and which we pinned on our motorcycles

It all started more than 8 years ago for me, when a friend’s purchase of a Bullet motorcycle inspired me to go for the plunge and get one for myself. Post that purchase, I made many small rides and one ride of a 1,000 kms but more or less, that was it. The itch to go on a real long ride was constantly there. About 3 months ago, my friend Deepak Bhosle laid the groundwork for the Pune to Kanyakumari 1–way ride. He glorified the ride, saying we would be riding along the coast, through forests with wild tigers and elephants, via the beautiful Konkan belt, through the Nilgiri mountains until we finally reach the ‘Triveni Sangam’, i.e. the point where the V shape of India comes to an end and the Bay of Bengal, Arabian Sea and the Indian Ocean meet. We roped in Parag Gujarathi as well and began our preparations in earnest. Little did we know that Murphy as well as Sod, with their respective laws, were waiting for us.

After a lot of planning wrt routes, leave from office, pit stops, gear to be carried and Deepak’s expert tips on how to avoid dehydration, we decided the dates, an 8-day period in mid–August. It was bound to rain at that time and we carried enough rain gear to stay dry in the Indian monsoons. Parag Gujarathi went ballistic over water proof shoes and spent about 3 light years in various shoe shops before settling on a pair. He even bought real sturdy rain pants (what if we had to ditch in the sea being his unsaid reasoning), whose sturdiness gave way on Day 2. Read on for more of the adventures...

Day 1: Pune to Goa

  

While the committed ETD was 0530 hours, then 0600 hours and then 0630 hours, we finally set off at 0730 hours. When my motorcycle started and I rode off, people cheered and waved to me. I don’t know whether it was because they were finally getting to see my back or because the motorcycle managed to kick start to life. Nevertheless, we were on our way. And then… In the vernacular, it is called Sod’s law. About 30 minutes into the ride, it happened.

Parag Gujarathi vanished from the rear-view mirror. I and Deepak waited by the side of the road when another fellow motorcyclist delivered the news to us that our fellow rider was experiencing loss of air pressure in his rear tyre. We turned around and managed to locate Parag, who was waiting at a puncture shop. We extricated a large, rusted nail from the tyre and got the puncture fixed and then were on our way. It was raining quite heavily, but thanks to our planning, our bodies were hermetically sealed and well prepared for the harsh Antarctic weather, should the need ever arise.

My helmet cam was a big hit with many motorists, with a pretty damsel rolling down her car window and waving to me, with me saluting back as a true gentleman 😊 However, we had gone about 250 kms when the helmet cam mount came off. Thankfully, I noticed and managed to grab it before it became a road kill.

We went via Amboli ghat route, admiring the awesome greenery of the monsoons and stopped at Amboli waterfall, where the rest of humanity seemed to have converge. A few pictures later, we were on our way. And then… In the vernacular, you now know what it is called…

My motorcycle started showing signs of loss of power. With torrential rains and the usual asshole drivers thrown in, it was a potent combination. While the plan was to ride in the daylight only, Murphy, with his law that if anything can go wrong, it will, ensured that we managed to do only daylight riding on the last day. It got quite dark by the time we reached our hotel and then, we all scrambled for a bath as we were stinkier than anything you can imagine. Post that, we were fed and watered handsomely and slept soundly, with Parag Gujarathi topping the decibel meter.

Distance Covered: 465 kms

Highlight of the day: The pretty damsel waving to me from the car

  

Goa Hotel and the machines taking a well deserved rest

Day 2: Goa to Gokarna

  

Karwar Beach and the roads we were riding on

The morning started with a round of baths and then breakfast, with our motto throughout the ride being – What do you have for breakfast? Get two plates of everything for each of us.

Loaded the luggage on the machines and started. About 20 kms into the ride, and then… In the vernacular, you know what it is called. The difference this time was that it was a triple strike.

Strike 1 – Parag Gujarathi’s motorcycle’s chain cover broke and it started touching the chain.

Strike 2 – My motorcycle’s front fork’s oil seal gave way, leading to fork oil spilling out.

Strike 3 – My motorcycle, showing loss of power in progressively increasing magnitude, went dead in heavy traffic, just before Panaji in Goa.

But, we had an ace up our sleeves. We had taken spare parts with us and we also had spare spark plugs, something that came in handy as we found a mechanic who replaced the spark plugs and we were on our way again. By then, Parag Gujarathi’s rain pants had torn off in a very neat fashion and this had ensured that he had wet underwear (Alright, he never admitted but it was a dead giveaway). He again spent about 4 light years in different shops before settling on another rain pant (This one would tear on Day 3).

Crossed over from Goa into Karnataka without any fuss and then, were hit with a warning sign that read – Leopard crossing area. Drive cautiously – This sign probably explained the lack of state border personnel

Stopped for lunch at Karwar beach and our motorcycles were an instant hit with the locals, with Parag Gujarathi even being requested to pose for photographs. An uneventful ride later, we reached our Gokarna hotel around 7 pm. Parag and Deepak hit the beach and the locals promptly created a 100-metre no-go radius around them (tip: never smell a motorcyclist who has not showered). I showered, washed my quick dry clothes and hung them out to dry and then was headed towards the beach, when my keen sense of smell made me aware of the approaching 100 metre no-go area. Took prompt evasive action and avoided a near death experience.

With the other two bathed, we were fed and watered handsomely by the pool side and slept soundly in the night. Parag Gujarathi snored the loudest. I think that he would probably get a royalty from Bose speakers company to understand how he produces better sound than their speakers.

Distance covered: 180 kms

Highlight of the day: Deepak’s motorcycle’s horn started imitating a feeble, wet fart

    

Views en route, Gokarna Beach and our hotel

Day 3: Gokarna to Bekal (Kasargod)

  

Vistas en route

The morning started with a walk to the beach and coffee in a little shack on the beach with awesome views of a temple on a hill and the Arabian Sea. Walked back to our resort and ordered the usual for breakfast – Get two plates of everything for each one of us.

Fed and watered to a point where moving from the chair seemed like a Herculean task, we somehow got ready, loaded the machines and then decided to navigate the steep uphill climb from the resort to the main road one by one, with a 5-minute gap between each rider. Deepak and Parag went up and I was coming up last and then… In the vernacular… My motorcycle went dead on about a 30-degree uphill incline with no one to help me. Tried cajoling the old girl to kick start her into life but she refused to budge. I believe that she wanted to remind me of my wife. And then, I did a basic check and realized that I had left the fuel valve in off position. Returned it to on position and the old girl whirred to life.

Met the other two motorcyclists with me and then we started, with the hope that all would be good. Aal eej well !!! being the motto we were aiming for.

We were doing a good 80 or 90 km/hr and then… In the vernacular, it is called Sod’s law. The oil from the front fork on my motorcycle was seeping on to the front tyre, with the risk of me skidding. Managed to locate an authorised service centre in Udupi and got it repaired and lost about 3 hours’ worth of time but it was time and money well spent.

Crossed over from Karnataka into Kerala without much fuss. The traffic in Kerala is a different breed altogether. The buses drive with the motto – Leave the road or die – Kept riding and it was dark when we took a pit stop. A lone motorcyclist approached us and asked whether he can join us for as long as we are going because he was riding solo and it was dangerous. We said alright and he tagged along. Reached the hotel, bid adieu to the solo rider and then showered. Fed and watered handsomely, we crashed for the day.

Distance covered: 320 kms

Highlight of the day: Rode through Marwante, where the Arabian sea is on one side and a fresh water river is on the other, with the road going between then.

Mini highlight of the day: My own motorcycle’s horn started imitating a feeble wet fart.

  

 Vistas en route and our hotel in Bekal

Day 4: Bekal (Kasargod) to Ooty

  

Notice the Elephant warning sign?

After the usual round of – Get two plates of everything for each one of us – we loaded the motorcycles and then were on our way. The planned destination was Coonoor. Crossed into Tamil Nadu and then I noticed that my speedo was not working. By then I had had enough and decided to let it be and just ride on. Stopped at a real tiny forest shack run by a mother-daughter who spoke nothing but Tamil. Thankfully, I know a little and we ate fat rice and sambar and started riding again.

We had to go along the periphery of the Mudumalai Wildlife sanctuary, which houses wild elephants. By the time we reached the forest, it was dusk and a shopkeeper told us casually that elephants would be on the road up ahead and that there would be as good as no traffic at this time and ride carefully. All of us secretly did an underwear check to ensure that it was still clean and then hit the road. Crossed the forest department checkpost and promptly started getting warning signs saying – Elephant crossing area – All of us had the creeps but rode on. It was extremely dark and raining when we reached Ooty. Coonoor was a further 20 kms away when all of us decided that we cannot make it there. Found a hotel, showered, ate and crashed. Tomorrow, we ride right through the middle of tiger country.

Distance Covered: 290 kms

Highlight of the day: The yellow warning signs warning of elephants

Day 5: Ooty to Munnar

  

Riding through tiger country (Anamalai Tiger Reserve)

Breakfast was not included in our room rate and the hotel did not have a restaurant on site. So, we started after having coffee and then stopped at a very shady shack after the ghats to eat. I had one aloo vada and, I was to realize later how grateful I was that I did not order the usual two plates of everything.

All seemed good till we entered Anamalai tiger reserve. This has about 34 tigers (as per Wikipedia) and the ‘helpful’ locals at the check post told us that tigers do come on the road but that they are not man eaters. We thanked them from the bottom of our hearts, did a double take on our underwear and entered the forest. Single track road. Not even a single hut. Hardly any vehicles on the road. And then, one of us had the urge to do su-su. We stopped and did our thing and then opened a pack of biscuits right there and gobbled it. Then, all of us got the creeps that anything can come out of the trees and started riding. At the forest department check post between Tamil Nadu and Kerala, stopped to eat some Idli and purchased wild honey (On the last day of the ride, my bottle broke in the saddlebag. Yes, don’t ask about it). Saw an awesome waterfall in the forest and the forest guards said they can take us into the forest on a 3-hour trek and we can see tigers. Wanted to do that but no time. Next time perhaps.

Stopped by a waterfall and took photos and videos and spent close to an hour there, something that would haunt us later in the day. Reached Munnar and then our hotel was about 20 kms farther out. Heave rainfall and fog reduced visibility to under 5 metres. Couple that with mountain roads and it was very risky. Just the three of us on the tiny roads and absolute darkness on either side. Our motorcycles’ lights were the only lights on the road. Google maps kept taking us in circlesAfter about 90 minutes of searching, finally located the hotel. Had we not spent that much time taking photos, we could have avoided being in that position. Showered, fed and watered, we all slept soundly. This was the longest day of the ride so far.

Distance covered: 280 kms

Highlight of the day: Ride through Anamalai Tiger reserve

  

Vistas en route

  

Munnar Hotel

Day 6: Munnar to Kanyakumari

  

Usual routine with a twist. We sat in the restaurant which was almost covered in mist and had breakfast (yes, the usual of two plates of everything). Took a stroll around the resort. Very scenic with fog and dense forest and tree houses. Lazed in the bed till about 10 am and then got ready and loaded motorcycles and we were off. Descended the Nilgiris and hit the plains of Tamil Nadu. Road was awesome and for once, Sod and Murphy left us alone. We went via Tirunelveli. Awesome road and we managed to maintain sustained good speed. Reached Kanyakumari around 8 pm and then Google Maps promptly took us for a spin. I fed our hotel name and obeyed the directions until we came at a desolate spot where an under-construction bridge stood and Google Maps promptly announced – You have arrived – I was thinking of how to get a tent setup there when we took matters of navigation in our own hands, asked the locals and managed to locate our pit stop at Vivekananda Kendra.

By the time we were showered, it was quite late. Managed to find one hotel that served us food. We wanted to head to Triveni Sangam but were advised against it by the hotel proprietor. Went back to Vivekananda Kendra and crashed for the day.

Distance Covered: 360 kms

Highlight of the trip: The under construction bridge where Google maps was urging us to setup camp for the night

  

Vistas en route and our cottage in Vivekananda Kendra

Day 7: Kanyakumari to Trivandrum

  

Woke up real early around 5 am and went to Triveni Sangam to watch sunrise. Got some awesome photos of the Vivekananda Rock Memorial. Had awesome dosa at Sarvana Bhavan. Checked out and kept our luggage at a cloak room and headed to see Vivekananda Rock Memorial. Unfortunately, the sea was too rough and the ferry service was temporarily suspended. So, went and saw the light house instead. Got a guided tour from a very helpful gentleman who worked there. Had lunch at Sarvana Bhavan and then set off for the final port of departure, Trivandrum.

Rode along the coast with sea views fracturing through the coconut plantations occasionally. Reached GATI office and booked the motorcycles to be taken by truck to Pune. Checked into the hotel, where we had to take a boat across the backwaters to reach the room. Ate at the sea side restaurant, with the sounds of the breaking waves as a companion. And then… zzzzz

Next day, went to a friend’s father’s house nearby and he took us to get some local delicacies. Fed and watered extremely handsomely by them. Took a flight back to Pune later in the day.

Trivandrum Hotel

Distance Covered: 100 kms

Highlight of the trip: Awesome, homemade authentic south Indian food

Riding Tips:

1.       Wear boxer shorts if you don’t want your skin and your frenchies to ‘bond’ together and make their presence felt each time you move a millimetre

2.       Anything can dehydrate you (ask Deepak about it). So, drink lots of water

3.       Carry as little baggage as possible. Quick dry shirts are best as you can wash them in the night and they dry out by morning

4.       Ride with fellow riders whom you know well and whose riding styles / philosophy matches yours. In-ride breakups are not uncommon.

5.       And last, but not the least, enjoy the ride. You will cherish these memories forever.

Only a Motorcycle rider knows why dogs hang their heads out of car windows

It is the journey and not the destination...

Tell any motorcyclist this quote above and one will, almost certainly, get a sheepish smile with a childlike innocence. Motorcycling is an art. And, long-distance motorcycling to explore uncharted waters is equivalent to dipping a paintbrush in different colours and spreading them over a canvas…

The vistas that zoom by seem to have a ghostly mischievousness, for every motorcycle rider hears phantom voices. At times, the ghosts howl like the wind blowing ferociously. At others, it sounds like a child chuckling happily, as if just given a mound of fresh mud with a target to throw at. Or, maybe ocean waves crashing on a rocky beach. Or, like the air flowing through the hair of the love of one's life…

My trusted companion

A casual shower opens up a thousand vistas floating before a motorcyclist’s eyes as the rain drops slide up on the helmet visor, inversely reflecting a microcosm of the vistas zipping by, creating a magical glass. Or, maybe a kaleidoscope that spins by magic, driven by rain and air and two wheels…

On a motorcycle, the destination blurs in contrast with the journey, for riding a motorcycle to the destination is not the ultimate goal. Rather, seeing the sunlight filter through trees is. Or, maybe it is smelling the fresh grass. Or appreciating grease stained fingers as a part of motorcycling glory. Or, if one is lucky, then riding in the company of a low flying bird who dares the motorcyclist to master the mighty winds and soar in a starry sky…

A motorcycle adds colour...

An ode to biking in the Sahyadris...

 My inspiration for this blog...One of the numerous wet forest roads that mesmerize me...

Motorcycling in the Sahyadris is an experience one needs to experience to believe, especially if the ride happens in the monsoons. The sweet, spring like breeze carries all across the aroma of soil soaking in the first drops of rain and the heart is aware that somewhere, it has started raining. What the heart does not know, then, is the fact that the rain is heading its way. The mind foolishly sends neurons buzzing every-whichy-where asking the body to save itself from the downpour, reach shelter, run.... But the sweet perfume of the soil tickles the heart, sounding like a gentle rendition of the Jal-Tarang. The gentle vibrations strike a chord, caressing the heart, assuring that an amazing phenomenon is just round the corner. The misty clouds bend low ahead, daring one to race them to the horizon. Rain bearing clouds loom ahead. Dark, spongy clouds. I try to race the clouds to my destination, hoping that the clouds will not get a chance to wet my socks. But, in this race, I overlook  the fact that the clouds are actually begging me to experience the rain they carry. I'm confident that I'd beat the clouds but then, the clouds start gaining on me. Initially, the rain drops are only a few in number and the only purpose they serve is to obstruct my vision through the helmet visor. I carry on full throttle, racing my own self to the horizon. But gradually, my heart splits with my mind and begs me to slow down, to enjoy the rain. But, my mind has a mind of its own. The corporate world of deadlines and client appreciation has moulded it in a rigid shape, which I'm determined to break...

A few drops percolate thru my clothes and down to my skin, which reacts with joy. It reminds me that the summer heat has taken its toll and now I need to bow before the rain gods. I gradually ease the throttle, fooling no one but myself that I'm letting the clouds catch up whereas the truth is that the clouds have gained a lot of ground on me and I can see the first of what is to become a series of thinning streaks of water on my helmet visor. I speed up a little but by then, the rain bearing clouds have had their chance of catching up with me, or so I fool myself. I reduce to a crawl and let the drops fall on me generously. But, I seem to have achieved nothing more than angering the rain gods because the water droplets come at me with a vengeance and sting my neck and hands. It feels like trying to cheat the clouds out of a chance to drench me is tantamount to trying to trick some honey out of a beehive. The bees attack with the brutality of a tornado. Stinging all over. My skin appears to singe a hundred times a second as a hundred drops land on me. Miniature missiles is what comes to the mind and the invasion begins. I finally realize how Gulliver might have felt after being attacked with a thousand tiny spears...

But then, the rain shows how different it is from the bees. Once the rain gods feel that I have been punished sufficiently, they stop unleashing bees...err, killer missiles...err, water drops with a vengeance, and start sending in delicate drops akin to a fragrant, virgin Lotus leaf. They feel pure and soothing, something fit for kings which I, a mere mortal, get to enjoy. The raindrops slide across the visor, as if sliding off tender Lotus petals. The wind seems to be having fun with the clouds, swaying them across the horizon, like a toddler having fun with a paintbrush. The colours spill over and mix, resulting in a mixture which cannot be perceived individually but rather as a mélange of various colours, each as beautiful as a chord on a Guitar, a beat on a Tabla, a breath on a Flute, a string on a Sitar... Each individually beautiful and collectively indescribable.

Tricky Bends...You can see the partial mist build up too :-)

As the heavens open up vibrantly, my mind joins in the party and begs me to go riding on long, winding country roads. I forget my original destination and ride through jungles and feel the fresh air hit my face. I tear down a narrow mountain road with my Black Beauty (that is what I call the old girl, my Bullet) guiding me around tricky bends. I ride through villages and see the joy a simple puddle can bring on the faces of kids. They are almost stripped down to the bare necessities and take turns to dive in the puddle, laughter all around. I smile a smile and ride on...

Sleepy Villages which make one feel like one has time travelled

The wind streaks in through gaps in the helmet and caresses my ears, whispering songs and shrill noises and women's voices - all at the same time. The engine, feeling jealous, roars loudly, trying to drown out the wind. The only result is that the sounds mix beautifully, the loud thump-thump-thump of the old girl mingles with the whinging wind, sounding like a duet between two accomplished masters of their respective fields. Thump-Thump-Thump goes the engine, whoosh-whoosh-whoosh goes the wind. Thump. Whoosh. And, as if on cue, the engine deliberately misses a beat. But the highly versatile wind catches this trick and there is a momentary lull before the jugalbandi starts again. Thump - Whoosh... :-)

My heart smiles and chips in with a lub-dub of its own. The wind gets vociferous, puffs its cheeks and blows with a vengeance. Since the Bullet does not appear to budge from the jugalbandi, the water droplets on my visor seem to be the primary target of the wind's vociferousness. The wind howls and comes literally screaming at the pearl like beads of water like a ghost jumping on its unsuspecting quarry from a Peepul tree. The beads hold on for dear life, not wishing to fall off the sleek glass and the wind attacks with a ferocity, determined to sway the beads off their feet. I watch a struggle of epic proportions unfold before my eyes. And, the magnitude of the struggle makes me drum my fingers on the handle, as if I were Zakir Hussain playing a real fast composition...

In all this happy mélee, what I do not realize is that my original destination now lies miles away as I have taken one country road after another and have unwittingly got hopelessly lost in the Indian hinterland. The narrow & unmarked roads, the forests, the villages, the horizon from which stems the rainbow, the puddles whose sole purpose of existence is to soak me as I ride through them and then laugh at me by creating huge ripples...Oh, the list is endless. As I'm immersed in my thoughts, a shack appears out of nowhere and I stop by to have a chai and reminisce before heading back to my original destination!!!

I'm the bloke in the centre :-) And the others flanking me are my fellow Bulletier Pirates :-)

Nagphani / Duke's Nose Rappelling

The peak where you rappel down from. If you observe closely, you will see the ropes coming down

It was a cold day in hell when I checked out the website of Inventure Treks. They were organising a rappelling trek at Nagphani (aka Duke's Nose) near Lonavala. I had been to Nagphani a couple of times before that but it was only for Valley crossing purposes. The valley crossing thingie itself was quite an adventure and the very thought of rappelling down the steep & unforgiving cliff sent a chill down my spine. But it is precisely challenges like these which make a trekker's life worthwhile (or so I thought). I enthusiastically joined the trek and roped in another guy just in case my bones needed to be gathered :-)

A non-descript bus ride to the base village followed by a night spent sleeping in the local temple. Now, I'm no stranger to night treks and have come to terms with taking to the 'open fields' in the morning. But such activities generally need to be undertaken before sunrise and before other people (esp girls) arise too. So, took a bottle of water & my solar powered torch and managed to locate a decently secluded spot. Download was quick work because of - 1. No incentive for reading the newspaper using the sun's harnessed power and more importantly, 2. Fear of getting my tunki bitten by a snake leaving me impotent for the rest of my life (I don't even have a kid yet, but that is planned and not an issue with my tunki). As is always the case, Murphy was waiting with a vengeance to sue me and the solar torch promptly fizzled out before I could complete the washing ritual. The manual had said 2 hours and 20 minutes battery life (damn Chinese exaggerations) & I had not bothered keeping the torch in the sun. Result was groping in the dark and hoping that I don't tip the bottle over. The rest of the band members woke up quickly and did 'il fait se toilette' (that is the only phrase I remember from my French class). Some quick, cold chow and hot tea went into the system and after about an hour of climbing, we reached the summit of Nagphani.

A quick briefing followed the ascent and we were told stuff like - you have signed declarations not to sue us if you die - Yeah, tell me about it. Reminded me of a joke - Parachutes are the safest devices ever invented. No one has ever complained of one not opening - The organizing team was young and most of them worked with IT companies (another cause for concern. Do you know how many bugs are present in software? I bet you don't. But, take my word for it that most IT solutions leak like a sieve, after all even Microsoft routinely releases patches to fix known bugs. Reminds me of a Microsoft joke - A couple of guys flying a helicopter lose their navigation system and are hovering near a building trying to determine their co-ords. Upon seeing a few people on the roof, one of the pilots holds a placard reading - Where am I? The guy on the roof holds another placard saying - You are in a helo. Minutes later, they land safely.How - The guy on the roof of the building was a Microsoft employee and the pilots could then determine their bearing relative to the MS campus).

Anyways, coming back. Quite a few of the organizers were working on Microsoft technologies (I hope they were not releasing bug fix patches). Anyways, the organizers assuaged our fears by doing a demo rappel and about ten minutes after seeing the guy's head disappear below the mountain, the radio crackled informing that he had reached downstairs. So, two by two, the guys/gals started rappelling down (there were two ropes attached). Now, I regularly organize treks thru my corporate adventure group and have rappelled down waterfalls which were about 100 feet high. However, Nagphani rappelling is 350 feet (yes, you read that right, three hundred and fifty feet). I was actually feigning non-chalance and was counselling others on how easy it is to rappel. You just keep your legs apart and body perpendicular to the cliff face and voila, you are down in no time. Finally, it was my time to rappel down and I harnessed myself in and hooked on the carabiners (no hooker jokes please) and moved on to the edge of the mountain. What I saw below was something which cannot be described in words but suffice to know that I did a quick underwear check to ensure that it was still clean before taking any further steps. I had forgotten the golden rule of rappelling (i.e. one's legs should be as far as possible) because I was literally walking with my tail between my legs there. But, in the end, managed to come down safely without any bruises.

The traverse

Now that I was down, I heaved a sigh of relief but when I looked around, I had another think coming. The rappelling was one part of the adventure but to reach safety, I had to go along a narrow traverse in the rocky cliff which was not wide enough for me to keep 2 feet side by side (I know my shoe size is 12, but it really was narrow, take my word for it). Also, there was a rope strung along the side in which I had to harness myself in to save my skin in case I fall off the edge. At many places, there was no headroom and I had to literally crawl my way thru. Add to that the fact that the rope had been strung thru a series of hooks (still no hooker jokes please) and I had to unhook my carabiner and then rehook it at the other side. For those 5 seconds that I was unhooked, I was in a limbo. Now, the organizers were there on the traverse and did a splendid job of getting me across safely. I reached safety and realized that my trousers had ripped across thru and thru right along the equator of the body. And no, it was not damage which a safety pin could contain. And, I did not have anything spare. Turns out that the guy I had roped in with me had a spare jeans (wrong waist size but better than having my underwear twitching over my bum visible to the world).

Some more of the dreaded traverse (notice the rope)

Finally, got back home with a vow never to go there again. However, after a day, I decided that that was against the spirit of trekking and vowed to go there again. Hence, am going to organize a trek to the same place sometime soon. And no, the guys who fix the ropes are not going to be software guys but veterans from the Indian Armed Services. Want to join anyone?

P.S. The organizers of Inventure Treks are really good and know what they are doing. I do not intend to ridicule them or play down their abilities