Light flickers, something circles over head, sounds in the distance, is that Michael Jackson? What the…..? Ooh, stomach churning, hazed lights burning, sweat…oh the sweat, ooh…. guts, eyes open, running through the haze, hurdling a body on the floor, heading for the bright light of the bathroom, and relax………..It’s 7.40 am and the baggage truck was due to leave at 7.45. But this is India and it’s also the AutoRaja Rickshaw Rally, absolutely nothing so far has happened on time. Every morning we wait around for a good extra hour., the evening meetings with the highly respected Rotarians start maybe 2 hours after the proposed time, surely there is nothing to worry about. We throw all our heavily soiled clothes back in our backpacks and make our way to the baggage truck at approximately 7:46 and 12 seconds, but miraculously it had for once left on the dot. Splendid, we have to now travel in an already cramped Tuk Tuk with 2 large rucksacks, a large sports bag, 2 day sacks and 2 cloth satchels that were passed to us from the sponsors.
We head on out of the hidden valley and into the wilderness of NH17 with joy in our heart only 1 hour after the proposed flagoff time; yet again the organisers do their best to annoy us by making us wait for no reason…apart from to tell us that it is never their fault that things go wrong ‘hey you’re in India’ is a very popular phrase. We have a theory that Aravind used to work with Dupont as his shoulders are made of Teflon – more of this later.
We are expecting an easy day, only 100 click to eat up and all things are looking good; the mechanic from last night appears to have done a great job, the beast is running sweetly and we are convinced there is a little more pep even though we are dragging our bags with us.
The roads are nice and not to bumpy at first, we are running well and playing with dodgy overtakes with Team Dick Shore and the Dukes, our best chance of overtaking is running flat out over the rougher sections as the other teams slow up; much to the discomfort of the rear passenger….
Over a set of speed bumps at our usual heady 30ish mph we hear a loud clunk – which continues to rattle at every opportunity; at first we are concerned but as with most noisy things on this vehicle we learn to love the sound and can judge the ferocity of the road by the volume and tone of the clunking…..with not a thought to the damage we may have done; continuing to fly along we approach a roundabout and with a desire to not slow for other traffic Dirk hits it flat out so that the other teams don’t gain any advantage….
The tuk rises onto 2 wheels, the corner was tighter then expected, Dirk struggles with the helm and with more luck then judgement manages to land her with a huge clunk for the exit. Another huge clunk, power fails and she sinks alarmingly to the right…
It appears the suspension has collapsed, and the half-shaft fallen out – we have no power and the rear right wheel is sitting at an alarming angle. The Dukes reciprocate the towing and we are dragged with plumes of smoking being emitted from the rubbing tyre for 10 miles until we enter the town and dump the old girl into the allotted parking area.
After the nutty bearded brother has announced his entry into Goa with the ignition of lots of Chinese bangers we make our way to the hotel where Keith in a moment of brilliance convinces the very confused staff that we are expecting a suite and we settle in for 2 days. (Sunday being a day off)
Saturday Night Griever.
Ah the suite is a beautiful thing, all washing sent to the decontamination chambers, and we are clean at last. We meet up with the others and try to decide what to do. We hear people are heading to the Marriot hotel, so we make that our first port. On arrival we find out that there is a casino, aha, cool. We head to the casino and instantly take a liking to the place. Premiership football and some lovely hostesses, but just a little small. I (Maximus) ask out of curiosity if this is the only casino in Goa and find out that the largest casino in India is on a boat only a short cab ride away…woohoo, let’s do it.
1,500 rupees to get onto the boat including free ferry, food and as much drink as you like. This is going to be good. “6 Sex on the Beach and as many Kingfishers please?”
We change some money and head to the….what the….two scantily clad females wielding veils hurry past us and start belly dancing to some horrendous Indian music. It gets better and better…no hold “would you mind putting that veil back over your face please loveski?” The Russian dancers weren’t quite as nice with the veils off.
We sat at a blackjack table Max and Daisy promptly lost around 2000 rupee. Whilst Max was content to observe for a while, Daisy was a little furious changed some more money and sauntered of to the roulette tables to find an amazing winning streak that never died the entire time he was at the casino. Dirk and Raj were doing ok at the Blackjack table, doing their best to try out card counting techniques learnt from a novel. Max on the other hand after losing his money so quickly had no more courage to change up any more money and attempted to drink the bar dry. Daisy was happy with his fortune and he and Max decided to leave the others to it and went in search of a party.
They left the boat and wandered into the street to find a cab. None in sight. They start flagging wildly at anything moving with lights. Luckily a people carrier pulls up with a guy we noticed on the casino boat with 2 cute Indian girls in sitting in the back. The mans name was Kingsley and we think he shopped at homeboys r us with his really dodgy hip hop outfit. He offered to take us to the Marriott so we excepted and jumped in.
We walked into the Marriott nightclub to some bad bangra style music, which soon changed when when Daisys white face entered the room. Cheesy house music now blasted out off the low quality speakers while we both jumped around and flailed our arms. No one looked too impressed so we took the hint and left. “350 rupees for a taxi???” we said in unison “no thanks we’ll get a tuk tuk.” After reaching the main street we realised that actually Goa had completely emptied. We walked for a good 30 minutes and conversation soon turned into an argument about our bearings. I knew I was right and Daisy definitely knew he was right, so we cut our loses and headed back to the Marriott to spend some good money on a cab. After a few wrong turns here and there, they eventually found it and jumped in a cab to the Hotel Fidalgo for some much needed rest and a toilet visit for Max. Turns out, Daisy was right about our bearings and realised that we were a few steps away from the road our Hotel was on before we returned to the Marriott.
Back in Hotel Fidalgo
“see you tomorrow Damo”
“yeah catch you in the morning son, quality night”
Oh things are a churning, quick, I need my room open. However the night was again going to have the last say and the lock on my room door had jammed.
It’s now about 4:30am and after about an hour of holding my stomach and begging the hotle staff to stop fiddling with the door and let me have another “suite”, I eventually got my way. Qua\lity, huge bed clean room and more importantly a toilet. Before letting the manager of the hotel leave I did dirk a favour and made absolutely sure that when he got into the hotel he would get a suite to himself as well. Like that was going to happen. He arrived back at the hotel at about 5am and had to go through exactly the same scenario with the same staff who seemed to have the fact that our door was stuck, erased completely from their memory. Eventually he got his own huge suite as well.
Sleep.
Sunday, August 12, 2007
We Came, We Saw, We Conked out.
Friday 8:15 flag off. We gunned the engine and set off frantically. We ride for 10 minutes heading towards the Hidden Valley Retreat near Karwar.
Something is wrong we are slowing down, D’OH ran out of fuel again. Glad we are staying on top of this situation and learning by our mistakes. We fill up with our reserve fuel vessel (a recycled bottle of water full of dirty fuel) and head to the fuel station. While Dirk so competently carries out the refuelling situation whilst Max does his bit by playing aerobe with Daisy and the D O double G, now that’s team work. Dirk takes control of the handle bars while waiting for Max to fish the aerobe out of a drain as the Dukes look on disappointingly. He flies past the dome headed imbecile and attempts a skid only to find the brakes have failed….again. Luckily we see the mechanics tuk tuk driving past and flag them in to fix the brakes for the fourth time. Same issue just a different town.
We set off 2 minutes later after a complete replacement of the back left brake. *POP POP POP*, Max and Dirk laughed insanely as they pulled over again to check the new engine noise. Oh boy, the exhaust had completely sheered just under the manifold. Oh well, drive on, the festering duo were slowly going deaf.
The new additions to our posse, Raj and James of Team Dick Shore, overtake to tell us they haven’t seen the Dukes for a good 5 minutes. Both of their phones were off so we turned around and drove for 10 minutes to find them at the side of the road inspecting the front of their chariot. The windscreen somehow no longer fits the vehicle…how can this be? On closer inspection we find the middle bar of the rickshaw bent and a kink just below window level on the front right section….I say again, how can this be??? The Duke bros fess up to going full wack over multiple speed bumps. After applying the miracle cure of gaffe tape to the windscreen and surrounding areas they gun the engine and attempt to drive on. Vrooom pop pop…first gear….clunk….Vrooom pop pop first gear…..clunk. The engine had been dislodged of it’s mounts sat at a curious angle and was useless.
Ok no one around; only thing to do is tow it. D’OH, rope left in porch in Britwell Road. But these were no ordinary rickshawists. They used all their professions and various qualifications and degrees to fashion together a toe rope made out of Raj’s paper thin water proof mac donated to all contestants from the sponsor of the rally CEAT. Ok cut the arm off and tie it here, put that bit round there and loop it around that…voila, a tow rope with a full 2 inch gap separating us. Amazingly it worked a treat. We moved along at a break neck 20 mph even managing to engage third gear which doesn’t work quite as well when not towing. As amazed as we were that our sturdy rope lasted we were mightily relived to see the support vehicle pull alongside us with a bunch of giggling Indians holding up some rope. We made the appropriate changes with the rope and plodded on. Bom BabeWatch Pulled, while James and Raj followed behind with Raj’s leg hanging out and pushing the Dukes up the Hills.
The tuk weighing (we reckon) around 300kg with a 140cc engine and a shot exhaust strained taking the load of the other tuk up the hills. Enjoying the deafening ambience of our engine so much, the Dogg was getting sleepy, he fought off the mechanical lullaby by taking in the amazing mountain vistas of the Arabian coast line for 40 minutes until we had reached the check point.
As the Dukes waited with the rally mechanics, Raj had found a local jelly neck who could take us to a local mechanic with a welder for the broken exhaust. As they pulled into the yard they saw that these guys just loved welding and were rebuilding a multitude of decrepit vehicles. They did an amazing job of welding the exhaust back together and in record time then putting the exhaust back on by more welding right next to our full fuel tank. Health and Safety? British Standards?…. Pah!!!!!
We went back to pick up the others and then went in search of our final destination, The Hidden Valley Resort.
Hmmm, Hidden Valley, that could be a clue. Couldn’t find it for toffee. But with Dirk and his gadgets at the helm we knew we’d find it eventually, even though he had found a new trick of flipping the back of the rickshaw out, whilst Dogg and Max held on for dear life in the back.
There it is, and quite an oasis. Landscaped grounds with chalets, bars and a swimming pool surrounded by a mountainous valley. We tried to get some beers down us to prepare for a big night. We were expecting the party of all parties with the Hanley brothers (of moustache fame) blowing something up but, but seemed everyone was too subdued through lack of sleep and the night fizzled out. Wearily the flabtastic 4 headed for bed.
Something is wrong we are slowing down, D’OH ran out of fuel again. Glad we are staying on top of this situation and learning by our mistakes. We fill up with our reserve fuel vessel (a recycled bottle of water full of dirty fuel) and head to the fuel station. While Dirk so competently carries out the refuelling situation whilst Max does his bit by playing aerobe with Daisy and the D O double G, now that’s team work. Dirk takes control of the handle bars while waiting for Max to fish the aerobe out of a drain as the Dukes look on disappointingly. He flies past the dome headed imbecile and attempts a skid only to find the brakes have failed….again. Luckily we see the mechanics tuk tuk driving past and flag them in to fix the brakes for the fourth time. Same issue just a different town.
We set off 2 minutes later after a complete replacement of the back left brake. *POP POP POP*, Max and Dirk laughed insanely as they pulled over again to check the new engine noise. Oh boy, the exhaust had completely sheered just under the manifold. Oh well, drive on, the festering duo were slowly going deaf.
The new additions to our posse, Raj and James of Team Dick Shore, overtake to tell us they haven’t seen the Dukes for a good 5 minutes. Both of their phones were off so we turned around and drove for 10 minutes to find them at the side of the road inspecting the front of their chariot. The windscreen somehow no longer fits the vehicle…how can this be? On closer inspection we find the middle bar of the rickshaw bent and a kink just below window level on the front right section….I say again, how can this be??? The Duke bros fess up to going full wack over multiple speed bumps. After applying the miracle cure of gaffe tape to the windscreen and surrounding areas they gun the engine and attempt to drive on. Vrooom pop pop…first gear….clunk….Vrooom pop pop first gear…..clunk. The engine had been dislodged of it’s mounts sat at a curious angle and was useless.
Ok no one around; only thing to do is tow it. D’OH, rope left in porch in Britwell Road. But these were no ordinary rickshawists. They used all their professions and various qualifications and degrees to fashion together a toe rope made out of Raj’s paper thin water proof mac donated to all contestants from the sponsor of the rally CEAT. Ok cut the arm off and tie it here, put that bit round there and loop it around that…voila, a tow rope with a full 2 inch gap separating us. Amazingly it worked a treat. We moved along at a break neck 20 mph even managing to engage third gear which doesn’t work quite as well when not towing. As amazed as we were that our sturdy rope lasted we were mightily relived to see the support vehicle pull alongside us with a bunch of giggling Indians holding up some rope. We made the appropriate changes with the rope and plodded on. Bom BabeWatch Pulled, while James and Raj followed behind with Raj’s leg hanging out and pushing the Dukes up the Hills.
The tuk weighing (we reckon) around 300kg with a 140cc engine and a shot exhaust strained taking the load of the other tuk up the hills. Enjoying the deafening ambience of our engine so much, the Dogg was getting sleepy, he fought off the mechanical lullaby by taking in the amazing mountain vistas of the Arabian coast line for 40 minutes until we had reached the check point.
As the Dukes waited with the rally mechanics, Raj had found a local jelly neck who could take us to a local mechanic with a welder for the broken exhaust. As they pulled into the yard they saw that these guys just loved welding and were rebuilding a multitude of decrepit vehicles. They did an amazing job of welding the exhaust back together and in record time then putting the exhaust back on by more welding right next to our full fuel tank. Health and Safety? British Standards?…. Pah!!!!!
We went back to pick up the others and then went in search of our final destination, The Hidden Valley Resort.
Hmmm, Hidden Valley, that could be a clue. Couldn’t find it for toffee. But with Dirk and his gadgets at the helm we knew we’d find it eventually, even though he had found a new trick of flipping the back of the rickshaw out, whilst Dogg and Max held on for dear life in the back.
There it is, and quite an oasis. Landscaped grounds with chalets, bars and a swimming pool surrounded by a mountainous valley. We tried to get some beers down us to prepare for a big night. We were expecting the party of all parties with the Hanley brothers (of moustache fame) blowing something up but, but seemed everyone was too subdued through lack of sleep and the night fizzled out. Wearily the flabtastic 4 headed for bed.
Bangalore – Hassan.
In true Rotarian style I would like to start by thanking my honored guest ‘Dog’ for managing the blog whilst I attended to my private and rather urgent needs; I have also offered to sing for him but strangely he declined….
Leaving Bangalore we had a police escort which with hindsight was a jolly good idea; as it turned out driving through Bangalore can only be described as the most crazy video game you could ever play, normal rules no longer apply. It is perfectly acceptable to overtake on the inside through a bus stop, hit other vehicles and cut them up wildly causing them to brake with a screech of abused rubber. We were instructed to follow each other strictly numeric order and drive on the left – in reality we very quickly learned that there were new objectives; get to the front of all the tuktuks using whatever means necessary.
During that frantic morning we managed to score countless wing mirrors and several indicators from fellow competitors as well a succeeding in reshaping our rear fenders which we used to force other vehicles into each other or the verge.
Once out of the city we had the open road and a daunting ride of 200 kilometers to Hassan via a temple checkpoint. The journey itself was quite a disappointment after the absolutely crazy sweat inducing mayhem in Bangalore.
Once at the temple we had to fight our way through an assortment of vendors offering a variety of useless items of tat before hiding our shoes in bags (to deny some local entrepreneur additional profit) and climbing 700 steps to see a status of a chap in the altogether (never let it be said I wouldn’t put the effort in to see someone naked). Once we had had our fill of this individuals lack of clothing we headed down and were surprised to be interviewed by a local film crew – it looks like this little rally is becoming big news as more and more people recognize who we are and wobble their heads at us.
Another tuk tuk appears as we are about to leave and a mad cap version of the asian games seems to have kicked off; the ‘tourist tat’ 100 yards has seen a white face and all the vendors are now sprinting in flip flops to offer faded postcards of indiscrete gods and bronze representations of many handed elephants to the unsuspecting competitors.
Darkness is falling as we start to leave, but hold on, no ones headlights appear to work – we are still a good 50 kilometers from our final destination and are all getting nervous about the already perilous roads in the dark. We find a local electrician and for about 60 pence he fits a new headlights and sorts out the electrics on our beast.
The journey kicks off and we slowly start to make our way to Hassan, we slowly start to catch up with other teams and decide that the more the better – as a result we are plagued by constant breakdowns and finally make it to the hotel at 11pm…..
A bit about hotels.
Indian culture is more than hot food and saris; India has a unique take on the service industry. For example, if you order food don’t expect it to arrive within 30 minutes, don’t expect it to be warm, don’t expect the meat to resemble any creature you recognize, don’t expect to receive all the dishes you ordered and never expect them to arrive in the right order – and after all that it you will probably need to visit the little boys room before the last morsel has passed your lips.
The hotel room you will receive will never fail to live up to its description; if it advertises it has a shower it may have a drippy tap located high on the wall from which spits cold water. If it is advertised as having air-conditioning it may well have an air conditioning unit but it will more then likely either not work or just smell so bad you think you have a direct link to the local sewer.
Most hotels also offer a lottery service lightly disguised as a laundry – it works a little like swap shop – you send in your pungent socks and receive in return a bra or some other useless and inappropriate item – and never at the time they had promised.
…..The hotel was amazing, beautiful cobbled courtyard, inviting air conditioned glazed bar, a collection of eager door opening members of staff and all our bags carefully thrown in a pile.
We dragged ourselves through the door and promptly set ourselves down at a table and ordered beers and food as none of us had managed to eat all day; 40 minutes later and after several reminders the food arrived – apart from mine…
With a slowly boiling disposition I found a guilty looking waiter and dragged him over – with my mood slowly reaching critical point after such a long day I politely showed the waiter each of the dishes on the table and made a point of asking him where mine was – shortly afterwards it appeared with a rather suspect cream sauce…..
Finally feeling satisfied and very very sleepy we find our bags and attempt to get our room key - horror of horrors this appears to be the hotel of the organizers and a select group of competitors; we are advised that our hotel is round the corner and we should collect our bags and walk….after a brief and loud conversation with one of the girls who acts in a customer relations role we are offered a car to our hotel.
The driver signals we have reached our hotel and opens the door so that we may collect our many possessions and climb up the steps into the hotel. The world has changed; cobbled courtyards have been replaced with open sewers, the air conditioned glazed bar is now an insect filled reception and the door staff are now homeless individuals snoring under cardboard.
We are so very tired we no longer care, our eyelids are drooping and we resign ourselves to this hovel. We attempt to check in ‘sorry sir – you are not on the list’; we snatch the clipboard from his hand and examine it ourselves, he is correct.
‘thank you so much for making our lives so easy’, ‘I love the way you have made this hotel business such a breeze’, ‘this hotel is lovely’ and ‘I have always wanted to sleep in a flee infected hovel’ are some of the things we neglected to say to Aravind the head organizer and general asshole who was responsible for this shambles. He quickly shirks all responsibility and even lies to avoid our rant trying to palm us off onto his staff – if we had been in the same room as him at that time – tired or not - he would have ended up with fewer teeth to lie through.
Another hour passes and we finally collapse onto a board roughly disguised as a bed for what will be a delightful if itchy 4 hours sleep.
Leaving Bangalore we had a police escort which with hindsight was a jolly good idea; as it turned out driving through Bangalore can only be described as the most crazy video game you could ever play, normal rules no longer apply. It is perfectly acceptable to overtake on the inside through a bus stop, hit other vehicles and cut them up wildly causing them to brake with a screech of abused rubber. We were instructed to follow each other strictly numeric order and drive on the left – in reality we very quickly learned that there were new objectives; get to the front of all the tuktuks using whatever means necessary.
During that frantic morning we managed to score countless wing mirrors and several indicators from fellow competitors as well a succeeding in reshaping our rear fenders which we used to force other vehicles into each other or the verge.
Once out of the city we had the open road and a daunting ride of 200 kilometers to Hassan via a temple checkpoint. The journey itself was quite a disappointment after the absolutely crazy sweat inducing mayhem in Bangalore.
Once at the temple we had to fight our way through an assortment of vendors offering a variety of useless items of tat before hiding our shoes in bags (to deny some local entrepreneur additional profit) and climbing 700 steps to see a status of a chap in the altogether (never let it be said I wouldn’t put the effort in to see someone naked). Once we had had our fill of this individuals lack of clothing we headed down and were surprised to be interviewed by a local film crew – it looks like this little rally is becoming big news as more and more people recognize who we are and wobble their heads at us.
Another tuk tuk appears as we are about to leave and a mad cap version of the asian games seems to have kicked off; the ‘tourist tat’ 100 yards has seen a white face and all the vendors are now sprinting in flip flops to offer faded postcards of indiscrete gods and bronze representations of many handed elephants to the unsuspecting competitors.
Darkness is falling as we start to leave, but hold on, no ones headlights appear to work – we are still a good 50 kilometers from our final destination and are all getting nervous about the already perilous roads in the dark. We find a local electrician and for about 60 pence he fits a new headlights and sorts out the electrics on our beast.
The journey kicks off and we slowly start to make our way to Hassan, we slowly start to catch up with other teams and decide that the more the better – as a result we are plagued by constant breakdowns and finally make it to the hotel at 11pm…..
A bit about hotels.
Indian culture is more than hot food and saris; India has a unique take on the service industry. For example, if you order food don’t expect it to arrive within 30 minutes, don’t expect it to be warm, don’t expect the meat to resemble any creature you recognize, don’t expect to receive all the dishes you ordered and never expect them to arrive in the right order – and after all that it you will probably need to visit the little boys room before the last morsel has passed your lips.
The hotel room you will receive will never fail to live up to its description; if it advertises it has a shower it may have a drippy tap located high on the wall from which spits cold water. If it is advertised as having air-conditioning it may well have an air conditioning unit but it will more then likely either not work or just smell so bad you think you have a direct link to the local sewer.
Most hotels also offer a lottery service lightly disguised as a laundry – it works a little like swap shop – you send in your pungent socks and receive in return a bra or some other useless and inappropriate item – and never at the time they had promised.
…..The hotel was amazing, beautiful cobbled courtyard, inviting air conditioned glazed bar, a collection of eager door opening members of staff and all our bags carefully thrown in a pile.
We dragged ourselves through the door and promptly set ourselves down at a table and ordered beers and food as none of us had managed to eat all day; 40 minutes later and after several reminders the food arrived – apart from mine…
With a slowly boiling disposition I found a guilty looking waiter and dragged him over – with my mood slowly reaching critical point after such a long day I politely showed the waiter each of the dishes on the table and made a point of asking him where mine was – shortly afterwards it appeared with a rather suspect cream sauce…..
Finally feeling satisfied and very very sleepy we find our bags and attempt to get our room key - horror of horrors this appears to be the hotel of the organizers and a select group of competitors; we are advised that our hotel is round the corner and we should collect our bags and walk….after a brief and loud conversation with one of the girls who acts in a customer relations role we are offered a car to our hotel.
The driver signals we have reached our hotel and opens the door so that we may collect our many possessions and climb up the steps into the hotel. The world has changed; cobbled courtyards have been replaced with open sewers, the air conditioned glazed bar is now an insect filled reception and the door staff are now homeless individuals snoring under cardboard.
We are so very tired we no longer care, our eyelids are drooping and we resign ourselves to this hovel. We attempt to check in ‘sorry sir – you are not on the list’; we snatch the clipboard from his hand and examine it ourselves, he is correct.
‘thank you so much for making our lives so easy’, ‘I love the way you have made this hotel business such a breeze’, ‘this hotel is lovely’ and ‘I have always wanted to sleep in a flee infected hovel’ are some of the things we neglected to say to Aravind the head organizer and general asshole who was responsible for this shambles. He quickly shirks all responsibility and even lies to avoid our rant trying to palm us off onto his staff – if we had been in the same room as him at that time – tired or not - he would have ended up with fewer teeth to lie through.
Another hour passes and we finally collapse onto a board roughly disguised as a bed for what will be a delightful if itchy 4 hours sleep.
Day 3 Vellore - Bangalore 170 clicks west
Unfortunately your usual blog artist "Dirk Diggler" could not make it to the keyboard today as an urgent meeting was called between his ass and the nearest toilet... our thoughts are with him at this painful time!! In lighter news your guest blogger today is Jimmy "bone dog" Moulds who managed to postpone all is meetings until his bum implodes creating one super dense meeting with the floor/bed/tuk tuk.
People said;
Maximus Rod "So how far south have we come since chennai?" (200k west)
Dirk "Isn't that Michael Jackson from the Simpsons?" (Lisa it's your birthday)
Kong (Aka Daisy) "I like to observe"
Bone Dog "This is the worst game that ever existed" (8 player wallet squing pong)
After some... er curry and a well earned rest the night before we were ready for the second stage which would take us into (so we thought) the heart of Bangalore "A sprawling mix of the ancient and modern". 'The dukes' had spent much of the first stage sucking tuk tuk fumes as we could, unbeknownst to us, only manage 3rd gear and a howling top speed of about 25kph. Now with 4th gear available there was a fresh sense of hope in the air (apparently hope smells of open sewers). The bom-butt boy watchers had had a successful previous day although with various pimps still missing they were not the finished article.
Escaping Vellore was the first real taste of rush hour city driving (after the police escort we received in Chennai) and it was the first chance to put into practice the aggressive skills we were advised to adopt. Kong and Dirk were at the team’s controls and, heavy on horn and low on brakes, they took to the challenge like a petrol tanker to a ravine… easy!! The city folk still had us firmly fixed in a sub category between a sacred cow and Ganesh (the half man half elephant god of 2 stroke oil); their smiles and whooping set us confidently on our way.
Once out of the city it would be mainly highway driving until our next destination. After a short stint we were ushered into a decidedly tight village pathway where we were greeted by the local rotary reps who introduced us to some local children and the resident monkeys. We enjoyed some photos and sweet tea while the monkeys enjoyed a piss in Team ‘Dick Shore’s’ tuk tuk. Back on the road it was a straight run with few stops other than fueling up and the odd stop to check all tuk tuks were accounted for. The vehicles, purring like a group of three legged cats chewing popping candy, were proving ridiculously resilient and could match most of the vehicles on the road in terms of speed if not maneuverability.
Into Bangalore we were actually stationed 20k’s outside the city in a village horribly low on much needed alcohol. We parked up next to the hotel and were immediately swamped by the local school kids who were as interested in shaking our hands as they were of stripping the tuks of all fixtures not welded down. ‘The dukes’ left over pack of fig rolls seemed to satisfy and we were off to our rooms.
After an unreasonably short rest we were summoned to what would prove to be the last rotary club meeting. The local chairman gave a presentation that at best could be described as boring and at worst… well… very boring. He thanked everyone he new and they promptly thanked everyone they new and then we all celebrated with some good old hindi song with most of the audience drooling and rocking in their chairs calling “mama… why won’t the pain stop”. We drank the hotel dry within about ten minutes and rumours of the one other “wet” bar in town diffused through the mob and the search began. When the proprietor saw the melee it was like all his duvadis had come at once; the boxes of kingfisher he’d been saving for the end of the world were cracked open and a social gathering of sorts was organized in the roof top bathroom. The highlight being Neidermeier (uncannily resembling the Michael Jackson character from the Simpsons) seeing off two 1/2 ltr bottles of whiskey in as many minutes and then sitting in the fridge looking like all his world was pain.
After a quick game of 8 player wallet squing pong in the games room it was off to bed with the end of the night being signaled, as per usual, by a military grade fire cracker exploding in the corridor.
People said;
Maximus Rod "So how far south have we come since chennai?" (200k west)
Dirk "Isn't that Michael Jackson from the Simpsons?" (Lisa it's your birthday)
Kong (Aka Daisy) "I like to observe"
Bone Dog "This is the worst game that ever existed" (8 player wallet squing pong)
After some... er curry and a well earned rest the night before we were ready for the second stage which would take us into (so we thought) the heart of Bangalore "A sprawling mix of the ancient and modern". 'The dukes' had spent much of the first stage sucking tuk tuk fumes as we could, unbeknownst to us, only manage 3rd gear and a howling top speed of about 25kph. Now with 4th gear available there was a fresh sense of hope in the air (apparently hope smells of open sewers). The bom-butt boy watchers had had a successful previous day although with various pimps still missing they were not the finished article.
Escaping Vellore was the first real taste of rush hour city driving (after the police escort we received in Chennai) and it was the first chance to put into practice the aggressive skills we were advised to adopt. Kong and Dirk were at the team’s controls and, heavy on horn and low on brakes, they took to the challenge like a petrol tanker to a ravine… easy!! The city folk still had us firmly fixed in a sub category between a sacred cow and Ganesh (the half man half elephant god of 2 stroke oil); their smiles and whooping set us confidently on our way.
Once out of the city it would be mainly highway driving until our next destination. After a short stint we were ushered into a decidedly tight village pathway where we were greeted by the local rotary reps who introduced us to some local children and the resident monkeys. We enjoyed some photos and sweet tea while the monkeys enjoyed a piss in Team ‘Dick Shore’s’ tuk tuk. Back on the road it was a straight run with few stops other than fueling up and the odd stop to check all tuk tuks were accounted for. The vehicles, purring like a group of three legged cats chewing popping candy, were proving ridiculously resilient and could match most of the vehicles on the road in terms of speed if not maneuverability.
Into Bangalore we were actually stationed 20k’s outside the city in a village horribly low on much needed alcohol. We parked up next to the hotel and were immediately swamped by the local school kids who were as interested in shaking our hands as they were of stripping the tuks of all fixtures not welded down. ‘The dukes’ left over pack of fig rolls seemed to satisfy and we were off to our rooms.
After an unreasonably short rest we were summoned to what would prove to be the last rotary club meeting. The local chairman gave a presentation that at best could be described as boring and at worst… well… very boring. He thanked everyone he new and they promptly thanked everyone they new and then we all celebrated with some good old hindi song with most of the audience drooling and rocking in their chairs calling “mama… why won’t the pain stop”. We drank the hotel dry within about ten minutes and rumours of the one other “wet” bar in town diffused through the mob and the search began. When the proprietor saw the melee it was like all his duvadis had come at once; the boxes of kingfisher he’d been saving for the end of the world were cracked open and a social gathering of sorts was organized in the roof top bathroom. The highlight being Neidermeier (uncannily resembling the Michael Jackson character from the Simpsons) seeing off two 1/2 ltr bottles of whiskey in as many minutes and then sitting in the fridge looking like all his world was pain.
After a quick game of 8 player wallet squing pong in the games room it was off to bed with the end of the night being signaled, as per usual, by a military grade fire cracker exploding in the corridor.
Sunday, August 5, 2007
Driving Miss Crazy
Chennai to Vellore - The Rally Begins - 5th August
Wake at 5:30am; this isn't good - 1 1/2 hours sleep before our first day in the TukTuk....
We meet at the Orphanage again, and discover our chariot waiting replendid in its glorious paint job and fitted fridge; After a few minutes of attempting to start it - it fires up and we soon discover how approximate the controls are - flick the clutch cum gearlever up for first - and down for 2nd, 3rd and 4th. A lever conveniently placed under the dashboard offers the same gears in reverse.
We toddle round the dirt carpark donuting and generally being arses - with the inevitable conclusion that Dirk ruins the brakes - fluid leaking rapidly from the rear drum - no problem, a handy 'technician' lifts up the side, shoves a jack under and pulls it apart - blows into hollow screw and all is right with the lady. Meanwhile Team Hassan manage to be victims of 2 crashes whilst stationary within 5 seconds....this is a sign of things to come.
We spend a little time pimping up the beast with our own special blend of english humour before lining up for the off.
More chatter from the many officials who have been involved, and the roads are blocked by the police to allow us out in groups of 10. We are both in the third group and roll onto the road full of trepidation.
Rightly so it would seem, the group lead TukTuk manages to colide with a wall within 20 yards from the orphanage, barely walking speed, managed to mangle the windowscreen and roof - these things don't appear to be built with anything resembling safety in mind.
Drama over, and with the sad victims safely collected and treated by the medical team we head on down the road towards the Formula 3 circut which has been identified as a suitable driver training ground - quite handy since it is about 20 miles away and we have to drive there.
Dirk drives, erratically at first, a few crunches from the gearbox and moments where he totally fails to slow down due to the odd braking mechanism - but the beast is soon tamed and we make fair progress; team hassan is behind, out of sight as we (slowely) eat up the miles.
The engine dies....and the lady stops - in the middle of the highway with a lorry frantically honking behind us, we hop out and push her into the verge - after a quick review of the situation we identify it to be a lack of fuel - we should have realised it was running on vapours. Looking around we assess the situation; india is a nation of watchers, and soon we have a merry croud of wobbly headed individuals - we learn the nearest petrol station is 1/2 mile behind us and Dirk offered to do the deed whilst Max guards the gear. He hated every wobbly headed moment.
Walking alone, in very dodgy bright red shorts, yellow T-shirt and a straw hat through a slum in India is an interesting experience - should i be worried, concerned or just stride along positively - as it turns out i had nothing to worry about - anyone who noticed me would offer a smile or maybe even take a moment from standing around or holding a stick to ask me where i came from.
I eventually find the petrol station along with all our fellow competitors - they appeared to be smarter then us and were patiently queuing up for fuel. Daisy says he has received a call from Max, a kindly team has sold him 2 liters of fuel and he is raring to go, I flag down a departing TukTuk and rejoin the team.
We eventually find the race circuit and partake in a few laps of the track, leaning into the corners and reaching a mind bending 33 mph - spirits are high and beard man dons his superhero clothing and stands on the roof for a higly amuzing if not exactly safe lap.
We are finally ejected from the track and head on to Vellore; we are travelling along very good highways which are nice and wide - Max is now in the driving seat and Dog has taken over from Daisy. Dog clearly thinks he is king of the road as he straddles the middle lane occassionaly going out of his way to cut up a lorry.
The drive is quite uneventful, there is none of the chaos of Chennai and barring the occassional stop to allow the Dukes to catch up or grab a drink we make it into Vellore in good time.
We meet up with the other teams and start hearing about other events; beard man after leaving the track lost a wheel and ended up skidding wildly accross the road, another team rolled their beast but fortunatly no one has been hurt and on the whole everyone is buzzing from the first day of driving.
On this eve we dinned alone in our luxury hotel room and got an abundance of room service whilst watching the Charity Shield on TV...it's all good.
Orientation
**** BANG ****
Dark
On the floor
Stand Up
People Running
A high pitched whistle; i can't see......
What the hell was that
Voices
RUN
RUN
I can't hear f*** all
On the floor
Stand Up
People Running
A high pitched whistle; i can't see......
What the hell was that
Voices
RUN
RUN
I can't hear f*** all
....
Running up stairs
Max - "Someone is gonna be kicked out for that"
Dog - "Has that dude still got a hand"
Dirk - "It was my beard buddy"
Max - "Someone is gonna be kicked out for that"
Dog - "Has that dude still got a hand"
Dirk - "It was my beard buddy"
Stairs
Room
Safety
Room
Safety
Flashback - Chennai
** fan blades spinning, helecopter blades soundtrack **
Hot
Damn Hot
We see india
Traffic
Lots of traffic
and noise
Damn Hot
We see india
Traffic
Lots of traffic
and noise
Chaos 
Shanties
Tins Huts, Blue roofs and poverty
Beggers at the taxi window, babies in arms - pitiful
Tins Huts, Blue roofs and poverty
Beggers at the taxi window, babies in arms - pitiful
Chaos
Bikes - in out and everywhere - horns
A blur
The hotel
aircon
cool
relax
A blur
The hotel
aircon
cool
relax
........
and breath
........
The Marriott, Chennai - 3rd Aug, 11pm, Opening party.
The tuk tuk ride to the marriot was like staring death in the face, straight into the traffic the wrong way on a one way system.
Max "40 quid for 3 gin and tonics....hells teeth..""...is someone having a laugh" Maximus flailed his arms inanely.
As always Dirk tried to reason with the dome headed fool"Dude, go and get the reciept""F%#@ me, 73% tax..." for once crome dome was correct in his assesment of the situation, it seems the intrepid four had been legally robbed.
Although beers were reasonably cheap anything liquer like was heavily taxed, and beyoned the party atmosphere of India largest radio staions charity party, a deathly silence entered the room.
Now a fully laden tuk tuk bearing 7 drunk guests made their way to the Park hotel
Another round by badger face of flaming tower of alchohol, costing around 91000 rupee.
Ride back in tuk tuk to hotel for about an 1hour approx 4 miles away because the driver refused to admit he had no idea where our hotel was.
tuk tuk briefing at the school of idiots, waited for hours only for nothing to happen. Out again for launch party?!?! Bored by inane chattering by the indians running/sponsering the event. No one understood a word. "What was that, something about curry?" Free curry of all descritions, and free mixers. wasn't eneough, searched refuge in the marriot again. astounded by the quality of women. Enough, lets go back. Entering the hotel, we were greeted by random competitor who offered an oasis of beer and bad times. 30 people in hotel room drinking hard. and then it happened. 
Michael jackson off the Simpons finds fireworks....
**** BANG ****
Friday, August 3, 2007
Prologue
…. And as the day of reckoning draws near will these four intrepid explorers rise to the challenge and fight the golden Buddha of bong-along tooth and nail. The path will be long and the terrain treacherous, they will meet heroes and villains, and servants of the devil himself but through it all will they stand firm in the face of adversity. Strength of character and comradeship is key, their bonds are strong and their hearts hewn of gold but the test is a mighty one and only the bold will conquer. As the sun sets for one last time and the shadows draw long against the clouded forests in the east echoes of the defeated can be heard whispering….. ride once more unworthy souls and we shall see what evils lay hidden in the hearts of men!!!!
Starring in this most challenging of adventures is:
Team BomBabeWatch
Keith Rodgers aka Maximus
Matt Brain aka Dirk
Team The Dukes of Hassan
Adrian Dayman aka Daisy Daymo Duke
Jim Moulds aka Big Dog Duke
Mission : The Departure - leave the house before 4pm
8:00am - Keith you ready? yeah man just downloading more tunes to the ipod......
9.00am - Keith you ready? yeah man nearly done on the ipod.....
.......
5.00pm - Keith you f***** moron are you ready yet?? yeah man, just uppating the ipod and packing my bag.....
And so it begins.......the weakest link has been identified.....
3 hours later at the airport checkin....
Dirk- "Yeah, i have been growing my moustache professionally for several weeks......and jim would like a Hindu meal (snigger)"
2 hours later in the BA lounge....
Maximus- "I could stay here for the duration, free beer and food"
Dirk- "Dude, if they see you stashing food in your bag we are going to be kicked out"
8 hours later on the flight....
Dirk- "If someone doesn't shut that baby up im going to smother it with a pillow and flush it down the toilet"
Dog- "What the hell is this - i can't eat this - look at it - i have got cat vomit for lunch"
Daisy - "I don't think this woman wanted her lunch" (to the sound of retching)
Maximus - "I don't think i need this immigration card"
Immigration....
Daisy - "Where the hell is max - ha ha ha, he has been sent back to the plane for his immigration card"
Mumbai
…. And as the day of reckoning draws near will these four intrepid explorers rise to the challenge and fight the golden Buddha of bong-along tooth and nail. The path will be long and the terrain treacherous, they will meet heroes and villains, and servants of the devil himself but through it all will they stand firm in the face of adversity. Strength of character and comradeship is key, their bonds are strong and their hearts hewn of gold but the test is a mighty one and only the bold will conquer. As the sun sets for one last time and the shadows draw long against the clouded forests in the east echoes of the defeated can be heard whispering….. ride once more unworthy souls and we shall see what evils lay hidden in the hearts of men!!!!
Starring in this most challenging of adventures is:
Team BomBabeWatch
Keith Rodgers aka Maximus
Matt Brain aka Dirk
Team The Dukes of Hassan
Adrian Dayman aka Daisy Daymo Duke
Jim Moulds aka Big Dog Duke
Mission : The Departure - leave the house before 4pm
8:00am - Keith you ready? yeah man just downloading more tunes to the ipod......
9.00am - Keith you ready? yeah man nearly done on the ipod.....
.......
5.00pm - Keith you f***** moron are you ready yet?? yeah man, just uppating the ipod and packing my bag.....
And so it begins.......the weakest link has been identified.....
3 hours later at the airport checkin....
Dirk- "Yeah, i have been growing my moustache professionally for several weeks......and jim would like a Hindu meal (snigger)"
2 hours later in the BA lounge....
Maximus- "I could stay here for the duration, free beer and food"
Dirk- "Dude, if they see you stashing food in your bag we are going to be kicked out"
8 hours later on the flight....
Dirk- "If someone doesn't shut that baby up im going to smother it with a pillow and flush it down the toilet"
Dog- "What the hell is this - i can't eat this - look at it - i have got cat vomit for lunch"
Daisy - "I don't think this woman wanted her lunch" (to the sound of retching)
Maximus - "I don't think i need this immigration card"
Immigration....
Daisy - "Where the hell is max - ha ha ha, he has been sent back to the plane for his immigration card"
Mumbai
Everyone - "F***** its raining more here then back in the UK"
Dog - "The tuk tuk's look bigger then i imagined"
Daisy - "20 Rupees for a water - you were robbed"
Maximus - "I might just stay here for 2 weeks, coffee costs 7 pence"
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)