Let me call it wanderlust or fate or intuition or a mix of all these, but they did trigger me to embark on this genuinely crazy but fascinating ride of over 800kms in a single day on a motorcycle whose power does not exceed that of a standard lawn mower. I guess most of you will be not be interested in the part of story which tells what led to doing it, so briefing it up as a prelude to the adventure.
I ride a Bajaj CT-100 (99.2cc, 8.2 bhp), a petite commuter bike designed primarily for city riding. I had never thought of ending up with such a bike after switching over four performance (Indian Standards) bikes (Yamaha Enticer, Yamaha RX-100, Bajaj Pulsar, Royal Enfield 350) over years in the college. You know, economy becomes the keyword when a modest pay-pack combines with independence.
The travel bug has been inside my pants for quite a while now, tickling intermittently. But I had never gone beyond the planning stage in any of my trip schemes. Plans were plenty; active, dormant and extinct ones in variety. But constraints were regularly active and kept my hands off that jacket efficiently.
The idea for Thiruvananthapuram to Chennai however was never in any of my travel plans and was conceived in a matter of some hours before the start. Being a true son of Mars, I followed my instincts, thanks to some blind motivation from my friend and colleague Lekha, who was already sick of seeing me everyday buried over some map, planning a trip. Immediately, I immersed myself on the internet for an hour searching for distance and route information. My initially calculated distance stood at 795kms. Since I had taken a trip from my native place in Palakkad to here, around 370 kms, I had a relative idea of what that figure meant. Especially, it was challenging because of my bike, which could be categorized unsafe once the 65kph mark is exceeded. To reach Chennai, covering this huge distance, was more of a compulsion rather than an attempt to break records. I had planned this trip for meeting my friends working in the great metropolis. After taking leave from the office for Friday, only if I reach there on the day could I spend some time with them for the weekend. So that was source of my determination, or so I believe. Although it seemed extremely arduous, not even once did I feel that it was beyond my abilities. Incidentally, my bike was being serviced on the same day and that was reassuring about its reliability. Memorizing some base information about the route and distances, I was off to set my things for the trip. I had to start early in the morning; with only few hours left, I stuffed some clothes onto my bag, searched in vain for the earphones of my ‘Creative MuVoSlim’, charged the batteries of my rickety Powershot A70, and yes, those important life-saving underwear too. Everything was readied by midnight, went to bed with a strong doubt of failing to get up at four inspite of the alarm.
I had waked up before 4:00 A.M, courtesy, copious amounts of adrenaline inflow. Being mid-July, I felt fortunate to bump into only a weak drizzle when starting off from home at 5:00 AM. Please note that there was no special preparations on the vehicle for the trip, I didn’t even have a tool kit with me. The bag was mounted on the pillion seat, wound with a nylon rope and tied to the neck of the swingarms.
The pleasant, cool stillness of the city in the early morning set the tone for my launch. I was past Trivandrum Central Railway station by 05:30 and was speeding along an unknown road in search of the National Highway(NH) 47 which would lead me to Nagercoil, my next important transit point, 69kms away south. It’s a real shame that I still don’t know a correct route to NH going down south after eleven months of life here; blame it on the convoluted road network without a proper bypass. After riding on some ‘extra’ roads, I felt the right one and soon was racing and competing with the Sun to cut through the already pale darkness of the hour.
It was still drizzling as I passed the towns of Balaramapuram and Neyyatinkara missing to notice them. The development pattern of Kerala is such a conundrum that once you are moving along a road, the only way to distinguish between urban and rural settlements is the density of people floating alongside. Other ways of observation are probably futile since the continuous ribbon of habitat along both the sides limit your trials to seek the countryside. This perhaps was the reason for missing the towns but yes, at that time I was cursing myself to have broken a rule of the road, and my eyes were peeled up to see a gas station. I should’ve filled up my bike at the first pump I saw, and with full compliance to that rule; I wasn’t able to spot another one. If I did see one on the way, it was closed; and made me recollect that phrase painfully. With Murphy smiling, I was riding with grim thoughts of ending up filling in Tamilnadu, where the prices are a bit higher. Luckily, I saw an IBP station before the state border and missed no chance to laugh back at Murphy.
No checks at Kaliyikkavila, the border between Kerala and TN, I breezed through the posts wondering why it is so sleepy when the alert is sounded across the nation after the horrifying bomb blasts in Mumbai. The sky was white ahead; a clear victory in the race for the guy above all of us; I was moving at around 60kph through the now rolling terrain. No respite to the ridiculous ribbon of settlements, I will vote it as the main reason for the near-zero highway safety levels in my state. It was around 06:30 when I passed Marthandam, the first town after entering TN. It was still cloudy, but brighter, enough to give me a panoramic view of the last hill ranges of the mighty Sahyadris, or Western ghats. They were bright green due to the monsoons, contrary to my childhood memories of barren, rocky and dying ridges eaten up by weathering and human activity. I was in Kanyakumari district, the southern most province of the Indian sub-continent. Formerly a part of Kerala, it has a large Christian population, thanks to the active missionary movement. With numerous small churches dotting the landscape profusely cushioned by paddy and banana plantations, it made my refreshing cup of tea for the morning, even when I didn’t care for having one till I reached the NH-7, the road to Madurai.
I had seriously flawless intuition throughout the journey, one of them told me not to stop and delay the progress by taking photographs of that beautiful country. I followed it till the very end, and now feel it was the smartest thing I could’ve done. If not, I wouldn’t have seen Chennai on 14/07/2006, the date of my start. Yes, the crazy one-man race started at this point. The race against time. My sub-conscious mind knew precisely the magnitude of 800kms to be ridden in a single day within the boundary conditions of my bike, my stamina and my character. Now, while chewing over the nuances of my experience, I suspect it had worked over-time the night before, creating a set of accurate guidelines for achieving my goal. All that was not without any side-effects; I ended up in Chennai with only two photographs!
By 07:00, I had shifted onto NH-47B which connects NH-47 and NH-7. It is a newly christened highway, and predictably, conditions haven’t changed much from that of the original district road. Skirting the last hill of the 2000km mountain range, my direction was gradually changing towards North. Out of Nagercoil, the last major town of the peninsula, I was making neat progress through the villages. The sky was overcast, threatening to drench me on a morning, a thing I hate badly. It was drizzling now and I was sure the worst is near. It didn’t happen and I was relieved, but the worst was only yet to arrive.
The road was fairly straight from here on. The horizon showed me the bright streak at its far end, an abstract indication of the weather in TN proper. It was normal as it is the only part in India not blessed by the South-west monsoon or the ‘Big Monsoon’. The bliss of riding into the unlimited horizon through the seemingly endless tarmac is an experience strictly for the privileged souls like us. So riding with that top-of-the-world feeling, I failed to realize something very close, nearly on top of me. A single, introvert windmill was spinning lazily flanking the NH which, almost instantly, called on my geographic acumen to churn out the location and its details. I was in the windiest part of India. As I rode up to the summit of a small incline, the view ahead was indeed breathtaking. Hundreds or thousands of giant windmills occupying the vast, open landscape was sight to behold. Some of them formed a line just beside the highway, making me dizzy to ride along those fascinating, gigantic machines. It caught my imaginations so vividly that I felt like a Lilliputian on Gulliver’s land, with lot of Gullivers dancing around. However, my fairytale came to an abrupt end when a strong gust of crosswind shook my track and tried earnestly to push me down. Reading about high windspeeds and windpower generation in southern TN were useless for tackling it when riding. For the next ten hours of the ride, I’d be battling with my new, unexpected but definitely strong enemy.
We probably weighed around 160kgs together, out of which my contribution was a fat 63kgs. And we found our combination was miserably inadequate to keep ourselves on track against this big brother who was hell bent on persuading us to either to ride on the wrong side of road or to stop till he relented. But I kept on moving till my brain gave way to stomach’s SOS. I was very hungry and empty till now; stopped at a small but fresh looking restaurant. Those puris were smaller than my expectations, the coffee had a distinct flavor from the normal in kerala and I was served with care and respect; Welcome to the hospitality of TN!
I was thrilled to the see the NH-7 long, straight and empty after trudging through some 5-6kms from this point. The next two hours were fast and dangerous as well. I could ride the machine at 70-75kph effortlessly only when that crosswind consented. But nevertheless, I was quick at grasping the new vehicle dynamics during such winds. Although I sulked over my wrong selection of route and a wrong season as well, it was easily compensated by the charming country I was in. With the goggles and the visor on, I couldn’t make out for long the real brightness of view. The winds were forcing me persistently to decrease my speed by swaying us dangerously to the right. They became extremely precarious while overtaking a truck or a bus. Being a two-lane highway, it was necessary to move to the opposite way for overtaking maneuvers. On entering the zone, where covered with the truck on left, I was temporarily released from the wind action, and the extra thrust given against them till then suddenly worked to push the bike towards the truck. However, this was very much controllable; the real danger was when the vehicle is crossed, a sudden gust always tried to fling the bike away because of the lack of any counter thrust. I missed 2-3 accidents by a whisker when some vehicle was coming in the opposite direction and passing me at a near-same time. My riding skills were tested to their extreme in those situations when I just managed to guide my bike away from the way of passing vehicle each time. But soon, I was riding well and negotiated the crosswind intelligently.
About the land, well, the region is called ‘Paalai’ in tamil, meaning desert. Spread over the districts of Tirunelveli, Tuticorin and Kanyakumari in south TN, the arid, barren wastes vegetated with thorny shrubs is a god forsaken rain-shadow of the Western Ghats. There is a strange, wicked charm to these expanses which long for the rain clouds hiding poorly on the mountains nearby. As it was the season, this poignant as well as ironic panorama could be witnessed and contemplated. It seemed that rains fall in love with the waiting earth. As they fall, a fresh mystic fragrance spreads to the world bringing in huge cheers and appreciation. But things change dramatically when the earth becomes slush after more rains, signals the end to their happiness. Peace returns when the rain is drained into the ocean and they are separated once again. Imaginations could be worse and disappointing as it mostly comes from humans like me, but the strange beauty of this dry, windy country is real and is to be experienced.
I passed the city of Tirunelveli or ‘Nellai’, as it is regionally known, in good time. River Tamraparni, deeply bonded with the history and culture of the region, stood as a rationale for the odd smudge of greenery near the city famous for its ‘Halwa’ (a sweet delicacy). I crossed the 85th stone from Nagercoil near the bridge and continued speeding through the well-constructed bypass. About 40 kms later, passing Kovilpatti, a town famous for firecrackers and matches industry, I decided to take a ‘Pepsi’ break near a temple area edging the road. The temple appeared to be famous, at least locally, and was encircled by hawkers and shops. Sipping the drink, I called Hareesh(my friend) to apprise him about my position. It included a quick and proud proclamation about completing the 200km mark along with other briefings. Nevertheless, it motivated myself and made me forget that ache in my lower back, which had been creeping in gradually from the last 20kms or so.
Neither the wind nor me bothered to concede and we moved with crossed swords past Virudunagar, a dusty town traditionally important for its bustling business activity. The bike was performing smoothly but I was apprehensive about over-heating problems in its tiny 100cc engine. At around 11:15, I reached Tirumangalam, a major road junction. NH-208 from Kollam in Kerala charges into the NH-7 which continues it onward journey to Dindigul. By the way, did I tell you that I was riding on the longest highway of India? The NH-7, 2497kms long, connects Kanyakumari and Varanasi. The remoteness of the road at this part of the country was now temporarily corrupted by the workers of National Highways Authority; Four-laning the ‘North-south corridor’ is on full swing. Being an engineer myself, I felt sorry for my fellow men who toil silently in the harsh sun and never get recognized for their efforts. Fortunately, I had the hunch to ask the route to Trichy otherwise would’ve ended up riding through Dindugal, as most of the maps direct. The major road between Madurai, twenty odd kilometers from there, and Trichy is marked as the one passing through Dindugal. Easily discernible from the map as a circuitous route, I made a quest for an alternative route. It turned out to be successful and I was advised by that helpful, pot-bellied mechanic to take the straight road to Madurai city and then to Trichy via Melur. It was becoming hot, felt like it was around 36C already. My jaws did drop a bit seeing a dreadful distance board showing Chennai at 599kms from there and surprisingly, Bangalore was nearer at 575kms. I was getting a bit tired and now was conscious about the scale of the journey I had planned in ten minutes a day before.
A grade separator introduced to me the new bypass of Madurai. I didn’t expect it at that place since the city was around 18kms still away. I had directions for proceeding straight to the city or to the right, which indicated Tuticorin, Rameshwaram, Trichy and Chennai. Freshly puzzled, I had to stop and ask the policemen in the checkpost nearby. They suggested following the bypass, contrary to the advice of the mechanic. Still confused, I decided to tread eastward into the bypass, which was looking new and bland with even blander landscape. Vehicles were a rarity and I cut loose across those semi-arid plains simmering in the mid-day sun. Thirst and tiredness were becoming more frequent now as I negotiated this strange bypass which seemed never-ending. Passing through a few junctions where the road forked towards Tuticorin, a busy port and Rameshwaram, the historical and religious location famous for the longest corridor of the world and Ramayana. Recalling the great epic made me think about history, realized that I was riding through a land considered as the cradle of Tamil culture. The ‘Sangam’ or the cultural and literary academy of Dravidians had its capital in Madurai, from where the classical language flourished in ancient times. I haven’t heard of any other state in India with a greater reverence for their language. It is such a powerful influence on the people that the modern politics of TN is just a derivative of it (Remembered anti-Hindi rebellions in the 60s). Even highways are not spared from its promotion; every standard distance board is appended with the words, ‘Long Live Classical Divine Tamil’. Fair enough, since it is such a beautiful, flexible and comprehensive language that even the modern jargons in English could be translated and updated to its dictionary with amazing ease and compactness.
My body was giving overtones of an oncoming fatigue as I crossed Madurai corporation outskirts and joined the NH-45B, the road to Trichy. Bidding farewell to the faint views of Thirupparungundram, one of the six hill shrines of lord Muruga and the magnificent Meenakshi temple of Madurai, I crossed the River Vaigai at around 12:15. Topography was now clearly distinct from that of the earlier terrain and gave me a realistic sense of the current geographic position. The continuous row of tamarind trees on both sides of the highway seemed heavenly as by now, I was quite drained and carrying a sharper pain in the butt. The shade along the road was so inviting then that I took short breaks at 8-10km intervals. Like an ancient traveler, I rested under the trees, accepting some odd stares from the vehicles passed. At one of those difficult moments, I misplaced my goggles under some tree and eventually lost it. Chennai was still 435kms away but my immediate focus was to manage myself for the next three hours in that unforgiving heat. I reached Melur at 13:00, the place I had planned to take lunch although I knew nothing about that little, congested town. Hadn’t I found that dirty hotel which serves good, authentic TN lunch, I’d have starved for the next 80kms or so. The bike had to be parked in the sun while I enjoyed the much needed rest in shade more than their food. I made another call to Vineeth to motivate myself. The bike was literally burning in the heat, so decided to give it a shower. But I was embarrassed at the voice of refusal to give some water from the lady at the small shop adjacent to the hotel. I was more embarrassed to know that water is sold in small tin cans that are conveyed from some far off place by a bullock cart. A rupee and half per can is the rate of this outlandish system. Being never experienced a real shortage of water in my life; it moved me deeply as I stood there comprehending the reality of water crisis in India. Luckily, the relevant bullock cart was stationed in front of the hotel itself, so bought the can of water via that lady. I splashed some over the engine, making it release the steam instantly. On my return trip, I learned from some fellows that this way is improper to cool the engine. Pouring some more over the fuel tank and the seat, I gave away the can to the lady which still had some water in it. Those grateful eyes were telling and remains etched in my memory; it made me a strong supporter to TN’s claim in the Cauvery water dispute from that day.
This land, between Madurai and Trichy, was the common battlefield for the ancient Tamil dynasties, Cholas and Pandyas. Aptly so, the dominating colour of that sweltering afternoon scenery was reddish brown, making me mull over the great amount of bloodshed happened during that bygone era. I passed numerous hamlets with those rusty rock formations as their backdrop. The pale, distant view of the hills of Arcot and Salem districts were becoming clearer now as I sped past the southern tip of Eastern Ghats, another mountain chain demarcating the eastern edges of the great Indian peninsula. Meanwhile, I gave lift to an old fellow who appeared to be waiting long for a bus at a no-man’s land. Poor man, he thanked me profusely when I dropped him at Tovarankurichi. I should’ve thanked him in return for being my pillion and stabilizing the bike in that wind; I could push the throttle more safely then. I was now in Tiruchirapalli(full name of Trichy) district and had come more than half-way. My body reservoirs were draining out rapidly in the heat and I took time to relish a tender coconut drink at the wayside. At Rs.5.00, it was much cheaper than those in my land of coconuts, Kerala. Not surprising, since it was clear from this trip that cost of living is appreciably lower than in my state; so is the standards. I had given the ‘water man’ at Melur fifty paisa more than its actual price. Witnessing that surprised, but overwhelmingly content face echoed its true value as well as the abject poverty in my land.
The face of villages here is original and the people have their feet firmly on terra-firma. Inspite of being the most urbanized state in India, the urban-rural divide is distinct and significant in TN. Unlike Kerala, where it is indistinguishable these days, there was clear segregation in development. But I could observe the efficient regional transport network of TN being the key player for bridging this gap. Anyways, I could enjoy the pure rustic charm of the countryside in TN, an endangered feature almost extinct in Kerala. Life’s simplicity at its best!
Ruminating on such thoughts, I steered my machine onto greener pastures which signaled the arrival of the city of Trichy. Greens are the gift of River Cauvery, the lifeline of TN. Like an artist who is extremely fond of that colour, all of these rivers end up painting the earthen canvas only with shades of green. Well, our painter had worked hard to make a big canvas around him. I crossed several canals laden with water, tempting me to jump in. I was baked, tired and dirty due to those 480kms now behind me and was longing for some water on my body. As I neared the city bypass at around 15:30, a cane juice vendor demanded my brakes to be pushed. I couldn’t have tasted a more refreshing drink at that condition and savored every bit of it. As I was chatting with the man about my intention, I was at first intimidated about the 325kms ahead, and then encouraged that it could be done within 5 hours. Those words were rousing as they implied about me being inside Chennai by 20:30 which was pretty good time, and yes, only five hours more! Fancy ideas were they, only to be realized later.
I crossed the major bridges across Cauvery and Kollidam. River Kollidam(Coleroon) is the distributary diverted from the mainstream at the ‘Grand Anicut’(an ancient diversion headwork on Cauvery constructed by the king Karikala Chola). The next hour was generally uneventful other than my sore in the butt getting itchier. I called up my friends once again on the way to the next important point, Perambalur. Lucky to find an active water tap near the phone booth, I spared no time to wash myself and even managed to have a quick conversation with a pleasant looking fellow who was eager to know about my whereabouts. The severe tan on my lower forearms, the ruddy, burnt face with dry haystack-like hair made me feel strangely proud seeing myself as an authentic tourer. Putting up a gritty face, I powered into the NH-45 to do the fastest phase of the whole trip. The highway is mostly straight and level and could be a dream for the ‘fast and furious’. I was doing 75-80 consistently and I was even having competition with a ‘TVS Victor’. True to its name, he emerged the victor in a race that lasted for about half an hour, thanks to my ‘benevolence’. I made good ground due to the race on that monkey-infested road. Yes, the road has lots of monkeys, the ‘basic’ langur found commonly in India. I had initially planned to reach Villupuram, the next big town and the mid-point between Trichy and Chennai by 20:00. But, at this speed, I was certain to reach there by 19:15 or so. Never did I knew about the hurdles looming ahead then.
It took some time before I could see the thick, dark clouds in the far horizon as the reason for a drastic change in the weather at around 17:50. It was a lot cooler, more than usual, and darker too. I reached Ulundurpet, an important road junction where NH-68 from Salem joined my way. It is also the point of diversion towards Pondicherry. It was 18:30 and there was a very light drizzle. I decided for having a tea, satisfied with the progress made in the last two hours. It is a busy place with numerous dhabas, automobile accessories shops, repair units and obviously trucks stationed carelessly along the sides of the highway. As I sipped the tea sitting in the open-air bench lazily like that rabbit of the famous race, I could observe the traffic ahead was appreciably thicker, Chennai being just 198kms away.
Wiping the rearview mirror, I was off to surmount what I considered to be the penultimate leg of the journey, 76kms to Tindivanam via Villupuram. The onward journey from that point was presumed to be fast and comfortable, the highway transforming into a tolled four-laner maintained in excellent condition. For the first time in the trip, I had difficulty to get my leg over and mount the bike as it felt really heavy and fatigued. The headlights were lit as a reciprocal gesture to other vehicles that had theirs switched on prematurely. Minutes passed and when it was properly dark, I began to have a serious visibility problem. The highway was pitch dark because of very few settlements along it, and to make things worse, I found my headlamp’s focus was disoriented badly, badly enough that I literally had to feel and find the road with my palms before riding over it. Murphy was also taking revenge now by spicing it up with the rain, a highly scratched up Visor which could blindingly amplify the glare of the oncoming traffic lights and a slippery road which changed its width according to its will without caring to warn anyone. Me, the weary soldier, was playing it down by maintaining a horribly low speed of around 40kph along the edge of the road. Thus I could avert sudden braking as well as blinding due to the glare. But on a road with the said above character, I had to endure situations which could’ve proved even fatal. As the width unexpectedly changed without caution, I found myself off-roading several times. At one instance I jumped over a mound, at another, I hit a culvert which almost hurled me out of the seat, luckily managed to move away unscathed. Imagining my plight if I had gone into that dark depression (canal or drain or whatever!) was relieving as my body was becoming steadily weaker. The loose screws of the visor made life really annoying. For a better vision, I had to push it up every thirty seconds since it wouldn’t stay in that position for a trice more. The exposed eyes hurt for receiving the hard-hitting raindrops and insects as I trundled down the nightmarish NH-45 towards Villupuram.
As I was reaching near Villupuram, the rain had subdued a bit and the road was brighter with more settlements alongside. I had been terribly slow over the last leg and was aware of the cumulative delay if conditions are similar in the distance ahead. So I called my friends to inform the current position and the probable time of my arrival now forecasted to around 00:00. After making a futile attempt to clean the visor with my ‘face wash’, I left the phone booth. I had almost passed out of the Villupuram town when the rains came storming down. The sudden burst took me off guard and forced to find a refuge immediately. I did find one near some ‘dhabas’ occupied by some souls caught in the storm like me. Even unmounting from the bike had become a painful experience by then. With more of my limbs joining the party of fatigue, they had become arrogant and were refusing to follow my orders. After untying the bag, which had been severely mangled by the ropes, I took the shade for waiting till everything is over. A couple of local fellows were sincerely chatting about some political issues on a bench. I was at the rock-bottom of spirits because of my delay, disintegration and this deluge. But I didn’t fail to engage them into a chat. Boy, they were so awed hearing about this adventure that they immediately offered me one of their seats when I said I was coming from Trivandrum. They asked me, where I took breakfast, lunch etc. and appreciated me to have made very good progress with the bike. Besides wishing me good, they also emphasized on the Four-lane highway, just 34kms away which was smooth as silk and safe enough to ride at night. Wasn’t that refreshing? It certainly was and gave me the extra leverage to shift onto the normal ‘determination mode’. Incidentally, the rain stopped too.
It took another hour on a somewhat more predictable stretch of highway before I reached the four-lane corridor. It starts before the town of Tindivanam and bypasses it through a well-designed grade separator. The toll-booth was about 10kms from the start of this new high-speed corridor. It was hugely relieving to have those headlights separated from my viewing focus by a generous median and an expansive carriageway. No toll for motorcycles, so I passed the booth without any stops or questions. Hungry like hell, I decided to take the last break of my journey at a highway restaurant. I had been there before when I had gone to Chennai by a bus, two months ago. Something heavy was essential so I devoured on some thick ‘Barottas’ with delicious ‘kurma’. The place was dry suggesting that it hadn’t seen that rain of the evening. Chennai was 118kms from here and I called Vineeth to fix a meeting place when I arrive. The road abutting Hotel Le Royal Meridien, situated in Guindy(a suburb of Chennai) was selected since both of us knew the location. I had to give another call when I reached Tambaram, the suburb limit of Chennai to ensure the timing. It was around 21:30 when I left the restaurant with eyes, mind and heart fixed on a single point, the board showing the commencement of ‘The Corporation of Chennai’
After about 10kms, the road was wet and possibly slippery too. The lane was accurately delineated and with vehicles following the rules of lane-change reasonably well, it was much easier for maintaining a speed of 60-65kph. At junctions, it was excellently lit with bright neon lamps and stray crossing were controlled by non-mountable barriers alongside. I had to stick to the outer lane since the inner one was occupied by faster vehicles. However, I had to change them regularly whenever I hit the tail of a slow-moving truck, and mind-you, they were countless. I was lucky to be moving into Chennai, as the outbound traffic on the other side was substantially denser and slower than in our direction. I passed Melmaruvathur, the place housing a rich and famous temple. By now, I was fatigued enough that my reflexes and concentration were on an all-time low. I didn’t feel like applying brakes even if there was a need to, I kept on maintaining a constant throttle. Just a single abnormal maneuver in the relevant traffic was enough for me to cater an accident. The ride now was almost sub-conscious as I passed another intermediate town of Madurantakam. A drizzle had started by then which caused an automatic reduction of my speed, with more caution. The overtaking vehicles always soaked me with a muddy shower originating from their watery body and wheels. The traffic was a bit thicker from here on, bringing some kind of thrilling indication that I was nearer to my target. Inspired, I pushed harder as I crossed some hilly terrain as I neared the end of toll-road. Two kilometers from there was the huge bypass which led vehicles through the outskirts of Chennai towards Bangalore (NH-4) and probably Kolkata (NH-5). It was an unexplainable feeling of joy and relief as I proceeded into the city road, the first time on a day when I regularly bypassed all the intermediate towns and cities in TN. It was still a four-lane road, on a relatively poor condition, with a fresh and (relatively) heavy load of traffic on it.
City buses, local trains on the track alongside the road, an active and dynamic populace in and around the carriageway, distinctly yellow-color autorickshaws, bustling commerce at night, and above all, a remarkable new stench arising out of this typical urban mangle marked my arrival into Chennai at Tambaram. I am not any westerner to note the smell aspect, but riding for the whole day on an unpolluted rural environment had sharpened my senses to distinguish this amazing rural-urban divide. I was more conscious by now as I was stopped at the check-post by Police. I don’t know if he was amazed or suspicious when I answered to his question of the origin of trip. When I said ‘Trivandrum’, he asked once again in disbelief whether I came all the way by bike. From his face, I could read that he wanted to ask more about it but had to clear me out immediately since a long queue had been formed by then. After giving my Vehicle reg. no., I moved up, behind an ‘Aavin Milk’ tanker truck which wouldn’t give me an overtaking path even when there is space.
It was annoying to find all the telephone booths closed when I wanted to call my friends badly and scream out my arrival. But when I found a booth near the board, the one which welcomed me to Chennai, the one for which I had been set my heart, the emotion was overwhelming and true to my achievement. I rushed into the booth, made a call and repeated the greetings in Tamil as the opening line when I talked with Vineeth. It was around 23:20, my arms and legs were numb and almost immobile, but the heart was beating as if no stress has been taken by the body in the day. Joyously, I trod past the international airport area and headed towards Guindy, the point of rendezvous. After confusing myself on a roundabout, I found the way to the point. I arrived in front of the magnificent Le Royal Meridien at 23:45 as a single piece, intact.
I was finally at Chennai, at a spot exactly 813 kms away from home. It had taken me 18 hours and twenty minutes on a bike which had performed outstandingly well to reach the destination without any hassles. In this marathon ride that tested my levels of endurance, ingenuity and determination to their extremes, I had come through successfully. The longest road axis of TamilNadu had been ridden in a day which saw its thirteen districts, all of its rivers, all of its climatic variations and most of its culture waving to me along the sides of a never-ending tarmac. It did push me to the end of the wall but not without leaving me a great sense of pride and achievement, very unique and memorable. Which fool says ‘Life is a journey’? Journey is life.
Trip Summary
| Origin-Destination(O-D) | Thiruvananthapuram-Chennai | Chennai -Trichy | Trichy - Thiruvananthapuram |
| Date | 14/07/2006 | 17/07/2006 | 18/07/2006 |
| Distance(km) | 812 | 327 | 477 |
| Odo reading(Start) | 2138 | 3015 | 3370 |
| Odo reading(Finish) | 2950 | 3342 | 3847 |
| Start time | 05:30(Trivandrum Central) | 09:15(Thiruvanmiyur, Chennai) | 05:30(TTDC Hotel, Trichy) |
| Finish time | 23:50(Le Royal Meridien, Chennai) | 16:50(TTDC Hotel, Trichy) | 16:30(Trivandrum Central) |
| Total Journey time | 18 h 20 min | 7 h 35 min | 11 h |
| Average Journey speed | 44.3 kph | 43.1 kph | 43.4 kph |
| Total Fuel Consumption | 8.3 litres | 11.8 litres( Chennai-Thiruvananthapuram) |
| Average Fuel Economy | 97.83 kpl | 70.5 kpl( some petrol stolen on the way) |
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