Memoirs of a Wandering Nomad

Concerning Palmistry and NH-2 " ... over the mountain, across the sea who knows what is waiting for me? ..." - Pink Floyd It is not funny that I have such long life-line, I will probably linger around for quite a while, like Hamlet's dear dad. I just hope I have better things to tell my sons and grandsons, than mystery and murder. I hope I have things to tell ... of Adventure. Of beautiful sunsets and sunrises. Of the wonderful people I have met and will meet. Of the crazy trips across this amazing subcontinent we call our Motherland ... And of Life. I already have quite a few stories, some of which have found their way to these posts. Some others are doing the rounds in the biking groups, some in the family ... Like the one where I broke a toll gate on Moradabad Bypass. Or the one when Imran got stung by a bee while returning from Nainital, which poisoned him so much that the next whole day he was 'out of order' ... he slept...

There is something about the Moradabad bypass road. Every time I have crossed this 7km stretch, something wonderfully exciting has happened with me. Most of the times, I have crossed it on a motorbike, and so I have written about the overall journey in some post or the other. Like my trips to Nainital, Saat tal, and the other parts of Kumaon. But I think this stretch needs a special mention too. Which is the subject of this post. Like the very first time I crossed it was on a 100cc Hero Honda Splendor, about 8-year old machine, very badly maintained (all my machines are badly maintained, but run superbly). This was the third bike ride of my life - the first being Mumbai to Mahabaleshwar via the Mumbai-Goa road (same bike), with a pillion; and the other being the more common Delhi - Agra route (again, same bike). I was of the opinion, and I still carry the same to a certain extent, that the machine does not matter much. It is the rider and his style that matters more. So here I am, ridi...