Ranthambore
Ramthambore
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The problem with going to wildlife preserves, especially a tiger sanctuary like Ranthambore, is not that they are in such exceedingly faraway places from normal civilization that only dusty and rusty roads lead to; or that you have to make do with some terribly basic accommodation with half-lit rooms cluttered with old cranking beds and soggy mattresses and a swarm of tiny blood-sucking winged monsters; or that you are expected to get up at ungodly hours of wee morning only to find that the safari canter has got delayed. Any travel junkie in his right mind or pair of smelly socks will not find much difficulty adjusting to these trivial irritants.
No, the problem is that in spite of suffering all the above and much more - like the sweat and heat from the progressively menacing rising sun, the bumpy ride into the jungle and the non-existence of shock absorbers on the safari canter (which makes you feel that you are sitting directly resting your now-turned-red buns on the suspension of the vehicle) - when you return 'empty-handed' i.e. without the slightest glimpse of the big cat. This is the time you know exactly what kind of luckless, abandoned, unloved s-o-d you are.
No amount of rationalizing can help at this time. You can keep telling yourself that this is always a matter of chance (I dare you to use the word 'luck' here). You can keep telling yourself that there are only 3,500 cats in the wild in the entire country; and maybe only a handful in this particular reserve; and that maybe some of them have gone to Madhya Pradesh side (Central India) of the jungle rather than the Western side of Rajasthan that you are currently in; and that tiger sighting only happens once in 4-5 days in these months; and that even locals who go into the jungles everyday - the forest wardens, the safari guides, the local hotel boys - even they have seen the big cat only as many times as they can count on their fingertips. ... You can go on an on; none of that helps.
None of the Sambhars, Neel-gais, spotted dears, blackbucks, langoors, wild hogs, parakeets, owls, eagles, none of them help. No matter how much and fantastic biodiversity the tour guide is able to show you during the trip, the fact remains that you missed the most important item on the menu - you did not see a tiger in Ranthambore.
But then, if you are doing the trip like I did, on an old 500cc Bullet that has just come out of hiding after years, and if that bike takes you from Delhi to Ranthambore on one day and back on the second, and in good time too -- the definition of good time being return on the same calendar day as planned, no matter even if it is few minutes left to midnight -- and this too despite some major tech issues with the rocker-arms in the engine head -- just because you were, by chance, riding with an able expert like Pappubhai (John's garage), and that you were able to, as if by miracle, discover another very good mechanic in the middle of nowhere at Gangapur on the way, who happened to procure a die cast only a week ago that could bore the required holes and make the machine work with only 3 arms rather than the expected 4, you start re-assessing your position in the overall scheme of things. Yes, you missed the striped carnivore, and yes that is very sad; but hey, you and your bike are home safe in one piece!
Begin at the Beginning
But all that is much later. Right now, I have dragged myself out of bed at the break of dawn on Friday, loaded the small bag-packs for a short 2-day ride, have got my bike with a new shiny armor almost 'battle-ready', and am waiting at IFCCO chowk, Gurgaon, for an unspecified number of boys to join me on NH-8. By the time the gang of 7 more bikes arrives at 6:45am, we are already delayed by half an hour; and so without any verbal communication, they signal at me and we start off - a faux pas in retrospect as no one knows the route or knows that others do not know.
The road to Ranthambore from Delhi goes through the eastern parts of the state of Rajasthan. But there are several ways to reach there. One is to go via NH8 to Jaipur, and then turn left towards Agra, reach Dausa and then turn right. This is longer, but it follows the National Highways - which is good if you are in a car, which is why GPS navigators like Google Maps usually give you this route; but it isn't such a good idea if you are biking down. So the better route should have been to take a left at Dharuheda [40km from Gurgaon], travel on the edges of Bhiwadi, and take the newly made road through Kushkhera and Tijara to Alwar, then to Rajgarh, Baswa, Bandikui, finally opening at Sikandara on NH-11 (Agra-Jaipur Highway), to go towards Dausa [total 250km].
But at Manesar, about 20km before Dharuhera, we meet with a huge road traffic jam with large trucks and containers and the group gets dispersed in order to overcome the roadblocks. Since there is no prior route discussion, the more enthusiastic members race past Dharuheda on NH-8, and miss the left for Alwar road, while some move towards Alwar. After a series of detours, frantic phone calls, misunderstandings, and name-calling, the group re-assembles around 10:30am at a dhaba just before Alwar to assess the status over the first round of chai and parathas.
A local comes on his bike, stops by, approaches hesitantly and asks me where we are going. He says he sees groups of bikers every now and then, especially on weekends, and always wonders where they come from and where they go. I tell him that we, him and I included, are all 'birds of passage' - or something rather philosophically blissful akin to that - and leave him in his marveled stage, careful to not remove perhaps the only sense of mystery and wonder that is left in his otherwise uneventful and mundane life.
It must be mentioned that the road from Dharuhera to Alwar via Tijara [around 150km] is a nice, new, four-lane highway. A lot of new housing projects seem to be in development stage, especially close to Dharuhera, and the vested interests of these builders and developers have led to such wonderful improvement in road accessibility, despite it not being even a state highway, but which looks like a national highway.
At Alwar, we take a left to bypass the main town and ride towards Rajgarh. Even the road after Alwar to Sikandara [100km] is newly made, although it is a two-lane road; with a rare combination of nice clean road surfaces in a scenic rural setting. When I did this route some 6 years ago, this part was a bit rough, and one had to pass through the main crowded market streets of Rajgarh, Baswa and Bandikui. But now the new road bypasses all and is a pleasure to ride. With enough fuel in the belly, and with a mind to make up some of the lost time, we ride on the wind and reach Sikandara soon by around 1pm, take a right on the wide Agra-Jaipur highway (NH-11) and start towards Dausa [25 km].
Lost ... And Found ... Again
The going is easy, and the March sun is yet to get intense. The road is a nice, four-way highway. As usual, I am in top gear, ahead of the pack cruising at 90-100kmph. I cross Kalakho in no time, and am able to see the Umaid Lake Palace, with memories from an earlier visit some seven years ago. The riding is pleasant, and such are the times on a ride when you tend to get into a delicious reverie, where you can solve all the world's problems with merely snapping your fingers. A bold green board showing Dausa to the left snaps me out of my ruminations, and slowing down I come to a halt on the gravel of the sidewalk, waiting for the rest of the group to join.
One by one they arrive, and one by one they slow down and come to a halt - but only the first three. The rest of the group seem to have a mind of their own - or rather a loss of it - and they continue of the highway, unmindful of the waving and shouting of the people on the curb, cross the flyover and head towards Jaipur. Once again, we, the remaining, frantically try to get in touch with them, but unlike the incident in the morning, this time none of them even respond to phone calls.
Here we go again, wondering what to do, as waiting at the same spot under the growing sun does not make sense. We decide to head towards Lalsot, in the hope that over time someone in the defector party will come to know that they were going in the wrong direction. So the four of us start our engines and take a left towards Dausa.
The road to Dausa is a bit rough, with a lot of heavy traffic, and road construction going on. You are required to go through the bustling marketplace, and then take a left on Sawai Madhopur road towards Lalsot. The initial parts of the road within Dausa are dusty, bumpy and unpleasant, but that quickly gives way to a nice two-lane state highway (SH11A). The road surface is good, and the scenery around pleasant in the month, albeit a bit barren.
Before Lalsot, you need to climb down a small mountain pass, which is quite steep. In front of me, a large transport bus bursting to its seams with passengers is negotiating the downward slopes, with at least a dozen of those passengers sitting on top of the bus. What is fascinating is that none of the travelers care about how dangerous this descent could be for them, as if it is an everyday matter (which in all likelihood it is), and a loud cheer emerges from the top of the bus upon reaching the plains. Most of them cheer and wave happily as I rush past the bus, and then turn their attention to another bus coming in the opposite direction with almost an equal number of passengers on its top. The cheers are enthusiastically reciprocated by this new party.
By the way, I learnt something new in this - if you are travelling on the top of the bus, and if you feel like getting down as you are close to your destination, you need to bang the top of the bus frantically with your feet. If and when the bus driver hears your banging, he will stop at a side, and you can climb down the stairs.
Anyway, while all this 'national geographic' is going on, the other biker group has been contacted successfully and we learn that they have gone 30km off track towards Jaipur before realizing the error. This means a roundabout of over an hour. We plan to wait at some dhaba on the way just after Lalsot so that we can regroup. Accordingly, we find a newly built dhaba that is still getting furnished, wash our dirty faces with some dirtier and sedimented water and order a lot of food - gobi ki sabji, daal, rotis, chhaas (buttermilk) and sev ki sabji - a specialty in these parts. The food is basic fare, as you would expect on any on these highway dhabas, but it is fresh, hot and tasty - especially sev ki sabji, which we order twice.
By the time we are done with our late lunch, relaxed a bit on the chaar-pais (wooden benches) and got to know each other a bit better since this is the first time since morning we have even seen each other's faces behind the helmets, the lost group returns by 4:00pm and joins us at the dhaba. After another round of rotis and sabjis, and some more finger-pointing, temperate abusing and good-natured bickering, we start off for the final leg of the day's trip - this time resolute that no one will go astray.
Ranthambore at last
The rest of the journey - around 80km - is uneventful. We cruise together, rather with a relaxed and measured pace - sometimes with legs up on the leg guards - the first time during the day when the entire wolf-pack is together, with the locals watching in awe like they usually do, and finally reach Sawai Madhopur at around 6pm. You have to cross the town of Sawai Madhopur, go over the train line using a narrow flyover, and then take a left. The road is dotted with some of the known names in luxury hotels - Taj, Oberoi, Welcome group, Lalit - which, however nice, have two distinct disadvantages for a biker. First, they are way too expensive to be part of a bike ride. And second, none of them are close to the national park.
So we scoot past them and move closer to the jungle of Ranthambore. We can see open jeeps and canters (open buses) returning from the evening rounds. The road leads to a small hill, which has an outer wall of the jungle on the right side, and some small resorts on the other. As we cross the pass, we find a green colored resort named Vatika on the left. One of us has stayed here before, so we decide to try it out. The place has basic rooms, hot shower, clean beds, a nicely maintained garden lawn, and a view of the jungle right across. All in all, a great decision to spend the night here.
Once we park ourselves and the machines, we realize how hungry we are despite the late lunch. The manager of the place is helpful in getting multiple rounds of pakodas, sandwiches and chai - till it's dusk and starts getting a bit nippy and cold. We have no energy to go about the town, so we just park ourselves in the balcony overlooking the garden and the hills. The stars come out and the sky takes a deep violet hue. The conversations invariably turn to other rides, especially the much-idolized routes of Manali-Leh rides.
Soon it is time for dinner. Some of us cajole the manager, who usually only allows vegetarian food in the kitchen -- to allow us to get some chicken curry by his Garhwali cook, along with hot rotis and some daal. By 9:30pm, the dinner is done, and we spread ourselves on the lawn chairs for some more sky-watching, some leisurely and random conversations, and some tea. By 10:00pm the lights are out, and you can hear half the members snoring happily, tired of the really long time - almost 12 hours - taken to cover a meager 350km.
Day 2 - Ranthambore Safari
I sleep uneasily despite the fatigue, which is surprising. Maybe it is the chill in the air, or maybe I am really out of practice now. Just to make it clear how bad the state was - I have not done a ride for a couple of years. So there are times during this ride when I have to check myself for stopping at some traffic, thinking that I am in a car. I would get a quick jolt only after a few seconds, and then I would happily maneuver the bike through the myriads of the traffic snarls, as if I am rediscovering the simple joys of biking.
Anyway, at 5:00am, there is a rap on the door, to get ready for the canter. I have a quick shower and get ready and rush down, only to find that the canter is delayed. Nonetheless, we are able to catch the sunrise behind the hill, which is always a pleasant site. At around 7:30am, the canter arrives, with 4 out of 20 seats already filled. We line up and get into it, and the bus moves ahead. It stops on the way twice, picks up some more human cargo, and then rapidly heads towards Gate 5. Should have taken the jacket along, as the wind is quite cold before the rising sun.
At the gate, they take down our names and let us in at 8:00am. We move from one post to another, occassionally sighting a tiger pugmark, some langurs, many spotted deers, and different types of birds. No tiger though. We come to a lake whose surface is covered with an orange-pink hue -- some kind of weed. A large folk of golden brown birds comes out of nowhere and rests on the tree close to the canter.
Apparently the famous tigress Machhli, who is now quite old of age (17 years), was spotted last week around this route. So hoping against hope, the canter pushes further inside the jungle, goes through some really dusty and difficult jungle roads, but there is no call of the tiger, and the hour-long search ends in a disappointment.
Bomb Diffusal Squad
On return, we freshen up (i.e. wash off the dust from the hair), have a sumptuous breakfast of parathas and omelette-bread, have two rounds of chai and then weight our options. I anyway need to return to Delhi today due to prior commitments. But the rest of the group decides to leave the place as well and head to Bharatpur. It is decided that we travel together for some distance - maybe take a new route to Gangapur instead of Lalsot, and then we part. So by 11:30am, we are all set, packed and ready to roll.
At Sawai Madhopur, Pappu discovers that the silencer of his bike is a bit loose. So he stops at a local fabricator, and I accompany him while the others go ahead to find a fuel station. A group of local school children approaches me. As I am removing my white helmet and large padded hand-gloves, and adjust the map on the tank-bag, with a watch showing time adjacent to it -- one of the boys finds courage and asks me a question - well this is the first of its kind: "Are you guys the ones who diffuse bombs?" ... I am mildly amused. I ask the boy in return: if I was really part of a bomb diffusal squad, would I tell him that? ...
I can see why he would have thought so, what with the helmet and the gloves and all that. I am asked many other things during rides in all these years - is this a race, is this a circus, where are you going, where are you coming from, how much mileage does your bike give, are you a film crew, are you a foreigner (even after I speak shuddh Hindi with them) -- but bomb diffusal squad ??? ... A truly Hurt Locker moment of the ride.
Anyway, we cross Sawai Madhopur again and head on the same road of yesterday towards Lalsot [30km], but just before Lalsot, we find a new narrow road leading to Gangapur. We regroup and decide to ride for one last time as a unit. It is hotter and sunnier than yesterday. I am leading and on full throttle. But suddenly, about 10km into the road, the engine makes a rattling sound and the bike loses power almost instantaneously. I manage to keep the balance, and slowing down, come to a halt. The bike refuses to rekindle. I push it on the curb, by which time the rest of the bomb squad sees me getting down and follows suit.
At first we think that the engine has 'ceased' due to over-heating. My bike is an old model with iron casting, and is prone to this. We park in the meager shade of some roadside shrubs and allow the bike to cool down. Pappu, who is a mechanic by profession and whose garage maintains my bike, gets down to business. He plays with the tappets, removes the tank and the head caps, and very soon discovers that the problem is in the engine head as the threads of the rocker-arm have been worn out. He manages to put two of them together, fixes the rest of the stuff, and gets the bike to start. A relief for the time being, but he advises me to drive slow till the next bullet mechanic.
Once again, the group starts off, this time slowly and in search of a bullet mechanic. We are told that there is only one worth his salt in this region, and he is in Gangapur, around 40km ahead. My bike continues to run, so we decide to take the chance and ride till Gangapur. This is a big town, so much so that it is called a city - "Gangapur City". The town in crowded, and curious onlookers guide us to the closest bike mechanic. He tells me that he himself cannot work on a Bullet, but there is a mechanic called Khadu, near Lal Mandir Talkies (cinema hall). So the group hunts for this potential magician in the streets till we reach the now-defunct Talkies, where my bike promptly dies right in front of the narrow lane leading to Khadu's shop.
Thankful to the Lord Almighty that the bike died only now and not before, I push it through the lane to find, pleasantly, that Khadu is a middle-aged lanky chap who listens much and speaks little - the first sign of a good mechanic. Pappubhai explains the problem to him, and is also satisfied with the potential expertise of the man. He waits for a while and seeing how the fellow is going about getting things done with my Saki, tells me that my bike is in good hands. The group decides to take leave and try a new road right of Gangapur rather than continuing with me. Soon I am on my own, waiting for Khadu master to complete his work, and get me on my ride again.
I am indeed in good company. The locals are chatty, and share their tea and seating places with me. Khadu gets busy, opening the caps, and polishing the arms in a systematic manner. He seems to be happy that people across the town recommended him to me, and tells me that it's just my luck that only a couple of days ago he got a new die cast made for the express purpose of screwing threads on the top square. If he did not have that die cast, the job would have been much more difficult, even impossible.
And so as I wait -- over the chai and the local folks' views on politics and upcoming elections, and how Rajasthan is a BJP bastion, but with AAP you never know -- while the bike's rocker-arms and push-rods get restored - at least 3 out of 4 - in an hour's time, which is around 4pm now. Khadu master tells me that I will be able to ride the bike in spite of one arm short, but I need to be careful about the spead as there is danger that the aluminum square on top may expand due to heating. Anyway he starts the bike, and I take leave of the excellent company to turn right on my return journey.
Another route, another place
The initial 4-5 km of the road are quite bad and bumpy, as I negotiate my way through the busy marketplace and pot-holed exteriors of the town, but soon I am able to get onto a good road that opens into green fields on both sides and is fun to ride.
The 80km journey from here to Sikandara is an absolute pleasure, with clean surface, very limited traffic and great scenary. It also has things to see - like a small dam with clean water-body, some hills and a few havelis. About 10km outside Gangapur, you can see a fort-like structure to the left. The road leads right up to the foot of the hill on which the small fortification is standing, where there is a village with a name of Shahar. This is strange because Shahar means 'city', but the village is too tiny to be called that. There are also a few chhatris - cenotaphs - on the other side, reminiscent of a bygone era of the princely state of Gwalior where this part was also very much part of the city. The tehsil is still named after this - 'Sahar' in M.P., but the fort is in the Karauli district of Rajasthan. Apparently there is a temple of goddess on top, but I decide not to linger.
The road further crosses some small rivulets, and you can see another fort, this time on a taller hill to the left. The rest of the villages on the road are even tinier and more obscure, and time literally comes to a standstill while I ride on - stopping here and there, taking pictures, looking around, riding moodily at a measured pace of 50-60 kmph, sometimes lightly touching the tar wheezing below with the soles of my shoes, and generally becoming part of the journey, not just a spectator - just as Dr. Pirsig of the 'Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance' fame says.
I arrive at the same junction of Sikandara that we had crossed yesterday, this time from the front, and cross the Agra-Jaipur highway to go on the other side towards Bandikui. After 5km, I see the board of Abhaneri showing 3km. This time I cannot resist the temptation and in spite of the 250km still in the front to cover, I take a detour while it has started to become dusky and the sun is rapidly marching towards the horizon.
The Chand Baoli of Abhaneri (see this for details) -- or Abhaya Nagari of old -- is a wonder of sorts. The last time I was here it took my breath away, and this was even before Tarsem Singh used it in one of his movies 'The Wall' and made it famous. It is a huge step-well dug 20 meters deep into the bowels of earth in 8th or 9th century by the then-ruler of the place called King Chanda (or Chandra). It has some 13 levels of landings, with square steps carved in diamond shape. The effect is escheresque, autopoietic and as hypnotic as fractals; but difficult to capture in a simple phone camera. I am attempting to post some pics nevertheless. Earlier they allowed visitors to climb down a few steps, but apparently some 2 years ago a lady - wife of a visiting dignitary - fell down from there and broke some parts of her body, which prompted the department to raise a new fence around and the steps are now off-limits.
I also pay a visit to the Harshata Mata Temple across the road overlooking the well. The temple was razed down during the Muslim rule and was restored partially by the Maharaja of Jaipur, who also restored the northern wall of Chand Baoli. Most of the sculptures from the temple were dumped in the Baoli during troubled times; some of them have now been dug out and arranged neatly all around the step-well's walls like a make-shift museum. I chat with the part-curator, part care-taker of the place, buy some local fruits from the shops in front of the temple, and head out in the twilight.
Homeward bound - with some last minute unwanted hurdles
At the highway, I turn right and resume my solo journey towards Alwar. The going is easy but I want to cover as much as I can till night falls. Thankfully I manage to reach the outskirts of Alwar by the time it is dark, and decide to stop over at a roadside dhaba for a meal at around 7:30pm. I have not eaten lunch today in all the commotion due to the bike trouble. The dhaba walla, who is accustomed to service single bus drivers and their kin, greets me and makes a quick meal of gatta sabji (chunks of besan cooked in spicy red curry) and rotis. The food is hot and tasty, although a bit more spicy than what I usually take. I complete the meal with a paneer paratha - very good too - followed by a chai, all this for just Rs. 100!
By this time, the stars have come out nicely and it is quite dark. I bid adieu to the gentle dhaba walla and start the last lap of the journey in darkness, with a marginal moonlight to show the way and the Great Dipper pointing towards a faint North Star . Thankfully the road in most parts is a two-lane highway, but good - - except a railway crossing near Alwar -- and I am comfortable in my saddle after the nice meal. I cross Alwar quickly, take the bypass, stop over to buy the famous kachoris and kalaa kand mithai, and move towards Bhiwadi. The road here on is four lane and the going gets much easier.
Soon I cross Tijara and am speeding towards my destination. Before Bhiwadi, however, there is a choice to go to Dharuhera and trace the NH-8 back the same way we came yesterday. But there is also a Bhiwadi-Sohna road shown in the map, and I decide to try it out against better judgement, just to try out a new road. Bad idea, especially since it is 9:30pm in the night.
As I cross Bhiwadi, the road gets bumpier and narrower. I stop and ask some passer-bys. Most discourage me to take the road to Sohna, and direct me to routes that would lead to NH-8. At one junction, when I ask the shopkeeper and he again tells me the road to Dharuhera, I ask him if the road to Sohna is ok to travel. He says, cryptically, - "rasta toh theek hai, logon ka pata nahi" (the road is good, but I cannot guarantee the same about people). Apparently the belt is notorious for dacoits.
Anyway, against all this friendly and highly encouraging advice, I push on. I do not want to go back to Dharuhera - another 10km - and the thought of meeting the all-too-familiar incoming traffic of trucks and buses entering Gurgaon gives me shivers. I decide to try this route anyhow.
The road is pitch dark and the feeling of someone watching you is increasingly gripping your neck from the back. To make matters worse, I get lost a little, ask some toll-booth operators who themselves look straight out of a Western classic, take some detours towards Nuh and then away from it based on sheer gut feel, tackle some recklessly heady truck traffic and finally reach the hill that climbs down to Sohna. When the road sign welcomes me to the "sun city" (!) of Sohna - famous for mineral springs and daylight murders - I want to stop the bike, get down and kiss the earth - only I am too petrified to stop anywhere on the road.
The downhill that opens into Sohna is a hurdle of its own kind. The ghat is narrow, winding and has heavy traffic. In this, most truckers feel like showing themselves off, and they bloom into bouts of speed racing from time and again. Several times I miss the incoming truck narrowly. Several times the trucks miss me. Finally we all manage to arrive where we want to - down the hill and to the junction from where Gurgaon is just 20km of nice four-lane highway away.
I am now on a wing and a prayer. The road has costed me more than a hour's delay and I am now seriously tired, cranky and in desperate need of a warm bath. I cruise the last few kilometers at jet speed, throwing Khadu's warnings to the wind, and thankfully reach home safe and sound, both bike and me in one piece, just as the clock is striking midnight.
All in all, this is a hugely successful road trip, especially for me where I managed to complete close to 750km after years of gap in two straight days without 'breaking a sweat' - so to say! Of course, the road and the weather at this time of the year makes this ride worthwhile.
- Best
Shreekant
13 March 2014
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The problem with going to wildlife preserves, especially a tiger sanctuary like Ranthambore, is not that they are in such exceedingly faraway places from normal civilization that only dusty and rusty roads lead to; or that you have to make do with some terribly basic accommodation with half-lit rooms cluttered with old cranking beds and soggy mattresses and a swarm of tiny blood-sucking winged monsters; or that you are expected to get up at ungodly hours of wee morning only to find that the safari canter has got delayed. Any travel junkie in his right mind or pair of smelly socks will not find much difficulty adjusting to these trivial irritants.
No, the problem is that in spite of suffering all the above and much more - like the sweat and heat from the progressively menacing rising sun, the bumpy ride into the jungle and the non-existence of shock absorbers on the safari canter (which makes you feel that you are sitting directly resting your now-turned-red buns on the suspension of the vehicle) - when you return 'empty-handed' i.e. without the slightest glimpse of the big cat. This is the time you know exactly what kind of luckless, abandoned, unloved s-o-d you are.
No amount of rationalizing can help at this time. You can keep telling yourself that this is always a matter of chance (I dare you to use the word 'luck' here). You can keep telling yourself that there are only 3,500 cats in the wild in the entire country; and maybe only a handful in this particular reserve; and that maybe some of them have gone to Madhya Pradesh side (Central India) of the jungle rather than the Western side of Rajasthan that you are currently in; and that tiger sighting only happens once in 4-5 days in these months; and that even locals who go into the jungles everyday - the forest wardens, the safari guides, the local hotel boys - even they have seen the big cat only as many times as they can count on their fingertips. ... You can go on an on; none of that helps.
None of the Sambhars, Neel-gais, spotted dears, blackbucks, langoors, wild hogs, parakeets, owls, eagles, none of them help. No matter how much and fantastic biodiversity the tour guide is able to show you during the trip, the fact remains that you missed the most important item on the menu - you did not see a tiger in Ranthambore.
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| The magnificent Sambhar deer, Ranthambore |
But then, if you are doing the trip like I did, on an old 500cc Bullet that has just come out of hiding after years, and if that bike takes you from Delhi to Ranthambore on one day and back on the second, and in good time too -- the definition of good time being return on the same calendar day as planned, no matter even if it is few minutes left to midnight -- and this too despite some major tech issues with the rocker-arms in the engine head -- just because you were, by chance, riding with an able expert like Pappubhai (John's garage), and that you were able to, as if by miracle, discover another very good mechanic in the middle of nowhere at Gangapur on the way, who happened to procure a die cast only a week ago that could bore the required holes and make the machine work with only 3 arms rather than the expected 4, you start re-assessing your position in the overall scheme of things. Yes, you missed the striped carnivore, and yes that is very sad; but hey, you and your bike are home safe in one piece!
Begin at the Beginning
But all that is much later. Right now, I have dragged myself out of bed at the break of dawn on Friday, loaded the small bag-packs for a short 2-day ride, have got my bike with a new shiny armor almost 'battle-ready', and am waiting at IFCCO chowk, Gurgaon, for an unspecified number of boys to join me on NH-8. By the time the gang of 7 more bikes arrives at 6:45am, we are already delayed by half an hour; and so without any verbal communication, they signal at me and we start off - a faux pas in retrospect as no one knows the route or knows that others do not know.
The road to Ranthambore from Delhi goes through the eastern parts of the state of Rajasthan. But there are several ways to reach there. One is to go via NH8 to Jaipur, and then turn left towards Agra, reach Dausa and then turn right. This is longer, but it follows the National Highways - which is good if you are in a car, which is why GPS navigators like Google Maps usually give you this route; but it isn't such a good idea if you are biking down. So the better route should have been to take a left at Dharuheda [40km from Gurgaon], travel on the edges of Bhiwadi, and take the newly made road through Kushkhera and Tijara to Alwar, then to Rajgarh, Baswa, Bandikui, finally opening at Sikandara on NH-11 (Agra-Jaipur Highway), to go towards Dausa [total 250km].
But at Manesar, about 20km before Dharuhera, we meet with a huge road traffic jam with large trucks and containers and the group gets dispersed in order to overcome the roadblocks. Since there is no prior route discussion, the more enthusiastic members race past Dharuheda on NH-8, and miss the left for Alwar road, while some move towards Alwar. After a series of detours, frantic phone calls, misunderstandings, and name-calling, the group re-assembles around 10:30am at a dhaba just before Alwar to assess the status over the first round of chai and parathas.
A local comes on his bike, stops by, approaches hesitantly and asks me where we are going. He says he sees groups of bikers every now and then, especially on weekends, and always wonders where they come from and where they go. I tell him that we, him and I included, are all 'birds of passage' - or something rather philosophically blissful akin to that - and leave him in his marveled stage, careful to not remove perhaps the only sense of mystery and wonder that is left in his otherwise uneventful and mundane life.
It must be mentioned that the road from Dharuhera to Alwar via Tijara [around 150km] is a nice, new, four-lane highway. A lot of new housing projects seem to be in development stage, especially close to Dharuhera, and the vested interests of these builders and developers have led to such wonderful improvement in road accessibility, despite it not being even a state highway, but which looks like a national highway.
At Alwar, we take a left to bypass the main town and ride towards Rajgarh. Even the road after Alwar to Sikandara [100km] is newly made, although it is a two-lane road; with a rare combination of nice clean road surfaces in a scenic rural setting. When I did this route some 6 years ago, this part was a bit rough, and one had to pass through the main crowded market streets of Rajgarh, Baswa and Bandikui. But now the new road bypasses all and is a pleasure to ride. With enough fuel in the belly, and with a mind to make up some of the lost time, we ride on the wind and reach Sikandara soon by around 1pm, take a right on the wide Agra-Jaipur highway (NH-11) and start towards Dausa [25 km].
Lost ... And Found ... Again
The going is easy, and the March sun is yet to get intense. The road is a nice, four-way highway. As usual, I am in top gear, ahead of the pack cruising at 90-100kmph. I cross Kalakho in no time, and am able to see the Umaid Lake Palace, with memories from an earlier visit some seven years ago. The riding is pleasant, and such are the times on a ride when you tend to get into a delicious reverie, where you can solve all the world's problems with merely snapping your fingers. A bold green board showing Dausa to the left snaps me out of my ruminations, and slowing down I come to a halt on the gravel of the sidewalk, waiting for the rest of the group to join.
One by one they arrive, and one by one they slow down and come to a halt - but only the first three. The rest of the group seem to have a mind of their own - or rather a loss of it - and they continue of the highway, unmindful of the waving and shouting of the people on the curb, cross the flyover and head towards Jaipur. Once again, we, the remaining, frantically try to get in touch with them, but unlike the incident in the morning, this time none of them even respond to phone calls.
Here we go again, wondering what to do, as waiting at the same spot under the growing sun does not make sense. We decide to head towards Lalsot, in the hope that over time someone in the defector party will come to know that they were going in the wrong direction. So the four of us start our engines and take a left towards Dausa.
The road to Dausa is a bit rough, with a lot of heavy traffic, and road construction going on. You are required to go through the bustling marketplace, and then take a left on Sawai Madhopur road towards Lalsot. The initial parts of the road within Dausa are dusty, bumpy and unpleasant, but that quickly gives way to a nice two-lane state highway (SH11A). The road surface is good, and the scenery around pleasant in the month, albeit a bit barren.
Before Lalsot, you need to climb down a small mountain pass, which is quite steep. In front of me, a large transport bus bursting to its seams with passengers is negotiating the downward slopes, with at least a dozen of those passengers sitting on top of the bus. What is fascinating is that none of the travelers care about how dangerous this descent could be for them, as if it is an everyday matter (which in all likelihood it is), and a loud cheer emerges from the top of the bus upon reaching the plains. Most of them cheer and wave happily as I rush past the bus, and then turn their attention to another bus coming in the opposite direction with almost an equal number of passengers on its top. The cheers are enthusiastically reciprocated by this new party.
By the way, I learnt something new in this - if you are travelling on the top of the bus, and if you feel like getting down as you are close to your destination, you need to bang the top of the bus frantically with your feet. If and when the bus driver hears your banging, he will stop at a side, and you can climb down the stairs.
Anyway, while all this 'national geographic' is going on, the other biker group has been contacted successfully and we learn that they have gone 30km off track towards Jaipur before realizing the error. This means a roundabout of over an hour. We plan to wait at some dhaba on the way just after Lalsot so that we can regroup. Accordingly, we find a newly built dhaba that is still getting furnished, wash our dirty faces with some dirtier and sedimented water and order a lot of food - gobi ki sabji, daal, rotis, chhaas (buttermilk) and sev ki sabji - a specialty in these parts. The food is basic fare, as you would expect on any on these highway dhabas, but it is fresh, hot and tasty - especially sev ki sabji, which we order twice.
By the time we are done with our late lunch, relaxed a bit on the chaar-pais (wooden benches) and got to know each other a bit better since this is the first time since morning we have even seen each other's faces behind the helmets, the lost group returns by 4:00pm and joins us at the dhaba. After another round of rotis and sabjis, and some more finger-pointing, temperate abusing and good-natured bickering, we start off for the final leg of the day's trip - this time resolute that no one will go astray.
Ranthambore at last
The rest of the journey - around 80km - is uneventful. We cruise together, rather with a relaxed and measured pace - sometimes with legs up on the leg guards - the first time during the day when the entire wolf-pack is together, with the locals watching in awe like they usually do, and finally reach Sawai Madhopur at around 6pm. You have to cross the town of Sawai Madhopur, go over the train line using a narrow flyover, and then take a left. The road is dotted with some of the known names in luxury hotels - Taj, Oberoi, Welcome group, Lalit - which, however nice, have two distinct disadvantages for a biker. First, they are way too expensive to be part of a bike ride. And second, none of them are close to the national park.
So we scoot past them and move closer to the jungle of Ranthambore. We can see open jeeps and canters (open buses) returning from the evening rounds. The road leads to a small hill, which has an outer wall of the jungle on the right side, and some small resorts on the other. As we cross the pass, we find a green colored resort named Vatika on the left. One of us has stayed here before, so we decide to try it out. The place has basic rooms, hot shower, clean beds, a nicely maintained garden lawn, and a view of the jungle right across. All in all, a great decision to spend the night here.
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| View of the jungle and the hills from Vatika |
Soon it is time for dinner. Some of us cajole the manager, who usually only allows vegetarian food in the kitchen -- to allow us to get some chicken curry by his Garhwali cook, along with hot rotis and some daal. By 9:30pm, the dinner is done, and we spread ourselves on the lawn chairs for some more sky-watching, some leisurely and random conversations, and some tea. By 10:00pm the lights are out, and you can hear half the members snoring happily, tired of the really long time - almost 12 hours - taken to cover a meager 350km.
Day 2 - Ranthambore Safari
I sleep uneasily despite the fatigue, which is surprising. Maybe it is the chill in the air, or maybe I am really out of practice now. Just to make it clear how bad the state was - I have not done a ride for a couple of years. So there are times during this ride when I have to check myself for stopping at some traffic, thinking that I am in a car. I would get a quick jolt only after a few seconds, and then I would happily maneuver the bike through the myriads of the traffic snarls, as if I am rediscovering the simple joys of biking.
Anyway, at 5:00am, there is a rap on the door, to get ready for the canter. I have a quick shower and get ready and rush down, only to find that the canter is delayed. Nonetheless, we are able to catch the sunrise behind the hill, which is always a pleasant site. At around 7:30am, the canter arrives, with 4 out of 20 seats already filled. We line up and get into it, and the bus moves ahead. It stops on the way twice, picks up some more human cargo, and then rapidly heads towards Gate 5. Should have taken the jacket along, as the wind is quite cold before the rising sun.
At the gate, they take down our names and let us in at 8:00am. We move from one post to another, occassionally sighting a tiger pugmark, some langurs, many spotted deers, and different types of birds. No tiger though. We come to a lake whose surface is covered with an orange-pink hue -- some kind of weed. A large folk of golden brown birds comes out of nowhere and rests on the tree close to the canter.
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| 'Migratory' birds - keep migrating from one tree to another |
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| Monkey business at the pink lake |
Apparently the famous tigress Machhli, who is now quite old of age (17 years), was spotted last week around this route. So hoping against hope, the canter pushes further inside the jungle, goes through some really dusty and difficult jungle roads, but there is no call of the tiger, and the hour-long search ends in a disappointment.
Bomb Diffusal Squad
On return, we freshen up (i.e. wash off the dust from the hair), have a sumptuous breakfast of parathas and omelette-bread, have two rounds of chai and then weight our options. I anyway need to return to Delhi today due to prior commitments. But the rest of the group decides to leave the place as well and head to Bharatpur. It is decided that we travel together for some distance - maybe take a new route to Gangapur instead of Lalsot, and then we part. So by 11:30am, we are all set, packed and ready to roll.
At Sawai Madhopur, Pappu discovers that the silencer of his bike is a bit loose. So he stops at a local fabricator, and I accompany him while the others go ahead to find a fuel station. A group of local school children approaches me. As I am removing my white helmet and large padded hand-gloves, and adjust the map on the tank-bag, with a watch showing time adjacent to it -- one of the boys finds courage and asks me a question - well this is the first of its kind: "Are you guys the ones who diffuse bombs?" ... I am mildly amused. I ask the boy in return: if I was really part of a bomb diffusal squad, would I tell him that? ...
I can see why he would have thought so, what with the helmet and the gloves and all that. I am asked many other things during rides in all these years - is this a race, is this a circus, where are you going, where are you coming from, how much mileage does your bike give, are you a film crew, are you a foreigner (even after I speak shuddh Hindi with them) -- but bomb diffusal squad ??? ... A truly Hurt Locker moment of the ride.
Anyway, we cross Sawai Madhopur again and head on the same road of yesterday towards Lalsot [30km], but just before Lalsot, we find a new narrow road leading to Gangapur. We regroup and decide to ride for one last time as a unit. It is hotter and sunnier than yesterday. I am leading and on full throttle. But suddenly, about 10km into the road, the engine makes a rattling sound and the bike loses power almost instantaneously. I manage to keep the balance, and slowing down, come to a halt. The bike refuses to rekindle. I push it on the curb, by which time the rest of the bomb squad sees me getting down and follows suit.
At first we think that the engine has 'ceased' due to over-heating. My bike is an old model with iron casting, and is prone to this. We park in the meager shade of some roadside shrubs and allow the bike to cool down. Pappu, who is a mechanic by profession and whose garage maintains my bike, gets down to business. He plays with the tappets, removes the tank and the head caps, and very soon discovers that the problem is in the engine head as the threads of the rocker-arm have been worn out. He manages to put two of them together, fixes the rest of the stuff, and gets the bike to start. A relief for the time being, but he advises me to drive slow till the next bullet mechanic.
Once again, the group starts off, this time slowly and in search of a bullet mechanic. We are told that there is only one worth his salt in this region, and he is in Gangapur, around 40km ahead. My bike continues to run, so we decide to take the chance and ride till Gangapur. This is a big town, so much so that it is called a city - "Gangapur City". The town in crowded, and curious onlookers guide us to the closest bike mechanic. He tells me that he himself cannot work on a Bullet, but there is a mechanic called Khadu, near Lal Mandir Talkies (cinema hall). So the group hunts for this potential magician in the streets till we reach the now-defunct Talkies, where my bike promptly dies right in front of the narrow lane leading to Khadu's shop.
Thankful to the Lord Almighty that the bike died only now and not before, I push it through the lane to find, pleasantly, that Khadu is a middle-aged lanky chap who listens much and speaks little - the first sign of a good mechanic. Pappubhai explains the problem to him, and is also satisfied with the potential expertise of the man. He waits for a while and seeing how the fellow is going about getting things done with my Saki, tells me that my bike is in good hands. The group decides to take leave and try a new road right of Gangapur rather than continuing with me. Soon I am on my own, waiting for Khadu master to complete his work, and get me on my ride again.
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| Saki stripped to her bones at Gangapur |
And so as I wait -- over the chai and the local folks' views on politics and upcoming elections, and how Rajasthan is a BJP bastion, but with AAP you never know -- while the bike's rocker-arms and push-rods get restored - at least 3 out of 4 - in an hour's time, which is around 4pm now. Khadu master tells me that I will be able to ride the bike in spite of one arm short, but I need to be careful about the spead as there is danger that the aluminum square on top may expand due to heating. Anyway he starts the bike, and I take leave of the excellent company to turn right on my return journey.
Another route, another place
The initial 4-5 km of the road are quite bad and bumpy, as I negotiate my way through the busy marketplace and pot-holed exteriors of the town, but soon I am able to get onto a good road that opens into green fields on both sides and is fun to ride.
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| Dam near Gangapur |
The 80km journey from here to Sikandara is an absolute pleasure, with clean surface, very limited traffic and great scenary. It also has things to see - like a small dam with clean water-body, some hills and a few havelis. About 10km outside Gangapur, you can see a fort-like structure to the left. The road leads right up to the foot of the hill on which the small fortification is standing, where there is a village with a name of Shahar. This is strange because Shahar means 'city', but the village is too tiny to be called that. There are also a few chhatris - cenotaphs - on the other side, reminiscent of a bygone era of the princely state of Gwalior where this part was also very much part of the city. The tehsil is still named after this - 'Sahar' in M.P., but the fort is in the Karauli district of Rajasthan. Apparently there is a temple of goddess on top, but I decide not to linger.
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| Shahar Fort, Gangapur |
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| Cenotaphs near Shahar Fort |
The road further crosses some small rivulets, and you can see another fort, this time on a taller hill to the left. The rest of the villages on the road are even tinier and more obscure, and time literally comes to a standstill while I ride on - stopping here and there, taking pictures, looking around, riding moodily at a measured pace of 50-60 kmph, sometimes lightly touching the tar wheezing below with the soles of my shoes, and generally becoming part of the journey, not just a spectator - just as Dr. Pirsig of the 'Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance' fame says.
I arrive at the same junction of Sikandara that we had crossed yesterday, this time from the front, and cross the Agra-Jaipur highway to go on the other side towards Bandikui. After 5km, I see the board of Abhaneri showing 3km. This time I cannot resist the temptation and in spite of the 250km still in the front to cover, I take a detour while it has started to become dusky and the sun is rapidly marching towards the horizon.
The Chand Baoli of Abhaneri (see this for details) -- or Abhaya Nagari of old -- is a wonder of sorts. The last time I was here it took my breath away, and this was even before Tarsem Singh used it in one of his movies 'The Wall' and made it famous. It is a huge step-well dug 20 meters deep into the bowels of earth in 8th or 9th century by the then-ruler of the place called King Chanda (or Chandra). It has some 13 levels of landings, with square steps carved in diamond shape. The effect is escheresque, autopoietic and as hypnotic as fractals; but difficult to capture in a simple phone camera. I am attempting to post some pics nevertheless. Earlier they allowed visitors to climb down a few steps, but apparently some 2 years ago a lady - wife of a visiting dignitary - fell down from there and broke some parts of her body, which prompted the department to raise a new fence around and the steps are now off-limits.
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| Chand Baoli |
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| Relief of the stairs at Chand Baoli |
I also pay a visit to the Harshata Mata Temple across the road overlooking the well. The temple was razed down during the Muslim rule and was restored partially by the Maharaja of Jaipur, who also restored the northern wall of Chand Baoli. Most of the sculptures from the temple were dumped in the Baoli during troubled times; some of them have now been dug out and arranged neatly all around the step-well's walls like a make-shift museum. I chat with the part-curator, part care-taker of the place, buy some local fruits from the shops in front of the temple, and head out in the twilight.
Homeward bound - with some last minute unwanted hurdles
At the highway, I turn right and resume my solo journey towards Alwar. The going is easy but I want to cover as much as I can till night falls. Thankfully I manage to reach the outskirts of Alwar by the time it is dark, and decide to stop over at a roadside dhaba for a meal at around 7:30pm. I have not eaten lunch today in all the commotion due to the bike trouble. The dhaba walla, who is accustomed to service single bus drivers and their kin, greets me and makes a quick meal of gatta sabji (chunks of besan cooked in spicy red curry) and rotis. The food is hot and tasty, although a bit more spicy than what I usually take. I complete the meal with a paneer paratha - very good too - followed by a chai, all this for just Rs. 100!
By this time, the stars have come out nicely and it is quite dark. I bid adieu to the gentle dhaba walla and start the last lap of the journey in darkness, with a marginal moonlight to show the way and the Great Dipper pointing towards a faint North Star . Thankfully the road in most parts is a two-lane highway, but good - - except a railway crossing near Alwar -- and I am comfortable in my saddle after the nice meal. I cross Alwar quickly, take the bypass, stop over to buy the famous kachoris and kalaa kand mithai, and move towards Bhiwadi. The road here on is four lane and the going gets much easier.
Soon I cross Tijara and am speeding towards my destination. Before Bhiwadi, however, there is a choice to go to Dharuhera and trace the NH-8 back the same way we came yesterday. But there is also a Bhiwadi-Sohna road shown in the map, and I decide to try it out against better judgement, just to try out a new road. Bad idea, especially since it is 9:30pm in the night.
As I cross Bhiwadi, the road gets bumpier and narrower. I stop and ask some passer-bys. Most discourage me to take the road to Sohna, and direct me to routes that would lead to NH-8. At one junction, when I ask the shopkeeper and he again tells me the road to Dharuhera, I ask him if the road to Sohna is ok to travel. He says, cryptically, - "rasta toh theek hai, logon ka pata nahi" (the road is good, but I cannot guarantee the same about people). Apparently the belt is notorious for dacoits.
Anyway, against all this friendly and highly encouraging advice, I push on. I do not want to go back to Dharuhera - another 10km - and the thought of meeting the all-too-familiar incoming traffic of trucks and buses entering Gurgaon gives me shivers. I decide to try this route anyhow.
The road is pitch dark and the feeling of someone watching you is increasingly gripping your neck from the back. To make matters worse, I get lost a little, ask some toll-booth operators who themselves look straight out of a Western classic, take some detours towards Nuh and then away from it based on sheer gut feel, tackle some recklessly heady truck traffic and finally reach the hill that climbs down to Sohna. When the road sign welcomes me to the "sun city" (!) of Sohna - famous for mineral springs and daylight murders - I want to stop the bike, get down and kiss the earth - only I am too petrified to stop anywhere on the road.
The downhill that opens into Sohna is a hurdle of its own kind. The ghat is narrow, winding and has heavy traffic. In this, most truckers feel like showing themselves off, and they bloom into bouts of speed racing from time and again. Several times I miss the incoming truck narrowly. Several times the trucks miss me. Finally we all manage to arrive where we want to - down the hill and to the junction from where Gurgaon is just 20km of nice four-lane highway away.
I am now on a wing and a prayer. The road has costed me more than a hour's delay and I am now seriously tired, cranky and in desperate need of a warm bath. I cruise the last few kilometers at jet speed, throwing Khadu's warnings to the wind, and thankfully reach home safe and sound, both bike and me in one piece, just as the clock is striking midnight.
All in all, this is a hugely successful road trip, especially for me where I managed to complete close to 750km after years of gap in two straight days without 'breaking a sweat' - so to say! Of course, the road and the weather at this time of the year makes this ride worthwhile.
- Best
Shreekant
13 March 2014
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