The Touring Trotters

Starting point: Kudal, Maharashtra
Finishing point: Palolem, Goa
Distance covered today: ~160km under our own steam + 20km under somebody else’s
Total distance covered: ~2080km
Number of breakdowns: 1 (big problem)

Kudal to Palolem. Life is cruel. We were on the road early again, full of anticipation and excitement: today was Goa day. After a lovely morning drive to the Goan border and a smiling welcome from the Goan customs officers, we had arrived. And it was as good as we had expected: lush, green rainforest lined the road; the earth was a dark rust brown; the traffic was quieter and somehow more accommodating; the town centres oozed old world Portuguese charm; there were other ‘white folk’ on mopeds; everything seemed smaller, cosier and more manageable; and there was a strange absence of wandering cows.

We were 10km short of Palolem and it was only 13:00. An afternoon on a glorious Goan beach beckoned. POP! Robbie lost all power and slowed to a standstill. Then nothing. Not another peep. A lovely passing Rickshaw Run team helped us to fetch a mechanic from a nearby town. He couldn’t coax any life out of Robbie. One minute he was fine, our reliable old Robster. And the next minute he was gone. Life is cruel.

After nearly 3 hours, Claire, who had gone ahead to Palolem arrived with a truck and Robbie was towed into the beach town. A humiliating entry for our fine road warrior. The diagnosis? A rather large hole in his piston. Poor poor Robbie. The prognosis? The mechanic would have him fixed and good to go by 16:00 the following day for the cool cost of around £25. It looked like we would have our day on the beach after all.

Phrase of the Day
This came as the second mechanic of the day gazed at Robbie’s inert back end and delivered his carefully considered opinion.
“Big problem”.
No. Shit. Sherlock

Moment of the Day
The smallest flatbed truck in India pulled up alongside Robbie, and Claire and the driver emerged from the cab. The driver looked at the three Touring Trotters, now standing anxiously together next to their stranded ‘shaw. He was dressed unnervingly smartly for a mechanic. How to get a rickshaw onto the back of a flatbed truck? He indicated to us that we should lift Robbie. Now he’s only a little rickshaw. But lift him? Onto the back of a truck. Above shoulder height? Us three? You’re having a laugh. He wasn’t.

We refused and politely suggested some ramps. We watched as he ambled down the road to find some suitable pieces of wood from the surrounding forest. We looked at each other, incredulous: how had he not thought about this before leaving Palolem? Oh India, how we love you. We burst into giggles. You’ve got to laugh at times like this.

In the end we went for the simpler towing option. With the shortest piece of tow rope imaginable. Poor Robbie. In the hands of this amateur, his future wasn’t looking very bright at all.

Robbie under tow:

Starting point: Mahad, Maharashtra
Finishing point: Kudal, Maharashtra
Distance covered today: ~320km
Total distance covered: ~1900km
Number of breakdowns: 0 (touch wood), but we did have to stop for a mechanic to replace a screw in Robbie’s wobbly nose

Mahad to Kudal. After our terrifying night-driving experience of the previous evening, we were on the road earlier than any day before: 07:30. India was looking her best. All misty, swirling mists against dark rolling hills; shafts of dawn light breaking through the roadside trees; groups of girls and boys making their way to school; lone farmers leading their buffalo to pastures; quiet, expansive, empty roads. Our love affair with the South continued.

As the early morning cool gave way to a stifling midday heat, Robbie began to struggle in the face of Maharashtra’s punishing hills. The fastest rick on the road was now panting uphill in 2nd gear. The towns seemed to grow dustier and ever further apart. And as the light started to fade, we all quietly worried that we would be on the road in the dark once again.

Then, like an oasis in the desert, we arrived in the town of Kudal. A funny-looking concrete oasis with a litter problem. This is India. We chose the best hotel in town: the RSN Executive. We can only assume that the person who named the place had a sense of irony. This was the worst hotel of our trip so far. The floor was dusty; the bed linen was dirty; the ‘Indian-style’ bathroom had no shower, only a tap and 2 sets of big and small buckets (one for your general body and one for your bum – choose the wrong set at your peril); the restaurant was filthy, dingy and empty save for a blue disco light and thumping house music. Had we truly reached Claire’s limit of shit hole now?

We ate dinner outside at a roadside snack restaurant (Erica: ‘I prefer outside dirt to inside dirt any day’) – delicious dosas, uttapams and Pav Bhaji – thank Shiva for Southern India cuisine – and contemplated the delightful thought of our arrival in Goa tomorrow and a day off at the beach to follow.

Phrases of the Day
Maharashtra has hand painted signs along the roadside to encourage safe driving. They’re charming. But they don’t work. Here are some of our favourites.

Safety on the roads, safe tea at home
Highways not dieways
Speed thrills but kills
Drive with care, life has no spare
Speed is like a knife, it cuts life

Revelation of the Day
We drive up behind a motorcycle and sidecar. Does the rider only have one leg, or is he riding side saddle? We couldn’t tell. We pulled alongside. He only had one leg. He was riding a motorbike at 65kph. The sidecar was there to provide stability. Ingenious.

This man’s missing limb reminded us of our experiences of extra body parts earlier in the run.

A cow with a 5th leg dangling from its hump at the back of its neck on a Mumbai street. We don’t have photographic evidence but this is for real. Maybe the locals thought his extra leg made him extra holy. Holier than cow.

A hotel worker with a 6th digit protruding from his wrist. He helped mend our silencer. It was a successful fix, so clearly the extra digit came in handy.

Morning mist:

Starting point: Pen
Finishing point: Mahad
Distance covered today: ~220km
Total distance covered: ~1580km
Number of breakdowns: 0 (touch wood), but we arranged for Robbie to have a full 4.5 hour service

Pen to Mahed. This day was a major departure from our usual routine. When we say ‘usual routine’, we mean our routine of the last 6 days. It already feels like we’ve always been driving a rickshaw across India. Our clean London flats, clean London clothes and clean London lives seem like distant memories. We wake up in the morning. We drive a rickshaw. We sound our horn aggressively, overtake and undertake on blind corners, swerve round cows and never give way. We are Indian rickshaw drivers and our daily routine is as follows. The alarm rings at around 06:30. We’re on the road by 07:30 – 08:00. We drive for 9 – 10 hours with 10 minute breaks every hour or so. We start looking for a hotel around 17:00 and aim to be off the road by 18:00 before the sun goes down.
Our typical Rickshaw Run day. Apart from today that is.

Today was the day of Robbie’s service. We spent 4.5 hours sitting outside a mechanic’s shop in the town of Pen as he underwent a complete overhaul. That rattling noise at 40kph? The exhaust was hanging on by a thread. Ahh. The pulling to the right when negotiating a left hand corner? His steering column was bent. Ahhh. His losing speed up hills? 3 soft tyres. Ahhhh. His unresponsive brake? 2 worn brake pads. Ahhhhh. After his rebuild, Robbie purred like a kitten. Or maybe a kitten with a chest infection. He is still only a little old rickshaw after all.

All this meant that we didn’t hit the road until after 15:00. Which meant that we broke a golden Rickshaw Run rule: don’t drive at night. Robbie’s lights could barely illuminate the ground immediately in front of his own wheel, let alone the deep crevasse looming ahead. Indian drivers use only full beam which, when combined with Robbie’s badly scratched plastic windscreen, meant that Jodie in the driving seat was completely blinded 90% of the time. Claire and Erica guided her by leaning out the sides of the rickshaw and shouting ‘left a little’, ‘right a little’ and ‘TRUCK IN YOUR LANE’. At 21:30, after 2.5 terrifying hours we made it to a hotel. We had survived. We were awesome. It was an empowering exercise in team work and tenacity. But one that we will not be repeating again in a hurry.

Conversation of the Day
While waiting for Robbie to be serviced, the mechanic carried over his cute 3 year old daughter to say hello. The following conversation then took place between Jodie and Claire. We’re not sure why Jodie and Claire keep having these inane exchanges. Perhaps after 31 years they’ve run out of intelligent things to say to each other. Maybe they never had any.
Claire: Is that a bindi or a large mole in the middle of her forehead?
Jodie: A bindi
Claire: Why is it brown and hairy then?
It’s lovely to see how this trip in India has really brought out Claire’s maternal side.

Moment of the Day
After we pulled into that hotel car park in the dark night, we embraced in a group hug. We could feel each other’s hearts beating fast out of our chests. The adrenalin was pounding. The relief was palpable. We knew that this would be one of those moments. The moments that stay with you. It only lasted for a few seconds, but it was there. And then we went inside to make a start on the lengthy hotel registration forms

Robbie’s medical:

Starting point: Danam, Gujarat
Finishing point: Pen, Maharashtra
Distance covered today: ~300km
Total distance covered: ~1360km
Number of breakdowns: 0 (touch wood), but Robbie is labouring on the hills, rattles at 40kph, drifts to the right and his brake is unresponsive…it’s time for a service tomorrow morning

Danam to Pen via Mumbai…well now. 5 days ago we could barely start Robbie and 2nd gear felt like quite a challenge. Today we successfully navigated our way in soaring temperatures south through the suburbs of Mumbai. It was an epic example of graceful, feminine teamwork. We smugly glided by frazzled looking learner drivers (yes, they have motoring schools in India…we were shocked too). We are pros now.

As we drove deeper into Maharashtra, past the urban sprawl of the Mumbai metropolis, monotone motorways and industrial grey gave way to lush green, pink Bougainvilleas and monkeys playing along the roadside. And it’s steamy hot. Everything seems more relaxed. Life a little slower. Vehicle horns a little softer. Cows in the road more accommodating. The beaches of Goa are tantalisingly close. Hello South India. We’ve arrived and we’re happy to be here.

Moment of the Day
After the exhausting experience of finding our way through Mumbai and a forgettable encounter with a place called Panvel, we were just about to turn off the motorway onto a much gentler A road towards Panjim, Goa. But we overshot and missed the turn. This happens a lot. Road signage in India is haphazard. It’s not generally a problem though, as U-turns in the middle of a busy junction and driving the wrong way up the carriageway are all perfectly acceptable. When in Rome.

We were about to perform both of these legal/illegal manoeuvres when a man in a Maharati police uniform approached. We’ve been flagged down many times over the last few days by men in official uniforms and have learnt from bitter experience that they just want to ask which country we’re from and take our photo. We weren’t in the mood. But this man was insistent that we go to his checkpoint so we smiled sweetly and agreed.

There was some confusion and a lot of talking. One of the only pieces of advice offered to us by the Adventurists, the organisers of the Rickshaw Run, was that if you’re stopped by the police, the best way to avoid having to pay a bribe is to confuse them by talking so much. Erica made a sterling effort to do just this. She confused us all and herself.

In the end we worked out that the police wanted to see our ‘Pollution Control Certificate’. Relieved, we found this in the bottom of our vehicle documents wallet. It expired in October 2013. Welcome to India.

The police wanted to check the emissions coming from Robbie’s bottom. 6 officers dressed in dusty-as-white uniforms and aviators, looking like extras in Top Gun, stood by and watched us struggle to push our ‘shaw into position. They then stuck a rod up his exhaust pipe and came to the conclusion that his emissions consisted of 20% oxygen and 0% CO2. Strange considering that he’s burning around 10 litres of petrol a day. But he passed! Welcome to India.

Before we were allowed to leave, there was the requisite photo call, both group shots and each of us individually posing holding a red rose while being presented with our new Pollution Control Certificate. The police men then stopped the traffic across several lanes so that we could perform our illegal U-turn and be on our way. British Bobbies take note please.

Question of the Day
‘Is that a man or a woman?’
We discovered today that every toll plaza in Maharashtra has transvestite hookers standing between the lanes. Mumtaz introduced herself to us this morning. Erica was so transfixed that she couldn’t even squeak out her own name.

Conversation of the Day
A man pulls alongside us on a moped as we’re attempting one of several U-turns in Panvel (we should have U-turned our way right out of that place immediately on arrival. Don’t go!).
Man: ‘Photo?’
Jodie: ‘No’
Man: ‘Ek (1) photo?’
Jodie: ‘Nahin (no)’
Man: ‘Kyon (why)?’
Jodie: more firmly ‘No!’
Man: ‘Have sex?’
Jodie: ‘NO!’

Robbie’s revelations so far
1) His steering column is a little bent to the right. We decorated him with pom poms, tinsel and flower garlands. What did we expect?
2) When we ask him to stop, he likes to think about it for 30m or so before agreeing. This is rather like the Gray family dog, Dylan. They’re spirited and that’s just fine.
3) He protests a little at 40kph. He’s highly strung. But his top speed is 65kph, which makes him one of the fastest ‘shaws on the road. Our Robster.
4) Sometimes he has a tantrum and hides neutral from us. Come on Robbie, after you’ve just stalled in traffic is not the time for games. A gentle rocking backwards and forwards usually solves the problem.
5) As we discovered today, if you drive him at 60kph over a huge speed hump, his 3 feet leave the floor and Robbie flies. He found this exhilarating, but we won’t be doing it again in a hurry. He hasn’t yet perfected his landing. We came down with quite a bump.

Our encounter with the Maharati police:

Starting point: Vadodara, Gujarat
Finishing point: Daman, Gujarat
Distance covered today: ~310km
Total distance covered: ~1060km
Number of breakdowns: 0 (touch wood)

Vadodara to Daman. On a motorway. There were many hairy moments. Mostly involving trucks trying to squish us, vehicles travelling toward us on the wrong side of the road and cars full of people who think it’s entirely normal to either pull alongside you or stop in front of you or try to flag you down in order to take a photo. Take a photo. On a motorway.

We skirted around Ahmedabad. On a motorway. We ate brown/beige food. On a motorway. We ate bananas and orange. On a motorway. We searched for suitable toilet break stops. It’s tough for girls on a motorway. It was motorway madness.

We ended the day in Daman, an Indian seaside resort a little like Skegness, only with an open sewer on the beach. But nothing could dampen our spirits at being by the sea in the warm sunshine. South India was so close we could almost smell it (if it hadn’t been for the overwhelming stench of fish). Only Mumbai stands in our way now. We’ll be attempting to navigate our way round tomorrow. On a motorway.

Phrases of the Day
There were many, all yelled from the rickshaw and all involving the excessive use of expletives (sorry parents).
Don’t pull out you f*^king idiot…don’t you even f*^king think about it…oh you f*^king did
Aaaaaaaa…you just cut me up you f*^king tool…idiot
Watch out for the lorries…they’re coming in….aaaaaaaaaaaaaa f*^k aaaaaaaaaaaa

Moment of the Day
We realised that we haven’t really mentioned the other teams on the Rickshaw Run. There are 78 in total from all around the world. To begin with we saw many rickshaws along the way, but now we’re all dispersed, we rarely pass 1 or 2 a day. Sometimes locals tell us that they saw a ‘shaw pass a few hours before. It’s always fun to come across another team. We sound the horn and smile and gurn. It’s comforting to know that we’re on course and we’re not alone out there.

The other Rickshaw Runners are drawn from every walk of life. But there’s a commonality in our craziness, so we’re never short on conversation. We don’t know all the individuals’ names, so we refer to them by their teams or nationalities: the Bananas; Team Jayden; the Norweigians; the Kiwis; the Canucks. I wonder what we’re known as…?

On a late afternoon pit stop on the motorway, a father and twin daughter team from the US came over the hill and pulled up behind us. Mike, Lauren and Brie. We had shared a hotel room together in Palanpur a few nights back. We convoyed into Daman, stayed in the same hotel, drank beer (in Gujarat, a dry state, you can drink alcohol by the sea apparently) and ate a Gujarati thali dinner together. It was lovely. Our memories from the Run will not only come from the sights we’ve seen or the locals we’ve encountered, but also the friendships we’ve made with fellow crazy Rickshaw Runners. We are all awesome.

Hero of the Day
Today this accolade goes to Mike the Dad. He gifted us a pepper spray (he had 3, one for each of his girls and a spare).
Mike: ‘If a man tries to grab you again, don’t hesitate, just spray. And make sure it’s pointing in the right direction.’

Some scenes from the motorway:

Starting point: Palanpur, Gujarat
Finishing point: Vadodara, Gujarat
Distance covered today: ~290km
Total distance covered: ~750km
Number of breakdowns: 0 (touch wood), but we had to get a new horn, weld the battery back on and fix the silencer

Palanpur to Vadodara. Today saw us tearing down the Indian version of a motorway, still dodging man and beast. The scenery remained green. Our food remained brown/beige. But it was warm. In fact so warm, that layers of clothes were removed and blankets discarded. We passed through a delightful town called Nadiad. And marvelled at the sights. ‘This must really be past your limit of shithole now’.

Plonker of the Day
This one goes to the small Indian man with long black finger nails, red stained teeth and tight white trousers who popped out of a gate while we were giving Robbie a rest. “Photo? Photo?” We grudgingly acquiesced. ‘Kya mujhe phone ka number dijie?’ No chance. Tips for a positive response gentlemen: don’t ask us this question while standing barefoot in a cowpat, cut your finger nails and don’t try and touch me up when we’ve only just met. One more thought – given that you speak a different language, what were you planning on saying when you called? Plonker.

Questions of the Day
Are you in the circus? (from a man who tried to fix Robbie’s horn) Oh yes we are! India is a circus! Erica’s the acrobat, Claire’s the clown and Jodie’s the bloody lion tamer.
Which way is Vadadora? We asked this a million times today. Agee, agee (straight, straight) the only answer.

Moment of the Day
We found ourselves driving the wrong way back up a slip road after our carefully constructed plan to make up time by taking the expressway was scuppered by the chaps at the toll both.
No rickshaws allowed.
Ok, which way do we go?
Back that way.
That way? (Incredulous tone)
Yes.
Ah. Right. Shit.

Hero of the Day
We fear that so far our blog has been a little overly critical of some of the people we've met or the places we've visited. While we stand by our assessment of most of the towns we've passed through (holes), the vast majority of Indian men we've encountered (and it's all men, we haven't spoken to any women yet) have been incredibly friendly and helpful. They are not all zombies, staring at us open-mouthed, or asking for our phone numbers while simultaneously standing in a cow pat and fumbling for a grope.

Take, for example, the lovely mechanic who crossed 6 lanes of traffic to help us with our horn problem. OK, he couldn't fix it himself (he knew somebody that could, straight straight) and he asked us whether we were in the circus, but he refused to take any money for his trouble.

Or the men on a motorbike who chased after us for several kilometres to give us back our bag of bungee cords that had flown out of the rickshaw when we bounced over one of many speed bumps.

Not forgetting the hundreds of smiling faces and waving hands out of the back and sides of packed jeeps, lorries, rickshaws, cars and buses. We wave back, give a thumbs up and sound Robbie's horn. Their waving and smiling intensify. We try not to crash into the back of them as the driver almost comes to a complete halt in the middle of the road. It's a lovely moment.

But, our hero of today is the manager of our hotel. Not only did he discount the room to meet our 'budget' (Rs1500), but he then drove Robbie into town (with us in the back) to have his battery casing re-welded and silencer tightened. When he couldn't find anybody to re-bolt the silencer, he bought a screw and fixed it himself with a spanner and a length of wire by torchlight in the hotel car park. He asked for nothing in return other than a few British coins for his daughter's collection. A true swashbuckling Bollywood hero.

Starting point: Barmer, Rajasthan
Finishing point: Palanpur, Gujarat
Distance covered today: ~300km
Total distance covered: ~460km
Number of breakdowns: 0 (touchwood), but we suffered from intermittent horn action

So, Barmer to Palanpur. What can we say? It was Baltic in the back of the rickshaw in the early morning, so much so that Erica took to wrapping herself in the map in order to break the freezing wind. We ate a lot of brown/beige food, all of which went out-of-date several months ago. As we drove south, sandy scrub land gave way to dusty green, the temperature rose, the locals’ vehicles seemed to cut in closer and the backwards staring at us while speeding past became even more hair raising. Perhaps they all need a drink and we’re the most exciting party to have hit these parts since…well, the last Rickshaw Run (Gujarat is a dry state). This really is India’s Wild Wild West.

After a search around Palanpur, we found ourselves in the Way Wait Hotel, the highest rated place to stay in town on TripAdvisor. It doesn’t say much when you consider that Claire didn’t even make it past the front door of one of the other places we tried first before flatly rejecting it (‘this really is my limit of shit hole’). Day 2 was over and we had survived. Tomorrow brings a dash round Ahmedabad and an attempt to navigate past Anand and its prohibited military zone. If you don’t hear from us again, assume we’ve been arrested and are languishing in an Indian jail. Please inform the Foreign Office.

Plonker of the Day
Jodie, for coming out with the following ridiculous utterance as Claire returned from a quick loo break behind the thorn bushes in a sand dune: ‘Did you find a toilet?’. Sure. It was really clean. There was plenty of toilet paper and Molton Brown hand soap. There was even an attendant who gave me a Chupa Chup. In. Our. Dreams.

Moment of the Day
We’re famous! That’s right. Not only are we surrounded by crowds wherever we go but today that same crowd thrust a newspaper into our hands. We’re in the paper! Check us out below. We’re feeling very smug.

A second important moment was our first foray onto an Indian motorway. This was not exactly the M1. Sure, there were speeding lorries and a complete lack of lane discipline. But these things are to be expected. There were also speed bumps, 4-way junctions with no traffic control system, traffic coming willy-nilly the wrong way up the carriageway, cows (of course), dogs and large camels. Surprisingly, the camel carts tended to stick to the hard shoulder, which is pretty civilised by Indian standards. The fact that we think camels on the hard shoulder is ‘civilised’ shows how quickly we’ve assimilated to Indian road conditions.

Mob of the Day
OK, so this isn’t a mob of staring, zombie-like Indian men (although there were plenty of these today), but instead a gathering of bewildered, exhausted Rickshaw Runners in Palanpur and a lack of available hotel space. No room at the inn. Having driven round the town for sometime looking for somewhere to stay, we all had to ask ourselves, who on earth is in these hotels and why would anyone come here? It really was a dusty hole. But a dusty hole with a hotel capacity issue. The result? 8 Rickshaw Runners, 1 hotel room, 1 bathroom and a whole lot of petrol-filled jerry cans (the golden rule: never leave anything in the ‘shaw overnight, especially petrol). Cosy. And a little smelly.