So with the three of us on board the bike, we headed to the garage. There stood one hundred and fifty shiny, new Enfields. The place was buzzing with mechanics making last minute adjustments. In their midst, an Anglo-Indian, named John, was yelling orders and struggling over paper work trying to ensure that all the bikes were being seen to. He explained to us that the the rally was being held for charity. More than 350,000 pounds had been raised towards the building of a hospital for cancer care and research in Calicut. A hundred and fifty bikers were arriving from Britain and purchasing the bikes in India. It was John’s job to make sure there was a working bike ready for each rider. We were now eager to take part so we arranged to meet at the garage early the next morning. As it happened, we were all staying at the same hotel. The restaurant was packed and buzzing as everybody talked about the following day. ”So, what’s it like traveling India on an Enfield?” the newly arrived bikers asked us. “Is it dangerous?” ”Are there loads of accidents on the roads?” someone inquired, a bit nervously. We tried to be as honest as possible. ”Well, you have to be very careful, and on your guard at all times, but it’s a good laugh,” answered Garry, not wanting to tell them that at times it can be downright suicidal and that you’d have to be a little bit mad to travel the Indian roads by motorbike. I’m sure most people had a fair idea of that, but I don’t think anything ever quite prepares you for just how insane the roads here can be.
A handful of participants had missed their train from Madras, postponing the rally for a day so the group decided to take the bikes for a trial run through Kottayam. Garry, Maeve and I squeezed onto our Enfield and joined them. As anyone who has ever ridden an Enfield will tell you, it can be quite tricky and takes a bit of getting use to. On most modern bikes, the gears are on the left and the back brake on the right. On the Enfield, it’s the opposite, and just to make it a bit more tricky the gears are not 1-down, 4-up, but 1-up, 3-down. The bikers took to the street with hilarious consequences. Some would go for the brakes but hit the gears and sent their bikes lurching forward; others had stalled and couldn’t restart their bikes. The organisers and more experienced riders ran around restarting bikes and explained the gearing set-up but to no real avail. Shy Indian women were giggling from their doorways, young men offered their help to those who had stalled, children ran mischievously behind the bikes. A forlorn- looking policeman who had been directing traffic stood with his hands up, shaking his head in disbelief.
Practically the whole city was out at 6am the next morning to witness the start of the rally. The atmosphere was electric. Luggage was being strapped on; bikes were revving up. Everyone was eager to get started and last minute arrangements were being made through the organisers. Maeve had hoped to travel on the back of someone’s bike, but due to hassles with her luggage, she was forced to take the bus. We left the coast and along with our posse of bikers, we began the ascent into the Western Ghats, a picturesque mountain range that runs along India’s southeast coast. After a couple of hours, we were quite a bit ahead of the others and decided to stop for a break. Children gathered around while we sipped our cokes. ”Just wait,” teased Garry. ”Just you wait! In ten minutes, there will be 150 bikes roaring around the corner.” He held up his ten fingers and repeated, “Ten minutes. Vroom, vroom!” They giggled, not comprehending a word he had said. We sat and waited. A bike roared through the village, then another, and another. The sight of just one bike had excited them enough, but they had never seen anything like this before. Now it was our turn to laugh at their astounded faces, watching what must have seemed to them like an invasion of aliens! Catching up with the rally again, we drove with them as far as Kumily. They had planned to spend a night here, but had to push on, due to their earlier delay. We bid them goodbye and wished them well on the rest of their journey.
The bustling little village of Kumily is set in the midst of sprawling tea and coffee plantations, which cover the surrounding hillsides. After booking into a little guesthouse near the Periyar Wildlife Sanctuary, we went to collect Maeve from the bus station. ”How was your trip?” I asked her. ”Well, I’m still alive, so I’d say it was pretty good!” she laughed. With the three of us on the bike, we dropped Maeve’s things off at the guesthouse and drove up to the Sanctuary. It’s in a beautiful setting, among mountains and lush dense forest. It was made even more spectacular by the warm light of the evening sun casting long shadows over the lake. Monkeys nimbly scaled the trees, which had taken on brilliant hues of red, yellow, and orange. This was the perfect time of day for a boat trip on the lake. The coolness of the evening had enticed deer, buffalo and wild dogs down to the shady banks of the water. We spotted a herd of elephants in the distance, slowly making their way out of the forest, where they had been sheltered from the intense heat of the day. There was a mystical atmosphere to the place, and images of Rudyard Kipling’s Jungle Book came back to all of us.
This is a truly wonderful part of India and the locals treat it with due respect. It’s kept in pristine condition, and the peace and tranquility here was a refreshing contrast to what had so far been a rather noisy trip. Lovely as the boat trip was, it wasn’t enough. We wanted to see the beautiful jungle creatures close up and to do this, we’d have to trek. Our timing was bad though; a few days previously, a bull elephant in musk had charged a tourist who got too close. Until the rangers were sure the elephant and the herd had calmed down, there would be no trekking. We left the office downhearted. ”Hey, you want to go on trek?” a voice came from behind us. A man walked hurriedly past, and then turned a corner in front of us. We were intrigued and followed him. It was all very conspiratorial. After making sure we were out of sight of any park rangers, he turned to us. ”If you come here early tomorrow morning, I take you on trek through jungle.” he said. “I am a guide here.” Our hearts were set on doing this trek and he obviously wanted some extra money. Once the park was closed, the guides did not get paid. ”What do you think?” said Garry.” Will we go for it? Maeve and I looked at each other. “Yeah,” we both said in unison. “Why not?” “It’s what we came her to do, and it’d be a shame to miss it. Right we’ll do it,” Garry said to the guide.
It was still dark when we arrived at the gates early the next morning. There was a chill in the air, but we were well wrapped up in our fleece jackets. The hotel had made food for us, so we were ready to go. The guide crouched down and spoke quietly. ”If you see me running,” he said ominously, “Run!” ”You have done this before?” I asked, suddenly feeling a bit anxious. He could see the concerned look on all our faces.” Of course I have, Madam, no need to worry,” he said with an unresting grin. He led us quietly along a path that ventured deep into the forest. Thick mist was hanging still in the crisp morning air, surrounding us like a blanket. Bears, tigers, even elephants could have been lurking just feet away and we would have been none the wiser. An hour or so after our tentative start, the sun started to break its way through the mist. Through the stillness came a cacophony of birds calling and the cackling of monkeys. The jungle was alive. It was at once unnerving and enthralling.
Marching on, the heat of the sun started to penetrate through the trees, and layers of clothing were shed, until we were down to shorts and T-shirts. We caught sight of buffalo, wild pigs, deer, and the ever-present monkeys. By now, the mist had completely cleared, and we marveled at their co-ordination and incredible agility as they swung effortlessly from branch to branch. Thick rope-like vines hung down from the trees making the perfect playground for our new companions, who seemed as interested in us as we were in them. We’d been trekking for hours, our guide stopping all the while to study animal tracks or listen for far-off calls. We were beginning to give up hope of seeing elephants or tigers when from behind I heard our guide. ”Look!” he whispered excitedly “Look, over there elephants” There, just meters away stood a herd of elephants grazing and wallowing by the lake. We crept quietly closer, and crouching among the trees, watched in awe as they went about their business. There were about five or six adults and four newborn baby elephants splashing about. Nearby a bull elephant, the leader of the herd, was grazing and keeping an occasional eye on the group. We could have stayed for hours, but one of the big bull elephants detected us.