Hell's Half Acre

Biking the Strand

I've got to tell you, (you being the millions of eyeballs that read this blog surreptitiously), it took me a while getting used to calling a bicycle a bike. Where I come from, a bike is a machine with the impressive cubic displacement of (often) 100 cc and above, while a cycle is something that the masses creak away in. Out here in the US, a cycle is a motorcycle, and a bike is a bicycle. Crazy I know.

So, 3 weeks into the new bike, what do I have to show for my efforts apart from a butt that keeps chafing? The cyclocomputer tells me that I have so far ridden my bike 123.4 km with a Max speed of 39.5 km/h and an average speed of...no idea. I foolishly saved a few dollars and hence my cyclo can do every other computation but this. I could but it's a pain keeping time.

My first long ride here was to Santa Monica along the Strand- a two lane strip that runs parallel to the beach cities in south LA for about 50 miles or so.

I managed about 70km on that first trip and all but huffed and puffed my way back home. Work and weekends away from home kept me away from extended trips for a while, till I finally decided it was about time to hit the saddle. So I just completed a 30 km trip to Manhattan Beach...

I feel great, my fitness seems to have improved, and if I keep at it I should get to an average of about 28 km/h. I think i did about 23 km/h this time around.

Opening up a new cycling era

I really love my BSA Mach 1.

But guess what, I own a Fuji Cyclo Cross 2.0 now!

And I love it!

'nuff said. time to pump it up and hit the road.

Reunited with the old flame

She and I went around a fair bit during my adolescent years. We hung out pretty much anywhere and everywhere in my coming of age years in Chennai, the hot and humid Chennai weather notwithstanding. And then, one day she left.
I'm referring to my BSA Mach one of course, which was stolen while I was away at college. And then when I came to Bangalore in 2001, I bought another one which was also stolen soon after. I'd gone to the old Plaza theater on MG to watch a Bond flick, and when I came out the Mach one had disappeared, taken by some guy who couldn't afford Double Oh Seven's Aston Martin, so he made do with a "Mach one". I bought my third Mach One a couple of years ago in a rush a blood- I remember dragging Shwets to the Madras Cycle company shop on SJP road and lugging it in the Wagon R with the rear tyre jutting out. Of course, me being me, that initial rush of enthusiasm passed and the Mach one spent time in my basement, becoming a luxury condo for generations of spiders. I finally got around to converting this to a geared cycle- Shimano 6 speed- with a thumb shifter, thanks to lalu at Raja cycles (again on SJP Road) -and a pretty helpful chap he is too.
I grew up in an era of the Hero Jet- a quarter cycle version of the ubiquitous gentleman's cycle, reminiscent of erstwhile pictures of communist China with thousands of factory workers pedalling away in sync to Chairman Mao's drumbeat. Those days the Mach one was the snazziest thing on wheels that a teenager could show off on. I remember borrowing my friend's Mach one in Delhi and zooming down the street to impress some of the neighbourhood lasses. Unfortunately, the rusted frame had to give away during one such show that I had put on for two beauties who used to be the epitome of chic fashion in our colony. That ended my dalliance with the Mach one for a few years. Now the 80’s girls have grown up and had their Karishma Kapoor like bushy eyebrows threaded, but the Mach one lives on…

Chris Rea in the morning

A combination of Chris Rea and masala chai in the morning makes me yearn to straddle the thumper and blaze off into the high Himalayas. It's no wonder that I have been watching "the Motorcycle Diaries" over and over again.
I've recently discovered how much I've come to like the lyrics of "Gone Fishing" though I'm normally not a lyrics kind of guy. Simple lyrics, but like the lines in a Hemingway book, they convey so much!

Im gone fishing
I got me a line
Nothing I do is gonna make the difference
So Im taking the time
And you aint never gonna be happy

Anyhow, anyway
So Im gone fishing
And Im going today
Im gone fishing
Sounds crazy I know
I know nothing about fishing

But just watch me go
And when the time has come
I will look back and see
Peace on the shoreline
That could have been me

You can waste a whole lifetime
Trying to be
What you think is expected of you
But you’ll never be free
May as well go fishing

Getting Touristy in Paris

Well, in an unusual departure from my style of tourism, I decided to spend the day in Paris as a typical tourist would. So, it was from "must-see" monument to the next- From the Arc De Triomphe to the Eiffel Tower. Gosh, I've got to be honest, but the Eiffel tower was a big letdown (as most of the must see attractions in most cities are). I don't blame Parisians for having protested the idea of the Eiffel Tower when it first came up. Compare the iron girder structure of the Eiffel tower with the royal elegance fo the Louvre, or even the Imperialistic Arc De Triomphe and you'll know what I mean. If anything, the French should gift the Eiffel tower to the Chinese, for it is more appropriate for a nation that is one big construction ground:-)

My Bangalore friends will know my love for crepes, developed over many visits to La Madeleine on Lavelle road. Forget the Eiffel tower my friends, this is the city for crepes. I have tried them at several different restaurants and boy, do they know how to make them!

An interesting diversion was- thanks to a spot of rain that I wanted to escape from- the cemetery at Montparnasse, where many famous Parisiennes and French people are buried. This included Jean Paul Sartre, Simone De Beaviour, and many others.

48 Hours in Paris

Well after a few years of seeing Paris as a destination while transiting through Frankfurt, finally got to the city. And wow, what a city! The architecture is just magnificent, and I've just been walking around all day since I touched down. Researh on the web had warned me about the rude Parisian, but everyone I've met so far has been real friendly and helpful- even if the help was a bit misguided eventually:-). The area I'm staying in is called the Place d'la Republique and it's close to most of the action, or as much action as can be had in 48 hours. I leave for Antibes on the grench Riviera tomorrow (by high speed TGV train no less!) and from Antibes make my way to Sophia Antipolis, where I have to meet one of our European directors.
Ok, before I hit the city (it's Sunday morning- 6.45 am, lovely day outside, nary a cloud in sight) putting up some pictures from yesterday.

Skiddddddddd.......!

Back from a weekend at Chennai (and after having positively enjoyed the road rage free drive on the wide Chennai roads) thought I'd go for a spin. Just as I crossed a signal at K'mangala some *&^%$#*( idiot in a matador decided to come to a screeching halt right in front of me. And I hit both brakes and I knew rightaway I was in deep deep shit. Brakes locked, tyres skidded and I slammed straight into the 'dor's rear end. However the bike didn't turn turtle while skidding and that saved my beans for another day. Damage done- front mudguard bent like crazy, number plate broke in two. Hopefully nothing happened to the front forks...got to get the bike checked out tomorrow. Oh yes and to complete a rotten day, I got caught by a cop for not having a number plate!

And the family grows....

Ah, what's this I hear you say? Have the cosmic forces and vibrations finally converged on the Aeromaniac and added a squealy (and rather leaky) lil one to the brood? Have the inlaws' extensive prayers (and no doubt sacrifices to the deities) been answered? Fear not people, that's not the path I'm walking down right now, though admittedly the pressure is on from all corners and the bullets are flying fast and thick. What I'm talking about is the latest addition to my automotive family...an Enfield Standard 350! Model 1993, condition immaculate, quirks many, mileage not known!

I know some well meaning folks think the Aeromaniac is going through a rather premature case of male menopause with an inclination for hobbies that people are giving up in their late twenties, or take to once in their forties.
The reality is far more mundane though. Since I'm on a sabbatical right now, having the bullet neatly dovetails with some trekking I intend to do in the North around April/ May time. The plan is simple- take the Bullet to Delhi by train and then roam around Himachal on the bike. Leave the bike at some village, and then start trekking. The catch in this simple Utopian story is that the Bullet is not your average fill it, shut it, drive it forget it kind of bike. No sir, this is a bike that demands you learn how to wield a mean spanner. So instead of just riding my bullet and depending on the local mechanic to fix the bike, I'm slowly getting to grips with tappet adjustements, a freakish electrical system, puncture repairs, oil changes, gearbox adjustments, tuning..the works. Of course the admonishment from the local mechanic is predictable-"don't adjust anything sir, if you disturb something we may never- not till eternity also- be able to make the bike right again". And then I stop and think, this is 1950's technology, how complex can it be even for a dumbass dead poet like me to figure out? And yesterday when I did my first oil change successfully and cleaned the oil filter to boot, it just reinforced my self belief. Of course I have another month in which to learn the basics before I set off on my sojourn. Till then, it's a few nights with Pete Snidey's Bullet manual and the friendly folks at the online bullet groups.