Riding Through the Cold: From Foggy Delhi to Dusty Rajasthan

The morning of 6 January was cold and foggy in Delhi. Two motorcyclists rose blearily at 5.30 am, long before sparrowfart, and began to pack. At 8 am in Delhi, the school busses start, and the carnage (that we’d seen in our auto ride yesterday( begins, so we’d decided to leave as early as possible. 7 am saw us outside, strapping things onto our bikes and working out our new claw bags. Dalma was anxious. I was keen to get on our way. We’d decided to ride to Mandawa to see the painted havelis. We hadn’t yet booked anything in case it proved arduous, but we set off in that general direction. Google optimistically predicted a 5h30 travel time. ?

Somewhat to our surprise, the Delhi section unexpectedly easy riding. We were staying, you’ll remember, within walking distance of Old Delhi, so this really was inner city Delhi in all its chaos and glory. Both navigators worked well. Were our apprehensions and anxieties unfounded? It was slow, particularly as we rode past train stations, but it wasn’t impossible. Mind, we were very glad to have had the experience of Bali. Petrol, though, was unexpectedly expensive. Worse than Australia.

You might remember that this was Dalma’s first experience of riding more than 11km on a manual motorcycle (and that was in Australia). And boy, did she ride well. She is the most determined woman I’ve ever met.

We soon headed off the highway onto smaller roads. We do prefer them. What we didn’t prefer was the Indian DRM’s penchant for putting in massive speed humps with no warning. Traffic oscillated between super busy and super empty. There were lots of colourfully decorated trucks doing 40, but we gradually got into the manner of passing them. Also, what to do when we were riding and saw one heading for us (head quickly for the verge). Once you got into the process, it wasn’t too difficult.

Dalma stalled the bike a couple of times, and on the third time, going through a small town, Hiho grew more difficult to start. She did get it going again, and after a while, we stopped on the side of the road. I could start it for some reason, while the started motor just cranked for her. I couldn’t work it out. But we shrugged and kept going. Hiho was making a crunching sound, probably an old chain, but it kept going, and so did we.

It was cold riding. Insanely so. We’d expected this and had bought thermals and layers and winter gloves, but we were still cold. The fog was still around at 10.30 am, and we decided to have breakfast for the calories. We stopped at a dhaba just past the town of Chhuchhakwas. Dalma, of course, pointed at some local thing she’d seen and ordered it. It turned out to be delicious, some kind of stuffed fried toast served with green chillies. We had multiple cups of sweet masala chai, which were very, very good. Emboldened and warmed, we hit the road.

At 12.30, the fog began to lift, and we dimly saw blue sky and shadows on the ground. It began to warm up a little. The notoriously optimistic ambient temperature gauges on the Himalayans showed 13 degrees. Then 14. Then 15. After a while, we passed the border to Rajasthan. It was like a switch had been flipped. The roads became infinitely better without speed bumps or potholes. The Thar desert seemed to be pushing in. The towns were dustier, and the people colourful and turbaned.

At 3.30, seven hours after we left Delhi, we arrived, dusty and parched, at the Hotel Shekawati in Mandawa. It’s an interesting place, three stories high, covered inside and out with frescos in a faux-Mughal style. They offered us beer and food, both of which we accepted, and escorted us to our room on the first floor. We met a Dutch couple who regaled us with stories of their time as doctors in Médecins Sans Frontières in Africa. Dalma, deservedly, was feeling tired but triumphant. She had ridden a Himalayan 250km through the worst kind of traffic. Two years ago, she had panic attacks on bikes. She has won. She posted to acclaim on her Facebook group, East Coast Female Riders, and felt very much the victor.