If we ignore the fact that the worst drivers seem to congregate there, Udaipur is simply gorgeous. It is called the “lake city” for a reason. The mountain peaks surrounding vast lakes reminded me of Switzerland. Apart from the crumbling buildings, the countless stray dogs, cows, and the omnipresent poverty, of course. We wandered the city for a day, discovered a tiny little shop filled to the brim with old, dusty treasures, visited the mandatory city palace, had some amazing food at various lakeside establishments, admired the views and a traditional dance at night, and then set off towards Jaipur. Oh, and we had both bikes fixed at an official Royal Enfield service centre for a price that will make any Australian bike owner weep: shifter fixed, brake pads replaced, chain oiled on one, and handbrake lever replaced on the other, all for a grand total of AUD 28.

The lake city.
Lakeside dinner with colourful sunset view.

The distance between Udaipur and Jaipur is longer than our previous trips, and we’ve learned by now that distances take much longer to cover here than in Australia. Wisely, we reserved two days for the 400km that Google thought could be done in seven hours on a motorbike. After my two recent falls, I was also anxious when leaving Udaipur, and it took me a while to get my mojo back, so a shorter first day back on the bike was more than enough. Interestingly, not far from where I crashed earlier, I witnessed the exact same scenario: bike going on the highway in its normal direction, cut off by another coming in from the side without looking, this time with three people tumbling around just ten meters in front of me on the next lane. They seemed fine and a lot calmer than I was just two days prior, so this type of collision seemed to be less of a shock to the locals than it was for me.

We spent a night in a dirty little working town called Bhilwara, at a hotel that was listed as overviewing a lake. Except that between the hotel and the lake was a slum crammed with makeshift shacks that blocked any view – and access to breathable air. Of course, David and I lost each other again when arriving in Bhilwara. No matter how small a town is in India, it proves to be busy enough to make it impossible to follow one another, and we inevitably get separated in traffic. Our navigators took us on different routes to the hotel, taking me through the busiest town centre, through some weird underpass where speed bumps and ditches alternated as if testing who comes back to the surface at the other end. Still, we eventually found each other at the hotel. The next day we pressed on towards Jaipur.

Not a glamorous place to stay.

The highway towards Jaipur presented a new kind of chaos. Countless trucks, some moving at walking pace, others at 80 kph, cars zooming in slalom in between them at 100+, and the ever-present bikes doing their individual speed that could be anywhere between 40 and 90 kph. Priority is set by size, so you have to be either large and strong or very agile. To make things more interesting (as if the highways were a testing maze set up by some mad scientist), the infrastructure is – like many other things in India – not quite thought through. The many excellent quality highways have lots of toll gates but no access ramps or proper exits. Just breaks in the middle dividing line (many of which are not there by design but broken through by locals) and side roads entering at a 90-degree angle, so vehicles can appear from either side with no warning and no merging speed. But wait: there are no service roads either, so if someone has business on one side of the road but not in the direction designated for that side, they will simply drive against traffic. This comes with the unrivalled joy of finding yourself facing a truck or car flashing at you to get out of the way, although you are the one travelling in the right direction.

At least they are all going in the same direction.

On the last 50 km to Jaipur, the highway also intersects other main roads, which come with stop lights. If anyone thinks that helps, they can think again. Those last 50 km took two hours to cover and brought a new fear of death. Stops lights are taken by most as an opportunity to push a little further ahead. So what if that can only be achieved by cars going around on the shoulder and cutting others off? What I was taught in Australia to ride so alert as if everyone was on the road to kill me got a literal meaning here, and I occasionally found myself contemplating murder in response. I also started daydreaming about post-apocalyptic, empty landscapes when motioned to pick up my foot from the ground when standing still so others could claim even those ten centimetres to push ahead on my side. Despite all odds, we made it to Jaipur somehow and, again, lost each other in traffic. Finding myself alone and having to be completely self-reliant in Jaipur traffic did wonders for my riding confidence. I enjoyed the independent tour Google took me on, including blocked roads, back alleys, and peak-hour street markets. With my left hand exhausted and shaky by close to an hour done in 1st feathering the clutch, I was proud as punch by the time I got to the hotel, riding mojo now fully restored. We move on to Agra tomorrow.

Riding alone in Jaipur.
Udaipur to Jaipur