Today was one for the books.

We left Mysore this morning, aiming for Coimbatore, and what started as a simple ride turned into another chapter of chaos, challenge, and unexpected kindness.

It all began with a U-turn. In most places, a U-turn is just that—a turn. In India, it’s a commitment. One wrong move and you’re swallowed by a maze of detours and construction zones. Our “simple” U-turn detoured us straight into a muddy mess where construction crews had accidentally burst a water pipe. Mud oozed across the road, and it wasn’t the pleasant, earthy kind. It was the kind of slick, soupy mud that laughs in the face of motorcycle tires.

Dalma lost her nerve within the first five minutes, thanks to that muddy start. Honestly, who could blame her? It was a rough way to kick off the day. But once we clawed our way out of the muck and left the town behind, the roads blessed us with smooth stretches. We were flying along at 60, 70, even 80 km/h. For a moment, it felt like the trip we imagined.

Good and fast roads.

And then came the mountains.

We knew there’d be hairpin turns—27 of them, in fact. They were numbered, which was oddly comforting. It’s nice to know exactly how much terror you have left.

Before tackling them, we stopped for a break at the top. Pepsi and chocolate were our fuel of necessity (all that was available…so much for the low-carb diet), a quick sugar boost before the descent.

For me, the hairpins were intense but manageable. Hairpin 21 almost introduced me to the grill of a truck taking the corner far too wide, but it was close without consequence. I cruised through the rest, albeit a little faster than usual, losing contact with Dalma (through our helmet intercoms) now and then.

The ghats seen from the Himalayan.

For Dalma, it was a different story.

Hairpin 7. A right-hand turn on a steep downhill slope. Out of nowhere, a small truck barreled uphill—in her lane. The switchbacks were so tight that visibility was non-existent. She had no time, no space. She braked hard and stopped mid-turn. But with the sharp camber of the road, balance wasn’t on her side. The bike tipped.

The offending truck.

No real harm done—no injuries, just a bruised ego and a bent brake lever. Dalma’s shout made it clear to the truck driver that he’d made a massive mistake, and he quickly moved on. But the bike was awkwardly sprawled across the incline, impossible for her to lift alone.

Enter the cavalry: a passing car with four or five men who didn’t hesitate. They stopped, lifted the bike, checked if Dalma was okay, and even offered water. In a country where traffic feels like a battlefield, moments like this restore your faith in people.

After conquering the hairpins, we thought we’d left the day’s challenges behind. Oh, how wrong we were.

Coimbatore greeted us with a five-kilometer stretch of pure mayhem. Imagine a three-lane highway compressed into a single lane, thanks to construction on a new elevated road. The result? A human game of Tetris where drivers wedge themselves into any available space.

People literally pushed us off the road just to gain a single car-length advantage. Honking, squeezing, weaving—chaos on a scale that made the rest of India’s traffic seem polite. It was relentless. We crawled through it at 12 km/h, exhausted and frustrated.

The traffic mess in Coimbatore.

By the time we rolled into Coimbatore, we were fried. Six hours for 191 kilometers. Not our longest day, but mentally, it felt endless.

We didn’t even pretend to save money on tonight’s accommodation. We checked straight into a four-star hotel, parked ourselves in the bar, and ordered food. No dry hotels tonight, thank you very much.

Tomorrow is Sunday, and we’re praying for quieter roads. But in India, who knows? The next stretch might be under construction too. Or it might be smooth as silk. Either way, we’ll take it as it comes.

Today reminded us why we’re here. The thrill, the fear, the frustrations, and the small victories. Dalma tackled those mountains like a warrior, and even though the bike hit the ground, she didn’t. And that’s what matters.

Here’s to the road ahead—whatever it decides to throw at us.