"With a bit of luck, his life was ruined forever."

- Hunter S. Thompson, Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas

Things are moving now, and moving quickly. 33 days until we board the plane and hop our way to Delhi. 35 days until get on the bikes and start moving north and up. 35 days until all the planning sessions and preparation and and and comes to nothing and we realise that we are Out There and have to get our act together. I should probably be more worried, but I'm over it.

At least I'm now impervious to all known diseases. OK, hepatitis A, typhoid, polio, yellow fever and cholera. And one other that I can't remember, but I'm sure it's serious. It better be - it cost R1300 for a woman to turn me into a human pincushion. And that's not counting the antibiotics and diamox that I also had to get. Jesus, this trip was supposed to be cheap. Just surviving the possibilities looks like it will bankrupt me. And that isn't counting the bad roads, the other drivers, the weather and the food.

If I sound pissy, I'm not. This is because I'm less likely to be completely useless at riding a bike - on friday evening, the Ginger Ninja was kind enough to hand me the keys to The Frog, his aging Bajaj scooter, and turn me loose on an unsuspecting Woodstock. There was some method to this madness - the Frog actually has manual gears and would help me learn things like clutch control and not riding into inanimate objects while trying to change gears. Luckily he also pointed me in the direction of the open road, so my early attempts at pulling off resulted in nothing more than a singed clutch and some embarrassed smiles at the giggling locals. I won't mention nearly running over an old ladies dog (which may have been on the curb), but she took my rueful "I'm trying to learn how to ride this" as a sufficient apology and walked off shaking her head.

But, by the end of the evening, I actually had the hang of the damn thing. Even managing to do three apparently particularly stupid things (so much for reigning in my inner hoon), namely:

(1) Taking The Frog onto Main Road Woodstock at 5pm on a friday

(2) Taking The Frog onto Main Road Woodstock at 5pm on a friday without wearing a helmet

(3) Possibly, and I admit no culpability in this etc etc this is no admission etc etc, driving The Frog home after a beer or two. And driving better. (it was 2 blocks of back roads, OK?!)

Yes, I'm an idiot. And a fool. And a goon.

But the whole experience (except the stupid bits) was great. With any luck, it has ruined my life, but in a good way. I'm already looking at buying a Bajaj. I mean, why not? Surely a little less horsepower will .. sedate me somewhat. God knows that things will get ugly if someone says "Hey, why not just by an 800cc and be done with it?". The result will, if I'm lucky, be something along the lines of a smoking crater and a rueful "I'm trying to learn how to ride this". The problem is, I'm more likely to be unlucky and that's not going to end well (c/f above comments re: "I'm an idiot" etc etc).

So, some updates on progress:

(1) Book accommodation for our first night or two in Delhi

(2) Get our visas

(3) Work out where to rent reliable motorcycles from in the Shimla area

(4) Buy the necessary gear.

(5) Oh, and actually work out what the necessary gear is.

(6) I should probably learn to ride a motorcycle.

(7) Vaccinations. A new addition.

I am Ahab

"Don't fuck with me now, man, I am Ahab."

- Hunter S. Thompson, Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas

I have two things today:

1. A stomach bug (not premium news)
2. An Indian visa (premium news)

Getting the visa is awesome, but I swear these damn things are cursed. First Google failed me, then the flat tire and now I have a stomach bug. But you know what? I have the damned visas* in my hand. I am Ahab, all harpooning the visas and reeling them in to the Pequod.

*They even decided to give Rob the Racist a visa. God help them.

One more step complete.

Progress is now as follows:

(1) Book accommodation for our first night or two in Delhi

(2) Get our visas

(3) Work out where to rent reliable motorcycles from in the Shimla area

(4) Buy the necessary gear.

(5) Oh, and actually work out what the necessary gear is.

(6) I should probably learn to ride a motorcycle.

Omens and Portents

"But our trip was different. It was a classic affirmation of everything right and true and decent in the national character. It was a gross, physical salute to the fantastic possibilities of life in this country—but only for those with true grit. And we were chock full of that."

- Hunter S. Thompson, Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas

After the abortive attempt at finding the Indian Consulate (thanks Google, you really effed that one up), I was fired with purpose at actually getting it right this time. No lollygagging or mucking about for me. Right up until I walked out into the car park, with an extra half hour planned into my trip to the airport, to find that my rental car had a flat tire.

For most people, this would probably result in wringing of hands and frustrated noises. Not me, oh no! I am chock full of said Thompsonian grit and, because I drive like 'an utter hoon'*, I've gotten pretty good at changing tires. Like, really good. I have changed a tire on Woodstock main road. On the traffic side of the car. In saturday morning traffic. In the rain. On my own. This was no obstacle but it was, perhaps, an omen.

Tyre changed, I made the Consulate with just enough time to .. wait in line. Bugger. But, once again, the grit came through and I staved off the thought of being late and handed the forms to the most unfriendly dude on earth and made the airport, the flight and home.

Bring it.

* Quoth the Ginger Ninja

Indian Consulate Visit: Attempt 1

This is not the Indian Consulate at 1 Eton Road, Park Town, Johannesburg, unless you use Google Maps, in which case it is and Park Town has strangely migrated to Sandhurst.

View Larger Map

Siphokazi, the friendly security guard, told me that this is a common mistake.

So I guess we all use Google Maps, huh?

(Dammit, and there I was thinking I was all ten kinds of Jo'burg local. Back to Cape Town for me, where we have a mountain to tell us which suburb we're in.)