"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.)

The Process of Planning

It's probably no suprise that a trip of the magnitude of our little journey to India requires a fair amount of planning. Planning is Important. Planning is the difference between returning home flushed with success, a trip worth taking taken well, and spending three weeks in jail because you don't have a visa.

The problem here is that neither Rob the Racist nor I are the planning type. You know the type - hyper-organised, everything managed down to the nearest second etc etc. Boring and predictable. Micro-management. More accurately, neither Rob nor I like planning and we're rubbish at it. We're more likely to spend the trip in Tihar prison in Delhi (one of the largest, most overcrowded prisons in the world but one that does have a website) glaring at one another and loudly and exasperatedly proclaiming "You said you were going to sort out the visa!".

That is, until we hit upon a solution to our fatalistic attack of the casual. We realised, drumroll please, that you cannot plan if you are hungry or thirsty. Ergo, planning should be done over food and drink or, more accurately, over beer and pizza. Problem solved. Planning sessions have now become twice weekly occurrences planned, ironically, well in advance. We are now, or should be, the best planned expedition on the planet. Space shuttles have been launched with less time spent "planning".

The real problem with this approach is not our magpie-like ability to be distracted by pretty much anything, but instead the fact that we do really try to plan things. We spend the first hour of the evening (approximately three beers worth) discussing things like gear, routes and bike rental. We then spend the next three hours talking about interesting things like climbing and girls. Three hours equates to about five or six beers, which means that we tend to forget whatever we spent planning.

The upside of this is that we have to have another planning session to discuss what we have forgotten. As you can imagine, we're starting to relish this planning malarkey.

The outcome of three "planning" sessions this weekend is that we now have roles. Rob is to be head motorcyclist-ist and he-who-knows-how-to-repair-motorcycles. Seeing as he is actually a motorcyclist-ist, that should be fine, except there's a slightly worrying look of uncertainty, like a poodle being shown a card trick, every time I mention that he's probably going to have to do things like repair a bike or fix a flat tire. My role, and one that I am suitably qualified for, is, basically, to look impressed at all the motorcyclism, pretend to know what they're talking about and try not to die*. And, if I manage to do all of those, I will be rewarded with the privilege of editing the written output of the trip and being blamed for no-one being willing to publish it.

I'll do my best not to mess that up then, shall I?

* I've spent 31 years trying not to die, so I guess I'm qualified.

The Captain

Rob the Racist has been derelict in his duties, so he's no longer allowed to wear the mesh vest that says 'Captain'*. This is because I went and booked our first nights' accommodation at the super helpful and mellow Smyle Inn.

An airconditioned room for two people and an airport transfer for R200? Bargain.

* Despite this being a rather fetching look for him.

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.

Oh, and..

..Rob doesn't know about the planned route.

Won't it be a nice surprise for him?