NO FOOL AS FOOLISH AS AN OLD FOOL

I am an idiot. I have broken one of the cardinal rules. No excuses. And it might have killed me. It nearly did. The country road from the Janjira ferry connects with the N17 highway to Goa. The N17 is a great road for a biker, hill sections with luscious curves to lean in to, straight stretches shaded by overhanging trees, bridges over dream-land rivers and a good surface, great places to stop for coffee and a bowl of soup. Ratnagari is the only large town. To quote Lonely Planet, That's all that can be said for it. The town is fifteen Ks off the highway. Late afternoon and I ride midway through the outskirts for an ATM and a top-up for my mobile. Hotels are modern and probably expensive. I noticed a hotel at the highway intersection so I turn back. The hotel is a real dump. Check out a room and hear an anticipatory rustle from the bed bugs. I know that I should ride back into town but What the hell, there's bound to be something better and I ride on into the twilight. The next place, 10Ks on, is worse and night's fallen. I've been riding all day; my vizor's dirty and I'm blinded by oncoming traffic. Hill country and two buses race at me neck and neck uphill on a tight curve. No white line as a a guide and I can't see a damn thing. The front wheel kicks over a stone as I go off the road. Brake and I'm done for. The buses thunder by and I fight the bike back onto the black top. Luck saved me from hitting a tree or a rock. I'm scared shitless (as they say in impolite circles) and I'm cursing myself. 20 Ks to a small town with two small hotels. The hotels are either full or Reception hates my looks. My hands tremble as I drink a coffee and wash the visor and my spectacles. Better...
A further 15 Ks and there is a brand new hotel off to the left. So new that they haven't finished surfacing the approach road. This is a flash joint that has to be 2000 rupees a night. I'd pay 10000 to get off the road. The owner wears six chunky gold rings and a welcoming smile. The room has a/c, hot water, brilliant mattress and flat screen satellite TV with CNN and BBC. Dinner is chicken masala with both bismati rice and chapatis. Breakfast is included in the 600 rupee room rate! I lie in bed and call Bernadette. I don't mention riding by night or coming off the road. One near death experience is sufficient...

WHY ARE POLICE THE ENEMY?

MURUD: FEBRUARY 7
Riding a bike is a solitary occupation. I have time to think. Subjects of thought return again and again, become familiar companions and refuse to be abandoned until written down. So here is a thought on police of whom I ask directions in what ever country I travel. I come of a generation (and perhaps a class) that considers the police as one of the four solid foundation blocks of the community. The vicar or priest cared for our souls; the doctor cared for our health; the family lawyer shared with the bank manage a care for our finances; the policeman was our protector and the protector of our property and laws were passed for our benefit. Why then do my children's generations view the police as the enemy? And if the police are the enemy of youth, what youth joins the police? This last is a serious and disturbing question. And that is enough on the subject – though I will return to it. But now is the hour to daub my face and ankles with mosquito repellent and stroll down Murud's shore street, bid its citizens (other than the veiled) Good evening, sip a fresh lime and soda and decide in which restaurant to dine. Prawns? Probably...

NOSE-PICKING CHEF

MURUD: FEBRUARY 8
I carry three guide books for comparison. Two recommend the same restaurant, Patil Khanaval. The restaurant is listed as on the sea front. Murud must have expanded since the researchers visited. Now it is down an alley. The cook is dug out of bed. He runs through the menu whilst picking his nose: fish biriyani, mutton biriyani, prawns biriyani. He may be a great chef but the nose is a negative. Better a Muslim restaurant with tables in a large garden the shore side of the shore road. Fish soup and grilled prawns, delicious. And so to my bed of layered rocks...

GOOD NEIGHBOURS

dusk from the garden


MURUD: FEBRUARY 8
Murud is more of a large village than a town. Fishing and tourism are the main pursuits. The off-shore fortress of Janjira is the main attraction - apart from fresh seafood. I am staying at the Seashore Resort, listed in Footprint as having three rooms, a pretty garden, and run by a friendly family – accurate, though one room is closed while they extend the main house. I didn't find the place through the guide book. The doorman at a posh hotel across the street recommended it. A German family occupy the second room. Mother is a retired teacher. Father, a mathematician, is about to be retired with a golden handshake by a software company; younger people are available at half the salary. In her mid twenties, the daughter is cogitating on a career in what might loosely be described as the Social Services (or good deeds). They are traveling by hire car with a driver. They laugh a lot, love each other and read books. Good neighbours...

HEROIN AND OTHER DRUGS

MURUD: FEBRUARY 6
My knowledge of heroin is academic, though extensive. Thus I know that taking a hit develops a hunger for more. Prawns are similar which explains why I am on the road early and racing south from Daman for the small seaside town of Murud. The highway is good. I cruise at 90 kph and cut inland to avoid Mumbai – why risk bronchitis?
I pull in beside a sextet of cops for directions on which road to take.
An officer asks my age.
“Seventy-six, seventy-seven next week,” and I show him my passport.
The cops yak and laugh amongst themselves. Are they going to hit me with a fine for something? No, they are giving me a birthday present: permission to ride up the Pune (or Poona) Expressway (illegal for bikes). A secondary road to the right leads to Pale and so to the coast and a room with three beds in Murud at 450 rupees. Pile all three mattresses on one bed and you have three layers of rock. Walk down the garden and you are on the beach. Beach is rocks ground small.