Lone Rider by Elspeth Beard

Lone Rider by Elspeth Beard

Author:Elspeth Beard [Beard, Elspeth]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Michael O'Mara Books


12

DOUBLE ENGINE, SELFIE START:

CALCUTTA TO KATHMANDU

Calcutta, 29 April 1984

Keen to get out of Calcutta before the roads became crowded, I left early. Relying on a very sketchy map of the city centre with three roads marked, I opted for the road heading north and hoped for the best, knowing I had to cross the River Ganges.

Eventually I came upon the Ganges, following it until I reached a bridge, dodging through a convoy of heavily laden trucks spewing out thick black diesel fumes. Even early in the morning, the heat in the side streets was stifling. Wedged between trucks, it was unbearable. Sweat dripping into my eyes, my T-shirt already a filthy dust-sodden sweat sponge, I made my way across the bridge. Any semblance of traffic order or road discipline had long been abandoned. The bridge was like a dodgem car track where bikes were simply ignored. I made it across only after twice being shunted from behind. If riding through India was going to be like this, I wouldn’t enjoy it or stay alive for very long.

For three hours I crawled at walking pace along a single-track road. Two truck convoys going in opposing directions made overtaking impossible or pointless; when a space appeared, I replaced the back end of one lorry with another. And this was the main road north out of one of India’s largest cities. Only slightly wider than a single car and with dirt either side, the sealed part of the road contained enough traffic to overwhelm a six-lane motorway. Putting my bike on the train from Madras to Calcutta had definitely been the right decision.

After four hours with not a single road sign, I didn’t know if I was going in the right direction and no longer cared. My main objective was to get out of Calcutta as soon as possible, then worry about finding the road north.

Slowly the roadside buildings spread out, fields appeared and the truck convoy came to a complete standstill. Pulling out to overtake at least 100 trucks, I reached the front of the queue, where a broken-down truck sat at the side of the road. Stretching into the distance, an opposing column of trucks faced towards me, backed up behind a single truck parked nose-to-nose with the truck at the head of the column I’d just overtaken.

Standing in the middle of the road, a group of Indian men gesticulated wildly and argued. If it wasn’t so ridiculous, I would have laughed out loud: a deadlock because they couldn’t agree who should reverse first.

It was good to get the bike over 50 mph. Sitting in traffic for four hours in temperatures above 40°C hadn’t been good for her engine, even if I had turned it off several times to try to cool it down, so after putting a decent distance between myself and Calcutta, I stopped under a tree in a deserted spot to allow us both to recover. I’d been there for less than a minute when a small group of Indian men appeared.



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