It’s chaos outside. Birds and animals flock to their nearest shelter; some humans follow, while the better-prepared ones whip out their protective gear. The occasional thunder and the constant noise of water falling on the roof makes it harder to hear people in the same room but easier to listen within. You want to soak in the lush greenery, the misty city skyline… but from the warm, cosy corner of your house, sipping on a hot drink with some fritters. Almost everyone’s idea of romanticising the monsoon involves staying dry and cocooned with some steaming food. For many, that’s freedom, but for some, this season also means venturing out and actually being one with nature and experiencing a true sense of liberty.
And which brand knows this feeling better than Royal Enfield, the poster boy of #wanderlust and #freedom, right? People have been traversing the length and breadth of the country with the old cast-iron Bullets when the roads were as reliable as the bike’s engine. But, a lot has changed since then, hasn’t it? The roads are way better now and the old ‘A Bullet marks its territory’ comeback isn’t required anymore. Also, the Himalayan is here to be the new frontman of freedom. But we all know, the Bullet stalwarts aren’t going anywhere. But should they? And to answer that question (honestly, it was just an excuse), I took the bikes to explore Konkan.
Torrential rain, bad roads, and of course, the limited time I have spent so far with the Himalayan meant the ADV was my first pick. Not that the Bullet can’t handle these roads or the weather. But the luxury of long-travel suspension and a 21-inch front wheel, having the choice of switching off the ABS at the rear wheel lured me.
The road till Mangaon had some nasty broken stretches, and all I had to do was stand up, let the bike do its thing and sit once the road smoothened. I felt bad for Keshav knowing that he’ll be crossing the same parts on the Bullet, probably hurling abuses at me for making him do this. From Mangaon, we ventured through the small villages towards the Anjarle lighthouse. And as soon as we left NH66, we were welcomed by the grand vistas of the Konkan. The thriving greenery was a nice contrast to the dull, grey skies. We encountered more monkeys than humans and random honking was replaced by chirps.
I started missing the Bullet already. The old-school long-stroke motor would have been perfect for the job; with all that low-end torque, I could have just chugged along, soaking in the views. But no, with the Himalayan’s eager, modern engine, I didn’t have that luxury. It required me to be in the right gear almost all the time. Not that it didn’t like low speeds, but it wasn’t as easy-going as the Bullet. I resisted. I wanted to go all nuts with this ADV. Soon, my wish was granted.
A really, really broken stretch got us to a beautiful and equally scary sight. And like moths attracted by a light, I veered off the road to the location and the Bullet followed. A steep downhill on a moss-laden rockbed led us to the edge of the river. Suddenly, it became all quiet. Forget the chirps, the force of water made it hard to hear the bikes’ exhaust. Around the chaos in the river, it was all calm. The beautiful scenery had a dark side to it. We didn’t dare go any closer. It was time to head back up.
Now I decided to switch off the ABS at the rear wheel and found the ‘mode’ button to be jammed. I panicked for a second and tried other switches, too. The joystick, ‘home’ button didn’t work and the hazard light button had become super sensitive. Keshav just shrugged and calmly rode the Bullet up the slope. I followed, thinking not to bother with any buttons at all through the ride.
Soon, we arrived at the sleepy village of Aade. We were welcomed by the sound of waves crashing against the rocks, the sight of birds coasting with the winds and a long bridge over the marshes that would take us to Anjarle. By this time, Keshav started complaining about his backache and I was in two minds whether to switch bikes. I was still not comfortable with swapping the ADV with the roadster. So, we decided to take a halt at the Anjarle lighthouse.
A winding road with waves splashing water on it and a patch of grass with a striped lighthouse facing the violent sea under the grey sky. It was a scene straight out of a movie. The strong winds probably took Keshav’s mind away from his backache. We were just halfway to the destination, and this spot almost felt like THE perfect place to end the ride. Not because we were tired, but with no trace of civilisation or commotion that we urban dwellers are used to, this seemed like the right place to pitch a tent and rest. But, it was time to move on.
We looked at the bikes and they were dirty, really dirty, but they looked good nonetheless. Well, an ADV always looks beautiful with a bit of earthy ‘makeup’, but the Bullet? All that chrome was now caked, but it looked just fine. However, both of them went a little overboard to look all mucked up. How? Well, the rear fender of the Bullet is a tad short so it happily flings mud on itself and the rider. And the Himalayan, well, riding it at 25 kph, I could ‘spit’ water from the front tyre on the vehicle ahead. Anything faster than that, the same water would come back on the headlight, tank, and of course, me.
With the rain subsiding and the first hint of good roads, I switched from the Himalayan to the Bullet. After going from the 845-mm tall seat to 805 mm, it felt weird. For the first time, the Bullet felt cramped. My legs were feeling uncomfortably close to my elbows, and with the handlebar that low, I pictured myself as an ogre riding the Bullet, though I am sure the sudden shift from the ADV was to be blamed.
Handling is not the strongest suit of the Bullet, and everyone who rides one, knows it. But over some sections, it definitely felt better than the Himalayan. And that’s because the ADV’s tyre doesn’t bring about an iota of confidence in wet conditions, and on this ride, the rear gave away on more than a handful occasions.
Just like every other time I have ridden the Bullet, I lost all sense of time. The chilled out engine matched the vibe of the Konkan and though I was losing Keshav who seemed too rev-happy on the ADV, I didn’t bother speeding. The sweet spot was at 80 kph, and that’s where I wanted to be till the end of the ride.
Our destination was Ratnagiri. Specifically, a grand piece of history that stood on a hillock on the outskirts of the city — the Thibaw Palace. A palace that was the prison of the last monarch of Myanmar built by the British. Spread over 20 acres, the king himself was involved in building the structure which has hints of Burmese architecture mixed with heavy colonial influences. From a dancing hall with marble flooring to hidden staircases and rooms, it had everything… yet nothing.
The Bullet and the Himalayan in front of the palace were a stark contrast. One offered all the luxuries to be cocooned in, but was void of the most basic one — freedom, and the other two offered nothing but that. Come to think of it, even the idea of freedom is so different with these two motorcycles. While the Bullet was all about appreciating the little things in life, the Himalayan was about understanding my definition of freedom and just ploughing through everything to get there.
Soon, the sky darkened. Birds and animals flocked to their nearest shelter; some humans followed, while the better-prepared ones like us whipped out our protective gear. The occasional thunder and the constant noise of water falling on the helmet made it harder to hear but easier to listen within. It was time to look for a warm corner and a hot beverage.
