The Ride That Rolled into Memories: Friendship, Forests & Grandma’s Feast

 The Ride That Rolled into Memories:                           Friendship, Forests & Grandma’s Feast

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Some stories aren’t planned—they just begin with a simple question...

Friend 1: "Hey, what’s your plan for Saturday?"
Friend 2: "Nothing planned."
Friend 1: "Hmm… Let’s ride. I’m heading to my grandmother’s place."
Friend 2: "Ok macha! Let’s ride!"

And just like that, an ordinary weekend in 2007 turned into a tale of friendship, adventure, and nature’s embrace.

A Bike, A Dream, and the Open Road

Fresh out of college, with my first year’s earnings, I bought something that symbolized freedom—my first bike.  The choice? The sleek, newly launched Bajaj XCD 125 DTSi—a beauty I couldn’t resist despite my father’s cautious advice to "wait for reviews."

Bajaj XCD 125 DTSi Infographic

Bajaj XCD 125

The Journey Begins: Hassan to Kukke-Subramanya

At 5:30 AM, with my mother’s blessings and a heart full of excitement, I picked up my friend. The cool morning breeze, the hum of a new engine, and the thrill of an unplanned adventure—it was the perfect start.

“By the way, which route are we taking?”

“The cinematic one, of course!”

We chose the path less traveled—through the misty hills of Sakaleshpur and the wild curves of Bisle Ghat.

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Sakaleshpur: Where the Hills Serve Breakfast

By 7 AM, we reached my friend’s relative’s house in Sakaleshpur—famously called the “Poor Man’s Ooty”. The weather greeted us with its cool charm, but what truly stole the show was the breakfast.

Akki Roti, Kayi Chutney, and Filter Coffee with Jaggery—a simple meal that danced on our taste buds and fueled us for what lay ahead.

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Bisle Ghat: The Silent Symphony of Nature

Crossing the forest gate felt like entering a different world—dense forests, winding roads, and not a soul in sight except for the occasional tourist jeep.

Bisle View Point: Where Clouds Touch Your Soul

As my friend and I rode deeper into Bisle Ghat, the dense green walls parted to reveal a sight that no camera could truly capture — the legendary Bisle View Point.

No tourist rush, no noise — just the two of us, standing before an endless canvas of misty valleys and towering peaks. The silhouettes of Kumara Parvatha, Pushpagiri, and Dodda Betta emerged like ancient guardians watching over the Western Ghats.

We didn’t speak much — not because we didn’t have words, but because nature had rendered them useless.

It was one of those moments where you don’t just see the view — you feel it.

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Ridge Point: Where Every Raindrop Chooses Its Path

A few winding turns later, near a quiet hamlet called Mankanahalli, we stumbled upon something that looked deceptively simple — a stone slab with faded inscriptions:

"ARABIAN SEA  ←   RIDGE   →  BAY OF BENGAL"

Here, at Ridge Point, nature silently decides the destiny of rain. To the west, they race to the Arabian Sea; to the east, they journey towards the Bay of Bengal.

I remember telling my friend, "Macha, even raindrops here have bigger decisions than us!"

We laughed, took a photo, and rode ahead — unaware that our own little decision was about to spark an unexpected adventure.

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The Neutral Ride & The Bike Trouble

Then came the bright idea—
“Macha, let’s switch off the engine and roll downhill in neutral!”

For 15 KM, we laughed, enjoyed the breeze, and felt like the smartest travelers—until karma caught up. Near Sri Gadi Chamundeshwari Temple, our loyal XCD refused to start. Thankfully, locals helped us revive it!

Grandma’s Hilltop Haven

By 1:30 PM, we reached my grandmother’s home—a cozy farmhouse atop a rugged hill, accessible only via a 2 KM off-road stretch. Lunch was a feast—spicy bird-eye chili buttermilk, traditional South Indian dishes, and the warmth only a grandmother can serve.

The afternoon was spent exploring the farm—learning how rubber milk is tapped, walking amidst arecanut, coffee, pepper, and cardamom plants.

                                                      

The Return: Chasing Sunsets & Smiles

At 4:30 PM, we began our return, this time via Gundya and the famous Shiradi Ghat. As the sun began to set, we paused at a viewpoint—silent, soaking in the beauty of a day well spent.

By 8 PM, we were back in Hassan—tired but with hearts full of memories.

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Reflections on the Ride

That day wasn’t just about covering kilometers. It was about:

- The thrill of spontaneous plans.

- The bond of friendship.

- The kindness of strangers.

- The beauty of untouched nature.

- The irreplaceable joy of family and tradition.

- The fertile farmland.

Have you ever taken a spontaneous trip that turned into a lifelong memory? Share your story!

Caution: Always inform family before heading out, and never underestimate nature or machines (especially when riding in neutral!).

Please do read my other stories as well

Link Below

No Plan, No Fear: The Night We Challenged the Road

From Grease-Stained Memories to Modern Roars: A Father, A Son, and a JAWA 42

No Plan, No Fear: The Night We Challenged the Road

 

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*Because some stories aren’t about the destination—they’re about the madness that gets you there.*

The Boredom That Sparked an Adventure

Home was about 185 km away from New BEL Road, Bangalore. But back in 2007-2008, this wasn’t a smooth highway cruise.

The Bangalore to Hassan stretch was under heavy construction—still a double road, with dusty diversions, barriers, and chaotic traffic, especially during the holiday season. Add a bit of rain, and what should have been a 3-hour ride easily turned into 4 to 4.5 hours or more.

Did we care? Not at all.

At 7 PM, we kickstarted both the bike and a journey we’d never forget.

Phase 1: Riding on Mileage and Madness

My friend took the first stretch—navigating through holiday traffic, dodging honks, and taking random shortcuts just because we could.

By the time we crossed 80 km, hunger hit, and we stopped at a roadside dhaba near Kunigal. Laughter, hot food, and dust on our faces—it felt perfect.

Now, it was my turn to ride.

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The Twist in the Tale

Barely 2 km ahead, destiny decided to spice things up.

we heard that dreaded sound—PSSSSSSSSHHH

Puncture? Nope. The entire tube burst.

So there we were, at 9 PM, pushing the bike back to Kunigal in the dark, still laughing like fools.

By 10 PM, with a new tube fitted, the sky added more drama—it started to drizzle.

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Phase 2: Powering Through the Rain

Most would’ve called it quits. But not us.

With me at the handlebar, the under-construction Bangalore-Hassan road became our playground. Mud, barriers, zero visibility—and a 110 CC engine giving it everything.

Top Speed: 85-90 km/h
Lighting: Just our headlamp and hope
Background Music: My phone ringing non-stop (Mom worried, Dad chill)

The Final Stretch

Every kilometer tested us. But somehow, it also made us feel invincible.

At exactly 1 AM, drenched and exhausted, we reached home. My parents stood at the door—relieved, annoyed, but mostly just happy we made it.

The scolding? That was postponed till morning.

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What This Ride Taught Us

It wasn’t just a random trip. It became a story we’d tell for years—a story of friendship, recklessness, and the kind of joy only youth can understand.

Moral of the Story

When you’re young, sometimes the best thing you can do is say 'Why not?'

Because long after the roads are repaired and the bike is sold, it’s the crazy rides, the bad decisions, and the good company that stay with you.

Share Your Story!

Have you ever set out on a spontaneous adventure like this? Maybe a late-night ride, an unplanned trip, or a moment where youth and excitement took over logic?

I'd love to hear your stories! Drop them in the comments or connect with me—let’s celebrate those unforgettable journeys together.

A Gentle Caution to Young Adventurers

While these stories make for great memories, always remember—safety comes first.

If you're planning an adventure, no matter how spontaneous, make sure to:
- Inform your parents or family.
- Check your vehicle properly.
- Carry essentials like a phone charger, basic tools, and some cash.
- Stay alert, especially during night rides or bad weather.

Adventure is best when it’s **responsible**. Enjoy the thrill, but ensure you get home safe to tell the tale!

From Grease-Stained Memories to Modern Roars: A Father, A Son, and a JAWA 42

                                                       

From Grease-Stained Memories to Modern                        Roars: A Father, A Son, and a JAWA 42

When you first step into the world on your own—fresh out of college, wide-eyed and full of ambition—there’s a certain fire within you. The early years of your job make you feel invincible. You call it self-confidence. I now know it’s a cousin called overconfidence. You believe every choice you make is right, every word you speak is gospel. It’s the kind of naivety only youth can afford.

I was no different.

Despite my father’s disapproval, I bought a bike that I thought defined me. Years later, that decision turned out to be one of the biggest flops in the Indian bike market between 2007 and 2010. But that's a story for another time.

This blog is about something far more precious — the story of why I chose the JAWA.

👨‍🔧 My Father: The Unsung Maestro of Machines

My father was not just a two-wheeler mechanic. He was an artist with a wrench. We had a humble little shop, and behind it, our small house. From 1985 to 2006, our days began with the scent of petrol and the clanking of spanners.

He specialized in what were then legends on two wheels — the JAWA, YEZDI, Rajdoot, Yamaha RX100 & RX135, Bajaj Chetak, Priya, and Lambretta scooters.

I grew up watching those machines line up in front of our shop like loyal soldiers returning to their commander.

Between 1992 and 1996, before the Yezdi factory in Mysore shut down, these bikes were more than just vehicles. They were pride. Owning a JAWA or Roadking meant you were someone. My father? He was the doctor everyone trusted with their prized rides.

He was respected, admired, and loved — not just for what he fixed, but for how he did it. With patience. With pride. With heart.

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🏍 The Slow Fade… and the Silent Hope

With the rise of Hero Honda’s fuel-efficient 4-stroke models, these rugged legends began to disappear. Slowly, the symphony of their roaring engines faded. By the 2000s, only a few die-hard fans brought their JAWAs and YEZDIs to our shop.

But my father never lost hope.

He’d often say, "These bikes will roar again. Their story isn't over."

Even after we had to shut the workshop due to his health, we held on to two YEZDI chassis and one Rajdoot engine. He didn’t see them as scrap. To him, they were memories, stories, and perhaps, a dream waiting to be reborn.

After he passed, parting with those frames was like giving away a piece of him.

🛣 A Bumpy Ride, and a Familiar Roar

The years that followed his absence weren’t easy. We faced more storms than sunshine. But time has a strange way of circling back.

A few years ago, whispers of a JAWA comeback started floating around. Every time I read something online, my heart would race — as if my father’s dream was inching closer to reality.

When I heard that Mahindra had revived the Classic Legends brand and was planning to reintroduce JAWA, it felt like a personal win. Not just for me—but for that grease-covered man in a humble shop who believed these bikes had more to give.

And then came the JAWA 42 — a fusion of retro soul and modern spirit.

⚙️ The JAWA 42: Riding Through Time

The bike I own is JAWA 42. It’s not just a machine. It’s an emotion. A tribute.

·         What I love:

·         ⚡ Speed & Pickup: The torque kicks in early and strong, making city rides thrilling and highways liberating.

·         🕰 Classic Vibe, Modern Soul: Its retro styling draws nostalgia, while the updated engine and features make it road-ready for today.

·         🎨 Design: The matte finish, bar-end mirrors, and sculpted tank catch eyes wherever I go.

·         What could be better:

·         🪑 The Seat: It’s a bit firm for long rides. An aftermarket cushion helps, but it could’ve been more ergonomic.

·         🧍 Posture: The aggressive styling slightly compromises comfort for taller riders.

·         🔧 Service Reach: In smaller towns, finding skilled mechanics or spares may take effort — though it's improving.

📊 Classic vs Modern – The Comparison

A side-by-side look at what once was, and what now is — honoring both ends of the timeline.

🏍️ The Present Roar – My JAWA 42

🕊 Full Circle

I sometimes imagine him, standing by the shop, wiping his hands on a cloth, nodding at my bike and saying, "This one… you got right."

That thought alone is worth every ride, every rupee, every memory.

✍️ What’s Your Story?

Did you ever buy a bike against the odds? Or one that connected you to someone you loved? I’d love to hear your story.

Share your thoughts in the comments. Let’s celebrate not just machines, but the moments and people that make them unforgettable.

Until next time,
Keep the engines warm and the passion alive.
— A Mechanic's Son, A Rider's Heart.

When the Vine Bloomed and the Sunbird Came: A Balcony Story

                                        When the Vine Bloomed and the Sunbird Came: A Balcony Story

About four years ago, I brought home a small plant, not knowing that it would quietly become part of my daily life.

It was one of the first in my plant collection, and to this day, it remains the most special: the Bleeding Heart Vine (Clerodendrum thomsoniae).

I was new to plants then, picking them up one by one, learning as I went. I didn’t know what I was doing exactly—just that greenery brought peace,
and flowers brought happiness. But this one felt different. With its rich red blooms tucked inside delicate white petals, it looked like something out of a storybook.

I placed it near the edge of the balcony, where the light lasted longest—and waited.     

                                           

🌞 When the Sunbird Found It

One evening, while watering the plants, I noticed a flash of color in the air. A tiny sunbird, shining in shades of green and purple, fluttered in and landed near the vine.
It hovered, tasted the nectar from one flower, then another, wings buzzing softly like a hum. I froze. It was one of those rare, quiet moments when everything feels still—except the heart.

From that day on, the sunbird came every evening. Like clockwork. It would hop between flowers, sip gently, chirp a little, and then vanish into the sunset.
And somehow, that small routine began to feel like a blessing. The vine had become more than a plant. It was a tiny ecosystem, a gathering place, a little bit of magic on my balcony. And I was just lucky enough to witness it.

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🌱 From Pot to Jungle

The vine didn’t stop growing. It thrived—wild and full, wrapping itself around everything, creating a green curtain that softened the edges of the world outside.

Season after season, it bloomed without fail. It gave me joy, comfort, and those little everyday wonders that are so easy to miss.

But over time, it began to take over. The whole balcony was covered. The light struggled to get through. I knew it was time for a reset.

So this week, I finally did it—I cut it all back.

It was hard. Each snip felt like letting go of a memory. But sometimes, even the things we love need space to grow again.

 

🌸 Meet the Bleeding Heart Vine

This vine is a tropical climber from West Africa, known for its beautiful heart-like red and white flowers.
It's not just pretty—it brings life. Birds, butterflies, and yes, sunbirds, love it.

  ·         A Few Care Tips:

     

🌼 Why Now?

As I pruned the last of the branches, it hit me how much this vine had been part of my story.
It marked the beginning of my plant journey. It brought color, birds, and a kind of quiet rhythm to my days.

Right now, the balcony feels a little empty. But I know it’s just temporary. The vine will return. And who knows—maybe the sunbird will too.

                            One side Balcony View ☝

      Do you have a plant that changed your space—or your heart?

      Share this with someone who loves plants and stories that grow with time.