18th August 2023 1545 hrs

As I slowly pull out of my workplace, I find an unusual unease riding Duchess. I swerve wildly from oncoming vehicles and get jittery when vehicles cross within half a feet of me. My balance seems off. Even Duchess does not seem to be her usual self, sluggish and unresponsive. I pause, confused. This has never happened before. I have always been at ease riding her. Puzzled, I close my eyes, squinting, trying to focus. What is this feeling ?

It hits me like a thunderbolt.

Muscle memory.

53 1/2 hours straddled across a machine roaring its way through the country. A billion neurons firing and instantaneously making computations and compensations for the spatial position and mass of the newly installed saddle bags that now sat strapped across the pillion seat, adding almost a foot of extra space that i had to compensate for when cutting and swerving past trucks, cars, potholes and slicks. Never more than a couple of metres from Captain Jaga leading the way at the front. Ever mindful of a newly made friend, Madhu, cheerfully looking to hookup my saddle bags with his front tyre. The constant buzz of the Sena Comms, buzzing with a bizarre mix of jokes with alert call outs for danger that could possibly kill us.

Spending almost 12 hours a day atop the bike in such conditions, the sudden loss of weight and silence feels eerie.  

As I relax and let myself adapt again to what was once instinct, I smile at the feat that we had achieved. A little over 2,500kms with 24 riders. To put things in perspective,  the distance between the Easternmost and Westernmost points of the country is about 2933kms. This would put the Knights in a league of their own. Ah ! The Knights. What a journey it has been !

When I first got in touch with them about a year and half back, I considered them a group that was simply about the love of being on a new motorcycle. An excuse to go out and ride. A group with a similar hobby. 

I could not have been more wrong. 

To call the Knights a “group” would be an understatement, an insult, even. 

A group that treats its members through way of rules, equally applicable to all. A group where you concern yourself more with the man in front and behind you than yourself. A group that pushes you to be more, by constantly pushing its own boundaries. A group that leaves no man behind. 

Group ? No. 

Family.

As I ponder along, my subconscious smoothly pulls into third gear along the short highway stretch heading home.  

As I get home and greet Marko, my shepherd, my gaze is drawn to the array of gear – jacket, pants, saddle and tank bags – unwashed, hanging out to dry on my balcony. It is still wet from the torrent that met us as we reached Chennai on the sunset of the 17th August. 

More striking is the red mud, splashed across it in exquisite patterns, like the god that blessed this fertile peninsula wanted us to be his canvas.

On the first day, we had rode from Chennai to Hubballi, cutting across Krishnagiri, Bangalore and Belgavi. A whopping 750kms in a single day, with the merciless Chennai sun on us. By noon, we had already been on the bike for over 8 hours, and disturbed sleep to add on to it, had sprung a terrible exhaustion on me. My comms had switched off and I was struggling to stay awake. A dreadful realisation that you are so exhausted that your brain is shutting off to go sleep every time you blink. Highway hypnosis is a demon indeed. Oh, all this at a hundred plus kms an hour balanced on two patches of rubber, mind you. 

But bikers have a weird way of knowing when the team has hit their limits. A quick break and ensued and was met by roaring laughter. The whole damn team had been in the same state ! Some tea and snacks, and we were off again. In retrospect, I feel that this is a wall that every rider hits, similar to what marathoners face. Once you cross that, you could keep riding on and on. We had hit our wall and we had crossed it as a team. As night came on, we pulled into Hubballi, proud. This was the longest single day stretch ever, by the Knights. After a hot shower, sumptuous dinner and some amazing Peda, I let the darkness embrace me. 

The next day was a mere 300 odd kms to cover and it was mostly pleasant, virtue of us having entered monsoon territory. Cool breeze and buttery roads. Oh ! How would I explain this  someone who wonders how riding feels ? Come dear friend, ride, and find out for yourself. 

We stopped for lunch at Kolhapur, famous for its spicy Kolhapuri masala. We had an amazing feast (Misal Pav, Thali and more ! Thanks Maddy !) and we quickly set off. As we rode even closer to the mountains, our anticipation rose. A quick turn off the highway and we were suddenly in the midst of a stretch of green as far as the eye could see. In the fresh and ever present rains, the fresh smell of mud and foliage effortlessly ripped away the ever present cloud of dark and dreadful worries, guilt and thoughts that every man has lurking in his head. As we rode up, the mist rolled in and embraced us.

Fog lights and Hazards came on. 

There are certain moments that will etch themselves into your memory. This one tore itself into mine. Dying sunlight, mist so thick that you would hardly be able to see the bike in front of you. And yet, in the quiet stillness, the thumping growls of twenty four cruisers, all visibly seen only be virtue of the blinking hazards, cutting their way through the fog to announce their presence.  Rising and falling in tune with the winding mountain roads. The elated screams and laughter of exhausted men nearing the end of a long journey. Surreal beauty. 

As nightfall approached, as is custom, the team meets over dinner. Jokes and socialisation apart, a very important thing happens. 

The ride breakdown. Who did what ? Who messed up ? Who could do what better? Technique. And no person better to deliver it to you than one of the founders himself. Ex-Indian Navy Pilot Lieutenant Commander Santosh Krishnan. Santo, as he is fondly called, our master sweep. The man is brutally honest and is not one to mince words. By his own admission, he knows and is okay with people not liking him for this quality. But one forgets that the man is a soldier. No one cares for our safety more than he does. Everyone gets their due, including our dynamic captains, Naveen and Jaga. Like I said, the rules apply to all. If you can’t handle your mistakes being pointed out in front of the group, that is unfortunate. Within the Knights, no man is more or less. Your safety is paramount. As is the group’s. If you get chewed out, it is so that you improve and one day, you may be making the calls that will get your team safely back home. As dinner came to a close, came time for a moment close to my heart. 

What does it take to make a Knight ? When you read the group’s manifesto, it talks about owning the Honda. About competing a certain number of short and long rides with the group. Besides, that there is a small clause that talks about “other criteria”. To an outsider, it might look ill explained or poorly framed. Not everyone is Knighted. What is this all about ? Do you automatically qualify to Knighthood once you clear the ride stipulation ?

There are certain things that cannot be explained. And there are things that should not be. It would not do them justice. That you can drag your knee on a curve at 120 or that you’ve completed a tour of the Himalayas is hardly relevant. To be a Knight encompasses characters that are far beyond riding prowess and stamina. There are certain things that can be read in Santo’s anger when you make mistakes that endanger yourself, that can be read in constant bickering between Ghost and Thousif, the silent commands of Jaga, the smile from behind the visor that I and Naveen share, the constant inside jokes between Bart and the group and every time Jiju invites me for the next ride, every time Maddy tirelessly stops because someone drank too much water (I see you, Thousif) And in every new Knight I meet, there are pieces of these. And in all Knights, I leave a piece of me. 

As of 15th August 2023, I stand a proud Knight Ryder. And as always, I will continue to ride to the last mile.