A Rebel Yell in India

Driving from Thrissur towards Highway 17, the ride is smooth and the rickshaw is running like a charm. It is peaceful and one is able to enjoy the lush scenery and the smiling, approving faces of India's people who applaud us as we pass by in our painted Chariot.

A bus approaches. He is in our lane trying to pass the truck in front. There is an old man waiting for a bus on the shoulder of the road. The bus is unrelenting. Bennett is forced off the road at high speed onto the rocky shoulder. We are off-roading in a rickshaw for nearly a hundred meters. The old man is impressed. We hear his enthusiastic rebel yell from behind as we pull back onto the road and contine our journey north.

Posted at 10:00AM Dec 29, 2006 by D Bums Comments[0]

Bennett!! The Pole!!! -- The Wounding of the Chariot

Bennett's go at the rickshaw. It is not as intuitive as one might think. Bennett starts the rickshaw. The throttle sticks. Bennett is not used to the location of the footbrake. Chariot hits steel pole and comes to a stop; it is scarred and sports a new dent in the front.

The linkage cable on the throttle becomes dislodged. We fiddle around with it for the next two hours and have another late start. Poor Bastards!!!

Posted at 08:00AM Dec 29, 2006 by D Bums Comments[0]

Shiva the Destroyer

The road to Thrissur is marked by sharp curves and an abundance of potholes which seem to magnetically attract the three wheels of our rickshaw. Bouncing along the highway with the infamous Indian traffic is a hair raising experience. Catastrophe awaits precipitously around the corner. A few kilometers faster around a turn and Shiva's hand of destruction can snuff out the D(harma) Bums. We stare helplessly at potential tragedy as a bus comes careening around the corner; it's backside struggling from fishtailing and wiping out the chariot of d bums in the approaching lane.

Night approaches and sheer madness ensues. People and animals are everywhere along the roadside in the darkness of the night. Traffic obeys no rules and the horn is the only defence against imminent death. We pull into Thrissur, find a hotel, eat a meal, and drink to calm the nerves frayed by initiation into driving in India at night. Poor Bastards!!!

Posted at 07:00PM Dec 28, 2006 by D Bums Comments[0]

Mad Dash to Edapally, uh, Thrissur - Part 2

Somewhere on the road to Edapally through Ernakulum, we fell off Indian Highway 17. The road signs are scant and difficult to process. We are absolutely lost after barely two hours in our proposed journey through India.

After crossing several of Kerala's bridges while being entranced by its natural beauty, we decide to stop, stretch, and ask for help. All around us, the lush palm groves line the waterways and inlets of the Malabar coast. The scenery is overwhelming and being absolutely lost in Kerala's beauty brings on a certain serenity and resignation.

We ask a group waiting by a bus for help. Luckily, they are the bus' crew and readily offer assistance. The bus driver, a kind man with an unfortunate hairpiece--it looks like a flat spool of black thread attached to his skull--invites Bennett to ride along in his bus while I follow in back.

We make it back to the highway and proceed on the highway north. Only after a few kilometers, do we realize we are not headed towards Edapally. Rather, we are headed to Thrissur on Indian Highway 47.

All right, to Thrissur then!!! Poor Bastards!!!!

Posted at 05:00PM Dec 28, 2006 by D Bums Comments[0]

Mad Dash to Edapally - Part 1

      

Having applied the base colors on our rickshaw and having seated Bhindi and Jaipuri, our traveling angels, we were set to begin our mad dash to Edapally. Because of the morning ceremonies and the afternoon cricket, the start of the rickshaw run ran past noon and everyone was off to a late start. Many teams expressed concerns of finishing if they took the west coast route through Goa and chose the eastern shores instead through Madras.

We stayed with our plan and made a mad dash to Thrissur upon receiving the paperwork required for the journey. Leaving Fort Kochi proved a great challenge. Being unfamiliar with the area, we circled many times around Kochi trying to find a route out to Ernakulum and onto Indian Highway 17. All the while, we worked through many start-stop cycles on the rickshaw (why the hell is neutral between first and second gear!!!) as we were learning how to drive it using the potentially tragic method of trial by fire.

After finally locating the proper route from Fort Kochi to Ernakulum, we experienced our first breakdown on the bridge connecting the two regions. The engine stalled and we could not get it restarted. Two rickshaw drivers appeared behind us and proceeded to fix our rickshaw. (This was just the first of many gracious and kind acts we would experience on our initial run. Thank you people of India!!). Shortly, thereafter we drove through Ernakulum towards Edapally.

Posted at 02:00PM Dec 28, 2006 by D Bums Comments[0]

Prelude to Thrissur

    

This is the official start of the Rickshaw Run. Many of the rickshaws had just arrived the previous evening so pimping them was a bit difficult. We were told to arrive at the Gujarati Cricket Club across from the Jain temple at the break of dawn to pimp our rides.

Having visited the Cafe Del Mar the previous evening with some of our fellow rickshaw nuts and an independent film crew, the early morning start was a most unattractive proposition and one which we rejected upon suggestion. (We were later told by team Blunderbus, a nice pair of chaps from London, that we did well not to show up so early; nothing was ready).

The Kochi "tea" was abundantly and enthusiastically imbibed, while Sylvia, a member of the film crew, chose a fish and prepared it with the aid of the Cafe's staff, who had invited her into the kitchen so that they could practice vocalizing their limited range of crude propositions on her. The fish was fabulous. Thank you Sylvia.

The evening closes with the sounds of thumping beats echoing off the walls of a nearby mosque. One of the Kochi locals informs Bennett that he likes to dance. Bennett asks if he feels the beat. At this point, the party is raging. The local men of Kochi (not an Indian woman in sight) get funky in the Cafe plaza in a dazzling array of moves. As later noted by a member of Mad Dog and Englishmen, there is no word for homophobia in Hindi.

Posted at 12:00AM Dec 28, 2006 by D Bums Comments[0]