🌃 The Night Before – A Silence I Still Remember
It was the night before the ride from Mangalore to Chennai. A strange kind of calm took over our house. Mom knew I was leaving in the morning. No big talks. No over-the-top goodbye. Just her quiet eyes holding back a storm. I had finished my night shift by 3:30 AM. My head was heavy. Body exhausted. But sleep? Nowhere in sight. I’ve been living like that for a while. Even if I try to rest, it just… doesn’t happen.
5:30 AM came. I got ready. My Pulsar N160 was freshly serviced, shining like it knew we were about to do something big 😂.
Mom had tears. Dad stayed silent. That kind of silence that says more than words ever can.I looked at them one last time. And I left.
Now when the Road Spoke Back – Started late. Took the Sakleshpur–Hassan–Bangalore route. It was all broken roads, detours, dust. Felt like the highway itself didn’t want me to go. But once I passed Sakleshpur… the road opened up. Smooth. Fast. For a few minutes, everything was quiet. Just wind, engine, and me. Cruised steadily. My bike isn’t a tourer, but at 70–80 km/h, it felt perfect. Took breaks every hour. Not just for the bike, but because I hadn’t slept in over a day.
Near Hassan, I almost fell asleep while riding. Drifted toward the roadside block without even realizing. Woke up just in time.
I stopped immediately. Heart pounding. Hands shaking.
That moment scared me more than anything else. But I didn’t stop.
I couldn’t. Because this wasn’t just a ride.
It was something I needed to finish — for myself.
Made it to Nelamangala. Booked a small room. Ate. Bought sweets for colleagues. Finally rested.
Day 2 is When the Real Struggle Began – Woke up early. Bike felt off. Took time to start. Thought it was just cold. Started riding on the Mysore–Chennai Expressway. Few hours in, battery warning light came on. Stopped. Turned the key. Pressed the ignition.
Nothing.
Heart dropped. No kick-start. Tried using tools. Spanner. A bit of luck. It started. But the battery light stayed on.
I told myself: Don’t stop now. Kept riding.
Crossed Bangalore. Same issue again. Bike gave up. Changed the battery — ₹1600 gone
(WT Fluff?)
Rode about 150 km. Thought I was in the clear.
Nope. Near Vellore, it happened again. This time, everything died. Battery, ABS, lights, engine, brakes. Nothing worked. Just me, My helmet who knew all my secrets and worries and a dead machine on the side of the highway 😢.
🧍♂️ Alone on the Highway — But Not Really
Called NHAI. Asked for help.
Stood there in the heat. Phone in hand. Shade. No people.
But somehow, I wasn’t panicking. Felt like someone up there was watching. Felt like Mom’s prayers had wrapped themselves around me.
A mechanic arrived. Spoke only Tamil. I didn’t understand a word. He didn’t understand mine. But somehow… we made it work.
He said he’d tow the bike 20 km to the showroom in Vellore. I agreed.
It was Sunday.
Showroom was closed.
Stayed in a ₹600 guesthouse. Sat alone. Staring at the fan and old TV model which ws playing something which I never gave enough attention to.
Not sad. Not angry. Just… still.
🔁 One Week Later – The Return
A week later, went back to Vellore. This time with a friend — colleague turned brother — on his Hunter 350.
Picked up my bike. Bajaj had fixed the issue. But gave no explanation. The ABS light was still ON. They told me, “You didn’t tell us to fix that.”
Bro, how would I know what to fix when the bike was literally dead?
Still, I rode back to Chennai. This time — no electrical issues. Just the ABS not working. My friend was with me. That helped. That ride back? Quiet, deep, with a few smiles.
Reached PG by 12 AM. Gave the bike to another service center the next day. Didn’t want to take any more chances.
📅 Today – A Small Win
And today… as I write this… I got my bike back. Properly serviced. They still didn’t explain what caused the issue.
No one could say why the alternator wasn’t charging the battery.
Maybe it was just one of those strange days where machines break down and
men are forced to figure out how much fight they have left.
💭 What I Learned
This wasn’t just a road trip. This was a crash course in life — in patience, pain, trust, fear, and faith.
Every time I thought I couldn’t go on, I did.
Every time the bike stopped, I didn’t.
Every time the heat burnt my skin and my hope dried up, I still stood there — believing.
If my helmet could speak… it wouldn’t just tell you about the ride — it would whisper the pain, the fear, the strength, and those silent tears I never showed. Maybe then, you’d cry too… or at least feel the weight that lived behind every mile I crossed.
No ride can teach you this.
Only life on the road can.
🙏 If You’ve Read This Far
Thanks for riding with me — not on a bike, but through my experience. I didn’t write this to impress anyone. I wrote this to remember. And to tell myself — I didn’t quit.
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