Another early start was needed for our 250km ride to Mysore, the ancient summer seat of the Raj. It was a long, dusty transit route that day, through frantic and frenetic traffic in the towns. I thought I was about to see the first fatality of the trip when some clown of a rider forced his way past me and then cut in sharply. He then pulled out again to overtake a row of vehicles and immediately met a lorry coming the other way. A big rear wheel skid and a broadside slide ensued (at least he trod on the back brake pedal and not the right-foot gear lever of his Enfield Bullet), but he somehow got through the gap and lived to boast about it later.
Later that afternoon, on a short stretch of dual-carriageway, I encountered a vehicle coming towards me in the fast lane. Remember, this is India, where anything can happen on the roads. As such, a bike’s horn is part of its self-defence system. Dee’s vibrated loose and fell off, and we managed to stop and retrieve it, but for the rest of the day she felt that a vital part of her
