We gassed up on the outskirts of town and headed out of Mudumalai towards the mountains to the East, into the rising sun. After a quick photo session under the Welcome to Mudumalai Tiger Reserve sign, we started along the part paved, part crater sized-potholed road and began to climb. Juz poined to the sign the read hairpin Curve 1 of 34.
Our alarm woke us from deep sleep at 6am, we would have sprung up out of bed if we hadn’t been as exhausted as we were. As it was, be slumbered on through the next snooze and finally rolled out of bed about half an hour later. We made coffee, packed up, and left the room to find Juz ready and waiting outside his room on the porch.

He greeted us with his beaming smile and helped us carry our bags over to the mule.
We stopped off in the town square, or rather the town roundabout, where the smell of freshly baked puffs and sweet rolls filled the air. Stopping outside the busiest, we dismounted and sat at the roadside on cracked plastic chairs watching the sun rise above the distant mountains as the mist dissipated. Our sweet milky Indian coffees arrived , and we dunked sweet samosas into the steaming liquid as tk tuks and overloaded jeeps honked,beeped and tooted around the roundabout.

We gassed up on the outskirts of town and headed out of Mudumalai towards the mountains to the East, into the rising sun. After a quick photo session under the Welcome to Mudumalai Tiger Reserve sign, we started along the part paved, part crater sized-potholed road and began to climb. Juz poined to the sign the read hairpin Curve 1 of 34.

Juz led us up and up into the clouds and beyond, hairpin after sweeping hairpin, the views becoming more and more magical at every bend. We pulled off at Hairpin no 29 or 30 to see the vast greeness beneath us form the Viewpoint. I turned round to take a picture of the haipin curves just in time to see catch trucks, one ascending and one descending , reach the curve immediately in front of us at the same time, the descending truck wholly on the wrong side of the road. Both trucks came to a screeching halt inches in front of each other. The drivers leaned out of their windows, shouting and jesturing wildly to each other until a bus coming thundering down the hill, forcing the ascending truck to back down.
We took our photos of the spectacular view, fields of carrots and cabbage, neatly laid out in patchwork patterns on the hills, dotted with brightly coloured pastel pink and emerald green stone cottages and farmhouses, and the road we had just ridden, snaking furiously along the side of the mountain.

We made a pit stop for lunch in Ooti, a mountain station nestled up in the hills, a bustling metropolis of tuk tuks, busses , cabs, carts, scooters and pedestrians all rushing somewhere, moving to the constant chorus of claxons, horns and hooters. We took refuge in a nearby café and studied the menu. Again, I had no idea what anything was, I liked the sound of a Chow Chow Bath, even better sounding was the Rava Umpa, the Ponga was a no-no, purely based on the sound of the name rather than the nature of the dish- I still don’t know what it is- but in the end I copied Juz and ordered a Vada, a simple spicy doughnut, which I knew at first bite would come back and haunt me at my next toilet visit. We filled our stomachs and then walked up the stairs to the ATM whereby we filled our wallets with 10,000 rupees each. 9,000 went into my secret wallet, whilst the remaining 1,000 went into my daily use wallet, aka muggers wallet, just carrying enough for gas, food, accomodation and water for a day. Prices had a tendency to rise upon the spectacle of a westerner rummaging through a wallet stuffed with cash, and I always found it god practice to only have what you need on you in case some corrupt official decided he wanted to lighten your cash load.

I bought a couple of plain buns-safe food- to avert any forthcoming hunger crisis, and we weaved our way around U-turning rickshaws and out of town, barely avoiding another tumble as a minibus almost took me out at a junction.
The road took us up and down mountains, switchbacks and hairpin bend after hairpin bend we climbed and descended, riding passed past monkeys, overtaking labouring trucks, and waving maniacal drivers to pass us.
We crossed the border in to Kerala and started down our first off road section, Juz was leading us to his house in Coimbatur, and as we rode through Silent Valley on the last leg of our ride, we saw the chimneys of the brick factorys rise from the horizon.
The intesity of the traffic increased the closer we drew to the city. After the quiet roads of the days ride, we were neither prepared nor pleased as the city slowly engulfed us.
We battled through the suburbs and into the city proper. Juz said he had a surprise for us on the way to his house, and an or or so after entering the city limits, we pulled into the Royal Enfield dealer.
I’ve arranged for you to test ride the new Enfield model, the best of the line, the Continental GT!
He introduced us to the manager, an old friend of his, and we filled out the forms so we could test drive this 500cc café racer. Phoebe was exstatic, pumped at the prospect of riding the GT, we walked outside, and waited as the manager, then two salesmen, and then finally the mechanic all tried in vain to to get the GT started- how about the Thunderbird? Enquired Juz, the Thunderbird, also a 500 looked in pretty poor shape, the seat was ripped and stuffing bulged out of the side, the wheels were rusting badly and the whole machine was covered in dust. Again, the team took turns in trying to kick start the thunderbird before wheeling out the 350 model. The same shape as the 500, but this one looked even sadder.
And these are their test bikes? I asked incredulously, don’t they keep them clean?
-They get dirty very quickly, replied the manager with a shrug.
By now, I had given up and was looking through the T shirts, the 350 started after the addition of a litre of petrol, and Phoebe jumped on, eager to get some cool breeze under her helmet-none of the Enfield helmets came in lady-size.
She sat astride the custom-looking, chopper style Enfield, and with a quick glance over her shoulder, she headed off down the highway on the test route explained to her by the manager.
I returned to my T-shirt hunting, picking out a blue “Made Like a Gun’ shirt for me and a red and white “Royal Enfield’ buff as a gift for Juz. There was zero availability on anything lady-size.
A few minutes later the Thunderbird returned, its rider grinning from ear to ear--Wow, that’s SO comfortable
-You want to swop?
-No chance, I love my Electra
Phoebe had fallen for the Electra in a big way, and I was going the same way with my black and white Classic.
15 minutes or so later, and the bill for my purchases was finally ready.
-I can’t imagine what a pain in the arse it would be to buy a bike if that’s how long it takes to buy a T-shirt
-Welcome to India, was Juz’s answer.
We rolled out of the dealership and through more of the city, trying to be as fluid as we could through the mental stream of suicidal tuk tuk drivers, nonchelant cows and blissfully unaware pedestrians. Busses was push passed us and then stop to allow a gaggle of passengers to jump abord or disembark, landing on the tarmac at a run in order to maintain their balance as the bus was already moving before the last passenger boarded.
On and on through his seemingly endless city we ducked and weaved, until we finally pulled off the dusty highway into a smaller back road, and from there, up a narrow road to Juz’s house.
His parents lived here, but unlike most Indian families, Juz had bought this one for his parents, as opposed to the more traditional way of the father buying property for the son as a wedding gift.
Juz had made some wise investments in his hometown and over the past 10 years had seen them flourish. This house was his gift to his parents and his brother.
His Mother and Father waved to us from the balcony as we entered the gate, and his brother ran down to help us with our bags.
We were shown to Juz’s room,Juz insisting that we take his bed , and Momma brought us banana fritters and Chai.
We sat and chatted, Juz translating, Momma said she wanted to see our hands.
-She really likes you guys, said Juz, and she wants to see your hands, she will prepare a mantra for you and see you futures, but in the morning, its OK with you? Only if you want.
-Sure, chirped Phoebe, excitedly.
Wary as I was about all this palm-reading, Tarot, horoscope, astrology malarky, I agreed to it too, there was something about Momma that made you feel really comfortable, safe, and happy. She had that same sparkle in her eye as her son, and a huge, effervescent smile that lit up her face, and those of her around us.
-She wouldn’t even be in this room with us if she didn’t get a good feeling from you, she won’t speak if she doesn’t like you, but for her to be like this, she really likes you, especially her, he said, pointing towards Phoebe.-She thinks you are a beautiful , special person.
-Ah , that she is indeed, I quipped.
We watched some awful Hindi soap with Juz and his family , ate a hearty meal of rice, dosa and gravy, and then made our way to bed to carry out our daily task of downloading, deleting, copying and charging our cameras before slipping off into a deep sleep, surrounded by bike parts, mazagines and maps.

After breakfast, Momma sat me down down and turned over my palms.
-Ah you loose your temper quickly, but very quickly you are calm again. Your life line is strong , but you spend more than you have, you make 1000 rupee, you spend 2,000. You are independent and you are accepting, you can adjust to who you are with, you can talk to anyone, and you like people. Your life gets better later in 5 years time, your goldern time is in your 50’s. Juz translated his mother’s soothsaying. Phoebe and I had both been nodding in agreement, and when she told Juz that my nose told her that I would be very rich very soon, and we all smiled, and Phoebe stilfled a giggle. My Jewish nose, of course I’d be rich!

Phoebe’s prediction was that should we be famous, loved wherever she went, and that we would be together for a long time. She’d have two kids- same as me- and live a long happy life, she would have some accidents, but all small, maybe three of them, but no harm will come. You are kind and your time for marrying will be late, maybe 27 , she said- late for an Indian, but way too early for Phoebe!
-You travel much, but have love with you always, wherever you go.
-She is very often correct, Juz told us when he had finished translating for Momma. Many people come to see her, from Dubai, from the city, and from all over.
She wrote out two mantras for both of us, writing in Sanskrit on gold paper, before wrapping them in sellotape and telling us to keep them close to us. I placed one in my back pocket and one in my wallet, and Phoebe put hers in her bumbag and jeans pocket.
We’ d ridden over 1,000 kms since leaving Arambol, and had promised to change the oil on Pritesh’s Classic at the 1.,000kms mark. Juz had arranged for us to take the bikes in before we left for a quick oil change, and, on Juz’s insistence, we were going helmet shopping for something better than the ‘buckets’ we were presently entusting our lives to. We dropped the Classic off and headed out on two bikes to the helmet store a coulpe of blocks away.
The only lady-size helmet was a cheap, pink, full face model, the only helmet not sized L or XL. Phoebe found a red, half face SteelBird with a clear visor that fitted her loosely, and with some adjsutments and the addition of a headscarf didn’t wobble too much. I didn’t seem into the two-size fits all category and wasn’t in the mood for shopping as my guts were once again in revolt and my stomach was cramping painfully. I waited outside in the shade while Phoebe completed her transaction, and Juz bought oil for the bikes.
We returned and swopped bikes, the classic had been drained and topped up, and now the electra was wheeled into the tiny garage, a tray placed under the engine, and the bolts removed for the oil to drain. Juz’s bike was dained outside the garage and the electra was topped up and wheeled out. The mechanic swiftly going about his routine.
He took the electra out for a test ride and came back shaking his head
-he says you need new brake shoes for the back brake, do you want him to fix it?
- I think that could be wise, I suggested,
-Yeah , definitely agreed Phoebe.
The bike went back in, the wheel came off and the back brake dissassembled. Juz rode back to the Helmet store to buy new shoes as we flicked through the mechanic’s scrapbook of rebuilds, restorations and custom bikes, oggling at the beauty of some of the early bikes from the 50s and 60s he’d restored over the years.
He showed us the pads, a few milimetres of steel was all that was left, barley enough to cover the shoe.
Juz’s bike was put back together and the mechanic went off on another test ride.
We drank chai together before paying our bill, the total for parts and labour for three hours work, two oil changes and a new set of brake shoes was 800 rupees.

It was much later than we had expected by the time we left the workshop, and we decided that to stay another night at Juz’s before heading to our next destination, Valparai, at the foot of another set of mountain roads, switchbacks and hairpins.

We tried taking Juz out for dinner, but were stonewalled once again.
-You are in my place here, you are my guests. He snatched the bill when it came and wouldn’t take our money. It had been this way in Bandipur too, but Juz was insistent. We couldn’t even buy a bottle of water, he was that militant with his policy.

We ate in the local restaurant again, and went back to the house for more storytelling, of bike journeys, tiger spotting and running for your lives from elephants on the road.

That night I dreamt of wild elephants,, of rounding a corner on the road and seeing two of these huge beasts slowly mooching towards me. In my dream I stopped , took out my camera, and took photos as the elephants posed for me , squirting water playfully at me with their trunks, and gently coming over to bless me by placing their trunks, one by one, softly on my head.
But Juz had stern warnings.
-They are animals, you know, we never know what they will do, sometimes they will run away, somethimes they will just ignore , but when they charge you, you just drop your bike and run for your life. If they see you run away, they will probably not chase you. He showed us some video clips of mishaps in the road with roaming elephants, one of his friend trying to pass an oncoming elephant on his scooter and barely getting by as the elephant decided to charge.
-You either U-turn and ride away fast or if the road is too narrow you have to drop it and run as fast as you can away from the elephant and just hope he stops, or, this could be very bad for you. These beasts are very different to the tame ones you have seen in other places. They are wild, and sometimes they are angry.