12/30/2023 0 Comments Truth unveiled 777 youtube![]() With legs akimbo and deep, MotoGP-like turns, the guy struck me as an older, wiser Valentino Rossi. The next day, as we zigzagged up the 17,480-foot Tanglang La, I made a point of watching him ride. ![]() I believe humanity is held together by little moments of kindness and grace, and this was one of them. All without a word, or making me feel dumb, and I never needed help getting the bike down again. ![]() He strolled over, smiled and, grasping the left handlebar with his left hand and the seat bar with his right, gently rocked the bike forward onto two wheels. This is embarrasing to admit, but I had no idea how to get my 408-pound ride back down without dropping it and domino-ing a whole row of motos like Pee-wee Herman outside that biker bar during his Big Adventure - except no amount of “Tequila” dancing would save me.Īs I futzed futilely, Vittorino noticed my distress. Walking out into the bright sunlight for the second day of riding, I saw our mechanic, Rohit Kumar, had put all the bikes up on the more stable center kickstands, front wheel on the ground and back wheel up. But he and his blonde companion, Anna, the only female rider, seemed so excited, who was I to judge? An idiot, it turns out. One rider I had my doubts about was Vittorino, a lanky white-haired gent who spoke only Italian and was noticeably older than most of the crew. These jaunts have since gone everywhere from Iceland to the Atacama Desert, part of an uncommon bond between a brand and its superfans. Roman, who coached me through some technical turns, owns a BMW GS and tackled the inaugural Dainese expedition, a trip through Sardinia, in 2018. Soft-spoken Roland, an Austrian who shared great advice about feathering the clutch, competes in trials on those funky seatless bikes that can surmount insane obstacles. In both conversation and motion, I came to realize pretty much everyone was way more experienced and skilled than I was. The Italians and Austrians often kibitzed in their native tongues, whilst the even-keeled German (Dirk), the effervescent Russian (Roman), the friendly Frenchman (Collin) and the wide-eyed American (me) chatted in the only language everyone could speak (English). Language proved to be a barrier, outside and inside our riding crew. When everyone plays with a similar reactive rhythm, the cacophony becomes a symphony - or perhaps a really good jazz show. But when (admittedly dangerous) conditions leave the lines undrawn, it’s easier to see the truth: You’re a musician. ![]() When order is enforced by numerous lanes, signs and patrol cars, it’s easy to mistake yourself for a competitor. The key to survival, I soon realized, is the same one I employ pedaling a fixie through New York City’s busy streets: be super aggressive, hitting every hole hard and popping out quickly. Driving (or riding) in India demands a paradoxical mix of tactical patience and life-or-death urgency. No one - besides the cows - is cruising, though. I saw a truck back up a hundred feet so another could squeeze by on a narrow dirt path, while we bikers would jam on the brakes to let a casual cow cross the street before motoring on. Throughout the trip, hulking tour buses and military rigs would pause to let our little peloton scoot through the smallest of gaps. We were actually cooperating to help everyone get where they were going. We honked our horns more in that half hour than I had in entire decades, but these were not angry bleats. What I brought back were lessons not limited to motorcycling or mountains or masala, but truths that are right at home on the streets of New York or, really, anywhere else the road goes. In retrospect, it’s the surprises and hiccups I experienced along the way - like an unintentional bike baptism - that have stuck with me most. Thankfully the bike was undamaged, while I was muddied (and frustrated) but unbowed. With a mix of Italian and Austrian exhortations, fellow riders helped me to my feet. Sure, my off-road skills are slight, but what can’t be conquered with a little determination, 7,000 miles from home, in view of the most majestic mountain range on the planet? Clad head-to-toe in top-notch Italian moto gear, straddling a shiny Royal Enfield Himalayan Scram 411, I would rumble hundreds of miles through remote villages and over dizzying mountain passes if not with ease then at least with dignity. Such a moment was not exactly what I envisioned when setting out on the trip of a lifetime: the 2023 Dainese Expedition Masters motorcycle adventure through the Himalayas of North India. Seconds later, ker-splash! I was sideways, semi-submerged in the knee-deep river. As I was standing up on the pegs to better negotiate the uneven terrain, I couldn’t stick out a foot to steady myself. Ahhh shit, I thought as my front tire got caught up in the jagged rocks underwater.
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