Motorcycling and I
Longest relationship of my life
Hailing from Haryana and being raised in a Punjabi family, my fate, like that of many young children in my community, was decided at birth. It is no accident that today, 28 years later, I ride a Royal Enfield Standard 500 (Bullet) with a smile on my face.
I was born in Haryana, did my schooling in Noida, and spent a couple of years in Mumbai. My world had changed enough for me to not demand a Bullet from my father. However, the Punjabi genes acted up strangely in my final year of graduation (2016).
Every Royal Enfield that zoomed past me evoked a feeling I struggle to describe. For lack of better words, I'll call it belonging.
I felt that I belonged to the bike. Not the other way around. A Bullet doesn’t belong to its rider. A rider belongs to the Bullet.
I remember spending hours watching videos of people talking about their experiences of riding a Bullet. I sought out every possible video featuring a Bullet and watched it with a smile on my face.
From documentaries like Old Delhi Motorcycles and Chasing the Bullet to watching video reviews by Zigwheels, Autocar, and Powerdrift, I would leave no stone unturned to catch a glimpse of my beloved.
Finally, my dad gave in, and on my 20th birthday, the first bike of the house arrived—a Royal Enfield Standard Bullet 500.
I bought it from a dealer close to my college. I still remember collecting my bike on my way back home. As I took the keys, I realized I hadn’t even taken a test ride!
Still, with my chest puffed out and the machismo that came as a free accessory with the bike, I kick-started my bike for the first time, pulled the throttle, danced in my head to the sweet exhaust note, and rode home with a grin and the posture of a town hero.
That evening, the rituals followed, and I was granted permission to take it to college the next day. Now, I am not the kind of person to get sold on media-fed dreams. I have always listened to my heart. But alas, the heart is a fool.
The next morning, I did the most Bollywood thing a Bulleteer could do.
I wore my prettiest shirt, my coolest denim, and ditched the train to reach college on my bike. The Bullet made its mark in no time. Fellow students turned heads, seniors nodded, and friends came over to give me a back-breaking hug.
That day, I thought to myself—such is the pride of a Bullet.
It would be foolish to assume that the heads turned for the rider when, in reality, it was the sweet exhaust note and the lion-hearted presence of the bike that commanded attention.
During my college days, I gradually started exploring Mumbai on my bike. I still remember my first ride to Sanjay Gandhi National Park. It felt like I had come too far with the bike. But in my mind, my goal was clear—to ride it as far as Nepal and Bhutan one day, and maybe even beyond.
But first, I had to pass several national, state, and city-level tests.
Throughout my final year of college, I rode my bike through every nook and corner of the city. After graduation, I planned to venture beyond Mumbai’s frontiers and attempt the beginner biker’s test—a ride from Mumbai to Lonavala.
A friend from Pune and I decided to meet midway in Lonavala. She took the train while I rode all the way.
To say I was scared would be an understatement. I felt like it would either be the last day of my life or the most memorable one yet. My parents were scared too. If you look at my forehead in the pictures from that day, you’ll see a tikka—my parents’ version of safety gear.
I am not the most religious person out there, but that day, I bowed to every god, asking them to protect me.
I faced every challenge possible that a beginner motorcyclist could encounter that day. From navigating heavy Maharashtra rains to dealing with zero visibility due to mist, from a massive roadblock on the highway to getting lost in random village routes—my anxiety levels were at an all-time high throughout the journey. I kept imagining the worst-case scenarios, and when I finally met my friend in Lonavala, I hugged her as if I had returned from the dead.
With my friend beside me, I felt safe and reassured that even if something were to go wrong, we would figure it out together. We spent a couple of hours riding through the lush green, rain-washed mountains of Lonavala. Riding my forest-green Bullet amidst the endless canopy of trees and vast green fields was an ethereal experience. The raw, unfiltered beauty of the landscape made every struggle and ounce of courage worth it. Every cell of my body felt replenished by that sense of freedom and adventure. At that time, riding to and from Lonavala felt akin to a world tour—because my world was still so small.
I came home drenched, cold, and exhausted, yet the smile on my face spoke volumes about the beauty of that ride. My parents had secretly hoped I would return and say, "Oh, I see what you meant all this while. A car or bus is more suited for long journeys." Instead, I surprised them by saying, "One day, I'm going to ride this bike all around my beautiful country."
I kept my promise—but it took time to build the endurance and experience for it. I went on several short-distance rides along the coast of Mumbai and into the many ghats and mountains of Maharashtra to prepare myself for long-distance riding.
Even though I was riding often, my experience with the Bullet was far from a smooth journey. Just as the bike is known for its vibrations, so was my journey of owning one.
Like most of my friends, my father had never been too interested in automobiles of any kind. So, whenever the bike threw tantrums—which was quite often—I was on my own. In the beginning, I relied on the company service centre, but as my warranty expired, I visited almost every mechanic in my locality to get my bike fixed whenever needed.
A Bullet is an expensive bike to maintain—especially if you haven’t been maintaining it properly. Like a partner who demands time, love, and attention, the Bullet, too, craved regular oil changes, chain cleanups, tank cleaning, and other minor upkeep. Having no prior experience of owning a bike, I took maintenance for granted and neglected my beloved machine.
It took me two years to understand the importance of proper upkeep. But once I did, my relationship with my bike improved significantly. Ever since I started taking care of it, it has never betrayed me and has always been a trustworthy companion. I got it serviced regularly, cleaned it every weekend, lubricated the chain, and ensured it was always oiled up.
There’s an economics to maintaining a motorcycle, something I was unaware of. I also didn’t realize how essential proper riding gear and equipment were—until I learned that neglecting them could cost me my life. Just as I was beginning to understand the importance of quality riding gear, the entire world shut down due to COVID-19.
During the lockdown, my bike, much like me, gathered rust. From March to August 2020, it sat idle, collecting dust while I dreamt of all the places I had hoped to ride. When restrictions eased, I vowed to make up for lost time and ride as much as I could as a form of revenge travel.
Like pre-COVID times, I resumed motorcycling—but this time with a more serious approach, treating it as the sport it truly is. I ventured into off-roading, which was an entirely different beast. My first off-road ride was so terrifying that I almost promised myself never to ride again. Navigating treacherous mountain roads without proper training was nerve-wracking, yet somehow, my bike and I managed to swim through those rough seas too. Luckily, I had people around—both online and offline—who guided and helped me along the way.
We would take our bikes to anything remotely resembling a road and then figure out ways to ride through the mud and muck. The goal was simple: to have fun, let go of our fears as motorcyclists, and come back as muddy as possible! We were literally kids in adult costumes. I also felt proud of my trajectory as a rider—from being afraid to ride in the monsoons to now intentionally planning rides in the rain, deep into dense jungles. If it weren’t for the motorcycling friends I met along the way, I would have never been able to be so experimental.
In November 2020, I left my job to travel around on my motorcycle. After years of practice, I finally decided to take on a long-distance ride. On December 5th, 2020, I rode from Mumbai to Hyderabad—a distance of 750 km—in 14 hours. I left at 4 AM and rode until 6 PM. I was heading to Hyderabad to volunteer at a permaculture farm, and while my motorcycle had no real purpose there, I wanted my best friend to come along.
During COVID, while everyone was learning new skills online, I ended up learning long-distance motorcycling virtually. Would you believe me if I told you that? If it weren’t for a video I watched during the pandemic, there’s no way I would have had the courage to ride 750 km in a single day. The video I’m referring to was a podcast by one of India’s most respected and famous auto journalists on long-distance riding. It made me realize that endurance motorcycling is a skill—not just a test of courage. I learned how proper planning and simple techniques could increase the likelihood of a successful ride multifold.
I rewatched the entire podcast while riding back from Hyderabad to Mumbai, covering another 750 km in 13 hours. When I returned home, safe and healthy after 1,500 km, I think my parents finally realized how important this was to me and how seriously I took precautions on my journeys.
Next, I rode to Goa for a few days. After Hyderabad, Goa felt easy. I wanted to keep riding, but with the looming second wave of COVID, I decided to return home in time.
The second wave tested my patience yet again, leaving my bike stranded for months. Little did I know, it was planning a revenge ride I wasn’t prepared for. During this time, I took up a remote job. Then, in October 2021, I came across an ad for a Level 1 Motorcycle Racing Training Program by TVS Racing School. Although I had never planned on becoming a professional racer, something about the event poster called out to me. I dialed the number, spoke to a TVS official, and within 15 minutes of seeing the poster, I had signed up and paid for the training. The only catch? It was happening on the other side of the country—in Chennai.
I had a month to plan my travel and debated between a flight and a train. Then it hit me—wasn’t I going for a motorcycling training program? Wouldn’t it be a shame not to ride there? I checked the map: 1,300 km with an estimated 24 hours of travel time. It was obvious that I couldn’t do it in one go, but then I noticed Hampi and Bangalore on the way. My plan was set—I would ride to Hampi, explore the ancient town, and then head to Bangalore before finally reaching Chennai for the training program.
The 700 km ride to Hampi took me 14 hours. I spent a week working remotely and exploring the ancient town before riding to Bangalore, where I met old friends and explored the city for another week. Bangalore was the farthest I had travelled from home on my motorcycle, and I felt incredibly proud of myself for making this journey on my own.
As the racing program approached, my excitement knew no bounds. The day before training, I reached Chennai and checked into a shady hotel near the race track.
I was the only participant who had ridden all the way from Mumbai. I parked my Bullet at the track, ready to switch to TVS’ tuned racing bikes. After a couple of theory sessions, we were finally allowed on the track. Everyone was impatiently waiting for their turn.
When it was my turn, I slowly entered the track and rode my bike with caution and care. Although it wasn’t the fastest, it was modified to be extremely lightweight and sounded quite loud. The bike didn’t have a speedometer so as not to distract us. I tried to go a little faster, and because of how the track was built, I started feeling like I was riding a jet plane on a runway, ready to take off at any moment. It was an exhilarating feeling. The tickling sensation in my stomach, the endorphins in my head, and the dopamine rushing through my bloodstream together gave me a high that was perhaps more fulfilling than anything else I had ever done in life.
I started to feel a lot more confident, and seeing the other riders around me ride effortlessly, I thought of trying to bend my bike on the curve so that I could scrape my knee on the ground—a mark of every racer.
When the next curve was around the corner, I braced myself, gave some acceleration, and started to lean. In no time, I had crossed my usual threshold. There was still a lot of curve to cover. I kept bending down gradually. I had my bike under control. I was almost about to touch the track with my knee when I heard a sound and, startled, I got up immediately. My bike went off track and, because of the speed, continued moving ahead into the grass off the field. No amount of effort could control the bike, and I crashed. It had rained a lot the previous day, so my bike and I were drenched in mud and muck. I picked up the bike and, with it, fragments of my broken confidence. While the bike was up and running like nothing had happened, it took me a few days to get my confidence back. That was the first crash of my life, and even though I was safe and unharmed, the fact that it happened during such an important event was a bit humiliating.
A crash is an important part of a motorcyclist’s journey. Somewhere deep down, we all know that we’re going to crash one day. And no matter how much you try to prepare for it mentally when it happens, it doesn’t just break your bike and bones—it shatters your confidence too.
I continued to ride after the crash, and by the evening, I was a certified Level 1 motorcycle racer!
That day, I also realized that perhaps racing wasn’t for me. Motorcycling definitely was, but not in this way. I enjoyed the thrill of being on a racetrack, and I might come back for a couple of sessions, but I couldn’t imagine myself as a racer. I loved travelling on my motorcycle, and that was it.
From Chennai, I rode to Pondicherry. Even though I had been to Pondicherry before, it was my dream to ride there on my bike through the famous East Coast Road.
From Pondicherry, I wanted to go all the way to Dhanushkodi (the southernmost point of the country), but I was too tired to travel further. I also had a long journey back home. Diwali was in 2 - 3 days, and my mother tried every emotional tactic to call me back home for the festival. I, being the rebel, tried every possible way to convince her otherwise, but finally, I gave up! The only problem was that Diwali was the day after I had decided to ride back home, meaning I had just a day and a half to reach Mumbai from Pondicherry—a distance of 1,400 km!
I did what I knew best—preplanned and prepared myself for the long ride ahead. I left Pondicherry at 4 AM the next morning and rode until sunset, covering 750 km to reach Hubli. I had already pushed my riding limits. My back was about to collapse, my buttocks were sore, and my hands were numb. I could barely keep my eyes open, and it was already sunset. As a general rule, I had decided that I would never ride after sunset, but to reach home, there was still 600 km to go, and I wondered how I would make it in time for Diwali. I would have reached by 7-8 PM the next day, but that would have defeated the purpose of riding all the way back home for the festival. I decided to take a break, eat something, refresh myself, and then decide.
Hubli to Kolhapur was exactly 200 km, and I wondered if it would be better to stop at Kolhapur for the night and then leave early morning for the remaining 400 km.
I wasn’t thinking with my mind but my heart and I decided to give it a shot. I rode from Hubli to Kolhapur without taking a single break—not even for water or washroom—and by 10 PM, I was in Kolhapur. When I looked at the odometer, I was surprised to find out that I had ridden 1,000 km in a single day. It was dangerous, and I don’t suggest anybody attempt it, but after losing all my confidence in the crash, I regained most of it by achieving this feat. Long-distance riding isn’t about courage or skill—it’s about discipline. I was proud of myself for pulling it off.
With just 400 km to go, I woke up at 4 AM the next morning and was home for Diwali by 12 PM!
This three-week journey gave me a glimpse of what it would be like to tour on my motorcycle. If it wasn’t for this trip, I wouldn’t have had the courage to dream bigger and plan for the motorcycle expedition I undertook the next year. The fact that I managed to do this along with a full-time remote job was surprising not just to my parents but to me too. It also made both me and my parents realize how important motorcycling is to me. Every penny I earned from my job, I saved to buy good-quality motorcycle gear and luggage. Just before I left for this journey, I had the complete kit.
In 2022, I planned the most adventurous trip of my life. From three weeks of riding across South India, it was now three months of riding across the treacherous roads of the Himalayas. I was free—no work, no job, no commitments, and also no network. The only plan was no plan, and the only task was reminding myself to just be.
For three months, I rode from Jaipur to Shimla, Spiti, Zanskar, Ladakh, and back to Jaipur, a distance of 5000+ km on the most treacherous and dangerous roads on Earth. I came home after three months and slept nonstop for three days.
It seems like I have already written 4,000+ words. I’m not sure how much that amounts to in reading time, but if I start writing about my motorcycling journey in the Himalayas, it might go beyond an hour of reading! I could fill pages for every single day I was on the road during those three months. In fact, my first book is exactly about that. I’ll complete it soon. If you’d like to read about the motorcycling journey in the Himalayas in an encapsulated newsletter, let me know in the comments, I’d love to write about it.
Like the Ship of Theseus, my bike has seen many of its parts change over the years. Come to think of it, in the past nine years, I too have evolved into a completely different person.
However, when I sit on my bike, give it a nice kick, pull the throttle, and take it for a spin, it still purrs like the tiger it is—and that’s enough proof that it’s the same ship, and I, the same captain.
Thank you for being a witness to my relationship with my motorcycle and for allowing me to share my stories with all of you.
I invite you to reflect and write on the following prompt:
If the vehicle that carried you through life—whether a motorcycle, bicycle, car or even your own two feet—could write you a letter, what would it say?
As a feature of all my newsletters, I share one song, one book, one plant-based meal, one film/video that inspired me, and some photographic updates from my life.
Song: Maanu’s new song is out!
Book/Newsletter: I am reading The Stranger by Albert Camus
Meal: I enjoyed having this Vegan Pizza with my friends at a cafe nearby. Cafes in Bir do not have Vegan Cheese but if we bring vegan cheese and provide them, they’re happy to customise!
Plant Based Pizza and other delicacies Film/Video: Loved this perspective on wisdom.
Photograph(s): Photos of the evening and night sky from a nearby property
Read my other newsletters :
The story of moving to the mountains
Read my short story :Compilation of all recommendations :
Video recommendations by Creative Writing Laboratory
Music recommendations by Creative Writing Laboratory
Books read by Creative Writing LaboratoryFree Journaling eBook:
Last year, I compiled a journaling ebook for myself for times when I feel I have nothing to write. I am offering it to you for free. Whether you’re starting your journaling journey or feeling stuck in a creative block, this guide will help you find your way.
Download your journaling eBook here.Thank you for reading my work
Rishabh Khaneja
Creative Writing LaboratoryInstagram | Substack | LinkedIn | Creative writing workshops
Loved every bit of this from start to end :)
Beautiful motorcycle diaries Rishabh.. enjoyed reading it… speedy race tracks to quaint and peaceful Bir.. from thrill to slowness… seems you have seen it all and lived it full🙂🙂!!
(you crossed Hubli in your journey!!! That’s where I lived growing up..( that’s my dad’s place)!! I finished my school and college there before moving to Bangalore. )