Going from Satna to Khajuraho on a motorbike with a stupid, drunken Indian: what a stupid idea!
I meet three lovely, funny, friendly Indians who offer me tea, cakes and good conversation. I test my new sim card by calling Hashish who, I don’t forget, is waiting for my call
Everyone looks at us, both amused and dismayed to see him pitifully manoeuvring the motorbike, his gait swaying. I can’t stay here, it’s more of a camp than a service station.
It’s almost midnight, the road is all straight and deserted until the end, one or two towns along the way at most.
It’s quite cool now, I’m cold. I pull my thick and fortunately wide canvas trousers from my bag and slip them over my long shorts. I grab a jacket and a long scarf to protect my head. I can feel that the adventure is going to have many twists and turns and that it is well saddled.
No problem, no problem, no problem
It’s true, it’s true, I should never have gotten back on the bike. But we’re off again. I talk to him because I’m afraid he’ll fall asleep and I tap him on the shoulders when he forgets to pull over and a truck comes up in front. He accelerates, revs up, slaloms, slows down, paces, fighting not to fall off the bike, the engine under-revving, he rolls in the middle, to the right, to the left, into the ditch…
Each time I grab his arm to steer the bike to the side of the road.
Once, twice, three times…
No problem, no problem, no problem, bis repetita
He stops on the side of the road without explanation. Actually, he needs to pee.
He breaks his kneecap in the bushes, gets up, falls down again and it lasts ten minutes, fifteen minutes.
Then he leaves again, with a twisted eye but still smiling and sure of himself, and he looks better now. But no. On the road, the trucks pass and pass again… I start to build up pressure.
This little game lasts for a good hour and after three narrowly avoided trucks, I come to the most interesting one, Hashish declares his love for me, is madly in love with me.
He say “scuse me, I, I… I love youu“. Between the trucks, the wandering hands, the cold that freezes me and the incredible stupidity of the situation, Hashish is firmly determined to declare his love to me. Fine.
He is convinced that I am lost without him, that he is here to save me. That he has to keep his promise (?) above all else, besides an unconscious man, I’m facing a real jerk, I might as well be talking to a haystack.
My recognition is going to be staggering. I get angry “NO NO NO AND SUPER NO”
It’s time to take action and take control of the stage
His eyes turn evil. I’m cold, I’ve been on the train for eight hours, it’s been a long day, that’s for sure, but at this point I’m ready to break him in two if he tries to get his way. I’m not afraid, he’s so pathetic I’m sure I’ll win the fight.
I divert his attention and he calms down a bit. I try to figure out.
I could get off the bike, leave him there, walk as far as possible, stop a truck…
I can’t think of any reasonable solution. Walking alone at night on a road like this, I’d end up like a minced steak embedded in the tarmac, and the truckers if one of them stopped… I don’t fell confident. I feel guilty in more ways than one: I made a phone call, I got on the bike. And then I feel responsible: if I leave Haschich in this state, all alone, he won’t see the morning light.
Enough is enough, I take the handlebars
Third pee break, still haggard, Hashish staggers to the side of the road. I take advantage of this to take the power and grab the handlebars. I struggle to start the engine, to get acquainted with it, but I have time because a few meters away my driver is struggling in the brambles once again.
The super wide tank prevents me from seeing where to put my feet, the rear brake doesn’t work, I stall a few times… and end up making the engine snore.
Hashish comes back. I’m not kidding at all, now I’m driving!
Miraculously, he complies. My little backpack on the tank is a huge hindrance to driving but I don’t want to give it to him. In it is the computer, the camera, my papers, everything important. He could drop it on the road and not realise it until twenty kilometres later.
A girl on a motorbike, carrying an Indian, is not something you see every day, let alone every night
He sticks to me for the first ten minutes… but then, fortunately, he snores. I elbow him so he doesn’t fall off on the way. I’m leaning on the tank because he weighs all his weight plus the bag, which makes my position a bit painful. I have to manage it little by little.
It’s freezing cold. We cross wet wooded areas, the icy wind penetrates my fleece jacket. No gloves, no helmet, my hands are cold. Fortunately, the road is quite good which is quite exceptional in India, I am lucky.
It’s almost two in the morning, I don’t know how many kilometres we have left to go but I’m sure we’re not there yet
It is almost three o’clock in the morning. I sink into a sleep of at least thirty eight tons
A little tea on the road, sunrise on a lake, it rests a little the emotions
We stop to drink a tea. The Indians are curious, kind, and crowd around our strange team. The day breaks, the women carry the wood, the Indians drive the oxen wisely harnessed to their carts. The scenery at breakfast is grandiose: the magnificent path, the light through the forest, the monkeys on the road, the reflections of molten gold on the water of the lakes.
I feel surprisingly calm, the danger has passed, I have crossed the night without damage. I’m going to pick up my bag, find a hotel, shower, change my clothes, have breakfast and sleep.
I’m going to nurse my wounded ego for having put myself in such stupid situation and laugh about this adventure if the shame leaves me a little.
A strange obsession kept me up all night: I don’t want to die this way
I don’t want my children to write as an epitaph “she was too stupid to let herself be driven by a drunken Indian in the middle of the night on the most dangerous roads in the world“. No way.
I’m still alive, I didn’t lose anything along the way. I’m fine. I just wonder how I’m going to tell my mother without her starting to cry, but maybe it’s better not to say anything.
The moral of the story is that there are decisions you regret even when you get away with them, and it’s not just about ego. Looking back, I think that my confidence in my ability to handle difficult situations really prevented me from correctly assessing the situation. So having confidence is good, knowing how to say no to bad situations without letting guilt take over is much better.
Travel makes you wiser !
When I book my boat ticket for an overnight crossing in Thailand, I really don’t know what to expect…
