During the course of the rally I saw the long-suffering Enfields dropped into 4-foot ditches, parked underneath buses, ridden up sheer rock faces and-joy of joys!-submerged in human excrement in an open city sewer. In all, 55 bikes went down. The mechanics simply walloped them straight and the Enfields would chug off royally for another day's senseless battering.
But don't assume Enduro India is just a crashfest. Not a painful one, anyway. Apart from one broken leg, all the crashes were minor tumbles. Chaos is, after all, simply part of everyday Indian life, and something the organizers encourage rally participants to embrace. Even so, the organizers' concern for safety is evident; I've never seen more medics rushing around. The rally's a great place to graze your knee, because within 30 seconds three people would be washing your wound and making a frightful fuss. At one point the chap who broke his leg (a crew member, not a customer, please note) was surrounded by four women, all cooing and mopping his brow. Jeez.
Speaking of women, there is a small group of hardcore female riders, even though the majority of participants are males. For example, Anna Beazeley ironically won the Biggest Balls prize for the not-inconsiderable feat of riding her Enfield farther up a mountain single-track than any of the men.
"I was bloody scared before I came here," admits Anna. "The whole thing about riding a bike in India was a daunting prospect. It didn't help my nerves that by the time we had arrived, one of the female medics had managed to fall off and break her wrist. And when we were leaving the hotel on the first day, the manager said he was very surprised to see girls riding by themselves. He said girls in India don't ride, and certainly not on an Enfield Bullet. So I said, 'Well, they do now!'"
On day three we climb to 8000 feet through the tea plantations of Munnar. It is so mind-bogglingly beautiful that a group of us dismount and stare at the scene in silence for 30 minutes. If Adam and Eve were here, they'd remark, "Ah, Eden. It's been awhile." Honestly, the greens of the tea and blues of the jacaranda trees are so vivid in these parts of India that they look almost unreal, and at some point I expected to see Oompa-Loompas bobbing across this Willy Wonka landscape of color.
The next morning we ride through the religiously fervent area of Palani. British Supersport racer Rhys Boyd discovers a Hindu temple to explore and, along with his buddy Russ, finds himself in the middle of a severe religious experience.
"There were temple guards with batons yelling at us to take our boots off, stand over there, keep your head down, don't talk," Rhys said. "We had absolutely no idea what was going on. Apparently some of the women were about to enter a trance and stick long needles through both cheeks. Then an Indian lady, seeing our plight, made sure we didn't get beaten for doing the wrong thing.
"There was this massive emerald in the middle of the altar that sat atop the tomb of a god who died 3000 years ago, and yet this guy was apparently alive and well and telling them what to do. The sun was blazing in through the windows and bouncing off the emerald-it was straight out of an Indiana Jones movie." Rhys and Russ made it out in one piece and with all their cheeks intact.
The following day, Enduro India moves up a gear. After the jaw-dropping views of the first few days, those who want to can crack the throttle some more and enjoy some hard riding. By now all the riders have found buddies of the same skill level, and if you pull over to indulge in a bit of roadside curry you'll see packs of Bullets come thudding past, four at a time and 10 minutes in between. As the pace quickens the locals love it, waving and cheering wildly as Enfields rattle past, sidestands and exhausts scraping white lines across the tarmac. They've never seen anything like it.
Stopping anywhere near a school means you're going to get mobbed. One group takes an unwitting break next to the biggest school in Cochin, and the next thing they know some 1200 kids are clamoring for attention and pens. Pens, you see, are the big tip out here. If you give them sweets, you'll start a pint-sized riot as the ravenous kids go nuts for them. But give them pens and there's a bit more decorum. Plus it actually helps them with their schooling.
A great deal of the rest of Enduro India is a blur, to be honest. There are many great moments, but here are just a few: Following event organizer Simon and mad South African Mike Glover flat-out down the NH47 (one of the most dangerous roads in India, where 13 people are killed in accidents each week) and laughing like hyenas every time a bus tries to murder us. The limitless spice and flavors of genuine Indian curry, which is nothing like the brown slop they serve at your local Indian restaurant. And, of course, John Garner (known simply as John the American) dropping his Bullet in the city sewer within 300 yards of leaving the hotel in the morning.
"I don't know what happened," he said. "The bike was spluttering and when I looked up there was nowhere to go." Uh, you turned the fuel off, John ...
There are cheaper and far less demanding ways to see India by motorcycle. Several operators run similar riding events in that part of the world, but it's questionable if they'll have the same degree of organization, and they certainly don't raise $250,000 for charities such as the World Wildlife Fund and the Rainbow Trust. Enduro India, though, is far more difficult to pigeonhole. It's a rally, a tour, sometimes a bit of a race, and everything in between.
"I feared Enduro India was going to be nothing more than a bunch of aging hippies in tie-dye shirts on a nostalgia trip," said Martin Batson, a 47-year-old drainage manager from Southern England. "But I cannot think of a better way to experience Southern India and the sights, thrills and occasional spills than on a Royal Enfield."
For information on the 2006 Enduro India and new Enduro Africa events, go to www.enduroindia.com