What happens when 23 riders take on 2,500+ kms across three states?
A mini adventure book in the making.                    

Kick-start 

Everyone is a Rider Until the August Ride Comes – It’s more than just a line.

It’s a warning, a challenge, a truth every Renegade knows.

Weekend spins, breakfast runs, even long Sunday loops — they make you a rider.

But the August ride?

That’s where you find out if you really are one.

August means endurance.

It means testing machines against heat, rain, and relentless miles.

It means testing men against themselves — their patience, stamina, and spirit. It means six days of grit, sweat, laughter, sore backs, and inside jokes only the highway can write.

This year, the compass pointed East. Destination: Odisha. Two days to conquer the tarmac, two days to bow before history and divinity — Puri, Konark, Chilika, Udayagiri and Khandagiri. Two days to find our way back, battered but bonded.

This ride was not just about distance to be covered, but to find out what distance does to you. 

 

Behind the scene grind

Big rides don’t begin at ignition — they begin quite ahead of the D-Day.

It begins weeks before — in garages, workshops, and in late-night WhatsApp chats that never stop buzzing.

For the Renegades, preparation was as important as the ride itself. Each bike was inspected for major wear and tear — chains tightened, oils changed, brake pads swapped, filters checked. Tires were given extra scrutiny; they had to be tough enough to take on 2500+ kms of unpredictable tarmac, gravel, muck, and sudden rains.

Riders, too, went through their own checks. Gears that had seen better days were repaired, refurbished, or replaced. Gloves upgraded, rain liners tested, helmet visors cleaned or swapped. Saddle bags, bungee cords, hydration packs — everything was laid out like a soldier’s kit before battle.

It wasn’t about vanity. It was about survival. On a ride like the August run, one small oversight could mean a big problem on the road. Because the August ride is not forgiving. When you take it on, you don’t just carry your luggage — you carry your preparation, your discipline, and the trust of the brother riding beside you.

By the time D-Day arrived, machines and men stood equally ready — tuned, tested, and waiting for the throttle to twist.

🛣️ Day 1: The Chase Begins

Route: Chennai to Tuni (~760 kms)
Start Time: 4:30 AM
Distance Covered: Brutal. Fulfilling.
Ride Motto: Don’t look at the destination. Just survive the next hour.

In the shadows of dawn, at 4:00 AM sharp, 23 riders of the Chennai Renegades assembled for the riding brief. The mood was electric but disciplined. The brief itself was crisp — we’d all gone through this drill many times before. Safety, formation, signals, and refreshment points. A nod from the ride Captain was all it took.  

We kept reminding us that the ride was termed as ‘Endurance Ride’ for the sheer distance to be covered over the ride but the destiny had it own plans on surprising us and giving us additional challenges.

What made the morning even more special was the presence of a few non-participating members who turned up at the flag-off point. They weren’t riding with us this time, but they came to see us off, wish us luck, and share that last-minute motivation. Their cheers, handshakes, and backslaps sent us off with double the energy — a reminder that even when not on the saddle, a Renegade’s spirit rides along.

Helmets went down, engines came alive, and in no time, the Renegades rolled out — one formation, one purpose.

But the road had its own plans.

Barely 30 minutes into the ride, the skies began to tease with a drizzle. Not heavy enough to bring out the rain liners, but enough to create pools of water on the highway. That’s when it happened — my shoes were soaked through from the splash of the bike ahead and the stagnant water on the road. Cold, squishy, and uncomfortable. Mood-killer, right at the start.

And since everyone knew I’m a bit too sensitive to rain, the banter began on the comms. Jokes flew around that I wouldn’t dissolve in a drizzle, and that this was just the “welcome drink” for the August ride. I laughed it off, but deep down the thought of spending the whole day with wet shoes felt like an early test of patience.

 

Still, there was no looking back. The pack pressed on, throttle steady, engines thumping in unison. Soon the drizzle was forgotten, and the miles began to melt under our wheels. By mid-morning, we were well into cruising mode — bikes munching distance, riders finding rhythm, the highway stretching ahead like a ribbon of possibilities. The destination for the day still lay far, but the chase had well and truly begun.

After a quick breakfast halt at Nellore Grand, right on the sidelines of the highway, we were back on the tarmac, chasing our next milestone: Vijayawada for lunch. Spirits were high, the pack was rolling smooth, and the road stretched ahead invitingly.

But then came the first real test of the August ride.

 

The scorching Andhra sun. The concrete highway turned into a furnace, radiating waves of heat that roasted us inside our gear. Sweat poured nonstop, helmets became ovens, gloves became boilers, and concentration wavered with every shimmering mirage on the horizon.

Just when we thought the sun was the worst it could get, out of nowhere, heavy crosswinds slammed into us. Not the usual wind you cut through while cruising — this was different. This was wild, unpredictable, and almost hostile. It pushed against us with such force that steering the bike became a battle. Sliding from left to right on the lane felt effortless, but trying to counter back into position was like wrestling with an invisible giant.

The bikes began to sway like pendulums, each gust trying to throw us off balance, each rider gripping the handlebar with clenched fists and laser focus. Every second demanded concentration — the kind where you forget everything else and become one with your machine.

In all my rides so far, I had never faced crosswinds this brutal. It wasn’t just about strength; it was about endurance, about holding your line no matter how hard the wind tried to bully you away from it. By the time we rode past that stretch, every rider knew — this August ride wasn’t going to be just another ride. The elements were ready to test us.

While entering Vijayawada, Google clearly thought we needed a city darshan before lunch and led us straight into the city instead of keeping us on the highway. What should’ve been a 500m stretch turned into a chaotic 5km detour through city traffic. 

 

The onlookers were giving us the stare with the famous dialogue from “பரிதாபங்கள்” episode – “எங்கடா போறீங்க??”

 

To make it worse, Group 2 had followed the correct route and reached the spot well ahead, while we wrestled with honking autos and red signals.

At one such signal, I happened to glance down at my bike — and my heart skipped a beat. There was oil splashed around the engine section. Lunch couldn’t come soon enough. Once we reached the halt, we gave it a closer look and called the service manager for a second opinion.

I was contemplating getting the bike checked at a nearby service station, but the service manager reassured me it was nothing serious — just a loose nut, easily fixed.

I confidently told the group, “No problem, I won’t be stranded. Worst case, I’ll just do what I did the last time — hand my bike to a marshal and ride his instead. I’m always prepared like that!”

After a quick tightening of the loose nut, the bike was back in shape.

With that little drama sorted and a hearty meal at Sharma Dhaba, the group saddled up again, ready to face whatever the road threw at us next.

Once we left Vijayawada, our next milestone was simple — reach Tuni in one piece. Having battled fire (the scorching heat) and air (the crosswinds), what remained was water and earth. So, half in jest and half in dread, we were waiting to see what surprise the road had in store.

A couple of hours in, the sky began to turn ominous. At 3 PM, it suddenly felt like dusk. We hurriedly slipped on our rain liners, silently hoping they’d shield us. Poor things — little did they know they were about to be torn apart in the real test: a raging downpour, accompanied by thunder and lightning. It felt as though Varuna Bhagavan himself was mildly displeased with us.

That’s when a thought struck me. Before every major ride, we follow a tradition — breaking a coconut for auspicious beginnings. This time, though, the coconut refused to crack in the first attempt. The guy holding it was teased for his “weak hands.” At that moment, drenched to the bone and fighting the storm, I couldn’t help but laugh to myself: maybe this was the coconut’s way of warning us.

 

We started slowly rolling into the rains, wiping the visor overly with glove every now and then. One eternity later, the intensity finally began to ease.

The whole scene took me back to just a week earlier, when I was returning from Tirupati and got stuck in a similar thunderstorm. Visibility then was almost zero — I remember crawling in my car at 20 kmph, feeling less like I was driving a machine and more like I was steering a bullock cart. Only difference this time: the bullocks were replaced by 23 growling motorcycles, pushing through sheets of water as if to prove a point to Varuna Bhagavan.

And just when we thought we had survived fire, air, and water, came the fourth element — Earth. As the rain began to ease, the road revealed its next trick: muck. Slushy, sticky. Every spin of the tyre splashed it up onto our visors, helmets, and jackets, leaving us blinking through muddy polka dots.

At one point, it felt less like I was riding a motorcycle and more like I was enrolled in a “mud facial spa package — highway edition.”

 

Focusing on the road became a serious challenge. Every second demanded double the concentration. For a moment, I couldn’t decide what was harder — keeping the bike upright or keeping my temper down.

After braving the four elements — scorched by the fire of Andhra’s sun, swayed by the air of crosswinds, drenched by the water of Varuna’s wrath, and smeared by the earth of stubborn muck — we finally rolled into Tuni, our night halt.

 

Battered, yes. Exhausted, definitely. But spirits? Unshaken.

In fact, the laughter over wet shoes, muddy visors, and coconut curses was proof enough that no element could dim the fire within this pack of riders.

Those who do not understand the grind might ask “நம்ம குடும்பத்துக்கு இது எல்லாம் தேவையா கோபி, பைக் ரைடு ஷோக்கு கேக்குதா??”

 

Day 1 had tested us, but it had also reminded us why we ride  – endurance is never just about distance, it’s about weathering whatever comes your way.

Dinner was done, gear was drying, and most of us were already half-dreaming of the next day’s ride. Just before calling it a night, the message buzzed in. A short line, but enough to jolt us wide awake. What we thought would be a straight, endurance-heavy Day 2 was now about to take a sharp turn.

The August ride had just whispered — “Not so soon, boys. I’m not done with you yet.”

 

While winding down and scrolling through the day’s messages, one notification caught my eye. It was from NDMA, Andhra Pradesh, warning of heavy thunderstorms enroute. A moment of relief followed — we had already crossed that stretch earlier in the day. But that relief didn’t last long.

Curiosity turned into unease as I dug deeper, checking weather updates for our route ahead. What I found was far from comforting. Heavy thunderstorm alerts had been issued all across the route from Tuni to the Odisha border.

And as if that wasn’t enough, multiple advisories highlighted a yellow and orange alert in Odisha itself, thanks to a low-pressure system churning in the Bay of Bengal. The dates matched exactly with ours — 12th to 17th August.

 

 The realization hit hard. Today had tested us with heat, wind, rain, and muck. But tomorrow, it looked like the real storm was waiting.

I discussed it with the Captain and the team, and they were already aware of the developments. The  take was clear — it’s still a prediction, but we must be prepared. The decision was made: both groups would ride closer together the next day, so if the weather deteriorated, we could manage any emergency as a unit.

With that plan in place, I tried to rest. But sleep was elusive. The body was tired, battered by the day’s elements, yet the mind was restless, replaying those weather alerts and imagining the road ahead. Eventually, sheer physical exhaustion won, and I drifted off — uncertain of what the morning would bring. 

🛣️ Day 2: The Final Push to Barkul, Odisha

Route: Tuni to Barkul (~430 kms)
Start Time: 8:00 AM
Mood: Sore, Silent, Suspense and Thrill

The morning began early. Despite the tired bodies, there was no luxury of lingering — 400+ kilometers still stood between us and our destination, Barkul. The first order of business was fueling up the machines, our dependable companions, before grabbing a quick breakfast to power ourselves.

With engines roaring to life and spirits cautiously steady, both groups rolled out in unison. The sky still carried the aftertaste of the night’s warnings, and though the ride began like any other morning stretch, somewhere in the back of the mind lingered the thought — what if the alerts were true?

 

I was already prepared for the road ahead. Having learned from the previous day’s soaking, I slipped on the rain layers for my boots and bottoms right from the start. These are always a pain to wear once you’re on the ride, so better done in advance. Now, if the skies did open up, all I had to do was pull the layer over my jacket — quick and simple. A small precaution, but it gave me a sense of quiet confidence as we set off.

Day 2 turned into a strange duel between rain and sun. One moment the skies would blaze, forcing the heat through our gear, and the next moment dark clouds would sweep in with sudden showers. It felt as if the weather had taken it upon itself to toy with us, each turn of the highway throwing a different surprise. This rhythm of extremes carried on till we finally rolled into the Odisha border for lunch.

By this time, we had already clocked close to 350 kilometers, and the thought of our resort being less than 100 kilometers away brought a wave of comfort. After all, that distance felt almost trivial compared to what we had already endured. Even if the skies decided to open up again, it seemed like a challenge we could handle.  

After an extended lunch break, we finally rolled into the resort around 5 PM. A quick stretch and some tea later, it was easy to notice one thing — the weather hadn’t deteriorated much. The skies were still moody, but the worst seemed to have held off, at least for the moment. Relief washed over the group; the last stretch had been conquered without any serious surprises, and spirits began to lift.

The mood for the evening switched from tense to celebratory with the usual briefings, sharing of experiences, awarding the badges to the new renegades and the exemplary contributors.  The evening was well spent with nice food and music and some spending nice time at the pool.

🛣️ Day 3: Sun Temple, Konark and Puri Jagannath Temple

Start Time: 8:30 AM
Mood: Serene and Divine

Today, the bikes got a well-deserved break. Instead, we hired a tempo to take us on a trip to the Sun Temple at Konark and the Lord Jagannath Temple at Puri.

After a delicious breakfast, everyone settled into the vehicle. The narrow streets of Odisha welcomed us, and the mood shifted instantly — favourite music blasting through the speakers, riders joining the chorus, impromptu dance moves breaking out. The tempo was filled with laughter, singing, and a contagious sense of joy.

Though the distance was just over 100 kms, it took nearly 3½ hours due to speed restrictions and the tempo’s pace. We passed along the famous Marine Drive enroute to Konark. The sea was dramatic, waves crashing with high tide, reminding us of nature’s raw energy.

At Konark, we first explored the information gallery, which had replicas and models of the Sun Temple and its intricate sculptures. A short audio video presentation narrated the history behind the monument, setting the stage for the grandeur that awaited outside.

We set out to explore the Konark Sun Temple, one of the most iconic landmarks of Odisha guided by a local expert. The temple stood tall in all its glory, every stone telling a story of devotion and craftsmanship.

But the timing of our visit couldn’t have been more intense – it was exactly noon, and the sun was right above our heads, merciless and scorching. Walking through the temple felt like standing inside a furnace.

In that moment, I couldn’t help but weigh the heat of Chennai against that of Odisha – was the dry furnace of home harsher, or was this fiery glare that reflected off the stones truly unbearable? At least back home the heat was familiar, but here, every beam felt amplified, almost as if Surya himself was testing us under his temple’s gaze.

We walked through the ASI site, learning the significance of every sculpture and the hidden messages etched into stone. The Sun Temple’s majesty was overwhelming. The symmetry, the intricate carvings, and the astonishing attention to detail suggested that our ancestors possessed remarkable skill — perhaps even technologies that still boggle the modern mind.

After nearly an hour of awe and guided exploration, we concluded the visit with mandatory group photos in front of the iconic architecture.

A quick meal nearby fuelled us for the next leg — Lord Jagannath Temple at Puri, just an hour away. Arriving early evening on a Thursday was perfect; the darshan was swift compared to the hours-long queues typical on other days. After the spiritual experience, we returned to the resort, exhausted yet fulfilled, and ended the day with a hearty dinner before retiring for a well-earned rest.

🛣️ Day 4: Udayagiri and Khandagiri caves

Route: Barkul to Udayagiri (via Bhubaneshwar) (~100 kms)

Start Time: 8:00 AM

Mood: Chill-ka, Relax

As the distance from the resort to Udayagiri and Khandagiri caves were less than 100 km one way, it was decided to take the bikes for a spin.

In the middle of the sleep, I dreamt leaving my rain layers in the tempo. In the morning, I realised that the dream came true and had to coordinate with them from Bhubaneswar. 

On the occasion of 79^th Independence Day, the riders took the pledge:

“We pledge to honour the freedom our nation has won, to uphold unity, respect, and the values that make India great. We will carry the spirit of our tricolour in our hearts, wherever we go.”

 

“As Chennai Renegades, we pledge to ride with discipline, safety, and brotherhood – protecting ourselves, fellow riders, and everyone who shares the road. We will ride not just for adventure, but as ambassadors of responsible motorcycling.” 

 

Jai Hind!

 

Soon after that, we left the resort and moved on our way to Udayagiri.  The speed limit on the highway lead to cruising of the bikes in unison and it was a nice to see the group of bikes in a single row in the rear-view mirror.  The weather was pleasant throughout but became unforgiving once we reached Udayagiri.

Udayagiri and Khandagiri Caves, are two historically significant rock-cut caves that provide a fascinating glimpse into Odisha’s ancient heritage. Carved into the rocky hills, these caves date back to the 2nd century BCE and were originally residential quarters for Jain monks.

Walking through the narrow passageways, the subtle carvings, inscriptions, and stone steps told stories of devotion, meditation, and discipline from centuries ago.

The caves weren’t just about history — they offered a sense of adventure too. Some passages were narrow, low, and winding, requiring careful manoeuvring, while others opened up to small courtyards where sunlight streamed in, illuminating the intricate carvings. Each turn seemed to whisper secrets of the past, and it was impossible not to feel a connection to the monks who once lived, studied, and prayed here.

Khandagiri, with its higher elevation, provided a panoramic view of the surrounding landscape, giving us a chance to pause, breathe, and appreciate the blend of natural beauty and human ingenuity.  

Since, I had to pick up my rain layer, I had a detour to the city which led to an unexpected blessing — I got a glimpse of the famous Lingarajaswamy Temple, dedicated to Lord Shiva, its grand structure quietly majestic in the day.

On the return, nature decided to test us once more. A sudden downpour reminded us of the wrath of Varuna, soaking riders and bikes alike. But there were moments of awe amidst the chaos — we stopped at the Chilika Lake viewpoint to take in its vastness and serenity, the sun reflecting off its waters in a spectacular display. After soaking in the majesty, we returned to the resort for a well-earned lunch.

The second half of the evening was dedicated to preparing the bikes for the return journey — cleaning, lubing chains, checking tires, and making sure everything was ready for the road ahead. After an early dinner, everyone packed their bags and retired, ready for an early start back to Vijayawada.

🛣️ Day 5: Half way home – Full Throttle

Route: Barkul to Vijayawada (~650kms)

Start Time: 5:00 AM

Mood: The Long Haul Mindset

We had planned for an early start since the target was ambitious — more than 600 kms to reach Vijayawada, our final halt before heading home to Chennai on Day 6. Efficiency was the mantra, so sandwiches and fruits were packed early in the morning for a quick roadside breakfast.

With everything set, engines roared to life and we began the long ride south. After being exposed to the fury of sun, storm, and sudden downpours over the last few days, we had grown sharper — almost instinctively prepared for whatever the skies might throw at us.

A couple of hours in, the familiar darkness of rain clouds gathered above. And then, without mercy, the heavens opened up. Sheets of rain lashed the highway, forcing us to pull over at a modest tea shop. Out came our packed sandwiches. Paired with steaming cups of chai and coffee, they somehow tasted better than any elaborate buffet — perhaps because it was shared, wet boots and all.

Back on the road, spirits were high. The comms were alive with chatter, jokes, and light banter. Nobody seemed bothered about the rain, the heat, or the distance. For a while, the ride felt almost… easy. In fact, the pace suggested we’d reach well before lunch.

But that’s when the thought crept in. When everything runs too smooth, isn’t it a little unnerving?

So far, Murphy hadn’t caught up with us — except for the odd scare here and there. A part of me wondered: had he really taken a break, or was he just waiting for the perfect moment?

While we were cruising steady on the middle lane, approaching a curve, chaos struck without warning. A local scooter rider, oblivious to mirrors or traffic, suddenly swerved straight into our lane. On the right, a car was thundering past at full speed — no space, no margin.

The front riders had only split seconds to react. They swayed, braked hard, narrowly escaping disaster — but in that violent shuffle, the chain reaction began. Two riders lost balance, and in the blink of an eye, three bikes tangled into each other.  

The road that had felt smooth and predictable just seconds ago now carried the chilling silence that follows an accident.

The scooter guy who had caused the whole incident simply sped away, disappearing as if nothing had happened. No stopping, no checking on the fallen riders — just gone. It was frustrating, but sadly not surprising. A stark reflection of the apathy that’s all too common on Indian roads, where accountability is often the first casualty.

Everyone swung into action instantly — no hesitation, no panic. Bikes were pulled over to the side, engines cut. A few rushed to lift the fallen riders, checking if they were conscious and able to move, while others directed the traffic, creating a safety cocoon around the scene.

The damaged bikes were dragged out of the lane, the injured eased to the shoulder, and within minutes what could have been complete chaos was brought under control. The silence of shock quickly gave way to the sharp efficiency of riders who knew what had to be done in such moments.

Luckily, everyone survived the panic with just a few mild bruises, and the bikes too escaped without any major damage. Though the riders were physically fine — apart from the inevitable trauma of the incident — we didn’t want to take chances. From our past experience during the Hampi trip, we had laid down clear procedures for such situations.

As per protocol, the riders involved were immediately taken to a nearby hospital for a thorough check-up by trained physicians. After all, we are not experts and the last thing we wanted was for someone to develop discomfort later on the ride. The doctor, after careful examination, gave them the green signal to continue the journey.

Meanwhile, two of us took the affected bikes to a nearby garage where the minor damages were assessed and quickly fixed. With everything sorted, we saddled up again. But in the whole bargain, we had lost the advantage of our early start. Now, instead of reaching Vijayawada on schedule, we were looking at a few hours’ delay — something that could impact the last leg of our journey back to Chennai.

With intermittent bursts of rain testing our patience and an unexpectedly long lunch break at a roadside dhaba, our progress slowed down considerably. By the time we finally rolled into Vijayawada, it was already 8:30 PM—well past the time we had planned. Dinner was delayed too, and that only pushed our rest further into the night. We all knew it was going to take a toll on the sleep cycle and weigh heavily on tomorrow’s final leg of the journey back home.

🛣️ Day 6: The final stretch

Route: Vijayawada to Chennai (~450kms)

Start Time: 8:00 AM

Mood: Exhausted but Enduring

After all the ups and downs of the past five days, this one had to be ridden with no more mishaps. Sleep came in patches, but the delayed start gave us a little extra rest before we saddled up again.

The morning began with a bit of chaos over breakfast — confusion in the order, delayed delivery, and a missing coffee that refused to show up despite being billed. 

Eventually, after a few frantic calls, the coffee did arrive, though it stole another five minutes from our schedule. Instead of wasting more time climbing up to the 5th-floor terrace, we decided to eat right at the parking lot itself — a practical rider’s choice.

By 8:05 AM, engines roared to life, and with quiet determination, we rolled out. All we wished for was cooperative weather, smooth roads, and a safe ride back to our families — carrying with us not just exhaustion, but also the satisfaction of having lived through yet another unforgettable ride.

The ride was mostly smooth, though the intermittent showers continued to chase us all the way till Chennai. 

Since we were homebound, despite the previous jokes of getting dissolved in the rain, I decided to ditch the full rain liners and kept riding, only pulling on the top layer when the showers turned heavy. The road felt familiar now, and the body seemed to move on auto-pilot despite the fatigue of the past days.

As we inched closer, we stopped for lunch at Amaravati — a familiar place that felt almost like a ritual stop. A hearty meal lifted spirits, and with just 120 kilometers left, the end felt near. We decided to do it in two stretches with a quick roadside hydration halt before hitting Chennai traffic.

Finally, we rolled into the city and reached the peel-off point at Poonamallee. In typical fashion, Google played its tricks one last time, leading us to a tea shop that existed only on the map.

After circling around and realizing there was no tea shop to be found, it felt like one of those classic Vadivelu “கிணற்றை‘ காணோம்” moments — you laugh at the absurdity because what else can you do after six days of battling sun, rain, and the highways.

After the customary final refreshments, one by one, riders began peeling off in different directions towards their homes. For me, the ride wasn’t done just yet — the rain decided to give me company for the last few kilometers. From a little before my home till the very gate, it chased me relentlessly and made sure I was drenched to the skin.

What the Road Taught Us

As I stood drenched at my doorstep, helmet in hand and boots sloshing, the weight of the last six days began to sink in. This wasn’t just a ride across three states — it was a full-blown test of endurance, camaraderie, and willpower.  This was also the longest ride by the group exceeding the previous year ride to Gokarna by nearly 500Kms setting a record distance travelled.

We had set out thinking this was a long-distance challenge. But what the road had in store was far more: the blazing heat of Andhra Pradesh and Odisha, the fierce crosswinds, the unrelenting downpours, the thick muck that blurred the visor, and even the sudden brush with an accident — every element took its turn to push us to the edge.

And yet, at no point did we ride alone. Whether it was a casual joke over the comms in the middle of a storm, a hand lifting a fallen rider, a shared sandwich under a tea-shop roof, or the collective sigh of relief on reaching a destination — we moved as one unit.

We learned that:

• 🛣️ Endurance is not about speed — it’s about consistency.
• 🌦️ Weather can dampen your body, but not your spirit.
• 🤝 No rider rides alone — the group always has your back.
• 🛑 Protocols matter — a well-drilled team reacts, not panics.
• 🎭 Humour, music, and banter are as important as gears and gloves. (p.s. SENA has to be sanitised post the trip. IYKYK 😊)
• 💪 The body may get tired, but the will must not.

It was a ride where Murphy showed up, Surya scorched, Varuna tested, Vayu played tricks, Bhudevi threw muck, and still — we stood. We rode. We laughed. We reached. 

We didn’t just ride through three states.

We rode through four elements.

We didn’t just clock kilometers.

We created memories.

We didn’t just endure a ride.

We earned a story.

And when the rain chased all the way home, soaking me as I entered my gate — it felt poetic.

Finally, the road itself said, “Now you may rest.”  

 

But we all knew it’s just a pause, soon we will be on the bike for another trip, like Vadivelu riding the cycle and singing “எடுத்த நாள் முதல் வண்டியை விடவில்லை“. 

 Afterword

If you’ve patiently cruised through my 10-page narration, then hats off — you’ve completed your own endurance ride! Six days on the road tested us with sun, storm, wind, and muck… and ten pages here tested you with patience, focus, and stamina. If you’ve reached this line with a smile, that means the ride — and the read — was worth it.