Hampi — a land where time seems to pause, where boulders tell stories, and temple pillars echo the grandeur of a long-lost empire. Once the capital of the mighty Vijayanagara empire, it now stands as one of South India’s most iconic heritage sites, rich in history, culture, and spiritual essence. With the Tungabhadra River flowing gently alongside, this UNESCO World Heritage site has long drawn historians, pilgrims, and tourists alike.

So when we began planning for the long ride, Hampi was the name that sparked unanimous excitement in our club. The idea of revving through changing landscapes and arriving at a place steeped in centuries of glory had its own kind of magic. Without hesitation, Hampi was locked in — a perfect blend of history and highway.

Behind the Scenes

The ride prep began in full swing. From finding group-friendly accommodations to chalking out the routes, pit stops and fuel breaks, every detail was meticulously handled by the team. Once the official announcement dropped in our group, the familiar flurry began — riders applying for leave at their offices, getting permission from the families, tuning the machines, and counting down the days.

We carved out a four-day plan:

• Day 1: The long haul ride from Chennai to Hampi
• Days 2 Stepping into the past
• Day 3 Adventure off the saddle
• Day 4: The road back home

It wasn’t just another ride. It was a journey through time and history — and we were ready to throttle through it.

Long haul: Chennai to Hampi

We gathered at our usual meeting point in the pre-dawn stillness, bikes lined up under sleepy streetlights. After a quick briefing, we fired up the engines and began our ride towards Hampi. The plan was simple: beat the heat, dodge the traffic, and eat up miles before the sun began flexing its muscles.

The road conditions in the pre-dawn darkness were tricky — riddled with diversions, potholes, and unending construction activity. It slowed us down considerably, and covering even 120-odd kilometers felt like a grind.

That said, it wasn’t unfamiliar terrain. We had ridden this stretch several times, and that experience made a big difference. Knowing the tricky patches and anticipating turns, we navigated the rough roads together like clockwork — maintaining formation, warning each other over comms, and staying alert.

Just an hour into the ride, we took a well-deserved break — hot coffee and tea all around. It felt good. The roads eventually opened up, the engines found rhythm, and the sun was still on our side.

We reached our breakfast halt on time — a familiar place that had hosted us on previous rides. The restaurant staff welcomed us warmly, almost like old friends. The food, freshly prepared and comforting, hit the right spot. With full bellies and fuller spirits, we continued our journey and soon approached the outskirts of Bangalore.

NICE Road has a bit of a jinx — almost every time we cross it, something tends to go sideways — missed exits, mechanical hiccups, chaotic traffic, or the occasional mishap. It’s a road with character, sure, but not always the good kind. Let’s just say, it hasn’t exactly been NICE to us in the past.

The speed restrictions on NICE Road, combined with our bikes running in perfect sync, often lull us into a strange state of highway hypnosis. Drowsy, dreamy — not a great combo.

Barely ten minutes into the ride, I noticed something unusual — traffic ahead had slowed down, and vehicles were moving cautiously, almost hesitantly. I assumed it was just another patch of roadwork and began weaving through the lanes, trying to maintain momentum.

But then, something didn’t feel right.

I spotted people on the roadside — not random passersby, but riders in familiar riding jackets. A few were standing in the middle of the road, trying to control the traffic. Others were gathered around, picking up fallen bikes from the tarmac.

That’s when my stomach dropped.

Our worst nightmare had come true.

The hope for an incident-free ride? Shattered — just like that.

My first instinct — more than panic — was a silent prayer: “I hope no one’s hurt… please let everyone be safe.”

The Skid That Shook Us

Three of our riders were down.

What happened was infuriatingly simple — and dangerously common. A car ahead had missed its exit, and instead of moving on and correcting it safely, the driver decided to suddenly stop and reverse — without any warning.

Our riders, who were cruising at a steady pace, had little time to react. The first hit the brakes hard, trying to avoid impact. The one behind swerved instinctively. In a split second, balance was lost, bikes collided, and three of them went down like dominoes.

Thankfully, everyone was fine. No major injuries, only bruises and sprains. And once again, our riding gear proved its worth in protecting the skin.

The team was quick to respond — traffic controlled, bikes moved to safety, first aid administered. A bottle of water. A pat on the back. A “you’re okay” repeated just enough times to make it believable.

It could’ve been worse. Much worse.

But we were together — and we were alright.

The team quickly shifted into action mode.

The group in the front had already gone ahead unaware of what had just happened behind them. We got in touch and told them to hold their position at the earliest safe stop. The rest of the group, except four of us who stayed back to handle the situation, were instructed to regroup with the lead team and wait for further updates.

One group inspected the bikes and assessed the damage — two of them were still rideable, though a bit bruised, while one was badly mangled and clearly needed to be transported to the nearest service center.

It wasn’t going anywhere on two wheels that day.

It was hot — brutally hot.

One rider quickly showed his presence of mind by ordering water and basic medicines via Swiggy — modern problems, modern solutions. Another person got on calls, coordinating with RSA (Roadside Assistance) to arrange pickup and transport for the damaged vehicle. And a third team — well, was deep in debate with the car driver who had caused the whole mess, trying to reason with someone who was now conveniently trying to shift the blame onto us.

Four of us — including the rider whose bike was damaged — rode to the nearest police station to sort the mess out.

 We presented our side of the story clearly and calmly, and after some back and forth, we were able to convince the authorities that the car driver was indeed at fault. On that particular stretch, stopping and reversing without warning was not just careless — it was illegal. The officers agreed, and the situation was resolved without further escalation.  The car guy did make a last-ditch attempt to milk some money out of us, but thankfully, that didn’t go his way either.

Though honestly, I can’t help but think it wasn’t just the facts that saved us — maybe it was our painfully broken Kannada that did the trick. Perhaps the officers figured it was easier to let us go than suffer through another round of our linguistic acrobatics. 😄

With that weight off our shoulders, we began our next challenge — navigating through the infamous Bangalore traffic to reach the service center. What should have been a short ride turned into a slow, sweaty crawl through honking chaos.

And just as luck would have it, we reached the service center to find… it was lunch break.

We laughed it off — what else could we do? We grabbed a quick bite at a nearby restaurant, caught our breath, and waited it out. Once the center reopened, we got the paperwork done and ensured the vehicle was attended to properly.

It had been a long, unexpected detour.
But we kept moving.
Together.

The Ride Resumes — Four -Up and Forward

The four of us mounted back up, this time now a lean sub-group — geared up to rejoin the main convoy.

The rider who had the fall., hadn’t said much. No complaints, no groans. Just picked himself up, dusted off, and quietly took the backseat as pillion for the ride ahead. We assumed that he was fine — bruised maybe, but okay to continue.

The main group was already ahead, waiting patiently at a regrouping point as per plan. We synced our route, set our comms, and began slicing through the Bangalore traffic once again, this time not with stress, but with purpose.

We had a mission: catch up with the rest who were taking it slower, enjoying extended breaks.

The sun was still unforgiving, but the wind hitting our faces felt different now — like a second chance. There were no complaints. No one sulking. Just four riders, rolling on, grateful that things hadn’t been worse.

In the early evening, we were reunited with the rest of the team, silhouetted at a rest stop. Fist bumps and relieved smiles marked our reunion.

From the moment we regrouped, the collective focus was clear: get to Hampi as soon as possible.

We had lost precious hours to the accident chaos, and our dream of reaching by sunset — diving into the pool — had slipped far out of reach. Instead, what lay ahead was three more hours of riding into the dusk, a long stretch of highway wrapped in falling light.

Fatigue had begun to creep in — it had been a physically draining and emotionally turbulent day. But the team, as always, pulled together. Refreshment Breaks were timed with precision, heads were clear, and our comms were locked in. Nobody pushed too hard. Nobody lagged behind.

And finally, well past nightfall, we reached Hampi.

Tired? Yes.
Delayed? Definitely.
But safe. Together. And ready for what tomorrow held.

But beneath all the regrouping, chasing, and riding, a quiet realization sank in.

The pillion rider had been silent through most of the ride.

We thought it was fatigue. Just exhaustion from the crash and the heat.

But it wasn’t.

The silence wasn’t about tiredness. He’d been riding hurt.

He masked his pain through that long, hot stretch — maybe out of sheer grit, maybe because he didn’t want to hold the rest of us back.

But once we reached Hampi, and the adrenaline wore off, the truth became obvious: the soreness, the limp, the way he winced getting off the bike. He’d been holding it in all along. 

It was a reminder — no ride briefing ever truly prepares you for.

Not all wounds are visible. And not all pain is loud.

Sometimes, true grit shows up in silence. And as a team, we must learn to listen to that silence too.

Choosing rest over risk, he decided to skip the next day’s plans. After a quick discussion, we helped him book a bus ticket back to Chennai for the following night from the nearest town, Hoskote. To ensure that he was taken care of, one person from the group accompanied with him in a taxi to Hoskote.  We also arranged for someone to receive him at the bus stop once he reached Chennai. His bike, once repaired, was later picked up by one of our club members who rode it all the way from Bangalore to Chennai.

That’s the kind of camaraderie our group stands for — looking out for each other, both on and off the road.

Through the Legacy of the mighty Vijayanagara empire

After the long and chaotic ride of Day 1, Day 2 dawned slower, gentler — almost in contrast, as if Hampi itself was urging us to pause and take a breath.

We woke up to the golden silence of an ancient city, where the past isn’t just remembered — it’s felt in the very air.

But for me — I beg to differ.

Yes, time may have weathered the walls. Yes, the empire may have fallen.

But Hampi is far from ruined.

It is still alive — in spirit, in structure, and in soul.

Despite the fatigue from the previous day, the excitement was palpable. Helmets were swapped for caps, gloves for cameras. It was time to explore — not on two wheels, but on foot.

We stood before architectural marvels built centuries ago — by hands, hearts, and minds so precise and visionary that even today’s modern machines would struggle to replicate them.

The symmetrical design of the pillars, the intricate carvings etched into stone, the musical pillars of carved from stone yet capable of creating musical notes when tapped, a masterpiece of craftsmanship where architecture met acoustics, the enticing floral and celestial patterns on the inner ceilings — they weren’t just decorations. They were declarations. Of skill. Of devotion. Of a civilization that dared to dream in granite.

Our path led us through some of Hampi’s most fascinating corners — each revealing a different layer of the empire’s life:

• The Lakshmi Narasimha Temple, where the fierce yet divine posture of the deity stood tall, sculpted with power and grace.
• The Royal Mint area, once the financial pulse of the empire — now silent, yet dignified.
• The Elephant Stables, massive in scale and perfectly arched, reminding us of the respect even royal animals commanded.
• The graceful symmetry of the Lotus Mahal, an example of Vijayanagar architecture, standing like poetry carved in stone.
• The Hazara Rama Temple, whose walls read like graphic novels — panels after panels narrating episodes from the Ramayana.
• The mystical Prasanna Virupaksha (Underground Shiva) Temple, where the air was heavy, cold, and still carried a sense of divine presence, despite the water-logged floors.
• Our footsteps then led us to the Mahanavami Dibba — a massive stone platform that once served as the royal stage for festivals, performances, and ceremonies.
  Standing atop it, you don’t just see Hampi — you feel its scale, its pulse, its power.
• Step Well, the precise water storage tanks, built with such symmetrical geometry it would make even a modern engineer stop and take notes.
• Queen’s bath – a royal enclosure for the Vijayanagar Queens. A rectangular pool surrounded by intricately arched corridors and ornate balconies, it spoke of luxury and refinement. Even in private spaces, the Vijayanagara architects had not compromised on beauty or geometry.
  The bath wasn’t just a utility — it was an experience designed for royalty, where water, architecture, and aesthetics came together in quiet harmony.
• And finally, the irrigation systems — far ahead of their time, reflecting not just grandeur but governance, not just architecture but foresight.

It wasn’t just sightseeing.

It was a full-bodied, soul-deep experience.

We weren’t just riders today — we were students of history, citizens of an ancient dream.

After soaking in centuries of history, tracing the marvels of Hampi stone by stone, we moved on to a good solid lunch at the famous Mango Tree Restaurant, a must-visit in Hampi.

Mango lassis are a must here. Thick. Cold. Sweet. Unreal.

Most of us didn’t stop at one — two, maybe even three disappeared in no time.

That lassi didn’t just quench thirst —from stone carvings to mango cravings. 😄

Taking the Plunge — Quite Literally

One day is never enough to soak in the soul of Hampi — its stories, silence, and splendour. But with a group of riders as diverse as ours, the plan was to balance the ancient with the adrenaline.

So, Day 3 was dedicated to adventure.

We rode out to a nearby lake — calm, serene, and absolutely picture-perfect.

Bikes lined up along the bank, the shimmering water in the background, helmets off, smiles wide — it was a postcard moment waiting to happen. We obliged, of course.

We had heard about carousel riding in the flowing waters of the Tungabhadra River, and it instantly piqued our interest — so we decided to make it part of the day’s adventure. Sitting on a large round coracle (those traditional circular boats), we spun wildly as the river current took over, laughter bouncing off the water and echoing across the banks. It was equal parts dizzying and delightful — and for many of us, a first-time experience we won’t soon forget.

But the real adrenaline rush came next — cliff jumping. And no, it wasn’t just a catchy name — you actually jump off a cliff into the inviting waters below. A few brave souls from our group decided to take the plunge, their yells quickly replaced by splashes and cheers. The rest of the people captured the action from the sidelines — cheering and filming.

From Adrenaline to Awe

After a hearty lunch at a local restaurant some chose to rest at the resort, a few of us weren’t done just yet.

We made our way to the famous Virupaksha Temple, one of the oldest functioning temples in India. Its towering gopuram, detailed carvings, and sacred atmosphere offered a different kind of high — one that comes from centuries of devotion and silent grandeur. 

It was the perfect contrast to the morning — where adrenaline gave way to awe, and noise made space for reverence.

Hampi, once again, showed us its many faces — thrill, history, and divinity — all in a single day.

In the evening, we gathered around the pool — some of us even got into the water — soaking in the last few hours we had in Hampi. It was a perfect setting to unwind, share laughs, and reflect on the ride so far.

Rides Teach. Riders Learn

Drawing from our shared experience, we identified areas where we could improve and agreed on a few key updates to our standard operating procedures. These changes were aimed at strengthening our preparedness, improving coordination, and ensuring greater safety for all riders in upcoming rides. 

It was one of those important moments where retrospection met responsibility — a reminder that while the ride may end, our commitment to learning and evolving as a group continues. 

One key decision that emerged from this discussion was that, in such instances going forward, a rider would only be allowed to continue the journey after a proper evaluation by a physician. The idea was simple but crucial — to prioritize safety over momentum, ensuring no one rides under compromised health or pressure.

This wasn’t just a procedural update — it was a reflection of the care we have for one another, and the trust that binds our riding family together.

The road back home

The final day began early — with a quieter energy, but a deep sense of rhythm.

This was our third ride since we formed Chennai Renegades, and by now, there was an unspoken sync in how we moved as a group.

We packed sandwiches, a smart move to save time on the road, and hit the highway with the goal of making steady progress.

Lunch was at our usual pit stop, a familiar place that somehow felt warmer each time we returned.
Bellies full, spirits steady — we got back on our machines, chasing the horizon.

As we neared Chennai, the sun began to dip — casting long shadows on the tarmac, painting the sky in hues of orange and gold.

Rides like stay with you, long after the helmets are off.