Domestic Avalanche

2009-02-02T14:40:00.000-08:00

I have been talking about that woman who blogs about life in Tok, Alaska. Now, last week I have been blessed with (blessed?) a winter storm out here that dumped a foot of snow around the place where I live. Instead of complaining, I chose to celebrate it. Here is a short video of a short drive that I took after the snow cleared a bit. Also, there is this tunnel that we built through a pile of snow that some plow has dumped on the side of the road.

And here are a few pictures that I thought I'd share.

Look at the plight of a Hyundai Tiburon

*--------Update--------*

It just so happened that London, UK has been plummelled with the worst snow in 18 years. It totally paralyzed the city and buses and trains stopped running. 6 inches. Wait a second, what you see above is a 12 incher. And it was pretty ok out there, of course traffic was less, but it didn't stop anyone from doing anything that they wanted to. I guess the difference is that a 12 incher or an 18 incher is pretty common out here and the City and the public services are always ready to take care of it. Maybe London is not as prepared.

2008-05-14T18:33:00.000-07:00

2008-05-07T09:46:00.001-07:00

Animation versus the animator!

Hilarious animation that I ran into.

2008-03-10T13:46:00.000-07:00

Crawl de El de Chicago 1.0 Pink Line

When the day arrived, the alarm clock went off and I wanted to curl under the comforter for another couple of hours. Anyway I managed to get the better of the lazy impulses and got out of the house by around seven thirty. It was around twenty degrees outside and I walked a couple of blocks north to the Racine Blue line station.

My plan was to board a rush hour blue line train towards 54^th and Cermak as the first step of the journey. As usual, Mr. Edward Aloysius Murphy, Jr. scored the first point of the day when I watched one of those rare 54/Cermak blue line trains heading out of the station as I passed the turnstiles. So I ended up waiting for half hour for the next train on the rush hour route. I started feeling a bit hungry and was just watching cars speeding by on either side of the highway median on which the station is located. I marveled at the selection of the median as the train route. The famed Chicago skyline provided a great backdrop to the view and I was pulsing with excitement.

Even before I started the actual ride, I met my first real character of the day. A kid, who could have been in a middle school tried to sell an iPod to me. He wanted 30 bucks for it. Only problem was that he doesn’t have a charger for it and it wouldn’t switch on. At first he claimed that he got it from some girl even though later on his story was altered to the effect that he received the music player two years ago as a Christmas gift from his grandma and since he got a video iPod now, he is forced to sell it. I asked him how anyone would buy it when he cannot even prove that it works. But he was adamant that all it needs is some charging and swore that in case it doesn’t work, he would gladly refund the money and he could be found at the station every day at the same time. Tough sell son, you got to be at school by this time rather than at the rail station peddling dead iPods.

Anyway the train arrives soon and I began the long journey. Just as we ascended to the elevated level, the train was stopped momentarily for signal clearance. A pink line train was crossing over the Paulina connector on its way to the loop. The duration for which the train was stationary was less than 40 seconds. Contrary to the incessant bickering that I hear about the delays, I rarely had to endure long stoppages at any part of the CTA. The train then passed through the Illinois medical district into Pilsen. I could see a semi-industrialized area with neighborhoods with old apartment buildings as well as plenty of churches whose domes were shining in the morning sun.

The journey ended at the 54/Cermak station in twenty one minutes, passing through sparkling new stations with public address systems announcing the arrival of trains. 54/Cermak has a long, space saving design enabling the trains to switch the track quickly. Here I decided to return to the Loop by a pink line train and headed back by the same route and taking the Paulina connector to join the green line east to the loop. Of all the pink line stations, the most unique station in this line was the 18^th, with its vibrant artwork on the walls. I would even rank it in the top 5 among the whole of CTA at least in aesthetic aspect. It took me twenty nine minutes to reach the loop with the train being full with the rush hour commuters.

Once in the loop, the unrelenting call of hunger made me get down at Clark/Lake to go to the JR Thompson Center to have my breakfast of Dunkin Donuts coffee and egg-sausage-hash browns from Sbarro. I was highly satisfied with the progress of the trip and the breakfast gave me fresh energy to take on the protracted journey with a new level of enthusiasm.

2008-03-06T17:25:00.000-08:00

Crawl de El de Chicago 0.5 Beta

If the ‘Going Public’ column of Red Eye is to be believed, the CTA is the most unloved entity that is found on either side of the Lake Michigan. Well, apparently a journalist called Kyra Kyles makes a living just by catering to the gripes and whining of Chicagoans about the CTA. I can hear the purists questioning my credentials because of my keeping Red Eye as the source of information and news. Well, I listen to NPR too, occasionally.

As an implant to Chicago, I’ve always been impressed by the CTA. In the first few weeks in Chicago, I used to commute from the Streeterville neighborhood to UIC, by the red and blue lines. In those days I used to speculate where this Howard might be. Well, I had to find out one day. Days of exploring the city ensued forth: by buses, bike, trains and to some extend, by car. Having a CTA U Pass ensured that the trains and buses were used extensively in this quest. And I saw that it was good, as you say in the Old Testament.

But, there were limitations on the breadth of this coverage. The only time that I’ve been to the south side beyond Chinatown except by car was during a Critical Mass bike ride. I had a buffer and protection of a thousand bikers riding down with me. We passed through some grand boulevards and some shady sections too, but would I do that alone? Well no. Call me a coward, but I’m being honest. But there are folks among the Critical Mass riders who drop out as soon as any ride goes south of Roosevelt. Similarly, there were many parts of the city that I never bothered visiting, either due to the lack of need or the lack of interest.

These all reasons led me to a fine idea. I call it “fine” because everybody who heard about this plan declared it as splendid. But it is yet another matter that nobody wanted to have any part of it. Probably ‘splendid’ is a euphemism for eccentric. Anyway, the idea is simple: Ride all the lines of the CTA back to back in a single stretch. It appeared simple in paper, but I had no clue how long it would take or how I should prepare for it. From past trips on many of the lines, I estimated the trip to take over 12 hours. Piece of cake! Little did I know what was in store for me!

I did some online research and found that somebody had already done the same thing with the New York’s subways some time in the sixties and now they even have an Amateur New York Subway Riding Committee to keep track of the records. But I could not find any mention about the same feat attempted with the Chicago El network. I had planned to do this for over a year, always postponing and never actually moving even a finger to implement this plan. But by January 08, I knew my time was running out. I may never have time to do this in the conceivable future or even worse, I may even move from the city. That got me going and the date was finalized. January 17, 2008.

When the ride was over, I ended up with a sore butt, a spreadsheet with accurate times at which I arrived at each station throughout the journey and a lot of notes scribbled on a notebook. I thought of writing everything down in a single article but the experience proved to be too large to be compressed into a piece of writing small enough to keep the readers awake. And hence this bunch of smaller pieces.

2008-02-06T12:16:00.000-08:00

2007-10-03T00:01:00.000-07:00

“Mi trattano come un intruso”

Intruso: (ITALIAN sm/f) (estraneo) intruder, (ad un ricevimento) gatecrasher

Example:

“mi trattano come un intruso” “They treat me as if I had no right to be there.”¹

I was thinking about penning something but could not think of anything viable. Then suddenly it struck me, how about writing about being an outsider the whole life and coping with that.

My earliest memories include running around the house and getting kicked out of the kitchen by mom. So that lesson was engraved deep inside me: You are an outsider in her realm, which included the kitchen and most of the house, and you got to be complying with her terms. As time passed and my grazing fields expanded, I was an outsider at our own farm. Trust me, the farmhands always considered it their domain and I, a potential heir of the land, was an interloper.

The next degree of the treatment came when I started meeting other kids from the village of Velliappally. (I translate the name vaguely as Silver Church). Even though my zip code and address says Velliappally, I was a kid from the distant farmland for those kids who lived near the village center in residential developments. In fact I remember someone commenting that I would not be eligible for playing in the village soccer team because I belong to another place, which is on the other side and farther away from my home. What would I have given to get recognized in the group!

Things didn’t change much in the school where those who live within the city, (of Pala – no, I am not giving any translation this time, it is a short enough name) all of us who are from the suburb/farm-lands as uncivilized barbarians. The only thing barbaric about us is the places that we were hailing from, but that too, only as perceived by them. We just labeled them wimpy and assured ourselves of our superiority.

The feeling of being a gatecrasher never ended from then on. When I went to a boarding school in a different city, I was an automatic outsider and no economics teacher could resist making me the butt of some joke on my town with a story that involved a big time bank from my town getting liquidated around fifty years ago. Oh Jesus, please save us sons and daughters of Pala from the legacy of the Pala Central Bank, like you saved us all from the original sin.

Next, when I went to St. Aloysius College) in Mangalore, it didn’t help being a mallu (Short form of Malayalee, a native of my state Kerala) when there was nothing cooler for my friends than cracking mallu jokes, targeting the stereotypical accent, migrant nature etc.² Again, it was a new city with new languages and I had to deal with that. Well, I always do.

Later, at the engineering school at Adoor or working in Bangalore after that, being treated as a gatecrasher has never changed. That is one thing that is constant with all the places that I have ever lived in. Again, I must admit that at each place, I have managed to assimilate fast and become a part of the place. But in my experience, the nomadic nature of my life has made me move again by the time I gather the courage to call myself a local boy. In fact I have moved 13 times in my life. Read this in conjunction with the fact that “The average American moves 12 times in his or her lifetime (U.S. Census Bureau)”³.

As you may have read already in the “Ingress Into The Land Of The Free (And The Home Of The Brave”⁴ article, I was a total stranger in Chicago when I arrived here a year ago. The challenge had been steeper and the outside-ness has been more profound but the training that I received throughout my life to be a happy outsider, right from when I was thrown out of the kitchen for playing soccer inside, has enabled me to keep myself confident and to embrace the opportunities that destiny is providing me.

Reference:

http://dictionary.reverso.net/italian-english/intruso
Read more mallu jokes here at http://copystuff.blogspot.com/2006/01/mallu-jokes.html it has an awesome collection, gathered by a mallu, for sure.
http://www.mayflower.com/moving/relocation-services/moving-tips/facts-about-moving.htm
http://domesticavalanche.blogspot.com/2007/04/ingress-into-land-of-free-and-home-of.html

2007-04-10T15:11:00.000-07:00

Ingress Into The Land Of The Free (And The Home Of The Brave)

It was a cold rainy evening when I first set foot in the United States of America. I couldn’t bend down and kiss the soil as popularized by the late pope because of the long umbilical cord that is the passage which connects the airplane doors to the gates. After waiting in line at the immigration desks to go through all the processes, I finally found myself pushing the trolley with my bags out of the terminal.

I could not find my cousin outside as he promised. So the alternative is to call him up on the phone. Now I need some quarters to use the payphone but all I have is a bunch of singles. I go to the shop in the terminal to get some change and learn the first lesson. I need to buy something for the cashier to open the register. Now I make my land mark first contribution to the United States economy by buying a pack of Lays potato chips. I’d always remember that: the pack of Lays. That was triggered by the fact that it is the cheapest item that I could find and also because that is a familiar brand for me from back where I am from.

Anyway, with the coins that I got, I tried calling up my cousin and in no time he was taking me to where the car was parked. The car is an Acura. Well, Acura what? I have been an auto enthusiast for a long time, and a subscriber to two auto magazines for years but I still couldn’t recognize the brand. I can’t be blamed because in India, the car brands available are predominantly European. Welcome to American cars, buddy. That was lesson two.

One thing that I was the least bothered was the switching of sides on road. Coming from the British style driving on the ‘wrong’ (Americans put it that way, as opposed to ‘right’) side of the road, I could barely notice it. Maybe the familiarization came from playing GTA 3 and Vice City for long hours, driving around Liberty City as well as Vice City speeding, stealing and building a kingdom of crime. The change became apparent only when I started driving. And no, it was not the side of the road that confounded me; it was which direction to look for the rear view mirrors.

When we came into the city, it became clear that the landscape bears a startling resemblance to the one that I know from the GTA. There was no car stealing or casual shooting though.

So the life set in at the new home, a new country in which I have no experience other than reading books and watching Hollywood movies. It was a new beginning: like being born again. Only difference is that when you were born, you had about twenty years of time to learn how to live. Here I was like a fish out of water. I had to learn a lot of things; things that are taken to be granted. Like getting groceries, ordering food at restaurants. First time I went to buy a burger, in the very first week, I was stumped by the question: “Here or To Go?” Or to take the city bus or the subway.

Next I had to learn about the money, the bank notes were all of the same size, unlike in other countries, making it difficult for a newbie. It took more time to figure out coins. Quarter: I knew. Nickel: It is written, five cents. Cent was easy. The ‘dime’ baffled me for a long time. Nothing said about how much it is worth. And it is the smallest of all coins. The Americans defied all logic when they designed the coins. Really!

Having told all these, the language barrier was the major obstacle in the first few days. Or rather, I should call it the accent barrier. First, I have to understand what other people are saying. No amount of watching Hollywood blockbusters prepared me for the real deal. The Midwestern accent and the Chicago drawl were far from comprehensible for me at the time. I had the hardest time understanding the accent of black people, whom we invariably meet at restaurant counters or at different offices. The other side of the same barrier is making others understand what I am talking about.

Furthermore, the educational system that I encountered here was freer and more autonomous and more result oriented than the one I was familiar with. It took some time before I could assimilate myself in to school. Even the word ‘school’ is significant. Here it is an engineering school rather than a college. A ‘course’ was called a ‘class’ where I came from. And the course, as I knew it was a ‘program’.

Another thing that I was eagerly awaiting was the infamous ‘Chicago Winter’. Coming from the tropics, I had to experience snow first hand. I remember the first day when there were some flurries and light snow which melted off soon. I went to the deck and grabbed the snow in my hands. When it really snowed, with the full fury, I woke up to find the outer world blanketed in white. I put on my jacket and boots and went for a long walk in the ankle deep snow. I still cherish walking in fresh snow: the deeper, the better. The only thing I missed on that day was to make a snow angel with my arms. I’m sorry folks, I did not know about that tradition. Despite of all warnings, I must say, I enjoyed the winter thoroughly, especially the ice skating in Millennium Park and the only regret is that I could not make the most of it. I promise myself now to take on the next winter with a more focused and serious fashion.

Finally, all I can say is that I fared well during the first days in the US. I should be thanking my cousins, friends, seniors and all others who reached out to help me when I was in this new and unfamiliar environment. Just when I am thinking about it, now I realize the vast strides that I have made from that cold rainy day. And I appreciate how much help and support that I received to achieve the same. I would be grateful to all those people and I will pay you back by helping other fresh ones off the boat, to find their moorings and be comfortable with the life here.

2007-03-25T12:15:00.000-07:00

FOR MY DEAR FRIEND

Every time you see her cry
Like the sun will never shine
In her eyes you see sublime
Zest that mean never say die.

Any sad moment in the life

Bold and strong ensues forth
Earnest as a dove sail north
Trangressing the curse of strife

Having known you till now
Joyce, you are wonderful
Ope the soul resourceful
Yearning the spirit of love

Charming one, you are blessed,
Every way it's possible
Gorgeous jewels so able
Ever caring you to crest

Oculus of future shows
Riddance from the hurtful

Guided by your own angel
Eternally without woes.

2007-01-05T20:38:00.000-08:00

Chicago Grammar:

1. Grachki (grach'-key): Chicagoese for "garage key" as in, "Yo, Theresa, waja do wit da grachki? Howmy supposta cut da grass if I don't git intada grach?"

2. Uptadaendada (up-ta-da-en'-dada): Chicagoese for 'up to the end of the' as in, "Joey, you kin ride yur bike uptadaendada alley but not acrost the street or I'll bust yur
butt."

3. Sammich: Chicagoese for sandwich. When made with sausage, it's a sassage sammich; when made with shredded beef, it's an Italian Beef sammich, a local delicacy consisting of piles of spicy meat in a perilously soggy bun.

4. Da: This article is a key part of Chicago speech, as in "Da Bears" or "Da Mare" the latter denoting Richard M. Daley, or Richie, as he's often called.

5. Jewels: Not family heirlooms or a tender body region, but a popular name for one of the region's dominant grocery store chains. "I'm goin' to da Jewels to pick up some sassage."

6. Field's: Marshall Field, a prominent Chicago department store. (Now Macy's) Also Carson Pirie Scott, another major department store chain, is simply called "Carson's."

7. Tree: The number between two and four. "We were lucky dat we only got tree inches of snow da udder night."

8. Prairie: A vacant lot, especially one on which weeds are growing.

9. Over by dere: Translates to "over by there," a way of emphasizing a site presumed familiar to the listener, as in, "I got the sassage at da Jewels down on Kedzie, over by dere."

10. Kaminski Park: The mispronounced name of the ballpark where the Chicago White Sox (da Sox) play baseball. Comiskey Park was recently renamed U.S. Cellular Field (yuck!).

11. Frunchroom: As in, "Getottada frunchroom wit dose muddy shoes." It's not the "parlor." It's not the "living room." In the land of the bungalow, it's the "frunchroom," a named derived, linguists believe, from "front room."

12. Use: Not the verb, but the plural pronoun "you." "Where's use goin'?"

13. Downtown: Anywhere near The Lake, south of The Zoo (Lincoln Park Zoo) and north of Soldier Field

14. The Lake: Lake Michigan . (What other lake is there?) It's often used by local weathermen, "cooler by The Lake."

15 BoysTown: A section on Halsted between Belmont and Addison which is lined with gay bars both sides of the street. "Didn't I see use in BoysTown in front of da Manhole?"

16. BrahtP: Short for Bratwurst. "Gimme a braht wit kraut..."

17. Cashbox: Traffic reporter slang for tollbooths. "Dere's a delay at da cashbox on da Skyway."

18. Goes: Past or present tense of the verb "say." For example, "Then he goes, 'I like this place'!"

19. Guys: Used when addressing two or more people, regardless of each individual's gender.

20. Pop: A soft drink. Don't say "soda" in this town. "Do ya wanna canna pop?"

21. Sliders Nickname for hamburgers from White Castle, a popular Midwestern burger chain. "Dose sliders I had last night gave me da runs."

22. The Taste: The Taste of Chicago Festival, a huge extravaganza in Grant Park featuring samples of Chicago land cuisine which takes place each year around the Fourth of July holiday.

23. "Jieetyet?": Translates to, "Did you eat yet?"

24. Winter and Construction: Punch line to the joke, "What are the two seasons in Chicago ?"

25. Cuppa Too-Tree: Chicagoese for "a couple, two, or three" which really means "a few." For example, "Hey Mike, dere any beerz left in da cooler over by dere?" "Yeh, a cuppa too-tree."

26. 800-588-2300: Everyone in Chicago knows this commercial jingle and the carpet company you'll get if you call that number -- Empire!

27. Junk Djor: You will usually find the 'junk drawer' in the kitchen filled to the brim with miscellaneous, but very important, junk.

28. Southern Illinois : Anything south of I-80.

29. Expressways: The Interstates in the immediate Chicagoland area are usually known just by their 'name' and not their Interstate number: The Dan Ryan ("the Ryan"), the Stevenson, the Kennedy, the Eisenhower (the "Ike"), and the Edens

30. Gym Shoes: The rest of the country may refer to them as sneakers or running shoes but Chicagoans will always call them gym shoes!

2006-11-15T11:10:00.000-08:00

Tribute to the Czech Beauty Yezdi

2006-10-25T15:59:00.000-07:00

Musings From the Windy City - The Critical Mass Ride

The weekend of September 29- October 1 was a fruitful one.

September 29th Friday saw the Critical Mass Ride of Chicago with me attending it for the first time. I barely knew what to expect when I went for the ride. In fact I bought my bicycle only on that afternoon, a 1963 Schwinn with the Sturmey Archer hub gear system. So the guys at the UIC College of Cycling invited me for this ride which, apparently, could be used to get familiar with my new stallion. I went along with the idea with now knowledge of what I am going to witness.

The name “Critical Mass”comes from Ted White’s bike-umentary 'Return of the Scorcher'. This video shows intersection crossing etiquette in China’s big cities. Cross bike-traffic waits until it has enough riders, i.e., a critical mass, to push it’s way through the intersection.

We all met in front of the Behavioral Sciences Building as per plan and set off to Daley Plaza from where the CM rides begin every month. By the time we reached, there were at least two hundred cyclists already getting ready for the ride. As time passed, the crowd swelled into a thousand riders before the actual ride began. There were all kinds of people out there in the crowd from various passes of life. They were doctors, there were students and there were teenagers and there were people over 60. I have found a few people campaigning for other CM rides nearby like the CM Evanston. There were other people handing out fliers condemning the Bush regime and inviting everyone to take part in the " World Can't Wait" protests. In fact an old lady made me take a bunch of them, supposedly to distribute among my friends. Jesus! Barely a month in this country and I have become an activist! Well, I am not. I am the observer, who sees everything.

So, it wasn't long before the actual ride began when all the riders started pouring into the streets together. A drizzle started around the same time but that did not deter anyone from going out and out. We went through the hazes of streets until we reached the Chicago river at the Wacker Drive. From there on, we continued along the river towards the west, crossing the river at every bridge back and forth. That was amazing. The beautiful river and the good ol' bridges in all its glory, and hundreds and hundreds of riders along the route like little ants. After the fun of the bridges for sometime, again we headed north towards Lincoln Square where its ended. We passed next to the Loyola University campus where there were a lotta people to cheer us.

Every time the front runners reach a major junction, they will just continue riding round and round in a circle, whose center consists of some thirty odd bikers lifting their bicycles above their heads and dancing. Complete anarchy! One full month of complete discipline in the roads followed by two hours of complete lawlessness. Even the traffic police were just watching. In fact there were a number of Chicago Police riders among us in the uniforms and all and all they do when we reach a junction is to stand aside and encourage people to move on. Looks like the city has accepted the Critical Mass as an unavoidable evil. I meanwhile forgot to mention that this ride's theme was Oktoberfest. We were all heading to this Lincoln Square area which has a lotta great pubs around to spend the rest of the evening.

Unfortunately, that was my first day of riding after a real long time and boy, that showed! The first thing I did was to head to this Pot Belly restaurant out there to get something to bite so that I don't drop dead with hunger. Once satiated, I found that I could barely walk, let alone ride back the twenty whole miles. It was aching in all unmentionable parts of my body and relief came when I consulted the map to find that I was barely a block away from the Brown Line rail station of the CTA. So all I had to do was to hop into the train with the bike and reached back to downtown in no time. After a short visit to my cousin's place there, I arrived at home uneventfully by midnight.

An amazing experience which showed me the rebellious nature of the windy city. But unlike the early Critical Mass rides a few years back, the riders were all behaving well, wishing everyone a 'Happy Friday' and without causing any friction with the authorities or within themselves. Altogether it made me a believer and I plan to be there for the ride in the coming months.

Issac Cheriyathu
October 19, 2006.

2006-10-01T21:59:00.000-07:00

Musings From Windy City II

Here I am back agian,

The City of Chicago is great, an old city with all the myths and urban legends...

The name Windy City for instance, was given as an insult, but the Chicagoans have taken it as a pride to call their own city as the Windy one, attributing it to the strong wind that blows all the time from the lake Michigan. Even though the origin is still debated, it must be from the bragging nature of Chicago politicians which caused a New York Editor to give the name, or the bragging of the people about the sports teams from the city which made a Cincinnati ( A long time rival city) journalist to coin the name. But now it is a compliment.

Also, the way people around here pronounce Chicago is different from people outside Chicago... when the whole America calls it 'Chi- ca - go', the Chicagoans, as epitomised by our Maor Richard Daley, pronounce it as 'Chi - CAW - Go' with a ringing reverberating tone.

Another speciality is the Chicago Style hotdogs, which is normal hotdog plus mustard, pickled veggies, tomatoes, chillies and what else.... but no ketchup.

When I came to Chicago first, i could get a Chocolaty smell whenever i walk through the streets of the city, whether it is in downtown or at my University campus. All I could place of the smell was chocolates, even though I knew that was not possible. I thought that was the smell of some flower or tree which is found only in America, and not in my native, India. Then lasst week, the mystery was revealed when my cousin told that it is chocolate smell indeed. There is a factory at the West Loop called the Blommer Chocolate Co. which has a 150 year old factory, from which fine chocolate dust escapes and causing the aroma to waft all around the city. Sad part is that recently someone complained against the company accusing air pollution and the Depeartment of Pollution has made the company install new filtering systems which will trap these fine particles. From what I hear, these filters will be in place in a couple of months and a hundred and fifty year old legacy is going to be dead. For long the motorists returning to the city after a long trip knew that it was home when they get the aroma in their noses.

Then there are unending legends about the two baseball teams in the city namely the White Sox and the Cubs. Then there is the Bears Football team. I do not have to tell anyone about the Chicago Bulls though.

Then there is the media mogul Oprah Winfrey lives in the Water Tower Place, less than a mile from where I am.

The stories go on and I will be back with more

2006-10-01T21:51:00.000-07:00

Musings From The Windy City

Today is September 24th and in just four days I will complete one month in ths soil of the United States of America, at Chicago , the windy city. To be fair, I must say that this country has treated me well.

So let us see what I have seen and experienced here in the last few weeks.

The place is good, with its jazz and blues bars... and the lake Michigan with its tropical blue waters. That reminds me of the story that I have read some days back. Five years ago, the waters of Lake Michigan was just sludge, with dark brown color. And no, it was not some 'save da lake drive' from the Mayor which has saved the lake, but some unsuspecting molluscans from Asia. These shell fishes came to the lake through ships that traveled to Asian seas. The main job that they do is to filter. Imagine millions of little filters installed by the nature performing their work incessantly for five years... that is what happened. And as always there is a catch, the local ecosystem is now gone down drains with the common planktons and all no longer present in the waters. But nevertheless, it looks beautiful now : truly enchanting.

One of the main attractions of the city is the Sears Tower which was, until recently, the tallest building in the world. But if you ask any local, they will tell you that the best view of Chicago is seen from the top of John Hancock Tower, which is about half as tall as the Sears but definitely the local favorite. I have not yet been to the top of both, so I am trusting the local wisdom.

Another main attraction of the city is the Navy Pier, with its Giant Wheel and other show goer attractions. In fact, the Wheel is the second tallest one in North America. These and all the coming trivia is sponsored by Mr. Shashank Sarveppalli, a half ABCD ( Well, he is not American Born, but definitely Confused ) aspiring to become a doctor, and now having the honor of serving as my room mate. Legend says that the whole navy pier was owned by UIC, my university but it was a neglected and a bad neighborhood until the City acquired it and made it to the attraction that it is. And 'grabbed' would have been a better word as Richard M Daley, the mayor of 17 years operates in real mafia style around here. There was a small airstrip around near the Lake front, which he came one night and acquired for a park. And all the Airplanes which were in the strip had to be either towed to the nearest air strip or had to be broken down into pieces, and then re-assembled at the nearest airstrip.

About the demographics, there seem to be two type of people around here. One : Hardcore athletic people who run a hundred miles a week and have the physique of Carl Lewis at his prime. Two : Really Obese people, who eat around ten thousand calories a day and have the physique of a hunch back whale. Boy, I have never seen such fat people back in India, many of them weigh at least 250 Kgs, and they are average. Also, whenever I see them, whether in the class or at the metro stations or in the buses, they will always be eating, a huge pack of chips, munching on and on to oblivion. Gross! In every sense!

Today I have been to the Field Museum in Chicago. They have a wonderful collection of stuffed animals and birds, many of them extinct and dating back to the early 1930s. Also, they have the world's largest and most complete fossil of a T. Rex, called Susie. Man, that is a wonderful sight to see. They have dozens of other fossils of big and small creatures from the Jurassic Era, which makes it one of the best museums in the United States.

The other place that I have visited is the John G Shedd Aquarium, which is one of the best in the world. There is this Female Beluga Whale which has given birth recently and the mother and the kid are having a great time out there. And there are thousands and thousands of different types of fishes from all around the world including those from the coral reefs of Philipines and other countries. The Pacific White Sided Dolphins were excellent during their show that we had. And add to all these the lizards and other dragons , with he King Komodo Dragon at the pinnacle. Awesome.

Last week I had been to the Devon Street with my room mate and friends. It is the Indian Street in Chicago. Well, Indian and Pakistani Street , one must say. One half of the street is called Honorary Muhammad Jinna Way and the other half is called Hon. Mahatma Gandhi Marg. It is full of Indian and Pakistani shops and one thing that I have noticed is that every where it is written 'Indian and Pakistani' . Always. Indian and Pakistani groceries, Indian and Pakistani Cuisine etc. There seems to be no enmity between the two countrymen in the US of A.

Well, it is getting late and I must retire.

Will continue posting on the happenings.. ..

-September 24, 2006

2006-07-14T10:52:00.000-07:00

Me, My Machine and the Elements 3.0

If you are really determined to do some thing, the whole universe will work to make that happen for you. Same thing happened to me this time around. I wanted to ride to somewhere far, away from this polluted city. I wanted to ride in the mountains. These wishes were there deep in my mind when my cousin announced that his first born will be baptized in Ooty and that I would be the godfather.

I was both overwhelmed and joyful at this twin prospect. Firstly, I am having the honor of becoming the godfather of the child, at this very young age. I always thought that these duties are for old uncles and definitely not for a twenty something brash youth. Furthermore, I heard my cousin suggesting about a road trip to Ooty. On bikes! What more could a petrol head like me ask for! So I took the two Czech beauties, the dark green and the black Roadkings to the garage to get them ready for the trip.

So there were two bikes and four guys: Ceejoe, the architect, Dintov, the chip wizard, Jamie, the banker, and yours truly, the techie. Contrasting personalities from four different professions, united by one goal and cognate by blood links. We were joined by another cousin of ours, who got the honor of getting packed off at the Mysore Road bus stand to catch a bus to Ooty. And the banker joined us there.

These all happened at around 2 PM on Saturday, some four hours late than the stipulated starting time. All were armed with windcheaters bought cheap from Russell Market except Dintov, who, in true Russian tradition, was covered in a 15 KG monster of a jacket which, I believe, could even resist shelling or an occasional Scud missile.

After the initial traffic in the city, as we moved out into the newly done Bangalore – Mysore highway. We rode like our tails were on fire till KAMAT’s Lokaruchi where we had had a late heavy lunch and set off again to gain some distance before the night sets in. Then we received an early warning of the things to come when we encountered a short burst of rain as we were approaching Mysore. Undeterred, we rode on, taking the bypass in Mysore, which took us to the Ooty road, through its long winded stretch around the city.

The Ooty road from Mysore was in excellent condition except for a few minor potholes which mean we were cruising at nineties till Gundalpet, from where the road conditions resorted to take an ugly turn. It was in this stretch that we encountered the first real problem when the black Roadking hit a pothole the size of a volcano crater and got the rim bent to some extend. We inspected the bike and found that the rear wheel had a wobble and that a couple of spokes were broken free from the rim. Since it was getting late and also due to the fact that we were in the middle of nowhere, we decided to continue the journey.

From there on, the rain had started showing its muscle forcing us to slow down considerably and we reached the check post at the state border by around 8 PM. The people at the check post were not letting us go claiming that two wheelers are not allowed inside the Muthumala Wild Life Sanctuary after 6 PM. After some amount of pleading, coaxing and an exchange of ‘funds’, we were allowed to pass through. I came back to the bike to find that my helmet had fallen off from the seat where I had kept it. The damage became evident when the next time the rain became too harsh and I pulled down the visor to be safe from the vicious raindrops thrashing against the face. I could still feel the raindrops even with the visor down, and a close inspection revealed a hole on the visor, a round one at that!

Soon after that we reached the junction where the road splits into two, one towards Masanagudi and other one towards Ooty. Masanagudi route was supposed to be having better roads and having only half the distance compared to the other. The downside is the threat of elephants and two check posts where we may or may not be allowed to pass. I would have betted that one could pass any check post in this part of the country, provided one does not carry any illegal stuff and does carry the required funds to change the mind of the seemingly unrelenting officials.

The other route through Goodalloor was longer, with bad roads but without any problems about elephants or cops. This information was provided by a friendly Forest Department official that we met at the junction. I voted for the shorter, but risky road while the banker was skeptical about it. Just then a bus came from the shorter route, and the driver informed that they met a couple of elephants on the way. Instantly the architect and Dintov opted for the longer road and we started off right after a bus. All we encountered was an elephant by the roadside, which actually did not scare the riders as only the pillions noticed it.

I still believe that that was a bad decision as we got the worst kind of roads imaginable from Goodalloor. The average speed dropped down to around 20 kmph and the miles dragged on an on through the cracked mountain roads climbing steadily to the hill station that Ooty is. Our plight was not helped by the continuous rain that we had to endure for four hours, drenching us fully, despite of our jackets, with the temperatures dropping to the range of 8 – 10 degrees. And I had the added luxury of having a broken helmet visor to let in all the water that the front opening could allow. Not disheartened, we rode on for another twenty kilometers in one and a half hours until we found a place with a few shops, where we stopped to have tea. Additionally we ate a few omelets to ward off the cold which had seeped right into our souls.

It was a few kilometers later in the hills when the already limping black Roadking’s rear tire gave up on us. It picked up a nail, it turned out later, and we were in the hills at this pitch black night with rain hammering all over us. In the beam of the other Roadking’s headlight, we inspected the bike and found that there was no hope for it to continue. We found a bus shelter in this forsaken place to our surprise and left the bike there after locking it up there. I still do not know what purpose the shelter served in that area where the nearest light that we saw after that was some six kilometers away. Anyway, soon after that we hailed down a truck, on which Dintov and Ceejoe left, leaving behind me and Jaime, to continue with the ride. The next time we met them was in Ooty where they had alighted from the truck when the driver had to sign some waybills at his company office.

Luckily, the truck was going all the way to Coimbatore, and hence our guys could hitch the ride all the way to Coonoor, where we all were headed. Some twenty kilometers down the road, we reached Coonoor and were waiting for the truck when a couple of night patrol cops came to the junction, sending home all the people who were hanging around in the area, since it was late in the night, almost 1 AM. They were at the lordly best in arrogance when they asked us what the hell we were up to at this unholy hour at their home town. I just told him that we came to visit one Major General Sebastian and were waiting for him to come and pick us up. Their superciliousness was wiped off from their faces instantly and they just enquired whether we had called him up. That is when the truck arrived and we were all shivering and waiting for my cousin to come and show us the way. As Murphy’s Law goes, he turned up in a bike only and so my bike was carrying three people up the ruthless climb up to the Wellington Cantonment, some ten kilometers from there. Or maybe, the distance was less, but in the exhaustion and the weight that my bike was pulling made me feel that it was unending.

We reached the house, had a hot dinner and slept off obliviously till morning when we got up in time for the breakfast. Then we faced the daunting task of fetching the abandoned bike and getting it done. We found an Auto Rick driver who could help us with the bike. After the preliminary analysis, we bought a tube, and set off with a tire repairman to the place where we left the bike. The road conditions and the Rick’s generally slow pace made us reach the place in another one hour even though the distance was just twenty kilometers. Within no time we replaced the tube and I volunteered to ride it all the way to Ooty. I set off first with the rest of them in the Rick, trailing behind. In this edition of Me, My Machine and the Elements, the Elements had a slightly upper hand and hence I found myself stranded again after a few kilometers when even the new tube got punctured.

The people in the Rick reached the place soon to see me all dejected and with drooping shoulders. That is when the perseverance of the Rick driver came into play. He insisted that we can carry the bike in his vehicle. We tried to get the bike into the Rick but dropped the idea when we saw that the bike was scrapping against the seat too much. Again after waiting for half an hour for a pick-up truck of some kind, we tried again but the front Foot pegs were posing the hindrance. Again we took the bike out when the idea hit us to remove the foot pegs, but this time the Kick lever came into play, against us. Again we found a workaround and the bike was inside the Rick about three fourth, safely, barring some damage to the Rick’s seat. Supported by a wooden block and a stone, the bike continued its journey to Ooty, with Ceejoe perching on the bike’s seat, so that he could claim that he completed the trip to Ooty on the bike itself.

Another two hours we reached Ooty, where we left the bike with a mechanic who would get the rim replaced and the tire repaired. We left to Coonoor by bus and had a beautiful evening during which we met and chewed the fat with all the relatives and friends who came to attend the function and then slept real well till the next morning.

In the morning we went for a walk in the hillside through winding roads around the gorgeous green carpet of tea plantation. The real grandeur of Ooty is outside the tourist spots, in the sublime quality of life where nature and humanity mingle together very intimately leading to such an unseen coexistence.

By 11 AM, everyone got ready and went to the church to attend the baptism. I attended the ceremony all uptight and with a smile permanently pasted over my face. But I couldn’t help laughing when the child raised a ruckus when water was poured over his head. I can imagine what he must have thought. “Why are these people towering over me and pinching my cheeks and making all sorts of stupid noises? And on the top of that, now they are pouring ice cold water over me, that too in this freezing Ooty!”

After Samuel Joy Jose officially became a Christian and after a long session with the snappers, we all went to our host’s house where we had excellent food and a couple of drinks and changed into the riding gear to set off to Bangalore soon. Two of us went in the bike while the other two took a bus to reach Ooty. Now we had to deal with one bizarre dilemma. We couldn’t find the garage where we left the bike!

But after half an hour of search we found the right place and found that even though the mechanic had somehow procured a new rim for us, he hadn’t started working on it since he wanted to show it to us before continuing. So we had to sit and wait till he finished fixing the hub, spokes and the rim and getting the wheel trued to his satisfaction. After that, we found that the edge of the tire was not seated properly in the edge of rim, rendering the wheel a slight wobble. It took another hour for a tire repairer to fix the issue and we set off from the town by around 6 PM with the task of filling the fuel and checking the air in the tires. We went to this place where there was no power, so we had to get it filled with a foot pump, which meant we were not entirely sure about the air pressure of the tires. To make things worse, my bike fell from my hands while taking it out of the centre stand and the right foot peg broke off. This was quickly fixed by taking a steel rod from a junkyard nearby and thrusting it into the open hole which was left behind when I changed my bikes braking system to rod type.

So by around 6.30 we managed to finally leave Ooty and this time, we took the Masanagudi route. The road was excellent with a lot of curves and with a steep slope downhill which was evident from the fact that this route takes u down the same elevation in less than half the distance compared to the earlier one. Except for a scare thrown up by the ailing black Roadking when a bit of the rubber at the coupling between the wheel and the drive burned giving out a sharp smell, the trip downhill went smoothly and we reached Masanagudi village in no time where we stopped to have our cup of tea.

From there it was the haven of elephants, the Muthumala Wildlife Sanctuary. Here again, we passed through the check post with the help of an old man in a car, whom we met at the tea stall. We just followed the car for a few kilometers till another vehicle coming from the opposite side flagged us to stop. They claimed that they encountered a couple of elephants down the road and asked us not to continue further. That’s when an elephant sent out its mighty roar just behind us, just a few meters away from us. I hadn’t switched off my bike, but the other bike was not started and the probability of getting it started in this catch-22 situation was slim, at least according to me. But Ceejoe showed true presence of mind when he got the machine to move by running while on the bike and jerked it into gear to get it started. I would have sworn the other bike had better acceleration on foot than mine which was powered by the 250cc screamer of an engine. We never even dared to slow down below 60 kmph after that incident.

From there on, we rode on smoothly till Gundalpet where we stopped to have another cup of tea and get our bikes’ tire pressures checked. Coming back to the inhabited lands, we rode on without the threat of the ‘Elements’ and the next stop was in front of the elegant Mysore Palace. We took a couple of snaps before getting off fast as the time was getting real late, already after midnight. We planned to have dinner from the first wayside restaurant after Mysore, but there was none that we saw that would fit our taste.

From Mysore we got back into the excellent highway which, when compared to the horror of a road that we rode on during the earlier stages was more line a smooth mirror for us. Then we stopped at the good old Café Coffee Day after Mandya where we had a real late dinner and gave some relief to our straining backs before setting off to the final stretch of our odyssey. When we reached Ramnagaram, the black Roadking pulled out another trick with its headlight going off all of a sudden. We were as unperturbed as ever and just continued by sharing the light of my bike’s headlight and following other vehicles as parasites for their light.

Finally when we reached Kengeri, Bangalore welcomed us with its bright yellow streetlights, which lasted all the way up to our place. Never had we appreciated the BMP’s maintenance of the street lighting before as on this occasion. In fact I had never noticed it.

Finally at 4.30 in the morning we took the last right turning towards Hutchins Road Second Cross from the Wheeler Road and the curtains came down for an eventful and fantastic trip. I had to sleep off immediately as I had to be at my office by at least 10 in the morning.

After completing yet another ride into the countryside and mountains, I started appreciating the ease of city life in another perspective altogether. And here I am writing off the third edition of my scripts, fulfilled to the core and nursing the idea for the next trip. The itch to travel is coming up again, slowly, and I will need another trip shortly to dwindle it temporarily. Another thing that got revealed in the trip was the good nature of humanity in the form of the Rick driver, the guy who helped me fix the foot peg and a lot of others who came out of their way to help us crazy travelers to continue out journey safely and cheerfully.

- Issac Cheriyathu
1 July 2006 – 3 July 2006.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ol2fN0bZCso

2006-06-07T08:18:00.000-07:00

Me, My Machine and The Elements 2.0

I was expecting the second edition of the write up only at least one week later. The last weekend I was not planning to ride anything major, save a small ride to the outskirts of the city to make a version 1.5. But fate had different plans and I had to attend a funeral in Wayanad, Kerala. I am here to talk about rides, so I will write about the riding part of the story.

The grand plan was to start from Bangalore by around seven o’ clock and reach the place by late night. But the invariable delays made us late, real late. First of all the bike could not be retrieved from the garage where it was given for a check up in time. Then the journey from Cox Town to Madiwala, for my friend to collect the bag and to get ready took us another eternity and finally when we finally tanked up at BTM and started off, it was almost eleven.

For starters, no, we were not on my own steed, it was a Thunderbird with Delhi license plates. That makes the title erroneous, you may argue, but this guy is a close friend of mine, and I am as comfortable on this machine as mine at any time. And I made the guy ride through the first forty kilometers as I hate to manipulate the heavy piece of equipment in the shit that is called traffic in Bangalore. Then I took over for the next sixty kilometers and we were changing hands every fifty kilometers for the rest of the journey.

The first stop was at the highway-side Café Coffee Day before Mandya. We swigged down cappuccinos and stretched in the bean bag sofa that they have out there. In the city cafés I always wondered about the purpose of such couches but here I found the utility of stretching your back while on the long run. I wanted to have a nice nap there but as the duty was calling, we got ourselves out of the place and set off again.

From here I noticed the dying human activities around the road as most people had started their nightly rest after a long day of hard toil. The road became more or less empty and by the time we reached Mysore, there were just trucks out there in the highway. And from Mysore, we had the dream conditions: a virtually empty road, smooth tarmac and flowing curves. From Gundalpet, where we stopped to have a final tea, we left the Ooty road and were on the Wayanad road, to ride into the God's Own Country.

Soon we were traveling through the deserted jungles of Bandipur and we saw a lot of animals crossing the road. We once stopped at a place where we found a lot of deers standing by the road to watch them up close. Then one of the animals made some loud sound and we got the hell out of there with the threat of an encounter with elephants crossing the road looming over us. We met an occasional truck on the way and we made good progress as we crossed the state border shortly by four in the morning.

From there it was Kerala with the monsoon pounding on with its ruthless power. We made slow progress in heavy rain through the curvy ghat road and then we saw a reversal of the phenomenon that we saw late in the night. We started seeing people in the roads, mainly newspaper boys and other people who gets up early in the morning and gets to their day to day activities. Finally we reached the place by around five thirty in the morning.

We attended the funeral in the late morning and spent the afternoon sleeping away.

In the evening, we got out and rode to this place called ‘Chempara Estate’ which is a huge tea plantation. The road up to the top of the place was gorgeous and we spent our night in the house of a cousin of my friend up there. Early morning we got up and after breakfast, it was again lazily lying down and exploring the place on foot.

In the afternoon, we again took off back to Bangalore and thanks to the better visibility, we enjoyed the terrain better this time. One highlight of Wayanad was the football craze that the people have got out there. Every junction is now decorated with the flags of Argentina, Brazil, England and other teams and there were huge cut outs of the major players all around. The place is boiling with the World Cup fever and Argentina seems to be having the majority of fans followed by Brazil and England a distant third. These flags and banners have replaced the same of political parties which adorn these places usually. I even saw the flags and other insignia of Italy and Portugal on a couple of occasions.

The view on both sides of the route is breathtaking and we were in the ninth cloud and John Denver’s ‘Country Roads’ was ringing in my ears all the time. The ghastly forest that we had crossed the previous day became all beautiful as we were as close to the nature as we could ever be. Finally when we reached the other side of the forest, we were sad as we were going away from the tropical paradise that it was. By six o’ clock we reached Gundalpet where we had tea from the same place.

That was when I came to know about the sad demise of a tiny being. A small sparrow was sitting on the road some distance back when I was riding the bike. The sparrow took off as it saw the bike coming and hit my left shin before getting deflected and becoming lodged in the tiny gap between the engine and the swing arm. I remembered something hitting my leg, but I thought it had deflected back into the road and had flown off. We slowly removed the little bird from the gap and set it away before continuing to Mysore.

We reached Mysore by 6.30 where we went straight to St, Philomena’s Church. We attended the last part of a mass there and started off in the highway towards Bangalore. Now a days the highway has become impeccable barring the rough stretch in Mandya and Ramnagaram and a few diversions where the traffic gets confined to two lanes. Everywhere else, the road stretches with all its six/four lane glory allowing you to really test the claims of the manufacturers about the maximum attainable speed, without much trouble of heavy traffic. Again, we stopped at the 24/7 Café Coffee Day where we again gulped down cappuccinos before getting a couple of cold coffees in take-away cartons.

Those were meant for my brother, who studies in an Engineering College in Ramnagaram, whom we paid a surprise visit at 11 PM in the night. We just rode into the campus as if it belongs to our grandpa and went straight to the Hostel and walked into his room. We spent some half an hour out there before heading straight into the city.

Bangalore welcomed us with its pollution and congestion and after being in the tropical rain forest paradise that Wayanad is, we could literally see the fumes rising up in the air. Cursing the government, because it is everyone’s scapegoat, we reached Madiwala shortly after midnight. I dropped off my friend there and went home, had bath, shaved and slept, because, I had to get to office the next day morning.

Another weekend gone and another memorable ride, and here am I with my second version of my ride report, surprisingly with a bigger update than previously thought. Anyway, I got a long week ahead of me when I got to sweat it out so that I can go riding again next weekend.

- Issac Cheriyathu
2 June 6, 2006 to 4 June 6, 2006.

2006-05-30T09:48:00.001-07:00

Me, My Machine and The Elements 1.0

Good god….I am thinking about writing a series on my weekend rides. Maybe my destiny is to become a writer one day. What the hell, I am attempting it nevertheless.

Well, this time I was planning to ride to some place nearby so that the entire trip can be completed in one day thereby not encroaching into my already depleted leave entitlement. So the decision had to be taken between Horsley Hills, BR Hills and Yelagiri. Horsley Hills was rejected for the plain reason that a friend of mine had already been there. It’s a complex, you see, what’s the point of being the second one? BR Hills was ditched owing to the fact that I felt it was too far away. So by Saturday evening, the destination was decided and the bike was tanked up. I cost me 879 bucks for 16.18 liters of fuel.

The night before the ride was a sleepless one. Twice I woke dreamt that I woke up too late and my friends had already left. I actually got up six times to check the time. But at last when the alarm went off, I didn’t want to get up and was craving for another couple of hours of sleep. Anyway, I got up, washed, brushed and put on the jacket, shoes, gloves and helmet and started off from home by 6.18. The roads being empty enabled me to reach the meeting point at the Old Madras Road, after the hanging bridge, by 6.30.

Within no time all the bikes have arrived. Two Yezdi Roadkings, one Unicorn and one Discover. Four bikes, seven people, with yours truly being the solo rider. We set off in the bucolic Old Madras Road with sparse traffic. We got carried away by the road in such a way that we missed out Hoskote where we were supposed to take a turn and went some six kilometers further before realizing the mistake and backtracking.

From Hoskote, the real fun began. The road was awful in the beginning, but after a stretch of crater filled monster of a road, things began getting better. The next big village was Malur, after which the condition of the road saw a whopping scale of deterioration which meant we were virtually dirt racing for the next few kilometers. What compensated for the rough terrain was the fact that we were traversing one of the most beautiful parts of rural South, which made us stop from time to time to take snaps and to get some respite from the roller-coaster ride that we were having. By 9 O’ clock, we reached Bangarapet, where we had the breakfast from a tiny vegetarian restaurant and asked for directions.

From the map we had, we saw that it will be easier via Kuppom, but when we asked around, at least four people testified that there is no Road to Kuppom other than the railway track. Still unfazed, we asked an Enfield rider and he says that there is definitely a road to Kuppom via Kolar Gold Fields. And what a road it was! This is what one will expect from a country road. Smooth surface, non-existent traffic, green surroundings and flowing curves will satiate the thirst of even the most eager biker. It was a breeze from KGF to Kuppom and from Kuppom to Nattranmalai. Only difference was that ‘Halli Darigalu’ turned into ‘Uri Darulu’ and then into ‘Kramathu Salaigal’ in a matter of a few kilometers as we crossed two state boundaries.

Then came the climbs where I left others behind when it was just me, my machine and the elements. After every couple of hairpin bends, I would just stop the bike and stare into the valley below, which , after every stop, became smaller and smaller and made me wonder how it would look if I were the God and looked down from my lofty office table at my own creations. According to my reference material there were fourteen hairpin bends, but I scarcely counted them as I was deep in bliss finding my self in the terrain which I am more familiar with, one in which there is more curves and climbs than the boring straight stretches that I am cursed with, in and around Bangalore. It took us 210 kilometers through the highways and country roads to reach our destination.

Finally reaching the top by 1 PM, we had lunch the first thing before going to this village called Mankalam where we parked our bikes and left our helmets with the villagers and went off to stretch our legs for a trek. I didn’t climb much as after some distance, I found a rock under the shades where I slept obliviously and blissfully for two hours with cool breeze flowing over my face until when the guys woke me up on their way back. According to them, the hike was excellent, but I still think that I made the right choice since those two hours of sleep in the nature had recharged me for another five hours or riding. After that we came back to the village where we had tea. One important thing to be noted is that all the villagers are very much polite and eager to help you in any manner, which signifies the fact that tourism has not reached this place to such a scale as to show its darker side.

After visiting the park and the lake, we started our journey back soon after 6 PM. The ride down the hills was another first-class experience, where, again, I left the pack behind and was enjoying the terrain to the most. Once I reached the valley, I stopped at a small bridge and sat waiting for the guys and staring at the behemoth hill and the zigzag road that I climbed down. It was a truly humbling experience to watch the mount knowing that I could climb over it but still how small I am, compared to it.

Then others turned up and we reached the main road when the rain hit us. There was no point in waiting for the rain to subside, and also since we were all wearing jackets and helmets, we chose to continue. It was another learning phase for me in the highways, when the crosswinds were so powerful that sometimes it felt my rear slipping because of that. The gale and the rain hit us with the mighty power that the nature has got as we made progress to cover the distance to Krishnagiri as on the way back we chose a shorter route, mostly through the highways. NH 46 till Krishnagiri and then NH7 till Bangalore were in excellent condition as we made the distance pretty fast and finally reached Bangalore at 9 PM covering around 170 kilometers. When I crossed the Silk Board Fly over, after which you can say it is Bangalore, I let out a sigh signaling the end of one memorable ride on a Sunday. It was just city traffic and the congestion after that.

This was when I thought of writing about my Sunday trips to the country side, to escape from the ennui of city life. Somebody suggested it to call it ‘My Motorcycle Diaries’ but I chose not to, since even though I love the concept of traveling cross-country, I don’t like the falls. Then I gave it the current moniker since, above all, it is just me, my machine, and the elements. I plan to continue with this venture in the coming weekends when I ride out into oblivion and then come back and write about it on Mondays.

2006-05-17T07:21:00.000-07:00

Hi,

I got the bill of my bikes repair from my Mechie..

That is a Masterpice....

Here we go...

Waishaing = 40
Foke Bhaind = 90
Weel Throwing = 100
Cleach Paking = 10
ShaifTeer ispring = 10
Foke Boulse = 18
Salaincer RuBeer = 38
Kleach waisher = 6
Foke oil seel = 68
Gare oil = 110
Tanke wilding = 30
Weel baring = 120
Kleach Bale = 160
Koune Polish = 25
TaiLampe SeeT = 62
PaTrole TuBe = 3
TaiLampe Bulpe (2) = 10
Kane RuBeer (2) = 8
SaiLaNcer Wailding = 35
Cleach CaBeel = 10
SaiLaNcer CLampe = 6
Kleache iSKrowe = 6
head Loke Waishair = 6
Weel Waishair (2) = 8
Magnate Charge = 75
isTande piN = 75
Foke oil = 25
Heade gasket = 8
Foule Sairwis = 300
Foke ReseeT = 180
iSLuTeer Waire = 35
----------------------------------------------
TOTeeL = 1752
Payed = 600
--------------------------------------------------
BaLaNces = 1152

Everything is in Indian Rupees.

-Issac Cheriyathu

2006-05-13T08:36:00.000-07:00

Who moved my Cheese (Work)?

I have been reeling with load in the past
Trying to deal with everythin' fast
Days were spent with me in a trance
Making me late for the evenin' dance

Ha! I just had a normal weekend,
And I was back to work without end.
Waited till noon and asked my TL,
Gave me the news, too good to be real.

There is no work, there is no work,
I am in glee and on a moonwalk.
Hip Pip Hurray I sing along,
Deep in the bliss, all the day long.

Monday is gone, Tuesday is gone,
Even on Wednesday nothing is done.
Boredom is creeping into my veins,
Ennui is surely something that strains.

Where is my work, where is my work?
I guess someone has moved my work.
Managed to read a couple of books,
Solved the crossword that newsletter cooks.

There is still time for this stupid poem,
This will engage me till I go home.
All I can hope and all I can wish,
Is to get some work that I can finish!

2006-05-13T08:29:00.000-07:00

My Tryst with Bangalore

Tryst /trist/ n. meeting, esp. a secret one of lovers.

Don’t let the literal meaning misguide you. This is the closest word that describes what I feel about the Paradise City, Bangalore.

Bangalore has always been my dream destination in life to me, a lad from a small town in Kerala. It was a kind of dreamland where there are gardens everywhere and beautiful buildings in every direction. One of the biggest doubts that I had when I was just six or seven was whether it is ‘Bankloor’ or ‘Blankoor’. Well, after extensive research I have found that it is ‘Bankloor’ after all.

One of the first visits to the paradise came during some trip with the family. All I remember is seeing some huge old buildings that looked like palaces and all roads lined with trees adorning yellow flowers. Then there were other trips from school which only increased the admiration for the place.

The teenage years saw me coming to Mangalore for doing PUC and making occasional trips to Bangalore, getting mesmerized by the beautiful gals while negotiating the MG Road/ Brigade Road crowds with my jaws hanging permanently. These quests were furthered during the days in Engineering College when the ultimate idea of having fun was to hop into a bus heading to Bangalore and stay there till you run out of money.

Life is fast and I found myself getting kicked out of the college for the crime of completing the course. However hard I hated my college during the studies, it was really painful to leave the place for good. After a few months of doing miscellaneous courses of all kinds, finally I came to the decision that I need a job. Where else to head other than Bangalore, the IT capital of India? So I packed my bags and left to Bangalore, the City of Opportunities.

I am one of the most fortunate job hunters I have ever heard of. Landed in the job in three days! The story goes like this : I come to Bangalore one fine morning, attend a party in the evening, someone talks about an opening in this company, send the resume then and there itself, next day afternoon gets a call to come for interview, attends the same on the next morning, and receives the offer letter by noon. Bangalore is the land of opportunities, indeed.

In the first few weeks, whenever I got free time, and during weekend, the impulse was to go to FORUM or to Brigade Road and to merge with the crowds. But after the initial bliss, I started noticing that the place was too crowded even to breathe. So nowadays weekends are either at home or some other place that is not that crowded.

Another experience was riding the bike to and from office. The place I hail from doesn’t have a tenth of traffic as Bangalore at any time. And the way I ride has been altered to suit the conditions prevailing here, just for the sake of survival. Furthermore, I have had an accident here, leading to a traffic case which has shown me the dual nature of the Police force out here. From one side they were extremely polite with me throughout the procedures and from the other side guzzled down a large sum of money as bribes. In my place the cops would have imbibed the same kind of money and yet would have treated you like a rat.

Another aspect that I used to miss at my home was the activities of the biker club that I am a member of. It has chapters all over the country, but the ranks of the Kerala chapter was meager and that meant almost no activity. But come to Bangalore, the main hub of the club in the south, I enjoy all the fruits of becoming a member. Weekend rides, hanging out with fellow clubbies, meets and what else…

People are complaining about traffic and pollution, but I don’t think it is anywhere close to Mumbai. Most of the roads are still lined with trees which bloom making the city look like bride ready for wedding. There are even air-conditioned Volvo City Buses which you don’t find anywhere else in the country. I love this city, where you hear at least a dozen languages at any place you go. I love Bangalore because she accepts anyone who come to her and make them her own. I love her because she still has the charm and beauty of a maiden even with the millions of people that she holds.

- Issac Cheriyathu