pulling pistons on an indian road side
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words by - Swells
Our introduction to Indian roads gets gnarly as smashed trucks litter the road sides we quickly learn our lives mean as little as the universe is massive... also the TTR stalls in traffic and wont restart. |
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After the most comfortable sleep in a police cell I have ever had we packed up and left showing our gratitude while keeping a low profile. We slipped out past the pile of wrecked bikes and rolled onto the Indian streets.
The vegetation was a lush green which not only coloured the landscape but inspired a prosperous mood amongst twentyonehorses. The road was a mixture of older bitchimin and compacted dirt and gravel, at this point fairly representative of the whole of south east Asia.
The death bus we found roaming wild on the indo roads must share a close blood line to the beast we discovered in India. Welcome the death truck... It distracts its prey with shining polished steel, blinding plumes of black diesel pump from its bowls, Bright paint work details and adorning jewels seek to mark it as an Alfa truck. They battle each other and anyone else daring to tread on or in close proximity to the road.
The trucks behaviour was an added danger to the mountain pass. We passed several fallen victims to their antics. Before the trip there was much talk of dangers that we faced, most feared the threat of terrorism but few with experience spoke of the danger of the Indian roads. It was now this threat was very much real. It was the first time on the trip I felt my adventure stoke invincibility under fire.
Atop the mountain range we entered into a large city which laid sprawled across the mountain side. Concrete homes grew in thick clumps painted in bright colours. Adventure stoke levels were high. Natural springs fed water into concrete basins that served as communal baths. Rubbish piles burnt bright sporadically amongst the crowd.
Good roads provided a fun decent from the Indian mountain city. The green vegetation kept my adventure stoke high as we once again faced the death truck in its natural habitat. I grew used to cars on the wrong side of the road in Indonesia, the difference was at least in indo they would be overtaking here in India they would be on the wrong side of the road around a blind corner just because it was quicker, no other car in sight. We all learnt pretty quick to hug the outside line whist cornering.
We stop for lunch in a small tidy restaurant. The menu was written in English and our host spoke it well enough to believe it was his first language. As we ate we came to a common conclusion that the majority of people appeared to be of Asian descent, this was becoming a mystery...
After lunch we found ourselves in an intensely busy city full of chaotic noise and adventure. Riding behind Jonny bang we dodged and weaved our way amongst the grid locked traffic. Stop in a traffic squeeze the battle hardened TTR stalled. I watched Jonny bang attempted to turn it over once then Lower his head as if to encourage the engine then kicked her again. Shaking his head he dismounted and pushed through the crowd to the busy roads edge, looking up at me he had a strange glint in his eye "I think its major" he simply states. Dan soon joined us and agrees with Johnny Bangs initial diagnosis. Jonny Bang looks almost excited as he pushes his bike into a nearby alleyway which conveniently turn out to be a car work shop. The work shop men appeared bemused as Jonny went about finding a comfortable place in the shade telling them his bike is broken and that he quickly needs to pull it apart. They don't speak English and it appears to me that Johnny Bang has successfully infiltrated and commandeered a section of their workshop. The suspicion is it's dropped a rod but first step in fault finding was to check behind the crank case. Its removal revealed more metal shards - nothing new to the TTR here, and everything else appeared healthy. At this point the locals gathered in a small crowd interested in what was taking place in their workshop.
The top end came off next in a delicate operation in which I assisted by dropping the cam assembly in the dirt. Jonny bang seemed nonplussed but I thought I best stick to taking photos.
At this point Gimmy arrived, a local custom furniture builder who spoke perfect English. Helping us translate our needs to the shop workers they laughed and clapped at the state that the TTR was quickly reduced to. Gimmy disappeared to return with coke and cold bottle water, we could not have been more stoked at his helpful generosity in our current problematic problem state.
Reaching the piston the con rod appeared strong and intact. Not sure of what to look at next with darkness approaching it was starting to feel like the TTR could be done for. Johnny Bang in the face of disaster, remained calm and to me appeared to love the challenge, seeing it as a necessary part of his adventure stoke. At this point I hatched a theory that he purposely purchased the run down TTR just to reveal in moments such as this.
Gimmy perhaps realising the depth of our current predicament invited us to stay at his house for the night. This alone relived a growing weight from our shoulders allowing us to concentrate on the TTR.
Dan the ever pragmatic problem solver started to suspect the build-up of carbon could be the culprit or at least definitely a contributing factor. As the setting sun cast long shadows into our work shop dark fingers caressed spread apart bike bits and we went about scrubbing carbon from the piston head, combustion chamber and from around the valve seats. A young work shop guy was on our level and was more than happy to help our cause.
With motor guts parts clean it was bolted back together with hope and a homemade piston ring gasket. Now in darkness 4 hours after arriving Jonny bang once again pushed the start button... the TTR coughed and spluttered back to the living world.
Adventure stoke was at maximum capacity as we headed to our new friend’s house to meet his family and be treated to traditional delicious Naga cuisine.
That night many a mystery was solved as Gimmy and his brother in law explained the historical significance of the area. The Asian appearance of the people was in fact indication of the lands recent past. After British colonialist left the area a day before leaving India in 18somthing? Governess of the land fell under Indian control. The local tribes of the area have been fighting the Indian government for independence ever since. Shortly before we arrived a 17-year long cease fire had expired and clashes between the freedom fighters and Indian government troops had sparked throughout the area. This explained the heavy presence of Indian government troops on our first day. In almost a rebellious act the local people seemed to cling to Christianity left behind after the British colonist had left years before, one method employed to identify themselves as uniquely different to the people of mainland India. The Naggalin people where a proud independent people. I found their hospitality and kindness a bright light shining in an otherwise dark hostile politically charged environment.
Falling asleep that night in Gimmy's family home I felt alive with adventure stoke to the maximum.
The vegetation was a lush green which not only coloured the landscape but inspired a prosperous mood amongst twentyonehorses. The road was a mixture of older bitchimin and compacted dirt and gravel, at this point fairly representative of the whole of south east Asia.
The death bus we found roaming wild on the indo roads must share a close blood line to the beast we discovered in India. Welcome the death truck... It distracts its prey with shining polished steel, blinding plumes of black diesel pump from its bowls, Bright paint work details and adorning jewels seek to mark it as an Alfa truck. They battle each other and anyone else daring to tread on or in close proximity to the road.
The trucks behaviour was an added danger to the mountain pass. We passed several fallen victims to their antics. Before the trip there was much talk of dangers that we faced, most feared the threat of terrorism but few with experience spoke of the danger of the Indian roads. It was now this threat was very much real. It was the first time on the trip I felt my adventure stoke invincibility under fire.
Atop the mountain range we entered into a large city which laid sprawled across the mountain side. Concrete homes grew in thick clumps painted in bright colours. Adventure stoke levels were high. Natural springs fed water into concrete basins that served as communal baths. Rubbish piles burnt bright sporadically amongst the crowd.
Good roads provided a fun decent from the Indian mountain city. The green vegetation kept my adventure stoke high as we once again faced the death truck in its natural habitat. I grew used to cars on the wrong side of the road in Indonesia, the difference was at least in indo they would be overtaking here in India they would be on the wrong side of the road around a blind corner just because it was quicker, no other car in sight. We all learnt pretty quick to hug the outside line whist cornering.
We stop for lunch in a small tidy restaurant. The menu was written in English and our host spoke it well enough to believe it was his first language. As we ate we came to a common conclusion that the majority of people appeared to be of Asian descent, this was becoming a mystery...
After lunch we found ourselves in an intensely busy city full of chaotic noise and adventure. Riding behind Jonny bang we dodged and weaved our way amongst the grid locked traffic. Stop in a traffic squeeze the battle hardened TTR stalled. I watched Jonny bang attempted to turn it over once then Lower his head as if to encourage the engine then kicked her again. Shaking his head he dismounted and pushed through the crowd to the busy roads edge, looking up at me he had a strange glint in his eye "I think its major" he simply states. Dan soon joined us and agrees with Johnny Bangs initial diagnosis. Jonny Bang looks almost excited as he pushes his bike into a nearby alleyway which conveniently turn out to be a car work shop. The work shop men appeared bemused as Jonny went about finding a comfortable place in the shade telling them his bike is broken and that he quickly needs to pull it apart. They don't speak English and it appears to me that Johnny Bang has successfully infiltrated and commandeered a section of their workshop. The suspicion is it's dropped a rod but first step in fault finding was to check behind the crank case. Its removal revealed more metal shards - nothing new to the TTR here, and everything else appeared healthy. At this point the locals gathered in a small crowd interested in what was taking place in their workshop.
The top end came off next in a delicate operation in which I assisted by dropping the cam assembly in the dirt. Jonny bang seemed nonplussed but I thought I best stick to taking photos.
At this point Gimmy arrived, a local custom furniture builder who spoke perfect English. Helping us translate our needs to the shop workers they laughed and clapped at the state that the TTR was quickly reduced to. Gimmy disappeared to return with coke and cold bottle water, we could not have been more stoked at his helpful generosity in our current problematic problem state.
Reaching the piston the con rod appeared strong and intact. Not sure of what to look at next with darkness approaching it was starting to feel like the TTR could be done for. Johnny Bang in the face of disaster, remained calm and to me appeared to love the challenge, seeing it as a necessary part of his adventure stoke. At this point I hatched a theory that he purposely purchased the run down TTR just to reveal in moments such as this.
Gimmy perhaps realising the depth of our current predicament invited us to stay at his house for the night. This alone relived a growing weight from our shoulders allowing us to concentrate on the TTR.
Dan the ever pragmatic problem solver started to suspect the build-up of carbon could be the culprit or at least definitely a contributing factor. As the setting sun cast long shadows into our work shop dark fingers caressed spread apart bike bits and we went about scrubbing carbon from the piston head, combustion chamber and from around the valve seats. A young work shop guy was on our level and was more than happy to help our cause.
With motor guts parts clean it was bolted back together with hope and a homemade piston ring gasket. Now in darkness 4 hours after arriving Jonny bang once again pushed the start button... the TTR coughed and spluttered back to the living world.
Adventure stoke was at maximum capacity as we headed to our new friend’s house to meet his family and be treated to traditional delicious Naga cuisine.
That night many a mystery was solved as Gimmy and his brother in law explained the historical significance of the area. The Asian appearance of the people was in fact indication of the lands recent past. After British colonialist left the area a day before leaving India in 18somthing? Governess of the land fell under Indian control. The local tribes of the area have been fighting the Indian government for independence ever since. Shortly before we arrived a 17-year long cease fire had expired and clashes between the freedom fighters and Indian government troops had sparked throughout the area. This explained the heavy presence of Indian government troops on our first day. In almost a rebellious act the local people seemed to cling to Christianity left behind after the British colonist had left years before, one method employed to identify themselves as uniquely different to the people of mainland India. The Naggalin people where a proud independent people. I found their hospitality and kindness a bright light shining in an otherwise dark hostile politically charged environment.
Falling asleep that night in Gimmy's family home I felt alive with adventure stoke to the maximum.
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