Yesterday, on a brief ride along the coastal dirt tracks, I was told off in no uncertain terms. I was cycling behind three older women who suddenly realised I was there and moved aside. The oldest berated me (with a smile naturally) and slapped her hand on my handlebars. She was telling me I should have a bell and use it. She was right and I was wrong and so this morning we took a Tuk Tuk into Alleppey to get this sorted. The recession is clearly biting hard for the Halfords Superstore I discover and Kerala's answer to Arkwright peers out over oily, ancient bike parts and gives me a head nod. After a quick game of charades I part with 50 Rupees and am now the proud owner of a shiny bell and feel safer already.
I'm gradually getting used to the unwritten rules of the road and a left turn onto a main road is the most remarkable manoeuvre. You don't look at all to see if anything is coming, you just join the flow. It's up to the traffic on the main road to avoid you and you trust them not to wipe you out. I'm now confident enough to do this and pretty sure the good folk at my insurance company will see the wisdom of my thinking when I submit the claim form.
"I turned left onto the dangerous and busy main road right in front of a motorbike with a family of four on it that was overtaking a Tuk Tuk that was being overtaken by a bus that was heading toward a Tuk Tuk overtaking a truck. I didn't look to see what was coming as it would have been culturally inappropriate and besides I had a new bell."
I cycle through the back roads toward Lake Vembanad. En route I pass more churches than Hindu temples and there's clearly a bit of an arm wrestle going on between the two. The churches are modern, very large, crafted from stone and set in spacious grounds. The temples are brightly coloured and beautifully ornate. Sree Devi temple is undergoing renovation and I pause to look at the building work. One of the builders has the most wonderful hat. It's a small purple umbrella that sits on the top of his head to give relief from the sun. I'm thinking of importing these. Can you imagine seeing one of our brickies wearing one in summer? From behind they'd look like a table lamp on top of a giant furry peach.
Away from the coast the smiles are again broader and people want me to stop and talk. The conversations are brief: "What is your name? Where are you from? Where are you going?" and the best so far "Your bike is beautiful!" The repetition suits me fine as this is about the limit of my finely honed social repertoire. However, a quick chat is clearly what the children like as they can practice their English so I decide to initiate the next encounter. At the very posh Lemon Tree Lakeside Resort I see a young lad just inside the gateway so I pause to swap niceties. Very slowly and deliberately I say: "My...name....is.....Chris......" He looks at me rather strangely and I have a horrible feeling that he's thinking "OMG. First I have to come here on holiday rather than Centreparcs for the second year running and now I'm accosted by a muppet who can barely string a sentence together. I hope there's a social worker nearby." I ride off leaving him looking bemused.
In Mannanchery I stop at a very busy stall to buy water and I take off my helmet and sunglasses to cool down a bit. I fill up my water bottle and then reach for my glasses that I usually hang on the neck of my shirt. They're not there. I must have left them on the counter and so I squeeze through the small crowd but I can't see them. I gesture to the woman who served me that I have lost my glasses and I engage in elaborate signing to show her what I am looking for by pointing at my eyes.
"I'm looking for my glasses. I wear them on my head."
"You wear glasses on head" she says.
"Yes that's right and I have lost them. Are they here?"
"You wear glasses on head" she says again.
"Yes I know but are they here?"
"You wear glasses on head."
This is frustrating so I turn away and can only conclude that someone has picked them up and they're gone. I start to put my helmet on and it is then that I realise I am wearing my glasses on the top of my head where I had pushed them.
I'm a bit ashamed of the assumptions that I made: that someone had taken my glasses and that I understood the conversation but the woman who served me did not. I must make amends so I go back to the counter and point to my glasses on the top of my head and say "I am wearing my glasses on my head". This probably wasn't my best idea as the woman looks at me with pity and the expression reserved for two year olds who have used the potty for the first time. My shame is compounded later on when I buy four satsumas at a roadside stall. The vendor weighs them and then exchanges one of the satsumas for a slightly larger one and weighs them again. The weight has risen from 0.495 kilos to 0.5 kilos. He changed one satsuma for another so that he didn't short change me by five hundredths of a kilo. I pay 20 Rupees but as there are no prices on show he could have asked me for anything but he didn't and he wanted to make sure the price was right. I vow to be more trusting in future.
The temperature rises into the mid-thirties and my rear wheel gradually seizes. The heat causes the brake fluid, disks and pads to expand and consequently the brake locks and I can't keep going. I stop at a Tuk Tuk stall and buy cold water for 20 Rupees that I then pour onto the brake mechanism. It does the trick by cooling the pads and disk and frees the wheel. The small crowd that had gathered to help are open mouthed at such profligacy with cold drinkable water and I can only agree.
I'm about a couple of miles from home now and I have to cross a fast and very busy road. On the other side a woman is tending goats. It's the only road that really worries me and I pull up at the side and wait for something that I can stick close to so I can get across. Eventually a Tuk Tuk turns up and I nod at the driver and gesture. He nods back so I have a wingman to attempt the crossing. We're stuck for a few minutes waiting for a break in the traffic and then he spots a small opening and goes for it. I'm right with him but a bit anxious as it's tight. There's a truck and a bus bearing down on us and numerous scooters and motorbikes weaving in and out. Suddenly he moves ahead and I have to accelerate quickly to keep up. We're in the middle now waiting for a break in the next lane. I can see a small gap in the distance and realise my copilot is going to go for it. The horns are deafening and then the gap is here and we push off together. It's looking good but we hadn't spotted the Tuk Tuk that was coming the wrong way up the side of the road. I'm thinking we're in trouble as we have to pause and there's now a bus overtaking a car coming toward us and a motorbike between them with propane tanks strapped to the side. This starts to feel like the plot of a Simpsons episode with Homer centre stage. There's nothing for it, I have to act. I ring my bell; not once, but twice! That should do it. We accelerate hard to squeeze behind the miscreant Turk Tuk. I've lost my bearings a bit and am now heading for the roadside and have to move fast to get out of the way of the truck. I plough into some grass and then hit some soft sand that brings me to a rapid halt. I can't clip out in time and I slowly fall to my left........ and that, your Honour, was how I came to be on top of the goat.
Epilogue
On Facebook I've posted a picture of the goat I was on top of. It's not a great photo as her hair is tousled by sleep and she has turned her head sideways a little, perhaps because I'm not getting her best side, but you can see a teasing smile playing on her lips and the way her eyes sparkle in the morning light. Ahem.
I'm gradually getting used to the unwritten rules of the road and a left turn onto a main road is the most remarkable manoeuvre. You don't look at all to see if anything is coming, you just join the flow. It's up to the traffic on the main road to avoid you and you trust them not to wipe you out. I'm now confident enough to do this and pretty sure the good folk at my insurance company will see the wisdom of my thinking when I submit the claim form.
"I turned left onto the dangerous and busy main road right in front of a motorbike with a family of four on it that was overtaking a Tuk Tuk that was being overtaken by a bus that was heading toward a Tuk Tuk overtaking a truck. I didn't look to see what was coming as it would have been culturally inappropriate and besides I had a new bell."
I cycle through the back roads toward Lake Vembanad. En route I pass more churches than Hindu temples and there's clearly a bit of an arm wrestle going on between the two. The churches are modern, very large, crafted from stone and set in spacious grounds. The temples are brightly coloured and beautifully ornate. Sree Devi temple is undergoing renovation and I pause to look at the building work. One of the builders has the most wonderful hat. It's a small purple umbrella that sits on the top of his head to give relief from the sun. I'm thinking of importing these. Can you imagine seeing one of our brickies wearing one in summer? From behind they'd look like a table lamp on top of a giant furry peach.
Away from the coast the smiles are again broader and people want me to stop and talk. The conversations are brief: "What is your name? Where are you from? Where are you going?" and the best so far "Your bike is beautiful!" The repetition suits me fine as this is about the limit of my finely honed social repertoire. However, a quick chat is clearly what the children like as they can practice their English so I decide to initiate the next encounter. At the very posh Lemon Tree Lakeside Resort I see a young lad just inside the gateway so I pause to swap niceties. Very slowly and deliberately I say: "My...name....is.....Chris......" He looks at me rather strangely and I have a horrible feeling that he's thinking "OMG. First I have to come here on holiday rather than Centreparcs for the second year running and now I'm accosted by a muppet who can barely string a sentence together. I hope there's a social worker nearby." I ride off leaving him looking bemused.
In Mannanchery I stop at a very busy stall to buy water and I take off my helmet and sunglasses to cool down a bit. I fill up my water bottle and then reach for my glasses that I usually hang on the neck of my shirt. They're not there. I must have left them on the counter and so I squeeze through the small crowd but I can't see them. I gesture to the woman who served me that I have lost my glasses and I engage in elaborate signing to show her what I am looking for by pointing at my eyes.
"I'm looking for my glasses. I wear them on my head."
"You wear glasses on head" she says.
"Yes that's right and I have lost them. Are they here?"
"You wear glasses on head" she says again.
"Yes I know but are they here?"
"You wear glasses on head."
This is frustrating so I turn away and can only conclude that someone has picked them up and they're gone. I start to put my helmet on and it is then that I realise I am wearing my glasses on the top of my head where I had pushed them.
I'm a bit ashamed of the assumptions that I made: that someone had taken my glasses and that I understood the conversation but the woman who served me did not. I must make amends so I go back to the counter and point to my glasses on the top of my head and say "I am wearing my glasses on my head". This probably wasn't my best idea as the woman looks at me with pity and the expression reserved for two year olds who have used the potty for the first time. My shame is compounded later on when I buy four satsumas at a roadside stall. The vendor weighs them and then exchanges one of the satsumas for a slightly larger one and weighs them again. The weight has risen from 0.495 kilos to 0.5 kilos. He changed one satsuma for another so that he didn't short change me by five hundredths of a kilo. I pay 20 Rupees but as there are no prices on show he could have asked me for anything but he didn't and he wanted to make sure the price was right. I vow to be more trusting in future.
The temperature rises into the mid-thirties and my rear wheel gradually seizes. The heat causes the brake fluid, disks and pads to expand and consequently the brake locks and I can't keep going. I stop at a Tuk Tuk stall and buy cold water for 20 Rupees that I then pour onto the brake mechanism. It does the trick by cooling the pads and disk and frees the wheel. The small crowd that had gathered to help are open mouthed at such profligacy with cold drinkable water and I can only agree.
I'm about a couple of miles from home now and I have to cross a fast and very busy road. On the other side a woman is tending goats. It's the only road that really worries me and I pull up at the side and wait for something that I can stick close to so I can get across. Eventually a Tuk Tuk turns up and I nod at the driver and gesture. He nods back so I have a wingman to attempt the crossing. We're stuck for a few minutes waiting for a break in the traffic and then he spots a small opening and goes for it. I'm right with him but a bit anxious as it's tight. There's a truck and a bus bearing down on us and numerous scooters and motorbikes weaving in and out. Suddenly he moves ahead and I have to accelerate quickly to keep up. We're in the middle now waiting for a break in the next lane. I can see a small gap in the distance and realise my copilot is going to go for it. The horns are deafening and then the gap is here and we push off together. It's looking good but we hadn't spotted the Tuk Tuk that was coming the wrong way up the side of the road. I'm thinking we're in trouble as we have to pause and there's now a bus overtaking a car coming toward us and a motorbike between them with propane tanks strapped to the side. This starts to feel like the plot of a Simpsons episode with Homer centre stage. There's nothing for it, I have to act. I ring my bell; not once, but twice! That should do it. We accelerate hard to squeeze behind the miscreant Turk Tuk. I've lost my bearings a bit and am now heading for the roadside and have to move fast to get out of the way of the truck. I plough into some grass and then hit some soft sand that brings me to a rapid halt. I can't clip out in time and I slowly fall to my left........ and that, your Honour, was how I came to be on top of the goat.
Epilogue
On Facebook I've posted a picture of the goat I was on top of. It's not a great photo as her hair is tousled by sleep and she has turned her head sideways a little, perhaps because I'm not getting her best side, but you can see a teasing smile playing on her lips and the way her eyes sparkle in the morning light. Ahem.
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