I should have looked back. I had spent two days and nights tirelessly working on the bike, forgetting to eat, declining to sleep: it was just me and the Darkspawn, going at it until it was finally time to load her into the tempo. The man in charge of the tempo secures the straps around her, and everything looks to be firm and well-held.
I wave goodbye, both exhausted and exhilarated at the same time. I had successfully built this bike in 30 days, and we had made it in time for the deadline! So far, everything – and I mean everything – seemed to have worked against us: time, people, materials, finances, even the bike itself. This bike was by far the biggest learning curve that I had ever encountered. I had learnt so many lessons, and throughout the project, one thought had kept running on repeat in my mind: This is not how I am going to do things next year.
I was certain that I wanted to participate in the IBW next year, and working on the Darkspawn was simply a way for me to test myself: to see if I really could pull it off in such a short time frame; to see if I would be worthy of participating in the Biker Build Off competition in 2016. Each time I hit a hurdle – and there were several of those, if you have read the previous editions of my eventful journey – I would pick myself back up, dust off the harsh shards of disappointment and pain, and return to the task fuelled with determination, accepting these hurdles as lessons to be learnt in such a tough line of work.
After I finally waved goodbye that night as the bike rolled out, safe and snug in the tempo, I rushed home to pack my bags. It was past midnight, and I only had a few hours of sleep ahead: the next step was to drive down to Goa in time to submit my bike for the competition. By 2.30 on the morning of the 19th, I finally hit the sack. After days of sleep deprivation, though, I ended up sleeping past my 5am alarm. With a jolt, my eyes fly open at 8.30am, and I literally jump out of bed. My wife and I dash out the door, load our bags into the car, and take off for Goa. This is it, I think excitedly. I’ve done it! It’s over!
As it turns out: nah, not really. Two hours into the long drive to Goa, I receive a devastating call from the tempo driver. He tells me that one of the straps that had been securing the bike has snapped, and that the front fairing of the bike has been hit.
“How hard?” I ask, trying to silence the growing lump in my throat. He hasto be joking. This has got to be some sort of cruel prank, I tell myself.
“Oh, nothing major, sir! It’s just a scratch!” I sense the raw fear in the quiver of his voice, though. He’s lying to me, and not because he’s pranking me.
I drive down to Goa like a madman, my foot giving the accelerator pedal the thrashing of its life. All I could think was this: I had to get to the venue in time to fix the problem. After all of this – after all of the insanity that I have been through to get this bike built in time, I cannot afford to let go of it just yet. I have literally poured my sweat, blood and tears into this project (no kidding, you should have seen the number of bandages on my hands). To have a small tempo accident ruin it all and shatter my dreams like this just sounded extremely unfair to me. No, I told myself. I would get there in time, and I would fix it. I had to.
According to the IBW organisers, each competing bike had to be rolled in at the venue by 4pm. I sprint, screech and race my car down to Vagator, contrasting starkly with the excited atmosphere around me. Scores of flamboyant biker groups fly past our old Honda, united as a brotherhood and without a care in the world. My wife and I, on the other hand, drive in an intense, heavy silence, our minds reeling with the horrific possibilities of the true extent of damage to the bike.
With a small sigh of relief, I finally make it to the venue before 4pm.
I silently thank my Honda City (2000 model) for not breaking down on me. I have never pushed this baby over 120 km/hr out of sheer love for the vehicle. It just never seemed right to do that to a car. This time, though, I couldn’t think of anything beyond the obvious deceit behind the words: “It’s nothing major, sir! It’s just a scratch!” The tempo driver’s voice had echoed unceasingly within my mind as I maneuvered my poor vehicle from Pune to Goa within 6.3 hours.
At the IBW venue, I quickly register and complete all of the required formalities, not realising that I have unwittingly been holding my breath throughout the process.
I try to reach the tempo driver, but he isn’t answering my calls. Thankfully, the festival organisers inform me that I have time until 10pm that night to roll the bike into the competition circle. Trying my hardest not to panic, I wait for the tempo to arrive under the sweltering heat that is Goa. Why is the tempo so late? I wonder. It had been 16 hours since I saw it leave Shine Inc in Pune. Surely it should be at Goa by now.
An hour and a half later, the tempo finally pulls in. Confused about how on Earth this tempo could possibly have been so delayed, I rush to it, anxious to see whether the damage to the bike can be fixed or not. As I lay eyes on her, I can almost feel my heart breaking. In an act driven purely by greed and callousness, the tempo driver had made some arrangements of his own: instead of transporting the bike the way that I had loaded her – alone and well-secured – he had waited until I was out of the picture, pulled the bike out of its original truck, and then loaded her into a different vehicle, thus completely violating our agreement. This new vehicle already had 7 other bikes that were being transported to the IBW venue from Pune; sensing the opportunity, the driver decided to move our RD into this tempo and cut back on his expenses.
In order to avoid a situation precisely such as this one, I had foolishly paid the tempo driver his full amount upfront prior to loading the bike for transport in Pune. Despite my best efforts, however, his temptation to make some extra money seemed to have won out over the old-fashioned morals of trust and sincerity. Because of this hassled un-loading and re-loading of the bike, the driver had failed to ensure that the straps were secured adequately. As it turned out, out of the eight bikes that had been herded into the cramped tempo, our Darkspawn was the only one that had been hit. I cannot describe in words how absolutely earth-shattering this was for me.
Thankfully, since there was a Harley-Davidson show currently going on at the venue, we still had time until 10pm to try and rectify the damage done to the bike. My mind snaps into control, and I ignore my emotions, suppressing the raging tempest of anger and betrayal brewing within me. As the men in charge of the tempo carefully unload the bike onto the ground, I pull out my smartphone and begin working on designs to mask a hit to the front fairing. Once the bike is on the ground, I take off all the panels from the vehicle and begin working on it in the middle of the field outside the venue.
After I have quickly and successfully covered up the minor injuries with spray paint, I survey the bike mechanically. This is when I realise just how hard it has been hit. I try to think of a way to mask the damage on the front fairing: it has suffered a massive hit, which has not only dented it, but has also scraped off some of the paint off the face of it.
I had come prepared with an arsenal of tools and spray-paint cans to handle just such a situation as this. Unfortunately, the only colour of paint that I did not have with me, was the colour that had been scraped off. The Marlboro red that adorned the face of the bike had been made-to-order; there was no spray can that could be bought off the counter that would match the same colour as the rest of the bike. I set my little box of spray cans back on the damp grass, and am at a loss for ideas.
A wandering cow tries to take a large bite out of the box, and I glare at her accusingly. After the 30-day roller-coaster that I have experienced, it is absolutely devastating to have another person’s small mistake take it all away from me.
Thankfully, I was blessed with another Godsend at just this moment: Navinder Singh, who runs Autologue Design, was the owner of the seven other bikes that had been transported with ours in the tempo. He helped me out, gave me a few suggestions, and lent me some of the tools that I needed in order to try and fix the bike. I rush to Shrijit, the man in charge of the Mod Bike competition, and brief him on our situation. With a kind heart, he permits us to work on the bike through the night at the IBW venue. Following this, we roll the bike into the prestigious Mod Bike competition circle, and unload my equipment comprising of spray paint and tools from the car. My jaw set and my mind on the task, I get to work and don’t look back.
It is now 6am, and it is the morning of the first day at the IBW festival.As is evident in the images, I have decided to extend the racing blocks to cover the front fairing in an effort to conceal the dent.
I have worked on the bike throughout the night, relentlessly trying to cover up the glaring damage on the front fairing, the mudguard, and the exhaust chamber.
By 6am, I have finally finished making up for the tempo driver’s grave mistakes. It is an understatement to say that my body is screaming with pain at this point. I survey the bike one final time, just to make sure that there are no more issues to be addressed before I officially call it a night. Suddenly, I freeze. My breath catches in my throat as I slowly turn to my wife, her eyes eager as she packs up our tools and equipment, all set to finally check in at the hotel.
In my efforts to account for the hits that the bike had taken whilst in the tempo, I have inadvertently harmed the wiring in the bike. As the front fairing was being masked while implementing those extra racing blocks, I seemed to have accidentally pulled onto the clutch cable, which probably snapped something. Since the entire night had been spent in such a maddening state of urgency to fix the visual aspects of the bike, I had unintentionally damaged the utilitarian parts of it: the mechanics that were key to its functionality.
With a sinking heart and one last irrational burst of hope, I try to kick-start the bike, knowing what would happen next… She wouldn’t start. I kicked and kicked again and again, but she simply would not run. After a few more kicks, she’d give me a hint of a spark and a grumble – but she wouldn’t come back to life.
I had a couple of coils in my car – yes, I went to IBW 2015 with a spare pair of coils. You’d think I’d bring a spare pair of spark plugs, but, in light of my recent history of unending bad luck, I had ensured that I took a spare of absolutely everything that I could think of, right down to the clutch plates. I decided that there was nothing that I could do tonight. Very soon, the sun would rise high in the sky, and the festival organisers would need to do their jobs without me interfering. I packed up my equipment, gave the bike one last pat for the day, and headed to the car, my shoulders heavy with the physical, emotional and mental burden of this journey.
As soon as the festivities of Day 1 at IBW ended that evening, I resumed work on the bike. It was going to be another all-nighter, I knew. It was the night of the 20th, and the Mod Bike parade was scheduled for 2.45pm on the 21st of February. When I look back, it seems so ridiculous. I am at India Bike Week– it is 11.30pm on Day 1 of the festival, and here I am, working on my bike in the middle of the Mod Bike circle. It’s eerily quiet here as everybody has now left the venue… it’s just me and my wife, still working tirelessly on the Darkspawn. Everyone else is either fast asleep/passed out, or still partying at Tito’s or Mambo’s.
My fingers already brutally bruised and cut, it took me a while to replace the coils on the bike by myself. Now, finally… it is the moment of truth. It’s time to fire her up and see if she comes to life.
I kick start the bike… and she roars to life! This was at around 2am in the morning. I rush up to Shrijit and ask him if it’s all right for me to take her around for a spin, to ensure that nothing else pops out or causes any more trouble before we head back to the hotel. He smiles and nods, understanding my predicament. My wife and I relieve the Darkspawn of the paddock stand and roll her out. My heart thudding, I start the bike. She comes to life on the first kick, firing up without a hint of a problem. It sounds beautiful to my ears. I repeat: she rolls in freaking reverse! It’s two in the morning on Day 2 at IBW, and we’ve got clutch issues. At this point in time, I didn’t want to meddle with the bike any further. I knew a couple of people that were attending IBW who would be better suited to helping out with this problem, since they had a much better understanding of the mechanical aspects than I did. For example, Ashwin Deshpande, who is a business head at Triumph Pune, and Yogesh Chhabria, who owns YC Designs Mumbai. Furthermore, Navinder from Autologue Designs was still constantly helping me out, despite having his own company’s bike launch to worry about on Day 2 at IBW. I knew that these three guys would be there to help me out and watch my back; so, I call it a day and head back to the hotel. There is nothing more that I can do to this bike on my own, because my knowledge and expertise only goes so far.
The next morning, we arrive as early as we can, given our serious state of sleep deprivation. Thankfully, I had Yogesh there to help me out with the bike.
Since cricketer Yuvraj Singh was going to unveil his bike with Autologue, Navinder was stressed enough as it is. I didn’t want to burden him with our issues even further. Two stalls down the line, Triumph was giving out free test rides to attendees at IBW, and also had a couple of their own rides in progress; so, I didn’t want to bother Ashwin either. He couldn’t give us a lot of his time to help out, but he kept walking by us to check on the status, giving us suggestions along the way, and helping out as best as he could. After a few hours of trying to fix the issue, it is now 1pm. The Mod Bike parade – for which the Darkspawn has to run, is at 2.45pm.
At this point in time, I am desperate. I have been melting under the blistering sun for hours, and I don’t know how much longer I can keep this up. At around 1.15pm, Yogesh and I have moved the bike out of the Mod circle, and are now trying to somehow use the most basic tools which are not meant for this sort of job in an attempt to solve our problem.
We unscrew and unbolt the screws and bolts holding our problem in place, desperately trying to figure out how to fix the bike up in time for the parade.
At around 1.45pm, a gentleman walks up to us. I berate myself till date for not getting his name, for this is a man whose face I will never forget. He is the lead mechanic from Triumph, whom Ashwin was generous enough to have sent to us. By now, we have a large crowd gathered around us as we toil upon the bike in a frenzied state. Triumph’s mechanic casually approaches us, assessing the situation. He calmly asks us if it’s all right for him to have a go at the bike.
At this point, any and all help was welcomed and greatly appreciated. Yogi moves from his post in order to make room for the mechanic to take over – it’s worth mentioning that when this happened, we didn’t even know that he was actually a mechanic for Triumph! All we knew was what we witnessed: before our very eyes, this man simply picks up a few basic tools, removes the clutch engaging mechanism of the clutch cover, and gives it a good, hard whack. We hold our breaths, waiting to see what will happen next. After hours upon hours of labouring under the scorching sun, trying to find a solution to the clutch problem, surely a few hard whacks wasn’t what we were lacking?!
As we watch, the mechanic expertly unscrews and re-screws the bolt onto the bike. Another whack, and voila – we’re good to go! Turns out, all that was actually needed was a good hard kick on the rear, and the bike began to function as she was meant to. This was exactly 45 minutes before the Mod Bike parade was due to begin. We were positively ecstatic.
Yogesh from YC Designs was thus the first to ride the Darkspawn. Thankfully, he found everything to be perfectly fine as he rode her back to the Mod circle. This is how our journey was, right down to the very last wire: hectic, maddening, and a complete roller-coaster.
But wait – that’s not all! Just before we were to take the bike out from the Mod Bike circle and ride her up backstage in preparation for the parade, you guessed it – the bike wouldn’t start. We didn’t know what on Earth to do. Needless to say, it was very frustrating.
Thankfully, a mechanic from another group that was participating in the Mod Class competition walked up to us. He opened the petrol tank, and told us that the heat of the sun has created a form of suction or pressure within the tank, which is preventing the fuel from pumping through. In yet another mad rush, we finally managed to get the bike to run again, and rode her up to the stage.
Following that,I performed a wicked burnout on the Main Stage at India Bike Week 2015.
Overall, it was a crazy, frustrating, exhilarating experience that I will remember for the rest of my life. IBW 2015 has taught me many things: it has taught me to be exceedingly cautious when employing people. It has taught me to be weary when trying to get things done in a country like ours, where laziness and carelessness is common and accepted behavior once money has changed hands. It has taught me to improve my knowledge of every aspect of motorcycles, instead of only what I am comfortable or familiar with.
More than anything, however, the spirit of brotherhood that comes with being a biker is what has made the biggest imprint on my memory through this whole experience. The kindness extended toward me by Dhanraj, Dipen, Navinder, Ashwin, and Yogesh, will have me forever indebted to them. Being a biker is not about being the loudest, the wildest, or the most leather-garbed. It is about being a part of a community: a brotherhood.
This beautiful RD350 is no longer just a mascot for my company: she is now a prized possession; one that symbolises all of the struggles and hardships one must endure in order to make their mark and attain their goals. This bike wasn’t just the journey – she is also the destination. The build is the dream: a symbol of struggle; a symbol of brotherhood; and a symbol of victory.
So, what will I take from my crazy experience with the Darkspawn and her journey to Goa? Ten years from now, when I look back fondly at these memories, I will remember the people and sense of community more than anything. Oh, and the booze. Lots and lots of booze.
Yamaha RD350 Reincarnated- Darkspawn Part I
Yamaha RD350 Reincarnated- Darkspawn Part II
By: Sachin Ramesh Shinde
** Finally loaded her off to Goa from Pune **
I wave goodbye, both exhausted and exhilarated at the same time. I had successfully built this bike in 30 days, and we had made it in time for the deadline! So far, everything – and I mean everything – seemed to have worked against us: time, people, materials, finances, even the bike itself. This bike was by far the biggest learning curve that I had ever encountered. I had learnt so many lessons, and throughout the project, one thought had kept running on repeat in my mind: This is not how I am going to do things next year.
I was certain that I wanted to participate in the IBW next year, and working on the Darkspawn was simply a way for me to test myself: to see if I really could pull it off in such a short time frame; to see if I would be worthy of participating in the Biker Build Off competition in 2016. Each time I hit a hurdle – and there were several of those, if you have read the previous editions of my eventful journey – I would pick myself back up, dust off the harsh shards of disappointment and pain, and return to the task fuelled with determination, accepting these hurdles as lessons to be learnt in such a tough line of work.
After I finally waved goodbye that night as the bike rolled out, safe and snug in the tempo, I rushed home to pack my bags. It was past midnight, and I only had a few hours of sleep ahead: the next step was to drive down to Goa in time to submit my bike for the competition. By 2.30 on the morning of the 19th, I finally hit the sack. After days of sleep deprivation, though, I ended up sleeping past my 5am alarm. With a jolt, my eyes fly open at 8.30am, and I literally jump out of bed. My wife and I dash out the door, load our bags into the car, and take off for Goa. This is it, I think excitedly. I’ve done it! It’s over!
As it turns out: nah, not really. Two hours into the long drive to Goa, I receive a devastating call from the tempo driver. He tells me that one of the straps that had been securing the bike has snapped, and that the front fairing of the bike has been hit.
“How hard?” I ask, trying to silence the growing lump in my throat. He hasto be joking. This has got to be some sort of cruel prank, I tell myself.
“Oh, nothing major, sir! It’s just a scratch!” I sense the raw fear in the quiver of his voice, though. He’s lying to me, and not because he’s pranking me.
I drive down to Goa like a madman, my foot giving the accelerator pedal the thrashing of its life. All I could think was this: I had to get to the venue in time to fix the problem. After all of this – after all of the insanity that I have been through to get this bike built in time, I cannot afford to let go of it just yet. I have literally poured my sweat, blood and tears into this project (no kidding, you should have seen the number of bandages on my hands). To have a small tempo accident ruin it all and shatter my dreams like this just sounded extremely unfair to me. No, I told myself. I would get there in time, and I would fix it. I had to.
According to the IBW organisers, each competing bike had to be rolled in at the venue by 4pm. I sprint, screech and race my car down to Vagator, contrasting starkly with the excited atmosphere around me. Scores of flamboyant biker groups fly past our old Honda, united as a brotherhood and without a care in the world. My wife and I, on the other hand, drive in an intense, heavy silence, our minds reeling with the horrific possibilities of the true extent of damage to the bike.
With a small sigh of relief, I finally make it to the venue before 4pm.
** Entering India Bike Week (IBW) 2015 **
I silently thank my Honda City (2000 model) for not breaking down on me. I have never pushed this baby over 120 km/hr out of sheer love for the vehicle. It just never seemed right to do that to a car. This time, though, I couldn’t think of anything beyond the obvious deceit behind the words: “It’s nothing major, sir! It’s just a scratch!” The tempo driver’s voice had echoed unceasingly within my mind as I maneuvered my poor vehicle from Pune to Goa within 6.3 hours.
At the IBW venue, I quickly register and complete all of the required formalities, not realising that I have unwittingly been holding my breath throughout the process.
I try to reach the tempo driver, but he isn’t answering my calls. Thankfully, the festival organisers inform me that I have time until 10pm that night to roll the bike into the competition circle. Trying my hardest not to panic, I wait for the tempo to arrive under the sweltering heat that is Goa. Why is the tempo so late? I wonder. It had been 16 hours since I saw it leave Shine Inc in Pune. Surely it should be at Goa by now.
An hour and a half later, the tempo finally pulls in. Confused about how on Earth this tempo could possibly have been so delayed, I rush to it, anxious to see whether the damage to the bike can be fixed or not. As I lay eyes on her, I can almost feel my heart breaking. In an act driven purely by greed and callousness, the tempo driver had made some arrangements of his own: instead of transporting the bike the way that I had loaded her – alone and well-secured – he had waited until I was out of the picture, pulled the bike out of its original truck, and then loaded her into a different vehicle, thus completely violating our agreement. This new vehicle already had 7 other bikes that were being transported to the IBW venue from Pune; sensing the opportunity, the driver decided to move our RD into this tempo and cut back on his expenses.
In order to avoid a situation precisely such as this one, I had foolishly paid the tempo driver his full amount upfront prior to loading the bike for transport in Pune. Despite my best efforts, however, his temptation to make some extra money seemed to have won out over the old-fashioned morals of trust and sincerity. Because of this hassled un-loading and re-loading of the bike, the driver had failed to ensure that the straps were secured adequately. As it turned out, out of the eight bikes that had been herded into the cramped tempo, our Darkspawn was the only one that had been hit. I cannot describe in words how absolutely earth-shattering this was for me.
** Front fairing dent **
Thankfully, since there was a Harley-Davidson show currently going on at the venue, we still had time until 10pm to try and rectify the damage done to the bike. My mind snaps into control, and I ignore my emotions, suppressing the raging tempest of anger and betrayal brewing within me. As the men in charge of the tempo carefully unload the bike onto the ground, I pull out my smartphone and begin working on designs to mask a hit to the front fairing. Once the bike is on the ground, I take off all the panels from the vehicle and begin working on it in the middle of the field outside the venue.
After I have quickly and successfully covered up the minor injuries with spray paint, I survey the bike mechanically. This is when I realise just how hard it has been hit. I try to think of a way to mask the damage on the front fairing: it has suffered a massive hit, which has not only dented it, but has also scraped off some of the paint off the face of it.
I had come prepared with an arsenal of tools and spray-paint cans to handle just such a situation as this. Unfortunately, the only colour of paint that I did not have with me, was the colour that had been scraped off. The Marlboro red that adorned the face of the bike had been made-to-order; there was no spray can that could be bought off the counter that would match the same colour as the rest of the bike. I set my little box of spray cans back on the damp grass, and am at a loss for ideas.
** Touching up the scratches on the exhaust **
A wandering cow tries to take a large bite out of the box, and I glare at her accusingly. After the 30-day roller-coaster that I have experienced, it is absolutely devastating to have another person’s small mistake take it all away from me.
Thankfully, I was blessed with another Godsend at just this moment: Navinder Singh, who runs Autologue Design, was the owner of the seven other bikes that had been transported with ours in the tempo. He helped me out, gave me a few suggestions, and lent me some of the tools that I needed in order to try and fix the bike. I rush to Shrijit, the man in charge of the Mod Bike competition, and brief him on our situation. With a kind heart, he permits us to work on the bike through the night at the IBW venue. Following this, we roll the bike into the prestigious Mod Bike competition circle, and unload my equipment comprising of spray paint and tools from the car. My jaw set and my mind on the task, I get to work and don’t look back.
** Touching up the dent on the front fairing **
It is now 6am, and it is the morning of the first day at the IBW festival.As is evident in the images, I have decided to extend the racing blocks to cover the front fairing in an effort to conceal the dent.
** Pin striping to cover up the dent on the front fairing **
I have worked on the bike throughout the night, relentlessly trying to cover up the glaring damage on the front fairing, the mudguard, and the exhaust chamber.
By 6am, I have finally finished making up for the tempo driver’s grave mistakes. It is an understatement to say that my body is screaming with pain at this point. I survey the bike one final time, just to make sure that there are no more issues to be addressed before I officially call it a night. Suddenly, I freeze. My breath catches in my throat as I slowly turn to my wife, her eyes eager as she packs up our tools and equipment, all set to finally check in at the hotel.In my efforts to account for the hits that the bike had taken whilst in the tempo, I have inadvertently harmed the wiring in the bike. As the front fairing was being masked while implementing those extra racing blocks, I seemed to have accidentally pulled onto the clutch cable, which probably snapped something. Since the entire night had been spent in such a maddening state of urgency to fix the visual aspects of the bike, I had unintentionally damaged the utilitarian parts of it: the mechanics that were key to its functionality.
With a sinking heart and one last irrational burst of hope, I try to kick-start the bike, knowing what would happen next… She wouldn’t start. I kicked and kicked again and again, but she simply would not run. After a few more kicks, she’d give me a hint of a spark and a grumble – but she wouldn’t come back to life.
I had a couple of coils in my car – yes, I went to IBW 2015 with a spare pair of coils. You’d think I’d bring a spare pair of spark plugs, but, in light of my recent history of unending bad luck, I had ensured that I took a spare of absolutely everything that I could think of, right down to the clutch plates. I decided that there was nothing that I could do tonight. Very soon, the sun would rise high in the sky, and the festival organisers would need to do their jobs without me interfering. I packed up my equipment, gave the bike one last pat for the day, and headed to the car, my shoulders heavy with the physical, emotional and mental burden of this journey.
As soon as the festivities of Day 1 at IBW ended that evening, I resumed work on the bike. It was going to be another all-nighter, I knew. It was the night of the 20th, and the Mod Bike parade was scheduled for 2.45pm on the 21st of February. When I look back, it seems so ridiculous. I am at India Bike Week– it is 11.30pm on Day 1 of the festival, and here I am, working on my bike in the middle of the Mod Bike circle. It’s eerily quiet here as everybody has now left the venue… it’s just me and my wife, still working tirelessly on the Darkspawn. Everyone else is either fast asleep/passed out, or still partying at Tito’s or Mambo’s.
My fingers already brutally bruised and cut, it took me a while to replace the coils on the bike by myself. Now, finally… it is the moment of truth. It’s time to fire her up and see if she comes to life.
I kick start the bike… and she roars to life! This was at around 2am in the morning. I rush up to Shrijit and ask him if it’s all right for me to take her around for a spin, to ensure that nothing else pops out or causes any more trouble before we head back to the hotel. He smiles and nods, understanding my predicament. My wife and I relieve the Darkspawn of the paddock stand and roll her out. My heart thudding, I start the bike. She comes to life on the first kick, firing up without a hint of a problem. It sounds beautiful to my ears. I repeat: she rolls in freaking reverse! It’s two in the morning on Day 2 at IBW, and we’ve got clutch issues. At this point in time, I didn’t want to meddle with the bike any further. I knew a couple of people that were attending IBW who would be better suited to helping out with this problem, since they had a much better understanding of the mechanical aspects than I did. For example, Ashwin Deshpande, who is a business head at Triumph Pune, and Yogesh Chhabria, who owns YC Designs Mumbai. Furthermore, Navinder from Autologue Designs was still constantly helping me out, despite having his own company’s bike launch to worry about on Day 2 at IBW. I knew that these three guys would be there to help me out and watch my back; so, I call it a day and head back to the hotel. There is nothing more that I can do to this bike on my own, because my knowledge and expertise only goes so far.
The next morning, we arrive as early as we can, given our serious state of sleep deprivation. Thankfully, I had Yogesh there to help me out with the bike.
Since cricketer Yuvraj Singh was going to unveil his bike with Autologue, Navinder was stressed enough as it is. I didn’t want to burden him with our issues even further. Two stalls down the line, Triumph was giving out free test rides to attendees at IBW, and also had a couple of their own rides in progress; so, I didn’t want to bother Ashwin either. He couldn’t give us a lot of his time to help out, but he kept walking by us to check on the status, giving us suggestions along the way, and helping out as best as he could. After a few hours of trying to fix the issue, it is now 1pm. The Mod Bike parade – for which the Darkspawn has to run, is at 2.45pm.
At this point in time, I am desperate. I have been melting under the blistering sun for hours, and I don’t know how much longer I can keep this up. At around 1.15pm, Yogesh and I have moved the bike out of the Mod circle, and are now trying to somehow use the most basic tools which are not meant for this sort of job in an attempt to solve our problem.
We unscrew and unbolt the screws and bolts holding our problem in place, desperately trying to figure out how to fix the bike up in time for the parade. At around 1.45pm, a gentleman walks up to us. I berate myself till date for not getting his name, for this is a man whose face I will never forget. He is the lead mechanic from Triumph, whom Ashwin was generous enough to have sent to us. By now, we have a large crowd gathered around us as we toil upon the bike in a frenzied state. Triumph’s mechanic casually approaches us, assessing the situation. He calmly asks us if it’s all right for him to have a go at the bike.
At this point, any and all help was welcomed and greatly appreciated. Yogi moves from his post in order to make room for the mechanic to take over – it’s worth mentioning that when this happened, we didn’t even know that he was actually a mechanic for Triumph! All we knew was what we witnessed: before our very eyes, this man simply picks up a few basic tools, removes the clutch engaging mechanism of the clutch cover, and gives it a good, hard whack. We hold our breaths, waiting to see what will happen next. After hours upon hours of labouring under the scorching sun, trying to find a solution to the clutch problem, surely a few hard whacks wasn’t what we were lacking?!
As we watch, the mechanic expertly unscrews and re-screws the bolt onto the bike. Another whack, and voila – we’re good to go! Turns out, all that was actually needed was a good hard kick on the rear, and the bike began to function as she was meant to. This was exactly 45 minutes before the Mod Bike parade was due to begin. We were positively ecstatic.
Yogesh from YC Designs was thus the first to ride the Darkspawn. Thankfully, he found everything to be perfectly fine as he rode her back to the Mod circle. This is how our journey was, right down to the very last wire: hectic, maddening, and a complete roller-coaster.But wait – that’s not all! Just before we were to take the bike out from the Mod Bike circle and ride her up backstage in preparation for the parade, you guessed it – the bike wouldn’t start. We didn’t know what on Earth to do. Needless to say, it was very frustrating.
Thankfully, a mechanic from another group that was participating in the Mod Class competition walked up to us. He opened the petrol tank, and told us that the heat of the sun has created a form of suction or pressure within the tank, which is preventing the fuel from pumping through. In yet another mad rush, we finally managed to get the bike to run again, and rode her up to the stage.
Following that,I performed a wicked burnout on the Main Stage at India Bike Week 2015.
Overall, it was a crazy, frustrating, exhilarating experience that I will remember for the rest of my life. IBW 2015 has taught me many things: it has taught me to be exceedingly cautious when employing people. It has taught me to be weary when trying to get things done in a country like ours, where laziness and carelessness is common and accepted behavior once money has changed hands. It has taught me to improve my knowledge of every aspect of motorcycles, instead of only what I am comfortable or familiar with.More than anything, however, the spirit of brotherhood that comes with being a biker is what has made the biggest imprint on my memory through this whole experience. The kindness extended toward me by Dhanraj, Dipen, Navinder, Ashwin, and Yogesh, will have me forever indebted to them. Being a biker is not about being the loudest, the wildest, or the most leather-garbed. It is about being a part of a community: a brotherhood.
This beautiful RD350 is no longer just a mascot for my company: she is now a prized possession; one that symbolises all of the struggles and hardships one must endure in order to make their mark and attain their goals. This bike wasn’t just the journey – she is also the destination. The build is the dream: a symbol of struggle; a symbol of brotherhood; and a symbol of victory.
So, what will I take from my crazy experience with the Darkspawn and her journey to Goa? Ten years from now, when I look back fondly at these memories, I will remember the people and sense of community more than anything. Oh, and the booze. Lots and lots of booze.
Yamaha RD350 Reincarnated- Darkspawn Part I
Yamaha RD350 Reincarnated- Darkspawn Part II
By: Sachin Ramesh Shinde
