On a cold February morning this year, a group of eleven, including four
retired Police Officers set off by minibus from Taunton for a sixteen day
holiday, riding Royal Enfield motor-cycles in Kerala and Tamil Nadu, south-west
India. The trip was arranged and led by PC Gordon Kemp, and included Inspector
Ian Styles, Chief Inspector Tony Wiggins, all former Avon &
Somerset Constabulary and Sergeant Nigel Ellis from the Wiltshire
Constabulary. 

The change from the -3 degree chill of Taunton to the +35 degree
stifling heat of Calicut was something of a shock to the system, but so too was
the drive to our hotel in another minibus. So much traffic, mostly small
capacity motorcycles, usually travelling at speed, two or more up, and having scant
regard to the niceties of the law, and the ‘after you Claud’ approach. Here the
horn says ‘I am here and I am about to overtake you’, either on the inside or
the outside and often in the face of oncoming traffic, which itself was often
two abreast! Traffic lights offered only a guide as to procedure and crossroads
resulted in a knitted tangle of cars and bikes, usually travelling either side
of traffic islands and in some case the wrong way around the islands. All this
accomplished without the slightest trace of ‘road rage’. No angry gestures, no
mouthed words, no retributions – nothing. It just works. At this stage it did
occur to me that I was about to become part of this melee. I resolved to
constantly remind myself that I was no longer in the first flush of youth!

Our first hotel was a revelation, first class by any standards. Showers
were the order of the day followed by our first Indian meal. So many dishes,
few of them identifiable. It was a case of ‘suck it and see’. Ah yes,
definitely chilli in that one. Interestingly our Indian coordinator recommended
a teaspoonful of sugar to relieve the ‘heat’ I am told it works.

After a buffet breakfast we were introduced to our bikes, rather
used-looking Royal Enfields, made in India under licence. After  some
exploratory low-speed manoeuvring we set off with a roar in line astern, our
leader with his various SatNavs set.

We climbed up into the mountain range known as the Western Ghats, mile
after mile of short straights and hairpin bends, very steep in places, often to
be taken in bottom gear. The local buses, all of whom had seen better days
harried us at times. On very sharp hairpins they would assume the offside of
the road and cut across the corners, forcing other road users to pass them on
their nearside, rather than the normal offside – they drive on the left in
India. One gets used to it.

Mysore was to say the least frenetic. A city about the size of
Birmingham with about 1 million souls. All noise and bustle combined with
intense heat. The bikes muscled their way to the front of any holdups, and at
traffic lights we watched the countdown to the green light before setting off
with a roar in front of slower traffic. Still boys at heart! Our bikes were
particularly noisy and the firing pulses could be felt on the body if one was
unwise enough to ride too closely to the bike in front; particle emissions also
dirtied our riding gear.

We passed through Tiger reserves – plenty of monkeys, but alas, (or
perhaps fortunately) no tigers, but we did have to stop to locate a lost petrol
cap which had ‘become detached’ in transit. A police line was formed (you’ve
seen it on TV) and the cap was found! There followed a visit to a sandalwood
soap-making factory – it reminded me much of a heritage museum, all rusty boilers,
peeling paint and untidiness, but it was for real and did produce some
excellent products. Next came a visit to a silk factory, where I was reminded
of the old photographs of the cotton mills of Lancashire. Some eighty weaving
machines all working and producing a deafening cacophony, but producing the
most exquisite materials which are famous throughout the world, despite the age
of the machinery.

Our next stop was Ooty or Udhagamandalam as it is also known – we stuck
to Ooty. This town is in the Nilgiri Hills and is well known for two things,
firstly as a Hill Station formerly under the rule of the East India company,
and secondly for the narrow-gauge mountain railway, known as the ‘toy train’
During the Raj, Ooty was popular because of its height at 2240 metres, the
wealthy were able to escape the blistering heat of the lowlands for the
comparative cool of the mountains, Cool at night it certainly was, a log fire
was needed during the evening

The narrow-gauge train ride from Ooty to Coonar, made famous by numerous
television programmes about ‘great train rides of the world’ was definitely
good value. A forty minute ride with stops at stations which included
Wellington and Lovedale was well worth the 12 pence fare down, and the
first-class 82 pence fare back ‘up the hill’. The rolling stock could have done
with some refurbishment, but an unforgettable experience none the less.

Daily rides were punctuated by tea stops at the hundreds of little
roadside shops and stalls both in and between villages. Hot, very sweet milky
tea became the norm – one gets used to that too! Once again the price was a
very reasonable 10p a cup, but watching the preparation of it was worth that
alone; all done so quickly and poured from a great height. Our evening meals
were very reasonably priced too, I generally paid under £2.50 for a main
course.

Our journey continued up and down the Westerns Ghats, searing heat on
the lowlands and cooler, but still hot conditions as we ascended. Our hotels
were of a consistently high standard, many with spectacular views across
valleys to distant mountain tops. One memorable meal was arranged by our Indian
riding co-ordinator, ten separate dishes followed by a sweet dish, all served
on a banana leaf and eaten with the right hand. No utensils allowed!

The final day on the bikes took us to the 100 miles of Kerala
backwaters, where we abandoned our machines and embarked onto former rice
barges, now converted into houseboats. It was a wonderful relaxing experience
to cruise slowly between the verdant banks, surrounded by abundant birds and
wildlife, watching the passing village scenes whilst partaking of a cool drink,
tea or coffee, all served by smiling staff, for whom nothing was too much
trouble. Our circular trip took us back to our starting point and a minibus
ride to our final hotel at Kovalam, where we spent a night and a day relaxing
on the shores of the Arabian sea.

The route to the airport at Trivandrum took us through the centre of the
town where some 3 million women had gathered to celebrate Pongala, a food
festival. Each side of every road was occupied by ladies seated before a
earthenware cooking receptacle which was supported on three bricks, used to
cook a traditional, sweet, rice dish. The traffic was horrendous and crowds
were vast, but we made it in time to catch our flight home.

My memories are of smiling, generous, and apparently happy people,
always willing to be photographed, acquiescing by the famous Indian head
wobble. The ‘yes, whatever’ of India

Would I go again? Yes. Would I buy a Royal Enfield ? No For me they were
just a splendid anachronism. I bought a Honda!

Tony Wiggins