The next four days flashed by as we passed the southern most part of The Great Thar Desert in Rajasthan on a south westerly tact towards Bombay. The stark, arid desert was quite a shock after a couple of days in the Punjab with its lush vegetation and countless paddy fields. The change came out of the blue, one minute all green the next a rock-strewn desert, but then as abruptly as it appeared it vanished at about the same time we crossed the Tropic of Capricorn. On the fifth day we were hoping to get just south of Bombay for the final day’s assault down to Goa but packed roads soon made us realise that it wasn’t going to happen and a run of the mill motel was found.

Up the next morning, two-hour ride to Bombay and straight down the coast to Arambol, easily said! What we didn’t take into account was that the road we needed to pick up was right in the thick of a very chaotic, sixteen million population Indian city, so three hours disappeared in the blink of an eye and we were way off schedule. Just as we got out of the city limits it rained and rained and rained for pretty much the rest of the day, what we didn’t know was that a small cyclone had hit the west coast and we were riding straight into it!

After six long wet hours it started to get dark but we decided, over a cup of tea and a soggy cigarette to push on, me having to wear my reading glasses to shield my eyes from the rain as I only had a dark tinted visor on my helmet, the clear one being nicely packed away back in the UK. After a difficult hour of riding in the dark, dodging pot holes and head on collisions, an oasis appeared in the form of a massive hotel perched on top of a large plain, we had pushed our luck further than we should and even though only 80 miles from Arambol we decided enough was enough and checked in. A few cold beers, some average food and a packet of cigarettes stolen from the table later, we headed for bed and hoped the weather would turn by morning.

Up fairly early, climbing into soaking wet motorcycle gear is not the most pleasant way to start the day, especially when you look out of the window and every palm tree you can see is being hammered flat by a 50 mph wind. Oh well nothing for it but to get out there and get on with it. I have ridden in some crap weather but this was something else, the only saving grace was it was about 25 degrees, we pushed on in the driving wind and horizontal rain paying no attention to the beautiful tropical views but concentrating on keeping the motorcycles on the road, which was as hard mentally as it was physically. For such a short last leg to get down the coast to meet up with the rest of the gang it seem to take forever but as we crossed the Goa state border the rain and wind stopped and a glorious sun appeared and we could take in a vista of stunning proportions, traversing along a small road no bigger than a cart track with a large river delta running parallel to our right, rows and rows of forty foot tall coconut palms and small fishing boats moored all along the river. The first thought that came into my mind was the film Apocalypse Now, and I rode along in what seemed like paradise waiting to hear the sound of large twin engined helicopters dropping napalm and stoned US army personnel on surf boards. Entering Arambol down a small road full of stalls and shops selling tie-dyed bed sheets and handmade jewellery, swerving around dreadlocked hippies riding Royal Enfield Bullets and manicured cows just wandering around (but not with dreadlocked hippies riding them) I knew this was going to be a place I could spend some time. ”Just follow the road all the way to the beach, it gets really narrow at the end, not even wide enough for a car, the apartment is on the right just before the beach,” were the instructions Caf had given me a few hours earlier. So we parked our motorcycles on the beach and headed for the nearest bar, which was approximately ten feet away, just as someone said in my general direction, “are you Pete?” This was my first introduction to Jenny, she said she would go and grab Caf and meet us at the bar. After several hours, Jenny, Ollie, Trev, Caf and me were sufficiently fed and watered and decided to freshen up for more of the same in the very near future. Welcome to Arambol.