two shaky wheels
I’m married to a motorcycle for the better part of a week. Just me, the road, and a machine that sounds like it’s running on borrowed time. I learn fast: there’s only one road rule in India. Survive.
There’s no real traffic order, just a shared chaos everyone somehow understands. You drive with purpose or you get swallowed whole.
I stop by the Yamuna River and take photos for Amrit. It’s quiet there. Wide, muddy, steady. The kind of river that looks like it’s seen a lot and doesn’t need to tell you any of it.
I keep heading north through the countryside. It’s wide open and humming with life. I stop for cold drinks, gas, and to let the sweat dry from my back. Locals come up to me and ask for selfies or for my WhatsApp. Some guy later sends me his resume, hoping I can get him a job in America. A lot of them want to know what brought me to india. On my third fill-up, a gas station attendant kisses me on the cheek.
As I drive through Ghaziabad, I almost hit a cow.
That’s the thing about India. While you’re trying not to die at the hands of a moped driver with no shoes on, a cow might stroll across your lane like it owns the place. That's because it kind of does.
You see, the streets aren’t streets. Everything is just part of one large obstacle course.
Halfway through my ride up north, I hit a wall of people. Thousands of people block the highway. They're marching and all wearing pink. I don't see any signs or announcements. It could’ve been a protest, a festival, a wedding, or a funeral. Nobody seemed to know, and nobody seemed to care. I try to reroute and end up staring at a road swallowed by floodwater. No way through. I turn off into the backroads and drive through small villages that seem to appear out of nowhere.
I pull off near a roadside stall and try to buy a bottle of water. The boy working the stand talks to me in broken English. I pull out my phone and we have a brief, candid conversation using Google Translate. I learn that his name is Manoj. He hands me a cold bottle of water and helps me fight off dehydration for a few more hours.
I’m married to a motorcycle for the better part of a week. Just me, the road, and a machine that sounds like it’s running on borrowed time. I learn fast: there’s only one road rule in India. Survive.
There’s no real traffic order, just a shared chaos everyone somehow understands. You drive with purpose or you get swallowed whole.
I stop by the Yamuna River and take photos for Amrit. It’s quiet there. Wide, muddy, steady. The kind of river that looks like it’s seen a lot and doesn’t need to tell you any of it.
I keep heading north through the countryside. It’s wide open and humming with life. I stop for cold drinks, gas, and to let the sweat dry from my back. Locals come up to me and ask for selfies or for my WhatsApp. Some guy later sends me his resume, hoping I can get him a job in America. A lot of them want to know what brought me to india. On my third fill-up, a gas station attendant kisses me on the cheek.
As I drive through Ghaziabad, I almost hit a cow.
That’s the thing about India. While you’re trying not to die at the hands of a moped driver with no shoes on, a cow might stroll across your lane like it owns the place. That's because it kind of does.
You see, the streets aren’t streets. Everything is just part of one large obstacle course.
Halfway through my ride up north, I hit a wall of people. Thousands of people block the highway. They're marching and all wearing pink. I don't see any signs or announcements. It could’ve been a protest, a festival, a wedding, or a funeral. Nobody seemed to know, and nobody seemed to care. I try to reroute and end up staring at a road swallowed by floodwater. No way through. I turn off into the backroads and drive through small villages that seem to appear out of nowhere.
I pull off near a roadside stall and try to buy a bottle of water. The boy working the stand talks to me in broken English. I pull out my phone and we have a brief, candid conversation using Google Translate. I learn that his name is Manoj. He hands me a cold bottle of water and helps me fight off dehydration for a few more hours.
