On hold, waiting for parts.

The next few weeks were an enforced break from riding the bike. It was spent with the family of a friend in Pune, a family who have now become like family to me. I was welcomed like a son and had the opportunity to live for a couple of weeks as if I was at home. The pleasure of waking up in the same bed for more than 4 days was a forgotten experience to me and I finally had the chance to relax properly.
In Pune, the sights that I saw were no longer those for tourists but just everyday living in India. I attended an Indian baby shower party, celebrated the Ganapati (the week long festival of Ganesh, the Hindu elephant God) where the streets of Pune amass with crowds. I visited local sporting clubs, experienced being driven in cars by Indians (gulp!), as well as making presentations about my trip to students at the Firodia Hostel. I met everyone from the Mayor of Pune, who officially welcomed me by crowning me with a Maharashtra hat, the Commissioner of the Home Guards and of course (!) the Press, but more on that later.
After a week in Pune, I decided to make a week long visit to the world renowned beaches of Goa. This time, without my motorcycle, I was a regular tourist and no longer a rock star. Whilst I missed the constant attention from locals, I also enjoyed the anonymity of not being hounded with questions. It turned out that I had chosen entirely the wrong time of year to come this part of the world. Yes, it was monsoon season and it was in full flow and I only managed a day and a half of sun. As this is, first and foremost a motorcycle trip, I decided to rent a Royal Enfield Bullet bike to explore the countryside. It was hugely different from my bike, being much more agricultural to ride, aswell as the gear controls being on different sides. After a day of trying to get to grips with it, I felt as if I was being unfaithful to my bike and sent the Bullet back!
Upon returning back to the dry of Pune, my part eventually arrived. As I had by now come to expect, the Indian courier company failed to allow everything to go smoothly and were unable to locate my parcel for a day or 2, but I was comforted to finally have it in my hand. A friend introduced me to a local mechanic who had a good workshop and was familiar with foreign, larger motorcycles. It was here that I set about replacing the radiator, changing the chain and sprockets and putting in some fresh brake pads. I was able to do most of the work myself, only occasionally needing to consult the owner/mechanic, Sheri, on how to do something. By the end of the day, I was mobile again and keen to make sure that everything was working again, so I arranged to visit a friend in Mumbai for the weekend.
As in Pune, in Mumbai, I was visiting a friend, so the focus was on relaxing, enjoying myself and meeting people. Other than a coffee by a beach, fronting the Arabian Sea, I saw nothing of the city. What I did see was how young people live. They have great parties, dress fashionably (in a Western style) and love to shop. They work hard (6 days a week) but play hard too. A weekend visit was not long enough to pay Mumbai (or Bombay as the locals still call it) justice, but enough of a taste to see city life. Riding back to Pune, which is just over 100 miles away, being on a '2 wheeler', I was not supposed to take the Expressway. On the way out, I had correctly taken the slower highway, but I decided that I would attempt the impossible. I snuck onto it at the second junction and prepared my excuses (that I did not know that I wasn't allowed, that the sign must have been obscured by a truck, that the last policeman had said that it was OK and that this was a big bike, so I did not think that it applied to me. I was also to play on the fact that I had a foreign number plate and that they could never trace it!). Various highway maintenance, toll booth attendants and police tried to stop me, but I played dumb until they eventually relented and permitted me to carry on for a bit. Temporarily, I was a fugitive, trying to lay low! I did, however manage to complete my journey by the expressway, a feat that I hear is nigh on impossible by bike without being escorted off of it by the police.
Upon returning to Pune, I spent another week being filled with copious amounts of delicious food, although starting to learn acceptable ways not having my plate overly refilled by my host. In India, the mother rarely sits with the men of the family and guests, but instead serves the food. I wasn't used to this, so after much insistence, we all ate dinner together! Nothing was too spicy, although the odd green chilly was occasionally challenging.
The rest of my time in Pune flew by. Between me having to do a couple of days' work from my laptop and a series of press conferences and presentations, by the end of it, I was exhausted. The 'father' of the house in which I was staying had arranged for me to meet a couple of people to talk about my trip and to raise awareness (and hopefully money) for my charity, so I held a press conference for around 15 reporters, 10 cameramen and 3 television channels. The day was something of a blur, but most enjoyable. Previously, when I had been in the papers in India, I had found myself on page 3, so, as a joke, I asked the reporters if they could make sure that I was on the front page this time. I was later to find out that page 3 is actually the prestige page for celebrities whilst the front page is for politics!
I awaited until the next day to see the fruits of my work and found myself in 7 newspapers, with 2 'front pages' and 2 'page 3's'! I am still trying to get hold of a copy of the video coverage.
At the end of the week, it was finally my time to move on. I was to head down to Kerala to meet my riding buddy, Jim and to press on to the next country. Having stayed with my friend's family (and now my family) for almost a month, it was difficult to say goodbye, but the show had to go on and I wanted to see the white sands and crocodiles at the shores of Australia before the year was out.