Tuesday, February 28, 2006
An Ode to the 350
After coming to hyderabad, one thing that I miss soooo much is the roads. Driven around so much in chandi that hyderabad, inspite of its recent road improvements seems like a joke. There aint no roads here, or for that matter in bangalore.
Chandigarh's the Bomb, eh?
And here's a beautiful peom from Autocar
The God of Speed
When I was nineteen years old,
typically rash stupid and bold,
I went through a phase called the double ‘A’
My automotive adolescence so as to say.
As a compromise between power and money,
I was given the Rajdoot Yamaha three-fifty
Yes, the one with the miserable fuel economy.
Though the four figure petrol bills,
gave my father nasty chills,
the machine gave his son amazing thrills.
The bike was built for mad, suicidal speed,
and that was my strongest need.
Under me my Rajdoot Yamaha,
the road was my virtual Suzuka.
You feel an incomparable high,
when on the road in harmony you fly.
The bike’s an extension of your body, you two are one
You think about changing a gear and it’s done.
Roaring into a corner you come,
the wind in your ear a loud hum.
Physics says you have to fall,
and gravity does try,
but you make poor old Newton sigh,
he rolls over and over in his grave,
according to his laws you don’t behave.
Your confidence soars,
Louder the bike roars.
The throttle is like a baton in your hand,
the pistons and the crank the best orchestra in land
and it’s Wagner’s opera to your mind ,
the scream of the engine near the red line
The adrenalin in your blood makes it boil,
but….on the next corner there’s spilt diesel oil….
Then comes the fall,
with a shower of sparks, bike ,you and all.
You hit the tar at a hundred and one
dragged along with the bike, remember you two are one,
but now it isn’t so much fun .
You have burns due to friction,
and pain has reached a new dimension.
You are laid up in bed for quite a while,
and now it’s old Newton’s turn to smile.