Wallowing, handlebars slapping the gas tank, legs flopping, and sweat rivering into my eyes, I humped my 500 cc Bullet through some unmarked desert sands of Rajasthan, vowing never again to be adventurous in sand. An overloaded motorcycle, no matter what size, is not at home in deep, soft "sugar sand", and that is what I found in the Great Desert of Rajasthan near the Pakistan border. On the map the area around Khuri did not look bad. Intimate it looked like something Lawrence of Arabia would have stayed away from, and he had camels. I was on a motorcycle with 50 kilograms of luggage and 90 kilos of me. It was a mistake to be doing what, and where, I was doing it.

Another mistake was taking a "shortcut" shown on my map. I had asked the local people if the road went all the way through to the next town, which they advised me it did. Of course, when the locals get their 100-cc Honda Hero to this section, it is not difficult for them to dismount and roll the 75-kilogram motorcycle down the dirt path and push it up the other side. It took me an hour to carry my luggage down and up the same path, then the help of two others to do the same with the motorcycle. For them it was great fun helping and watching this stupid American slip, slide and sweat (I told them I was from Texas, which seemed to answer their questions of why I was where I foolishly was with an obviously overburdened motorcycle). Why didn't I "turn around and ride back and around this section," many will ask? I am sure my mother will, then she will remember I am the son of my father, who, as a Marine, does not know the word retreat.

I had crossed India and wandered around the Western State of Rajasthan, after having made a few stops along the way in places like Pushkar. The guidebooks and postcards of Pushkar pictured a turquoise lake and told of being adopted by your own personal priest if you visited the sacred pond. What I found in Pushkar was a smaller version of Kathmandu, Nepal, with some of the same tourists and touts. The major difference was Pushkar was dry (no beer), forbid hand holding or kissing anywhere in public, and the lake was dirty brown. The priest who unsuccessfully attempted to adopt me wandered off to hustle two other tourists, leaving me with hordes of pigeons and several hundred monkeys. The monkeys must have known of my skill of kicking primates, so left after I did not feed them. One pigeon deposited a white blotch on my backpack. As for the street people, what reminded me most of Kathmandu was the guys who walk up close to you and whisper, "Hash, smoke, grass?" Some tourists must buy the stuff because the sellers seemed comfortable in hawking their wares. I send them away by saying, "No thank you, I get high with God." This response works with Hindus, Muslims and an occasional Mormon.

In Udaipur luck vectored my Bullet into the parking lot of a new hotel. Fresh sheets, clean swimming pool on the roof, excellent restaurant and friendly people made this part of the India trip memorable. The price was the same as the dumps in the Lonely Planet listed for the center part of town, but this place, too new to be listed, was like an oasis. Instead of one night, my Bullet stayed in the parking lot for two.

The Bullet had rolled off the sidestand and broken the left mount for the mirror and clutch lever. I had managed to ride to Udaipur by using some plastic cable ties to hold the mount solid, but needed to hunt down a new mount, a task I feared would be expensive and difficult. Instead, I was able to find an Enfield repair shop in minutes and the part was replaced with a new one, and installed, for $1.00. Had this been my BMW or Yamaha the part would usually not have been available, or if I had been able to find one, it would have cost closer to $35.00 and installation by a shop mechanic another $20.00. The owner of the Enfield repair shop put a sticker on my aluminum boxes when I left. If I look at the experience in terms of traveling elsewhere on the globe, like through Germany or the USA, for the $1.00 I spent at the shop in Udaipur I purchased the sticker and got the work and part for free.

The route I rode west from Agra finally brought me in contact with numerous other motorcycle road warriors. I met two Swiss people on a '97 Honda Africa Twin. They told of having to pay $350.00 to get their bike freed from Customs in Bombay where they had flown it to from Zurich. Even though they had a Carnet de Passage, the bureaucrats managed to extract the extra money over a five-day period. They said it was a "Pay or no bike" situation, so they paid. They told of meeting two Germans who had refused to pay the bribes because they felt their Carnet de Passage was all they needed to enter India and exerted their German stubbornness. It took them 3 months to get their bikes freed. I suspect they pissed-off the Customs officials so much the Indians decided to give the Germans a reminder of why "IT MUST BE SO!" does not translate into Hindi and life became bureaucratically ugly. Based on what I have learned in India over the last 4 months, if you want to get you and your motorcycle into India quickly, cheaply and painlessly, enter overland. Instead of flying it to India, fly it to Kathmandu, and then ride into India.

Three Germans traveling on BMW GS's flown into Bombay from Germany had a different story of woe. One of them had hit a man crossing the road and crashed. A crowd quickly gathered and took the keys from the motorcycle ignition, thereby preventing the rider from leaving the scene. When the police finally showed up the German had to pay a "fine" of $150.00, $50.00 of which went to the cops, the remaining $100.00 going to the "victim." My advice to any foreign motorcycle rider in India came from the experiences of others over the years, and that is, if involved in an accident, and you can ride, push or pull your motorcycle away, do it, rather than wait for the crowd to take control, which it will quickly do. The local legal position is the accident would not have happened had the foreigner not been here, therefore the foreigner is at fault. This is simple India logic. Three motorcyclists from Israel told how one "bumped" a cow in the road and the locals immediately grabbed and pulled him from his bike. They proceeded to beat him until his buddies were able to turn around and fight them off. He was lucky to have friends riding with him.

My crowd episode happened when a bus turned directly in front of me. I was so mad at the idiot for attempting to kill me I followed him into the bus terminal into which he had turned. Next to his open window I yelled up at him, "Do you have a driver's license?" and "Where did you get your driver's license?" All he would do is look at me like he was dumb. Maybe he was stupid too. After yelling at him about his mother, intercourse with dogs and sheep and his being ignorant, he finally gave me one of those, "Gee Mom, yes I did take a cookie from the cookie jar" stupid smirks. Then he tried to wave me off like a fly. That did it for me. I got off the bike, put it on the side stand and reached up and into his open window and started to pull him out. I fully intended to give him the same Aerostitch Combat Touring Boot lesson I did to the monkey in Sikkim (where the monkey got its blue-end kicked up the road). As I pulled him from his seat and halfway out the window, his foot came off the brake and the idling bus started inching forward. The gathered crowd started yelling and pushing against the front of it to keep it from rolling into a second bus. It was then I realized there was a crowd, no riding buddies to help me, and I was in a "General Custer" situation where the locals outnumbered me by about 100 to 1. I let go of the idiot, who was hanging out the window. I gave him a quick slap-slap instead of the Mike Tyson upper cut I had planned, and quickly remounted the bike, kick started it, and rode through the crowd, thinking how glad I was I had not taken off my helmet and was fully enclosed in Aerostitch riding gear. The riding jacket and helmet would have taken any light blows the locals would want to inflict on me, but fortunately none did, and I was away in less than 30 seconds. I think the crowd was more interested in unstuffing the bus driver from the window and stopping the rolling bus than they were in getting a few shots in on me.

Comparing road experiences with other motorcycle travelers I met has been informative, especially how we all do it so differently. One Japanese road warrior, on a world tour with a 1983 Yamaha 50 cc (with drive shaft), felt perfectly comfortable at his speed of 60 kilometers per hour when we compared travel days. We both covered about 300 kilometers each day.

Another traveler from Holland had spent 5 months in India building a 350 Jawa from parts he had been able to find in a 200 kilometers radius of the small shop he was using as a base. The Jawa leaked oil like the Exxon Valdez, but ran. He planned to ride to Kathmandu, then sell the bike. His overall investment was about $500.00, not counting labor, which would have bought him a fairly good used India motorcycle, but for him the Zen of building the Jawa from bits and pieces was his adventure, not the riding.

A German rider told me of how he coped with the terrible drivers and animals on the roads of India by throwing rocks at them. Each morning he filled his coat pocket with good sized rocks (he called it "ammunition") and during the day dispensed his form of road justice by firing left-handed fast balls at cars/trucks/buses/cows/goats/people who caused him injustice. He also said he did a fair amount of yelling and screaming.

My motorcycle adventure through India comes to a close. I have ridden nearly 10,000 kilometers, taken the same number of photographs and slides, and seen and met some of the most interesting people on this leg of my ride around the globe. As a photographer it was warming to experience humans wanting to have their picture taken, stopping in their daily routines to pose, and seldom asking for some form of payment in return. The colors of India, as seen in clothes, temples, and paintings on trucks/buses/tuk-tuks, are some of the most vivid I have seen in the world, a stark contrast to those of Africa, Europe or South America.

Capturing life in India through the lens of a camera has been an adventure in communication because of my lack in language. Away from the tourist stops English was often not spoken. Sometimes I had the great luck to find people who were not camera shy. Once, when I wanted to photograph an accident scene where a small motorbike had run into (and mostly under) the back of a parked truck, the truck driver adamantly objected, even though the pancaked motorbike rider had long since been removed. On another occasion, women working at water well posed for over an hour, laughing and giggling most of the time.

My Enfield Bullet 500, year 2000 model, was quickly sold for cash in the bike market at Karol Bagh in Delhi. I had bought it new in November and the price I got "on the street" was nearly $100.00 more than the dealer who sold it to me had offered. I tried to sell the bike over the Internet and with a "FOR SALE" sign on it as I traveled but most of what I got were "Lookie-loos" or "Tire Kickers", people not really interested, just fishing around for talk or correspondence. The real action came when I walked up to an Enfield dealer or used motorcycle dealer. Within minutes I had an offer, and when I finally did my deal it took less than fifteen minutes to say, "Hello, I want to sell my Bullet," to my walking away with bundles of rupees stuffed in my pockets.

One word of caution to perspective foreign buyers and sellers of motorcycles in India. Getting the rupees you receive from the sale converted to US dollars (or other foreign currency) is tricky. If you walk into an Exchange Bureau or bank you will not be able to do it. At the airport, the day you leave, if you have the right paperwork, you can change 10,000 rupees, or about $200.00 USD, then you are stuck with the rest. A sign at the Customs exit tells you that to take more than 100 rupees out of India is an offense, so if you are carrying the rest with you as you rush to meet your plane, and they find them, you will probably lose them to Customs officials as a "fine." If you are lucky enough to get them past Customs you will find that no one will change them outside of India for a decent rate. Figure you will lose about 50% of what cash you have remaining.

My advice is to convert the amount you will need to purchase the motorcycle (new or used) at a Thomas Cook office. They will give you rupees and a form, called a Cashment form, which shows the date, amount, rate, etc. of foreign currency you exchanged for rupees. The form is good for 90 days and allows you to re-convert rupees back into foreign currency (in the form of Thomas Cook Travelers Checks) up to the amount you cashed. You can only do the conversion the day before you are to depart from India and you have to give them back the original form (make a copy when you first get the form, because they will accept a copy if you lose the original), as well as show them your outward bound ticket and passport. If the form expires I was told (at American Express) that an extension could be gotten by going to the Federal Reserve Bank of India and getting someone to write such a letter, a foolish adventure in India paperwork. I also suggest using the same office for both transactions, as they will have on file a copy of the original form you got when first converting to rupees. It will also pay to "make a friend" when you do this so they will remember you three months later when you return. I heard a sad story of one foreigner who sold his bike and then took deep discounts running all over Delhi trying to buy Dollars with rupees. Most places will not talk to you without the Cashment form and, if they do, know they have you over a barrel if you have an airline flight out of town. Forget about asking the used motorcycle dealer for US Dollars or foreign currency, and remember that getting the rupees you need to purchase the bike from an ATM is not going to give you the Cashment form you will later need.

I miss my Bullet. It was a motorcycle with a soul. I did not realize that until after I had visited the assembly plant at Jaipur. It was there I saw the workers building these "All India Made" two-wheel motor cycles with pride. Some monstrous motorcycle manufacturing concern pumping out 200,000 motorcycles each year with their stock listed on the New York Stock Exchange does not make the Bullet. Rather, they are assembled by hand with the help of some high tech automation. Pin striping is still done by hand with a brush, and each new machine is ridden before being wrapped and shipped to a dealer. The Royal Enfield Bullet was an unexpected positive experience for me. As I look back on my adventure in India it is not only the roads, mountains, temples, people and places I will remember. It is the heart my Bullet shared with me, as we became travelers sharing our souls through Asia.

I chose to use a new Bullet instead of purchasing a used one. Every traveler I met who had purchased a used Bullet experienced problems, some big, like major engine and electrical failures. The price of a new Enfield was around $1,500.00 USD, which included registration, license plate and insurance for a year. It also included 4 free services and warranty work, which I needed for a clutch adjustment.

I also chose a 500-cc model, as advised by the Enfield Company representatives I met before making the purchase. Most foreigners opt for the more common 350-cc model. The 500-cc model had the extra horsepower I needed to carry the weight I had at speeds needed to get by slow moving trucks, cars and carts. If I did a purchase again, I would choose the 500-cc model, in deference to the 535 and 350 models. The new disc brake (scheduled for the future) would be an improvement, but the shoe brake on my 500 cc Bullet was adequate for the speeds I traveled.

As an example of some parts prices, new, for the 500 Bullet, in US dollars;

Clutch cable $1.10
Brake Cable (Front) $1.00
Throttle Cable $.50
Decompression Cable $.50
Oil Filter $.35
New Tire $11.00
New Tube $4.00
Retread Tire $4.00
Foot Peg Rubber $.35

As an economist I am always meditating on the "real value" of items. I developed a formula for comparing the value of my Bullet to a certain European motorcycle of which I am fond, except for its price.

My formula has the Enfield price of a part, multiplied by 20, to bring it into a comparative price for the European motorcycle. Thus, the Enfield tire, at $11.00, times 20, makes it's value, in terms of European prices, about $220.00, which is nearly what I pay for the tire on my European motorcycle.

The interesting thing about this bit of economics is while it gives an economic value, it does not give a real value, because the European tire does not last as long as the Enfield tire. After 10,000 kilometers on my Enfield tire I still had another 10,000 kilometers left to go, whereas after 10,000 miles on my European tire I am starting to focus on finding a replacement.

And finally, if the formula is applied to the full purchase price of the Enfield Bullet ($1,500.00), then the European equivalent should be $30,000.00. Looked at in another way, this means that in India, for $1,500.00 you are getting the equivalent of a $30,000.00 European motorcycle, making the Bullet 500 possibly the best new motorcycle bargain on the planet.

I was not looking at the Royal Enfield Bullet as an economist when I decided to ride one across Asia. Instead, I wanted to get a taste of why the locals in India favor them and how the population in this part of the world viewed them. I also wanted to look into the mystic of the Enfield, knowing some people hate them, while others love them. I do not think I could have made a better choice to live and experience the religion of the Royal Enfield. It was not a Zen experience; it was a Meditation Ride.

(Burma is still very closed to overland crossings from India to Thailand. As much as I tried, I could find no way to ride my motorcycle solo across Burma, so, like many other overlanders, I will fly to Bangkok, and continue from there on two wheels across Asia. It is possible to enter Burma from Thailand, but only for a short distance. From what I have been told the motorcycling in Burma is not worth the effort, and I am in no need of a tee shirt that says, "I rode my motorcycle in Burma," so I may pass and opt for more time exploring Northern Thailand. I am told that is where I will find some of the best motorcycling roads in the world.)