Last one in buys the beers

Day 13: Last leg Balgaum to Goa Start position: N15 51.744 E74 31.782 End position: N15 16.895 E73 54.783

Mileage: 94.7

Total mileage: 2,224

 Temperature 35 degrees. RH: massive.

After a pleasant breakfast we say goodbye to the blondies. It seems rather sad that they are not joining us for the last push to the finish. From the start we have stuck together as a team of four rickshaws, Team America, The Blondies, Lucknow and us, come hell or high-water, breakdowns, wrong turns, crap hotels, and freak shows. To lose one team so near to the finish felt a little bit like a betrayal, sending a private into certain death at the hands of the enemy. But we gave the majority of the spares, a GPS, a crash course in map reading and sent them on their way to Hampi (they got there too, with just one breakdown opposite Bajaj). Meanwhile we cracked on with Tom at the handlebars in to the hills. We had a good morning, but as it got steeper and hillier, the clutch finally gave out. Ragged Glory has not broken down once on this trip, and we were determined that we would complete the final leg without incident. Imagine the ignominy of a tow over the finish line. We let it cool down for a bit and limped forwards with me at the bars, flames practically shooting from the engine casing. We were still in very hilly terrain with only thirty miles to go. But the last thirty miles were jolly hard work. On the steepest hills Tom had to get out and run (walk) beside the rickshaw as we stuttered up the hills with barely any traction. I was now at one with the rickshaw, I could tell when she was happy, and when she was struggling. We were losing power from the warped cylinder head and needed a new engine block, she was poorly tuned, the brakes were shot and now the clutch was burnt out. She was not a happy bunny. But we made it, with Team America and Lucknow, crossing the finish line 4pm, bang on schedule. It was a funny feeling finishing. Immense satisfaction that we had completed the race within the time frame, in searing heat to which the rickshaws were not designed, over a distance that is improbable for them to cover, with about four hours sleep each night. It was an adventure, we had had a lot of fun along the way, and no shortage of mechanical tribulations - especially Team America with four new engine. We spent two weeks running on quite a lot of adrenalin, and 4pm on Saturday, the last drop was used. The triumph of finishing was mixed with utter exhaustion as all that caught up in a big wave. Beers all round then off for swim. Where I lost my second pair of Oakleys (just to add to the toolbox that got nikced out of the rickshaw last night with all my tools and the lightsabre). And I think one of the radios dropped out along the last leg. Not doing well! We all regrouped for the evening jamboree. Bureaucracy never escapes you. To buy a drink, you bought a combination of tokens from one chap, then handed them to another chap standing adjacent to him who prepared a drink, trying to piece together these tokens. "Gin and Coca-Cola and Rum and tonic sir!" Nice. Hearing some of the stories from other teams, one could argue that we made a fairly boring time of it, we didn't break down, we didn't escape bandits, Team America had a police escort but we weren't with them, we didn't roll the rickshaw, but we made it. We covered 2224 miles in the process, saw some wonderful scenery, met some unduly helpful people as well as getting fleeced, and the three of us spent a lot of hours confined to an underpowered sardine can without really arguing. We did ok. I ought to just explain who we're with given I've alluded to them a lot and we've stuck together throughout. Team America: Jeff, big, benevolent, patience of a buffalo, totally unflappable, legend. Jason, small, good with engines, you'd think he was a lot bigger if you shut your eyes. Calls himself a hick, you could picture him roaring around America in the dukes of hazard car. Dude. Start line: rickshaw pimping is stratospherical, including dual horn multimedia klaxon array. Makes our awooga look like a penny whistle. Cool.

Lucknow: Pippa, attractive, blonde, welsh, hilarious, can't drive for toffee apparently. Helen, attractive, blonde, bright, likes grinding gears.

Start line: no map, no compass, no idea.

Blondies: Claire: attractive, blonde, tall, gung ho, no fear, looks like Madonna, drives like Jehu. Lucy: attractive, blonde, expert navigator, bubbly as champagne, chatterbox.

All six of them absolute stars, I doubt very much whether we could have teamed up with a better set of rickshaws for maximum hilarity, and making it all the way here. Thank you chaps.

Are we nearly there yet?

Pune to Belgaum Start position: N18 31.624 E73 52.443 End position: N15 51.660 E74 31.866 40 degrees Early start this morning, clocks set to 6:30, and there's Joe and I down for breakfast. Nobody else to be seen. Everyone gradually trickles through. Finally Tom declares he's off to hospital to get his fast-swelling green finger investigated. He is turned around surpisingly fast in the end, and sent on his way with some random antibiotics and we finally leave the hotel at about 10.30. Again we get a rickshaw to guide us out and clear the city with ease. We've headed on a pretty straight south westerly course all the way down and the further we go the better the infrastructure has become. Today we have had mostly dual carriageway, and almost no diversions across the carriageways as they randomly repair odd sections at will. We even got road signs now, and drivers seem to be mostly sticking to their own carriageways. The head wobble has changed too. Up north it is quite metronomic, a relatively small movement, pivoted at a single point, gently sprung and quite heavily damped. Down here it takes on a more thre dimensional movement, requiring a complex undulating articulation within the head and neck. Quite ingenious. And more vigorous. The meaning does not change however. It answers every question. Do you have this? Wobble. Mmm, is that a yes or a no? Actually it's either. How are you? Wobble. Mmm, I guess you're ok. Which is the road to X hotel? Wobble. Listen you're not helping much. Is it this road? Wobble. Is it that road? Wobble. Don't worry I'll ask someone else. It's a pretty straight road all the way through to Belgaum and we finally make it somewhere in time to have dinner together before the blondies peel off towards Hampi. We head for the first hotel we see which happens to be blinding. We ask to see a couple of rooms and are presented with a palatial suite for about £30. I've never been in a suite before so jump in with both feet. Turns out that there is a level of "This is what we'll show you, and this is what you're going to get". Ah well, we still get to have dinner together at last (which still involves form-filling and checkboxes to tick - bureaucracy reaches the weirdest places). Jeff booked the presidential suite and we retired to that for a few sharpeners. Everyone is really feeling it by now. We are very tired, our clothes are all filthy. Each morning we put on our least dirty clothes, I haven't had clean clothes for a week. But we are so nearly there, we've covered 2130 miles so far. Tomorrow is our last leg and we're aiming to be in Goa early afternoon.

The timing of a music hall artist

Ellora to Pune Start position N20 01.442 E75 10.448 End position: N18 31.624 E73 52.443 Mileage 151.6 After getting into Ellora late last night for the umpteenth time, we were all feeling prettty shattered. We've been doing long days of driving in high heat, the other teams suffering quite a few breakdowns, we're dirty and tired, so we agreed a leisurely start in the morning. We couldn't hgave chosen better with the hotel. Plying us with gin and bitter lemon the night before, and laying on breakfast on he lawn overlooking the Caves in the morning sun. The main temple at Ellora is an incredible feat of masonry, essentially a temle carved out of the mountainside, surrounded by a network of other carvings along a mountainside. It took quite a while to actually get to see this while I had my picture taken with innumerable indian families, and played torch-wallah for India's largest family I'd encountered trying negotiate a particularly dark set of steps. We put the rickshaws together for a team photograph before we all risked getting split up and headed on south towards Pune. After all out late nights of driving we were determined that tonight we would get into town, grab a beer together and something to eat. Why did we hoenstly think that could possibly be achieved? Do we not learn? Half way to Pune I decided to swing into Bajaj to get our exhaust tightened before the next leg, as well as changing the gasket on the exhaust manifold as the engine was deafening. Transpired our cylinder head gasket was shot, not the exhaust, which might go some way to explaining our distinct lack of power. Actually, this is more down to the whole engine and bearings being old tired, getting too hot and struggling, but this isn't helping. Meanwhile the blondies are running with no brakes, and feel it prudent to get those changed. So far, we have been very lucky and yet to breakdown. Apart from Joe put neat oil into the engine on the first day. But that's down to driver stupidity. The rickshaw itself has yet to fail us. So far. We put this down mostly to taking preventative action - for those doing the next run who might be reading this - and fixing problems where we are in some sort of comfort rather than on the roadside in searing heat with an overly inquisitive and generally unhelpful audience. The old giorl may run badly, but at least she runs. Doubtless we'll be proved wrong in the next couple of days. We were all fixed up and back on the road by four, but with 75 miles still to cover. We crack through the miles but half way there encounter the pink girls broken down on the roadside, surrounded by variously unhelpful people. We send the blondies ahead with Tom while Joe and I stay to offer up at least a little mechanical experience to oversee that mechanic that we summonsed from the next village and Joe to drive the pink rickshaw in the dark when it's fixed. We were back on the road in reasonable time, but still a long way from Pune. Apart from a rather lethargic policeman trying to relieve us of 200rs the other day, we've had none of the anticipated hassle of morally tainted policeman. We feared we were about to change that when I finally caught up with Joe driving the pink rickshaw pulling up at the entrance to Pune and promptly roared up alongside pulling off a nice handbrake finish with the horn blairing, tyres screeching and spotlights blazing. I peered beyond them to a bevvy of 10 policemen brandishing notebooks and taking a disoncerting interest in the rickshaws. Woops. Even more so when I noticed Helen and Joe had started proferring passports. Fortunately a bit of sweet-talking, smiles and ignorance sent us along our way. We've learnt by now that trying to navigate Indian cities at night without a proper map is infernal, just about impossible. The way to do it is to get a rickshaw driver to guide you the minute you hit options in the roads. You can save hours doing that. We finally roll in at about 10:30, quick shower and off to get something to eat. Little do we know that every restaurant shuts it's doors at 11pm, as we come knocking at 11:05. Oh well, back to the hotel tired, hungry and in need of a beer. We we warned that it was a dry day in Maharastra, no idea why, so we had stocked up with a case of cold kingfishers on the way. As had every other rickshaw, the Americans getting quite punchy with a veritable drinks cabinet of spirits. Tom by this time, feeling tired, unwell and long overdue his feed, threw his toys right out of the pram and went to bed while the rest of us went through the usual ritual of pouring over the map with a beer. And normally pouring a beer over the map. (On a smug note, I still have perfect stools and in fine fettle. Still invincible...)

The washing machine

Day 6: Varanasi to err... Varanasi Start position: N25 19.911 E82 59.116 End position: N25 19.911 E82 59.116 Mileage 0 Prang tally: Joe 1, Tom 6, Nick 0 We had an early start to do what everyone does in Varanasi - head to the Ganges for sunrise. We hired a seemingly enthusiastic guide to take us around and sort things out. 2,000 rupees for a boat trip at 5:30am, seemed pretty reasonable at the time. On reflection, daylight robbery, but nothing compared to waht he had in store for us. The Ganges was predictably beautiful, and laden with tourists, just like us. But it makes a change for people to be used to seeing tourists, as opposed to the gaping "what the hell just drove past me" look that we normally elicit as we drive through villages. We were driven passed the usual commission based places which was little suprise, and then decided to see if his seemingly helpful gentleman could fix us up with a mechanic. And it all started unravelling from there. I found myself alone with this gentleman who was fast become distinctly unsavoury and trying to negotiate the price of parts and labour for two pistons in our two rickshaws. I've never been the best negotiator, famously negotiating myslef up on occasions, so now was not the time to test my mettle. Unsavoury Indian man latched onto this and promptly took me to the cleaners. 7,000rs for a piston was clearly not going to happen. Somehow I thought 3,000rs seemed more likely. Why? What was I thinking? Idiot.  But we send the first rickshaw off for a new piston. So I got fleeced on the price, that happens to everyone at some point. But he magically reappears with a fixed blondie rickshaw after midday. No announcement, but I head out to find this rodent passed out in the back of the rickshaw. He is mashed, I've never seen anyone quite so buggered. Tom and I try fruitlessly to wake him, before I call hotel security to come and manhandle him out of the rickshaw. They throw him unceremoniously to the ground before giving him a very thorough hiding as he comes round. That was the last we saw of him. This left us with a problem, we had paid for the attention of two rickshaws, but only one had seemingly been attended to. What to do with the other. After driving around for a while, Tom and I nipped to the hotel and picked up our main man. He mans the front desk, he is as tall as he is wide, clearly high in the local food chain, and currently our new best friend. He wades in to the street mechanics and takes no shit. So some old man commences work on Ragged Glory and we leave them to it. "Be ready in two hours" So two hours later I go back inquisitively, only to find our mechanic as smashed as his mate. Another new mechanic has begun work, from what I could work out dismantling the half job that methsman had done. I suspect he had tried to get away with polishing our shot piston and putting it back in, so I tookj that piston away with me and left a new guy to pick up the pieces. Finally we got the wagon back at about 6pm, far too late to go anywhere. It's not the end of the world but it puts us a day behind schedule, and means that some of the fun things we wanted to do are looking unlikely, and the more leisurely pace we could have done has been somewhat compromised. But the most irritating is the annoyance of wasting a day doing fairly little to the rickshaws and having been taken to the cleaners. While we have been royally fleeced today, we have in contrast met some extremely kind and helpful people from all backgrounds, from the honcho at the hotel, to a chap call Arvind, a pedal rickshaw driver who stuck with us for the entire day, giving us the lowdown on what was actually happening to our rickshaw, taking us around town to source all manner of parts, including bringing in his cousin and uncle, before finally leading us out of town the next morning. I'm hoping Arvind had quite a sore head because we took him for a couple of beers that evening and it took but three bottles of fosters to render him highly inebriated. Thought it best that I drive home that night, despite his insistance. We did have one other bonus, turns out the leader of the main opposition party of India was passing though our hotel. Despite waking up feeling like death incarnate, Joe managed to bag an interview with him. In illness terms, Joe is the first one of us to go down, Tom and I both enjoying reasonably stable motions, although both blondies have also been hit along the weay. Early start tomorrow to get as far south as we can.

Dual carriageways: what's the point?

Day 4: Silliguri to Purnia

Start position N26 43.843 E88 24.235 End position: N25 46.299 E87 28.341 Mileage: 106 We left Darjeeling suitably late after another natter with Mrs Doubtfire, but had a beautiful drive down, Arriving back in Silliguri about 1:30 to pick up the rickshaws. It soon became obvious that Baja had not done half the the things they were briefed to do, one of which means we still have no stereo so have to withstand Tom's endless chatter. Things could be worse - he and Joe could be argueing over some trifling detail of driving technique. Fortunately for me, Joe has been very diplomatic every time Tom has thrown the rickshaw into the latest pothole. The drive to Purnia appeaered to be a doodle. We encountered our first dual carriage way, which would have been maximun civilised. The Indian roads are proving most intruiging. A state highway - A roads or motorway  to you and me - vary considerably. One would think that given our max speed is 32 mph, variable road surfaces are not an issue. They are a very big issue. They govern how fast we can negotitate a road, and thus what time we get to a destination, and have an annoying habit of deception. A glorious road that we can cover in a few hours will turn into a dirt track half way along it, notably without warning. A dual carriage way is a useful tool for traffic managament, it means that you have two lanes of traffic going one way, and two the other. However, where the UK put each direction of traffic on the same side of the central reservation, In India it is generally accepted that you can drive on each carriageway, in either direction. This makes overtaking especially fun. Particlularly when cars don't use lights, and pedestrians also stake their claim to the roadspace. The latter are practically invisible at night. And the lorries are just nuts. TGhey brake for nobody, not even themselves, and as a consequence, there are some violently mashed up lorries on the side of the road where these opium crazed drivers just go barreling into each other. Yet again we had to finish the driving in the dark, and Indians don't do roadsigns, they like you to guess where something might be. After a bit of help from a rickshaw driver, we stumbled upon our hotel. As we sat wondering whether this latest spectacle of luxury would even have beds, four other rickshaw teams barreled up directly behind us as everyone scrambled for the front desak to secure a bed in order not to repeat the earlier skanking that left us in the fleabucket in Cooch Bihar. Tonight we had the best curry we've had since we've been in India, and were photographed by the restaurant owners, as well as the table beside us. We told them Claire was Madonna. Today was a pretty easy drive, even the end bit through Purnia is nothing compared to navigating through cities,  but an early start tomorrow with many miles to cover.

Three weeks and counting

With just three weeks to go until our vomit comet flies us to The Raj, a sudden realisation has dawned upon the team that a spot of planning mightn't be a bad idea, spurred on by a day of testing-driving the mighty beast last Saturday. As it turned out, Nicholas' confidence in his driving ability was subtly shattered by his inability - at least initially - to master the change between first gear and, well, any other really. It transpires that mighty Autorickshaw's gearbox is about as smoothly aligned as the labour government’s policy makers. Just to rub salt into the wounds, Thomas managed to get the old girl moving rather more quickly than Mr Hamilton's efforts. Whilst we were there, such weighty matters as routes were dropped casually into conversation. And it occurred to us that our proposed route (in the loosest interpretation of the word) of a pleasant coastal jaunt would probably become extremely boring after a day of looking at sea, interspersed with an occasional lone palm tree. Thus a majority decision was taken to follow a more cross country direction amid the mountains and jungles of the interior. And therein the realisation that we will need some inkling of where we hope to go, rather than a blithe sniff of the morning air and a confident "this way chaps". And so some frantic mapwork has begun in Hamilton Tower's chartroom. Meanwhile Thomas Turner's artistic hand is being put to the test creating a splendid paintjob for the Autorickshaw that will wow the locals and having cheering us along our jolly way as we roar through quiet villages with our 80 watt bang box rocking to the raucous tones of Bob Dylan. More on his chef-d'oeuvre to follow. Whilst Thomas and I were pouring verbal vitriol towards Joe for his apparent inaction, he was in fact in the process of heated negotiations with Auntie securing televised rights for Ragged Glory. The BBC will feature four mini episodes of our jaunt on the small screen. Details are hazy at present but more to follow.