Day 5

Date: 12 April 2012

Location: Guntur, Andhra Pradesh (the asshole of India)

Rickshaw Run Day: 5

Mileage: 302km

Day 4

Date: 11 April 2012

Location: Nandyal, Andhra Pradesh

Rickshaw Run Day: 4

Mileage: 398km

 

The words “shit hole†and “f***ing desert†were bandied about with ever increasing frequency. We drove through the desert. The end.

 

M

 

Day 3

Date: 10 April 2012

Location: Yelenka, Karnataka

Rickshaw Run Day: 3

Mileage: 98km

 

Day three, where do I start? Departing from our “ultra stink lodge†bright and early Fletcher soon had Ricky purring along the highway on route to Bangalore. I then had the dubious pleasure of piloting Ricky into our first (and hopefully only) major city. Beeping our horns and blowing our 10 cent plastic whistles for all we were worth though the middle of Bangalore left us not only hungry but completely disoriented in a city which was to become our worst nightmare and greatest achievement to boot. Using our tried and tested Indian method for getting directions we screeched to a halt in front of countless unsuspecting (but incredibly helpful) locals in order to shout our intended destination and receive a vague wave, point and head wobble in return. By this point Ricky was becoming pretty uncooperative with a propensity to stall in the middle of intersections and in front of crowds of gawking and waving curry munchers. After one stall too many I had a hissy fit, got mad at Ricky and the gang, got Helen to take over driving and sat in the back to sulk and fume. Unfortunately a change in driver produced neither an improvement in our navigational capabilities nor Ricky’s temperament.

 

A decision was made to hire our own rickshaw driver to lead us out of the city and back on the road to Shillong. With me in the hired rickshaw and Helen and Fletch following madly behind we made it approximately one kilometer before Ricky gave up the ghost, shat his pants and had his own hissy fit worthy of a drunken teenage female with PMS. Five rickshaw drivers peering into the back of our rickshaw came to the conclusion that Ricky was in sore need of a mechanic and so that’s where we headed. And did we ever make it in STYLE. If you can imagine this: a lovely rickshaw driver piloting an entirely dead Ricky with Fletcher in the back and Helen and I in the back of our previously hired rickshaw. With his spare foot, yes FOOT our driver then flung out his leg, placed it firmly but gently on Ricky’s bum and proceeded to push him, Fletcher and said lovely driver all the way to the ‘mechanics’ (A.K.A. the foot path of a rubbish strewn street where a number of greasy mechanics resided). Approximately five hours later Ricky had had his engine and transmission removed, disassembled, parts replaced, reassembled, replaced, removed, disassembled, reassembled correctly and REPLACED.

 

On the road again…We opt to avoid attempting to make our own way out of the city and enlist the help of a friendly local who offers to come with us and show us the way out of time. Seemly enjoying the perks of our celebrity like status and the proximity of Helen’s breasts he helped us hit our intended highway within half an hour. We then dropped him off on the side of the highway with a reasonable amount of cash at the ready to repay him for his ‘services’. This was met with a demand for a whopping and unheard of 2500 rupees (a reasonable price had he navigated us to Shillong). Refusal was met with anger, threats of qviolence and general bad behavior. Having decided things were getting pretty interesting I had started covertly filming. Meanwhile Fletcher decided enough was enough and we boosted off at our ‘top speed’ only to be chased down, illegally boarded a forced to a halt. This was followed by some rather ineffectual pushing, shoving and swearing from Fletcher and Helen as they attempted to get this manic off our rickshaw. Within seconds police were on the scene and promptly roughed up and arrested this loony before sending us on our merry way. Shocked and elated we drove off down the highway with our destination a mere 50kms away but night closing in. Having no idea of places to stay we stuck our heads out the side (as is our usual technique) to have a quick chat with some friendly locals.  We were strongly dissuaded from continuing for the night with a stern warning for what lay ahead: quote “the girls are deadâ€. Needless to say we headed for the nearest hotel for a much needed respite.   

 

M