I've had it.
Trip Start Jan 27, 2008
30Trip End Apr 06, 2009
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Everything I have loved about India, its freedom, amazing sights, friendly people is absent here, and my nagging cough and persistent pneumonic fever serves as a constant testimony to the absolute unhealthiness of this godforsaken place.
This morning was the absolute last straw. Finally feeling well enough to try to hit the road, I loaded up the old nag and proceeded to start her up. She ran just long enough to empty the bowl, and then the petrol stopped flowing into the carburetor. After so much time, effort, and many kilometers of pushing the old piece of steel, I will have no more of it. I have decided to cut my losses and sell. Motorcycles, much like relationships are no good to keep around if they hold you back. This goddamned piece of Indian engineering has been nothing but expensive trouble to me this trip, so rather than being a tool of my freedom, she has become an albatross around my sunburned neck. To hell with it. I have had enough, and I want my mobility back.
All is not lost, however--I will sell to Balu of the Bullet Wallas, who will rebuild my old piece of cow dung and turn it into a bike someone else can ride. Also it will cost me less to buy a similar reconditioned machine when (and if, I can say at this point in my India career) I happen to return. In addition, her tank, complete with Dali painting and name will be preserved and installed at such time as I choose to ride off with a more dependable machine.
Farewell, Rocinante, my old friend, but the time has come for us to part. A motorcycle has a bit of a mind of it's own, and again like a woman, may decide to divorce it's owner. Such seems to have happened here. I cannot go anywhere with such an unstable travel companion, and I do not have the funds or the time to go through with a complete overhaul, so out with the old, and in with the new. It is liberating and painful at the same time to come to such a decision, but this relationship between man and machine has run its course like any other, and the time has come to go separate ways.
Delhi seems to have a curse for me, I have been unable to leave--plagued with sickness and mechanical problems, I have been stuck here for too long, and will spend my remaining days here trying not to lose what little patience I have left. Perhaps a couple of days in Pushkar or some such place, but I am fed of tourists just as much as Indians. Without an independent mode of transport, what is the point anyway? Perhaps all that remains is to sink into the bottom of a whiskey bottle and stay there, floating up to the top only in time to make my flight. Sometimes the cards are stacked against you--the real trick is to know when this is. The only way to counter such a thing is not to try to counter it. I have to accept that I have done all I am going to do this time round, and take solace in the fact that I only have one more week in this living, breathing flyblown stinkhole to go before I can have a real beer, a hearty meal made with food that I know has been prepared in a sanitary manner, in a place where equipment is maintained and in working order, a place where I can hold someone.
Sorry, folks, but this may be the last installment from this trip, except for a few sights I may decide to cover here in dirty delhi. I have thrown in the towel. I know when I'm licked. But who knows? Luck can change as well. As for me though, I'm just counting the days until I can get on that plane and leave all this behind.
Of course, I will be back here though, as soon as I can muster more funds. Perhaps the fates will be kinder to me next time. That is, provided I learn the obvious lesson they have put before me this time: Patience and Letting Go. If I can keep my temper, I'll have realized the first, but it is not with a dry eye that I let go of Rocinante. But there will be another bike with that name waiting for me on my return. One not so moody, I hope.