I wasn’t a big believer in things like pepper spray. Neither did I carry umbrellas with pointy ends, which can double up as objects for self-defense. I, like most people, believed in the simple principle, “This cannot happen to me”. Until it did.
If you’ve read my blog, 800 Kilometers, and 1 Bike, there’s one incident that I didn’t mention; an incident that was, in part, an outcome of our stupidity and lack of research. So, without further ado, let me share a rather unpleasant, but valuable lesson that my husband and I learned that day.
The last leg of any journey is always the toughest, and nobody knows it better than us. I remember that fateful day when we were soaked to the bone, our muscles aching from the 5-day motorcycle ride through the Western Ghats. This, coupled with a massive backpack that I carried because I completely lacked common sense, only made things worse.
“Must buy saddlebags,” I told myself, making a mental note for the hundredth time. My husband, maneuvering the motorcycle in the heavy rain, told me to hang in there just a little bit longer, for we were about 70 kilometers away from Bangalore city. My shoulders were raw from the pain, and my mood crabby, so I pleaded with him to stop at an abandoned bus stop for a 5-minute break. We would, of course, realize shortly that it was a very dumb thing to do.
No sooner had we stopped, then I took the heavy load off my shoulders and stretched my arms to restore circulation. My husband proceeded to exercise his legs as well. That’s when trouble arrived, drunk, on a dilapidated motorcycle. Eyes bloodshot and mean, he parked right next to us. Without getting off his motorcycle, he said, “You grazed my taillight and damaged by bike. Now, pay up for the damages!”
We were aghast. What was he talking about? I blinked, opened my mouth to say something, only a squeak escaping instead of words. Clearly, it was the alcohol talking. But at that moment, logic and reasoning had long since abandoned us. The realization that the drunk bloke was trying to mug us, hit us both at once. He groped into his jacket, trying to find something that would help him extort money from us.
My legs were shaky, and my brain had stopped functioning. All I could think was “Why did we have to stop here?”
Thankfully, my husband remained calm and responded, “You’re clearly lying. We didn’t hit anyone. We should let the police sort this.”
The man hesitated for a second, but wouldn’t let go so easily. After all, he was out of money and need his fix for the day. “I’m going to call my friends from the villages nearby” he threatened, waving a mobile phone in our face. The exchange between the two men had given me enough time to compose myself. “There are two of us,” I reasoned, “… and he’s just one person, and in a highly inebriated condition. We could easily overpower him and speed away.” From the look on my husband's face, I could tell that he had the same thoughts. But neither of us took the first step. Sure, it looks easy in the movies, overpowering the bad guy, throwing a few punches, and emerging the hero. But there were a lot of factors to be considered. Pushing, shoving or tackling someone who’s as inebriated as he was, could turn out to be dangerous. Besides if he had an accomplice somewhere close, then the situation could spiral out of control.
This was when he pulled out a knife from his jacket, the kind that’s used in the kitchen. I looked around frantically for help. Considering we were parked away from the main road, and that our mobile phones were tucked safely away in our bags, we didn’t have an option but to comply. Luckily for us, we never keep all our money in one place when we travel. I reached out for my wallet and fished out whatever I could find, which was around 800 rupees. He snatched it with amazing alacrity and looked expectantly at my husband, who proceeded to hand over whatever little that remained in his wallet, another 300 rupees.
Satisfied, the man shoved the money into his jacket, and thanked us, before speeding away. Now it’s not every day that you find criminals who’re polite, do you? Visibly shaken, but wiser from the experience, we headed home. Had it been for saddle bags, by back wouldn’t have hurt that bad, and we wouldn’t have had to stop for a break at that desolate bus stop. Needless to say, today, we’re proud owners of saddle bags and some essential common sense.
