India Bike Tour

“It’s a game changer!” I yelled to Danielle as we rounded the first blind corner and witnessed the  scooters and tuk-tuks veering away from the pool noodles we had strapped horizontally across the backs of our bikes.  Having just finished our third day riding, our joint enthusiasm for this strange touring adaptation has grown exponentially.  Despite being accused of hyperbole when describing my passions and new discoveries (Hey, I resemble that remark!), I’m at a loss to describe how significantly this simple solution alters the risk calculus of biking in India.  

To say that Indian road conditions vary broadly is a wild understatement.  The surfaces can be extreme and change without notice, only to quickly change once more.  One can be riding course-gravel interspersed with rutted-dirt potholes when suddenly the road changes to smooth asphalt worthy of the German autobahn.  

The road widths also are constantly in flux.  Sometimes, the foam noodle is literally being dragged along the bracketing walls of a small lane when, a couple of blocks later, you’re climbing a rough and unfinished entry to a brand new six-lane highway with construction “diversions” every other kilometer. Still, in all these circumstances, the pool noodle has been universally respected; we have been given adequate space as all manor of motorized transport surges to pass us.  

Several times, typically when stopped at an intersection to navigate, we have been questioned as to what the object (the pool noodle) is actually for.  “Is it something for fishing?” Despite our earnest explanations, no local seems to have understood our motivation or purpose.  Of course, in a country of 1.5 billion people, the very concept of personal space seems anachronistic.  If it’s not obvious why I wouldn’t want your body pressed up against mine on a bus or in ticket queue, then the meta question—why I wouldn’t want your scooter, sedan, or bus, pressed up against my bicycle while riding—is not a concept that is likely to find traction.  

Of course, this is also a grave indication of our mutual ages.  Having turned 65 last week, I’m thrilled  to be long past the angst of my youth and countervailent concern with how silly I look.  My days of heading out to ride and stressing over whether “my blacks matched” (as I dressed the color of asphalt) are long behind me.  Our daughter Fiona, a ship’s captain, cites the same mentality when seamen choose dark green foul weather gear, known colloquially as “lost at sea green.” But in all seriousness, if I can tip the house odds of staying safe slightly in my favor, and the cost to me is only that I look uncool or foolish, I’ll take that strategy every time.  

This pool noodle strategy was suggested to us by a friend, Jean, an expert rider in our Seattle community.  Game changed! Thank you, Jean!