Chapter 7: The Final Ride – Home Calling

The ride back home began with a mix of emotions. Leaving Siliguri behind, I knew this part of the journey would test my resilience, not just emotionally but physically. After days of riding under the scorching northern heat, the weather took a dramatic turn as the monsoon, fueled by Cyclone Biparjoy's remnants, drenched the eastern horizon. It wasn’t the cyclone itself, but the heavy rains that set the stage for what would become a journey filled with unforeseen challenges.

The first stretch seemed manageable despite the overcast skies. The cool drizzle felt refreshing after the heat. However, just 60 kilometres out of Siliguri, my Yamaha abruptly stalled. The ignition cut off every time I tried to engage the gear. Stranded in the middle of an unfamiliar highway, panic set in. It was pure luck that the bike stopped near a refuelling station, with civilization just within reach. A kilometre in either direction could have spelt disaster.

I suspected the issue lay with the bike’s sensor, but uncertainty gnawed at me. Armed with a mix of desperation and determination, I scoured YouTube tutorials, convincing a nearby mechanic to help me bypass the problematic sensor. After tense moments of trial and error, the bike roared back to life. Relief washed over me as I realized that this hiccup, though stressful, could have ended far worse.

The delay pushed me into the afternoon as I reached Alipurduar for a quick lunch. Rain began to fall harder, and soon, the drizzle turned into a relentless downpour. Riding became a battle against nature as visibility plummeted. My raincoat held up, but water seeped into my shoes and socks, leaving me soaked and uncomfortable. The ride, which should have taken around 10-12 hours, stretched endlessly.

Night fell, and the rain showed no signs of easing. Navigating the dark, slick roads with fogged-up glasses was harrowing. By the time I reached Bongaigaon, fatigue had taken its toll. I decided it was safer to stop for the night. Fortune smiled on me when I stumbled upon a hotel with secure parking. After unpacking, I discovered my waterproofing efforts had paid off—my clothes and MacBook were dry, despite the relentless rain. Even my phone, protected by a Decathlon raincoat, remained unscathed.

The next morning brought no respite. I donned my still-wet socks and shoes, determined to push through the final stretch. The Yamaha faltered momentarily, reigniting fears of another breakdown. But as I reignited the engine, it held steady, and the sun broke through the clouds for the first time in days.

Crossing Bongaigaon, I exchanged quick pleasantries with curious traffic police officers who were intrigued by my journey. Each signboard that brought me closer to Guwahati felt like a small victory. As I crossed the Brahmaputra Bridge, nostalgia hit hard. The familiar sights and sounds reminded me of how far I had come—both on the road and within myself.

Reaching Guwahati, the excitement of being near home was palpable. The last stretch from Khanapara to Shillong welcomed me with the twists and turns of the hills, now adorned with fresh rain. Despite my exhaustion, the thrill of reuniting with family and familiar surroundings drove me forward.

Stopping briefly to take in the beauty of the hills, I reflected on the journey. The trees seemed alive, like old companions whispering their stories. This connection to nature, deeply rooted in my upbringing, felt like a conversation I’d been longing to have.

Arriving home, the warmth of my family’s embrace and the sight of my father grooving to a rhythm filled me with indescribable joy. The challenges of the trip melted away, leaving only gratitude. My parents’ unwavering support through this ordeal meant the world to me. Their belief in my dreams and their ability to understand my passion made this journey even more meaningful.

This solo ride wasn’t just about covering kilometres; it was about pushing boundaries and discovering parts of myself I didn’t know existed. It was a testament to resilience, to finding solutions in moments of despair, and to embracing the unpredictability of life. This journey has fueled a fire within me to explore further and I hope my journey and work inspire others.

As I sign off, marking the completion of this approximately 2000-kilometre journey, from Kashipur, Uttarakhand to Shillong, Meghalaya, I carry the memories, the lessons, and the stories with me. This is not the end; until next time

Amit Baruah, signing off.