My Summary – Part II
When it came to actually obtaining a rickshaw this had been left down to Manon. I know, stupid idea right?
Well it actually turns out that all of this “You ain’t Manon Dave”, “There ain’t no party like a Manon Dave party”, “It’s your boi, MDC, with the hook up” and all of that other trash talk is actually, in part, true. He is Manon Dave, he does host parties (not that I have been invited yet) that are unique to him and also he does have the hook up.
So as it began to “pop off” one early morning in Ahmedebad we arose to the beating sun and the typical sound of car horns that pierce the morning still and Manon was outside on the phone. He had been on the phone to two local shysters that he had sourced whilst still in the UK that could get their hands on a rickshaw for us.
They wanted to meet us later that night at a graveyard, of all places, where they would hand the rickshaw over for the cash. They probably needed all day to steal it off a local. The deal was that we pay 10,000 rupees (about £135) for the vehicle and that it would have private plates (allowing it to be driven across state borders). Or at least, that is what we thought.
Where it all began …
With a day in Ahmedabad and nothing to do we decided to go to Shiani. To where? I hear you ask. Shiani is back where it all began. In the days of old when men fought with sticks and women didn’t wash (these rules still apply in rural parts of India) a beast was conceived … a beast that began the Dave lineage. It is the ancestral home of Manon (and he actually has a plot of land there where he farms rhubarb). Shiani is a small and sparse village on the outskirts of Ahmedabad but of course holds a great and powerful history with a force that lives on to this day popping off all over the world.
Whilst it is the ancestral home of Manon, he was still born in Wembley. I wish he had gotten all tearful in the place of his origin, that would have been funny. Let’s pretend he did.
Acquisition
Later that night it turned out the deal had changed and that we were not going to be the actual owners of the rickshaw. They said that they were giving us one of their personal shaws from their somewhat dodgy mafia fleet and that we would have to return it. This of course caused serious issues to our route as we wanted to finish in Mumbai (or Goa if it would make it). After a lot of haggling and arguments the deal was as follows:
We take the rickshaw from Ahmedebad for 5,000 rupees. It had private plates. The rickshaw was on a rental basis and was to be returned to Mumbai where we would part with the other half plus charges for damage.
Try as they might we were not giving 10,000 upfront. The deal was acceptable and allowed us to embark on our journey which is, afterall, why we were there.
Not knowing how to drive the bucket we asked for driving lessons … of course this incurred an extra charge. Shock horror. Bloody India. The next day was spent with one of there fathers, Satish (most likely another shyster) who had been driving rickshaws for 29 years.
A rickshaw is a piece of crap. It is basically a scooter with a shell. It has handlebars used to turn the front wheel. The accelorator is on the right handlebar and turns like a motorcycle. On the left handlebar there is what looks like a bicycle brake handle but oh no … this is the clutch. Yeah, go figure. This handlebar also turns to initiate gear changes. There is only one pedal, the brake (and it doesn’t appear to work). Also it runs on gas. Pfffffffft.
There were also a load of buttons between the handlebars and none of them had any indication as to what their purpose was. After a lot of clicking and playing around we found that it was the indicators, wipers and horn (most important part).
Oh I forgot to mention … you have to start the thing like you would a lawn mower! Pull on string.
Having clocked up over ten years of driving between us I honestly thought that we would grasp this in a matter of hours. It took us the best part of a day before we had the balls to get on the actual road.
Leaving Ahmedebad
We thought that the best time to leave would be night time and so we waiting for dark and started up our motorised can, which I might add makes a horrible noise constantly whining all the time non-stop like some kind of wife (except at least the shaw can eventually run out of gas).
Night time was a baaaad idea. It is much busier at night, the roads are total gridlock once we had hit the outskirts of the city we vowed to never again drive through the night. India has no form of highway code. You go when you see a gap and as for traffic lights … yeah, good luck. One the slight chance that an intersection had lights, people just ignored them anyway. I stopped at a red and people kept beeping me. They failed to understand why I was waiting and even came into the rickshaw to debate this with us. Bloody India.
The highway exiting Ahmedebad was a little better at night, it must just be all the pimps doing laps of the cities in their rickshaws trying to pick up chicks that cause the congestion. As our confidence grew we were zipping in and out of lanes, between lorries and buses fitting through tight gaps at will. We were thrown in at the deep end but we managed to swim without a float.
Next stop … Jaipur via the N8 for 600km.
Tom said,
October 20, 2009 at 11:28 am
This Manon of whom you speak was “still born in Wembley”? Still born? No wonder you had problems with your rickshaw procurement!
rickshaw09 said,
October 28, 2009 at 5:36 pm
Yeah it was like Weekend At Bernie’s. I was lugging a dead guy around with me the whole time.