New Year's Eve Party and the Rickshaw Run Begins

I last left you on New Year’s Eve. That afternoon we bought supplies for the rickshaw—a gas canister, funnel, and oil. We also stopped by the liquor store for pre-drink supplies and then headed back to the apartment to get ready.

In an attempt to curb rising alcoholism, many Indian states
are making it harder to get hold of the hard stuff

In most other states Kingfisher Strong
is 8% ABV, but still, at 6% a 650-ml
beer is nearly 3 cans of lighter stuff

On the way from the liquor store tragedy struck. Pat was holding the bottle of whiskey, encased in a box (yes, we’re classy). The flimsy box opened at the bottom, and the bottle fell out, shattering in a thousand pieces on the ground outside our apartment. So between the five of us we only had one bottle of rum—oh, the humanity! Actually it worked out well, since we didn’t have much time to pregame anyway, and the 650-ml Kingfisher Stong beers for sale at the party were 6% ABV.

A ferry, in the exclusive service of the Rickshaw runners, would bring us across the bay to an island where we were due to celebrate the coming of 2017. If we missed the ferry there wasn’t much to do—can’t swim to the party! When we left our place I was worried that we’d cut it close, but the 7:30 pm ferry didn’t actually leave until nearly 8:00. That gave me enough time to buy a 2-liter of coke to make mixed drinks at the pier, where over 100 runners were gathered for the party.

There was a fancy hotel with outdoor tables and chairs near where we docked on the island. A buffet meal was provided, and waiters were selling drink tickets for the bar. The alcohol cutoff was still 10 pm here—no exceptions for New Year’s Eve! Each beer was 200 Rupees (about 3 dollars), so we decided to make it an even 1,000 and get five tickets. Since we arrived after 8 pm we had less than 2 hours of bar time. The potential problem was easily solved by stockpiling beers at the table; there was no rule about consuming them after 10 pm, just the selling part.

The ferry to our island celebration

We got our money's worth at the party

After dinner we were treated to a cultural show, with traditional dancers and martial artists performing south Indian styles. It was all well organized and professional, and once over the Runners did their best to bring the class down a notch or two with a dance party. At some point the hotel staff joined in and Tim had a bar tender on his shoulders.

The martial artists also performed a fire show

Before the festivities started one of the Rickshaw Run staff warned us to be smart. Apparently during the last party someone tried to swim back to Fort Kochi, and another guy hurt his hand playing with a knife. I guess we were a more sensible group, because I don’t recall any shenanigans like that. Well, there was the time when someone picked up the snake we found under a table. But other than that, it was just a great time bringing in the New Year. Even Pat, who complained that the party would be “a bunch of dudes,” managed to have fun.

The following day most roads were closed in the Fort Kochi area on account of a New Year’s Day parade, so the Rickshaw Run HQ was also shut. We slept in, briefly checked out the parade, and made our last minute preparations for the following day, when the event itself began.

Janurary 2^nd—the Run begins

On the morning of the 2^nd we brought our bags to HQ, loaded up the rickshaw, and were off! Well, we had to wait in line with 80 other ricks to get out of the parking lot, but then, we were off! Actually, once we left the lot we drove to the ferry terminal, where we waited in line behind 70-odd ricks. Only a dozen or so could fit on one ferry, so it took over an hour to finally get going.

(from left) Mike, Sam, me, Pat, and Tim, just
before we set off on Day 1

Que to leave HQ; we were one of the last ricks out!

Some of the last departures; their costumes
were more creative than ours!

The plan had been for the Steamers (me, Mike, and Sam) to drive alongside the Deere (Pat and Tim) for the duration of the trip. We hadn’t marked off a particular route beyond the first day, but we had Google Maps and Mike’s global cell coverage by our side. I also bought an atlas, but more as a memento than a useful guide. The power of the Internet could zoom in far more detail than the paper maps—the cell phones were convenient, but in a way I’d like to have tried it back in the day, before all the technology made it easier. Getting lost is part of the fun!

Even with a phone we definitely got lost. Pat and Tim didn’t have reliable data or a local SIM card, so they were going in blind. Within 20 minutes off the ferry we were separated and had no way of contacting the Deere. Their rickshaw went faster—maybe because they only had two people—so it would have been a pain for them to stop every 30 minutes so the Steamer could catch up.

Truly nothing runs like a Deere...Pat and Tim's
rickshaw was faster than our Steamer

About an hour into the ride everything seemed to be in tip top shape, until…putt, putt, putt, the little engine that could was dying! We pulled off to the side of the road, and immediately two Indians came to investigate. Three foreigners in a poo-brown rickshaw turned nearly every head we drove past, so when we stopped people often checked us out. The attention was a bit much, but when we had an issue their curiosity became a lifesaver. Everyone we met was eager to help and start up a conversation.

It turned out that we simply ran out of gasoline—our gas gauge was broken so we had to keep track of the distance between fill-ups. The organizers told us we’d only need to fill up once or twice a day, but for some reason we went through double the fuel. It was probably because we spent 90% of the drive on full throttle, whereas the local ricks went just half our speed (we still only topped out at 33 mph). One of the guys drove me to the nearest station on his motorbike, and I brought back a full canister.

We filled it to the top, took our seats, I pulled the lever to start her up, and….nothing. After Sam and Mike tried it, one of the locals had a go, to no avail. At this point a crowd of 10 guys had gathered around to inspect the scene. I thought we’d be stuck on the side of the road just 50 kms north of Kochi indefinitely. Then I noticed…hey, we gotta turn the key! I switched the ignition on and magic, we were back in business! At least a local fell for it too, and we weren’t the only idiots who forgot to turn the thing on.

After what felt like a long day on the road, from
Kochi to Kozhikode, we hadn't even made
our daily average (final stop: Jaisalmer)

Along the drive we got plenty of exciting details from other teams in the Whatsapp group that made my little bumper incident in Kochi seem trivial. By afternoon of day one a group had hit a parked car and another ran into a bus (luckily no one was injured). Later in the trip one team ran over a goat. Not to be outdone, someone else supposedly drove into a crowd of people—no details on injuries, only that they paid out 180,000 Rupees (nearly $3,000) to be on their way no questions asked. That last one sounds suspect. First of all, who the hell just drives into a crowd? And second, 180 grand in cash? How do you get your hands on that kind of money when most ATMs are maxed at 2,500?

As night fell we made it to the town of Kozhikode, 183 kms from our starting point. It felt like a long journey, but to finish in two weeks we’d need to average over 200 kms a day. Planning for a few days’ rest in Goa bumped that number above 250. We certainly had many long days of driving ahead of us if we wanted to make it to Jaisalmer in time!