There's a kind—of magic in first rides—the thrill of the unknown, the intimacy of a new machine, and the road stretching out like an unwritten story. This was mine. My very first journey on my motorcycle—fresh out of the showroom, still gleaming, and already christened "Bagad Billi."
We rolled out of Pune in the soft light of dawn, heading west through the rugged sprawl of Tamhini Ghat. This stretch, carved through the Western Ghats, is known as much for its scenic drama as its unpredictable road surface. Towering cliffs, dense forest canopies, and sudden waterfalls—especially in the monsoon—make it a favourite among road-trippers despite its worn-out tarmac. The potholes didn't matter. Not today. The wind was in my face, the engine purred beneath me, and I was grinning like a kid. It wasn't just a ride—it was a reunion with a part of myself.
By the time we descended into Mahad, the air had shifted. A humid warmth wrapped around us, carrying with it the smell of the coast and the rustle of swaying palms. Nestled on the banks of the Savitri River, Mahad is often a stopover for Konkan-bound travellers—but it's more than just a pitstop. Once a stronghold of Chhatrapati Shivaji Maharaj, it is home to the historic Raigad Fort and the Kranti Stambh, commemorating Dr B.R. Ambedkar's temple entry movement. I didn't linger, but there was a sense of moving through history, a quiet reverence in the air.
From Mahad, the roads smoothed out and began to coil elegantly through the hills—offering the rarest gifts to a rider: curves that flow with the landscape, not against it. These were the dream stretches, the kind that made you fall deeper in love with your machine. And Bagad Billi? She was eating up the miles with grace and grit. Agile on the bends, confident on the straights. Somewhere along this winding ribbon of road, I realised this wasn't just a bike—it was a companion.
The real love affair began near the Konkan Coast. The blue of the sea slowly began peeking through coconut groves and later burst into full view—wild, vast, and hypnotic. Riding along the coastal highway here is a sensory experience. The scent of the ocean mixes with the tang of roadside seafood stalls, and every other turn reveals a tiny village where life moves at half the speed of the city. The Konkan is dotted with hidden beaches, fishing hamlets, and ancient temples—many untouched by mass tourism.
That ride was full of firsts for Bagad Billi—her first spin along the Malvan coast. Her first ferry ride, crossing narrow estuaries where rivers meet the Arabian Sea. Her first kiss of beach sand beneath her tyres, somewhere near the sleepy shores of Tarkarli.
We had a blast. Just the two of us, chasing the coast and chasing clarity.
If you've never taken a bike on a Konkan ferry, I highly recommend it. There's something beautifully old-school about rolling onto a rickety wooden boat, the smell of diesel in the air, as locals watch curiously. The boatman ties your machine with a casual knot, you hold your breath, and then the engine churns the river into foam. It's not just a crossing—it's a rite of passage.
It's rides like these that remind me why I do what I do. There's something about being on two wheels that no therapist, no playlist, no late-night conversation can offer. The road listens. The engine understands. And somehow, somewhere along the way, the ride begins to heal you.
Over time, I've come to believe that life is a lot like a long ride. You'll face smooth highways and broken stretches, sunshine and sudden downpours. But you don't abandon the journey because of a little rain—or a few unexpected bumps. You shift gears. You adapt.
When things get rough, just drop a gear, ease off the throttle, and keep moving forward. Because sometimes, the slow road is the only way to get there.
Riding has taught me that.
And honestly, it's always been the bikes that have gotten me through the hardest chapters of my life. Even today, they're the reason I'm still grounded. Still standing. Still sane.
Here's to the first of many memories with Bagad Billi.
