Day 11 saw the 60th anniversary of Indian independence and also happened to be the day when Rickshaws Without Borders met its Waterloo. Before flagging off, we joined a local school for a spirited, if somewhat militaristic, Independence Day celebration capped off by dessert and chai. The drive that day took us from Ratnagiri to Mahad--a long ride, which went through winding mountains and valleys.
We ran into problems before hitting the roads, as the mechanics had failed to complete our repair request the previous night or in the morning, forcing us to wait for them to complete repairs after flagoff. The repairs did not prove long-lasting, however, as our chariot broke down within 20 minutes of our departure, when we had to get a roadside repair to fix the clutch. Our muffler also happened to fall off, and we found someone to soder it back on.
We eventually made it to the main road to Mahad, but our engine promptly seized up once we reached a truly deserted stretch. We took a look at the engine and discovered that the cap securing the wire running from the spark plug had disintegrated and fallen off. This fourth mechanical mishap of the day provided us with a unique opportunity to put years of mind-numbing exposure to MacGyver to good use. We hammered the spark plug wire into the spark plug using a blunt object and then (hail MacGyver) employed part of the duct tape that we had used to re-secure our vinyl top after the day one crash to hold the wire in place. The tape held up and we were able to drive 20 kilometers to a place where we found a mechanic who could replace the cap properly. The mechanical shenanigans had chewed up much of the day, and we were crestfallen at not having time to visit a fort located 26 kilometers up a mountain from Mahad, where we arrived only 30 minutes before the finish deadline for the day. The fort was an optional "challenge" for the day and, for the first time in the rally, we failed to accumulate all of the points for the day's challenges.
Day 12 took us to a primary school in Mahad, where we delivered donated school supplies on behalf of the ladies of the unfortunately-named Pink Panic team that took a spill on day 10 and was not able to complete the rally. In contrast to Bangalore, all that awaited us at the school was a firm handshake from the dowdy headmaster and a cup of chai, as we had arrived before school started and the shining, smiling children were likely still asleep. We hit the road from Mahad to Alibagh quickly and, on cue, the chariot broke down and the monsoon rains started. After several failed uphill push-starts in the rain, we looked at the engine and discovered that the plug holding the wire to the spark plug had fallen off. We re-secured it with some tape and got off on our merry way.
Our destination town of Alibagh gets a special mention for obviously being named after the eponymous Alison Wood Bagg. Appropriately, Alibagh is located by the Sea. Beyond its connection to the woman voted by the Westborough High School class of 1995 as "most likely to save the world," Alibagh is also distinguised by an island fort that becomes accessible by a land bridge that emerges during low tide, which we visited (see before after photos to the left based on tidal changes).
Day 13 was the last day, taking us from Alibagh to Mumbai. Unlike the rest of the rally, this day was highly coordinated, as we had special police escorts and permits lined up to allow us into Mumbai. We formed a convoy and stayed in formation for most of the day, followed much of the way by local media (that would be the gentleman with eighty percent of his body hanging out of the SUV to left). Sensing a great moment upon us, we rose to the occasion to create a sense of poetry and symmetry with our day 1 mishap by crashing the vehicle early on this last day, making clear to anyone who may have started to doubt it, that we knew pretty much nothing about driving autorickshaws and were uncommonly foolish for undertaking to drive one through India.
The accident was a mere rear-ended collision, and we only ended up losing our headlight. More seriously, our brakes completely died ~5 km from our end point. After almost 2,000 km and 13 days, Jeff and I did what any reasonable person in our situation would do: we started to push. Fortunately, the mechanic crew that had been following the rally was behind us and made an emergency partial brake fix (during which Jeff efficiently purchased a fine map of India from an itinerant street merchant). By this point, we had completely lost the convoy and had the opportunity to pick our way through Mumbai on our own with only the equally clueless crew of mechanics. Despite some last-minute drama, we managed to putter across the finish line, battered, beaten, but none worse for the wear and tear . . . VENI, VIDI, RIKI.
In the evening, we enjoyed a reception, which included dance exhibitions by local children, including a couple of truly amazing dance troupes comprised of mentally challenged kids who displayed more coordination and grace that I would ever be able to muster. Although the bloodied carcass of the moose has already been slapped on the table, we must reiterate here that the trophy for the rally championship went to a team other than Rickshaws Without Borders. Our Warterloo day must have knocked us out. Instead, the formidable duo of Ian and Rachel Bayles from Pukka Tuk Tuk defended their crown from last year's shorter 1,000-km rally. Despite being grandparents (we think they are the world's youngest and healthiest), those two were total pros.
We will bask in our moral victory, counting the days to the time when saints and crackpots gain ascendance and give us our due.
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