Well folks, just in case you were keen - here is the epic poem Rita the Rickshaw. In full. In all its ludricous glory.
Enjoy
It had seemed like a laugh one year ago;
Warm in an office, how could we know?
“Come on,” we said, “this will be fun.”
“Come on,” we said, “let’s do the Rickshaw Run.”
We bought our insurance, our entry and fare,
Not knowing exactly what we would find there.
We raised money for charities, Chailey and Frank.
To all who donated, to you we give thank (s).
Then the day of departure, it finally came
When we set out from Heathrow – Shillong our aim.
Sat at Guwahati, many hours hence,
We haggled with cabbies over taxi expense.
Our driver, once chosen, was a bat out of hell,
Swerving round corners, always accel-
-Erating. We sat, resigned to our fate.
“The map said this damned road would be straight!”
We got to our hotel at God knows what time
Weary and grubby, into bed we did climb.
The following day we would meet our brave shaw
Who’d carry us thousands of miles or more.
We arrived at the test site refreshed and excited
When would our noble three-wheeler be sighted?
We filled in our forms and were directed into
A big muddy parade full of hullabaloo.
“Our rickshaw’s in there, let’s go and meet her!”
We saw you and smiled and we called you Rita.
Parked in the corner, painted just as we’d asked,
You sat resplendent. In your glory we basked.
Painted out front, hoplite hippos with spears;
Castrol and Bollux – they allayed all our fears.
Yet still our concerns were there at first glance:
Three wheels, two stroke, one tuk, no chance.
With handy tips so we wouldn’t crash
Were we advised by Wise Vikash.
“Here’s the throttle, the clutch and the brake.
“Press down on it hard if you make a mistake.
“Here are the wipers, the headlights, the choke.
“And please don’t forget the oil that’s two stroke!
“Here is the horn. It’s your very best friend!
“You’ll have worn it out before the end!”
We took you out for our very first drive
And were so relieved that we got back alive!
We drove you in first gear, then second, then third
Your steering was manageable, your engine purred.
Well, not purred exactly, more clattered and sputtered
Making noises that we had never heard uttered.
And Jaisalmer seemed a very long way
When we tipped you on the very first day.
When we stopped and stalled I was sad at heart
For it seemed only I could get you to start.
We had a big party on the eve of our quest.
Adventurist-in-Chief, Matt Dickens, addressed
Us and told us not to have any fears.
We’d be telling people about this for years and for years.
The following day, hungover and scared
We drove to the start line and stood, unprepared
For the trials that awaited us, nine hundred and nine,
Before we would cross that last finish line.
The convoy set out, sixty-nine rickshaws strong.
When trouble first hit, we’d just left Shillong.
A few miles from the city two tuks overturned
Their windshields were shattered and we were concerned
That they couldn’t continue, that their trip was now ended
These cheerful brave fellows whom we had befriended.
But all carried on, even those who had crashed
And through potholes and dirt tracks our engines we
thrashed.
In convoy we went, with a trio of chaps
Driving two rickshaws, without any maps.
“If we stick together,” one wisely opined
“Then this expedition far easier we’ll find.”
They all were Americans, two Drews and one guy.
Who was going alone. We came to rely
On Bill’s shiny new rickshaw that towed us for ages
When Rita was going through some difficult stages.
As the stunning sun set on a stunning first day
We found a hotel alas in decay.
The food that they offered was
still in the shop
And the noise and the bugs and
the heat was non-stop.
But over the bridge, others had
tried
To drive through a riot, police
either side.
In a massive mosque they spent
the night
Full of mosquitos, eager to bite.
We woke and set off early as
could be done
Keen to continue on our Rickshaw
Run
The roads did not follow what the
map seemed to imply,
So we stopped several times for
some naan and some chai.
We drove you in intervals of only
two hours,
Resting between while you regained
your powers.
At Alipurduar we stopped for the
night
I’m pretty sure that I’m spelling
that right.
There we found air con – “Thank
heavens! Oh bliss!”
We were weary and dusty, our pillows we kissed.
The next day out for Darjeeling we set
But the journey there was one to forget.
We went down a road in such disarray
We were so sure that it was the wrong way.
The potholes were huge; you have no comprehension
What it’s like to drive through that
with useless suspension.
We turned right around after
almost an hour
Shattered and broken and tired
and sour.
Back down that road we bumped and
we bounced
But one hour later a trucker announced
That the obstacle course we’d driven down twice
Was in fact the right way. We’d have to go thrice.
So nursing our backsides and cursing our maps
We headed back down that damned road and perhaps
We caused some amusement to a small family
That we waved at three times on road 31C.
At the foot of Darjeeling dense traffic we found.
Bikes, rickshaws and taxis swarmed all around.
Siliguri, the town’s name, was loud and intense.
We skated on two wheels – a moment’s suspense.
We found a hotel, then a taxi to take
Us on up to the top, for poor Rita’s sake.
A three-hour trip in a four wheel drive
Was not a journey a tuk could survive.
Yet as we arrived at the famous hill station
Two Rickshaw Run rickshaws caused a standing ovation.
The nutters had driven all the way on their own,
Pushing and shoving when the engine did moan.
As Runners from Britain we sought out the tea
To taste and enjoy and to buy with rupee(s).
In a fantastical shop one hundred years old
Darjeeling Tea by the bagload was sold.
The following morning we woke up at four
To go even higher and see the sun soar
As it rose from beneath us and revealed mountains high:
Himalayas and Everest. Nothing could we espy.
The thick clouds enveloped us and hid the display.
Instead all we saw was black fog turning grey.
Down to Siliguri after mo-mos and chai
We assembled the convoy and with heads still held high
We drove through the tea fields, oh what a sight
Swathes of green plants, pickers dressed in clothes bright.
We set out for Bihar and the town of Purnia.
Siliguri’s bad traffic just came nowhere near
To the carnage we edged through, one inch at a time.
We found a hotel and I announced: “I’m
Taking our rickshaw to the mechanics just there.
Rita’s rattling lots and needs some good care.”
A huge crowd then gathered to watch a man weld
Bits of our rickshaw that hadn’t quite held.
After paying mechanics we went into town.
We’d heard there were barbers of wondrous renown.
We were sat in a chair and a boy of thirteen
Shaved and massaged us and gave us a clean.
We sat in the chair, foam and oils on our face,
A blade at our throats, this was some place.
Before we were finished a large crowd had gathered
To see these two white men being clean shaved and lathered.
With beer and with snacks they befriended us there,
And as the hours passed some great moments were share(d).
We set off for bed, shaking everyone’s hand
The multitude made us feel like a rock band!
We set off real early the following morning.
Yesterday’s traffic had been a strong warning.
Before the sun even rose we were well on our way,
But we lost all our convoy getting on the freeway.
Alone for first time we encountered some men,
Bandits with sticks and with flags. My adren-
-Aline surged through my body. I felt so alive!
I stopped to say hello. My friends screamed at me: “Drive!”
To the bandits’ bemusement, we sped away fast
But our joy at escaping wasn’t to last.
We ran out of road, found we were driving on sand
Keeping three wheels in order – it got out of hand.
At one point we ran out of track altogether
And started to tip again. We wondered whether
We’d tumble and roll down the shifting dune’s face
And ruin poor Rita in this far-flung place.
I leapt out and held Rita just about back
Until a bus, honking, drove up the track.
A group of young men got out of the bus
And together back off the sand dune pushed us.
Back on three wheels we got to the next town,
Called Madhepura, where water so brown
Flooded the streets, a foot deep at least.
Half an hour later, we remained unreleased
From this warren of alleys. We were concerned
For not one single hotel here had we discerned.
When we finally broke free we found our old friends!
But the city of Chappra knew horror without ends.
Picture a rubbish dump, the roads scarcely there,
Traffic, livestock and litter just everywhere.
Like blocked arteries the streets were congested
Noxious exhaust fumes were sadly ingested.
We decided to go as the sun started setting
We would drive through the night if it meant getting
Out of this town of which we could take no more.
The people were friendly, crowding round our rickshaw
To give us directions. But alas in the dark
We missed our turn off, our situation was stark.
Some locals advised us to try the police
That asking for help there might get us some peace.
But no sooner had we set off for the fuzz
Than the tyre on one of our rickshaws did buzz(st).
A man appeared out of nowhere and fixed the flat tyre
At a speed that a Formula 1 pit crew would admire.
He led us straight to the police station where
The police chief decided if we could stay there.
He couldn’t speak English but he could read and write
So on scraps of damp paper we outlined our plight.
“What are you doing here?” asked the chief in Bihar.
“We’re lost,” we replied. He scrawled: “Yes you are.”
At first he did not believe what we’d say
That we really were driving these wrecks all this way.
But eventually satisfied that we were alright
He gave us his porch to sleep on for the night.
We remarked that this story would seem quite a tall tale
As we fastened mosquito nets to the bars of the gaol.
We discovered from Welshmen Griff and Rhodri
That a hotel existed in that town of debris:
A hotel buzzing with flies and with beds hard and small,
With shit on the floor and with blood on the wall.
The next day the road out of Bihar we found.
As we crossed over the border our joy was unbound
Ed. In Uttar Pradesh the roads were far better.
We drove through at speed, feeling like a jet setter.
We stumbled into sacred Varanasi
And found a hotel that was super and classy.
The next day out on the Ganges we went
That great holy river was v. excellent.
We bought beautiful silks for our folks back at home
Then on the road to Allalahabad we did roam.
Disaster struck then as the sun started to set.
I was at the back of the convoy. I’ll never forget:
The engine ran out of fuel as the convoy drove on.
I filled it with gas, gave chase but they’d gone.
The night rushed in and the puddles grew bigger.
I raced through another filled with fear and with vigour.
At the next set of lights, the engine sputtered and died
And I was told of a bag fallen out the side.
I abandoned the rickshaw and raced back through the mud.
To find the bag in the dark but I could
Not find the damn thing till a man called to me.
He was holding the bag. It was easily
The most relief that I’d felt since I had arrived.
I returned to my rickshaw, no longer deprived.
After my friends had found me and a bed for the night
I sat drinking ‘til late for I’d had quite a fright.
The next morning we left still under the moon.
Four rickshaws by now, stuck in a monsoon.
Our rickshaw broke down and we stood in the rain,
Pushing and poking, but alas all in vain.
As the rain came on down and we got wetter
We found that we’d flooded your carburettor.
Bill’s brand new rickshaw towed us for miles
When we found a mechanic, frowns turned into smiles.
We waited for hours as bits were repaired,
Talking to locals as their stories were shared.
But not two hours after our rickshaw was fixed
It broke down again out in the sticks.
At a motorbike garage just outside Kampur
We replaced the spark plugs as rain started to pour.
They cleared out the puddles in a neat novel way
Revving motorbike engines to create quite a spray.
Our jerry can too had decided to split
Splashing foul smelling two stroke all over our kit.
We pushed on for Agra but our troubles weren’t ended.
We broke down again and then we befriended
A truck driver who tried to get us a ride
In the back of a lorry. We stood by the side
Of the road as the sun started to set.
And then one of the drivers went off to get
A small piece of wiring that he then plugged in
To a hitherto unnoticed part of engine.
Rita rumbled to life and onwards we sped
As darkness descended with storm clouds ahead.
Through monsoons, past lorries with blinding white lights
We drove at such speed through that most frightening of
nights.
The rain was relentless, but Alice made not a fuss
As cars, bikes and lorries thundered past us.
Upon reaching Agra we were totally soaked
And were chased by a pack of dogs unprovoked.
We got to a hotel and paid for our rooms.
Tomorrow we’d see the most famous of tombs.
The great Taj Mahal did not disappoint
As we joined throngs of people to stare and to point.
That night we feasted on a roof top bar
Drinking and toasting our great day in Agra.
We ate breakfast next day with the most stunning of views,
Dawn over the Taj is a memory I’ll never lose.
But now to Jaipur went our convoy reformed.
Over Rajasthan’s roads, we sped and we stormed.
Even Clio attempted her first time at the wheel,
Mastering clutch, gears and throttle in our automobile.
“That’s it there Clio, you’re getting it now.
Oh shit! Hit the brakes! Look out for that cow!”
As we went further west the roads became far less bumpy
Although wandering cattle didn’t make it less jumpy.
Jaipur was mess; a dusty great maze
But we’d done traffic before and we were not faze(d).
We discovered a hotel then, as it got cooler
We headed out into town to find us a jeweller.
After buying our share of gems and of jewels
We went for a curry – come on, you know the rules.
In Jaipur we saw other wonderful things,
Like temples for monkeys and castles for kings.
We saw elephants too that roused from us great cheers
As did the man who could wrap his moustache round his ears.
A breakfast for Alice’s birthday we held
With candles in pancakes – traditions upheld.
Then back on the road, with hills to ascend,
Driving to Pushkar to see an old friend
From university whom we’d not seen in ages
Who was living out here and who was engages.
I mean engaged of course but I haven’t got time
To make sure that every last couplet does rhyme.
After wishing her well, drinking chai with her man,
We set off again – reaching Jodhpur our plan.
We found ourselves driving in darkness again
As monstrous trucks thundered down the fast lane.
We stopped on a side road for something to eat:
Alice’s birthday helping of daal a true treat.
Poor Rita she shuddered – she’d come such a long way.
But we urged her onwards. We had just one more day.
We had only an hour to see Jodhpur’s glory
Before we had to move on – the same old story.
In the famous Blue City we went to the fort
To survey the blue houses in a trip cut too short.
But there was still some time for some fun so unplanned
As I sat and played trumpet with Jodhpur’s Military Band.
Then we left cities behind and were back on the road
They were wide, empty and flat so we now hardly slowed,
Except when the engine decided to stop
And we’d squat in the dust and the spark plug we’d swap.
Knackered spark plugs, we went through plenty
Until our patience was almost spent (y).
Passing through the Thar Desert a procession we saw
Marching, singing, laughing people galore.
They waved their flags and they waved their hands
Encouraging us as we sped through the sands.
We saw other Runners in states of disrepair.
Their engines were shattered, they waited for spare (s).
As night fell, we prayed for no trouble
As the miles left to go dropped to figures double,
Then down to single, we were almost there
“Watch out for that camel!” a last minute scare.
Six miles from the city and our headlight went out.
And we followed the roads, souls riddled with doubt.
We roared with elation when the end was in sight
The Maharaja’s palace was a beacon of light.
But elation was tempered with sadness somehow.
With the Run just completed what would we do now?
As we sat by the pool, Kingfishers in hand
We thought back on our journey through this far, distant
land.
Few people know just how it feels
To drive so far on only three wheels
Through flooded streets and dented roads,
Past truckers with no driving codes,
Around the cows lying everywhere,
Alongside drivers who slowed down to stare,
Stuck in traffic, inhaling fumes
Or bouncing halfway down some dunes,
Getting towed by another shaw
“This is a main road?!” “Are you sure?!”
Sleeping in gaol cells, driving astray
Asking the locals if we’d gone the wrong way.
The landscape, the people, the weather we saw
Was so varied, so tricky, but filled us with awe.
There was a huge party on the very last night
With fire-breathers and dancers for our delight.
Dressed in our finery, we spent the last of our notes
Competing with others as we shared anecdotes,
We danced through the night and the fireworks show.
Almost everyone there was determined to go
On another Adventure. It had to be done
Just as soon as we’d recovered ourselves from this one!
We stayed up for ages, me, Clio and Alice
And then we all slept in the Maharaja’s Palace!
The following morning, blear-eyed and hungover
We were driven to Dehli in our cabbie’s Land Rover.
Sixteen hours later and we still weren’t there.
While Clio’s intestines gave her quite a scare.
When we got to the hotel, her resistance was spent.
And the following morning to the airport we went,
Carrying our ill friend whose legs turned to jelly.
She’d travelled so far, but now had Dehli Belly.
We got back to Blighty, our mission complete.
It was time to relax and put up our feet,
And relive the moments that we underwent.
It had been hard and it had been tiring
And there had been moments when we’d felt like expiring.
But at the end of the day, when all’s said and done
We had many experiences and we loved every one.
So here is to Rita, the best Rickshaw bar none
And to the Adventurists and their fine Rickshaw Run!
