A lot of the Westerners who come to Mysore rent scooters or motorcycles; that’s cool: it enables them to cover a lot more distance in town, see a lot more stuff, not have to rely on autorickshaws (and autorickshaw drivers) for longer trips, and, in addition, allows them to fit into the experience of India by taking part in the crazy traffic that characterizes transportation on the roads here, even in our relatively calm little part of the city.
That’s not for me, though: it’s just too fast, too complicated, and too scary—at least for now. I’m perfectly happy traveling about by bicycle and I’m really enjoying the perspective it gives me on all that’s around.
The bike is just fast enough that I feel connected, but not trapped; I can slide by all sorts of street scenes and see all kinds of interesting visions, but I’m gone before the guy who wants to sell me incense or show me his handmade oils can start his sales pitch.
I also like how the bike connects me to school kids. It’s seems to me that, for the most part, status considerations ensure that only the least well-off adults here deign to take the seat of a bicycle; that’s not entirely unlike the U.S., where in lots of places, bikes are considered kids’ toys, but it comes off as more ingrained somehow; I get the sense that your average middle-aged, middle-class gent like me wouldn’t be caught dead on a human-powered two-wheeler; even a scooter would be embarrassing; much better would be a shiny car.
Consequently, when I roll past groups of kids, they’re all wide-eyed and giggly; “Hey Mister! Good day! Where are you from?” I smile back and shout “Namaskar! U.S. Hello!” or something to that effect and they all point and laugh at me.
I’m glad to be spreading the love, bike love, that is. Now, if only I had gears on my forty-pound Atlas.
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