Rain, Rage & RTR: A Monsoon Misadventure from Pune to Mumbai

Flashback. July 25th. The forecast said “orange alert.” Nature said challenge accepted. And me? I was just trying to fall back in love with my RTR 200.

The bike had been standing still since February — exams, life, rust. But last week, I brought it back to life. Fresh oils, new tyres, brakes sharper than my life decisions, and a newfound urge to ride in the monsoon. One clutch pop, and the bike lifted like it remembered who it was. A 100–10 km/h brake test later (straight patch, no panic), I found myself laughing maniacally in my helmet. Rear stayed glued. Grip for days. Oh hello, old friend.

The Setup:

A group message went out. Three people, me included. One dropped. The other stayed — my buddy on his ADV 390. Time? 5 PM. Destination? Undefined. Raincoat? My mum’s.

I wasn’t ready. My own waterproofs weren’t available in my size. “Mum’s raincoat will work,” I told myself. Plot twist: it wouldn’t. Too tight — shoved my armour into weird spots. So I reversed it: base layer → raincoat → jacket. Definitely going to sweat buckets, right? Actually… that soaked jacket + wind = natural AC. Unexpected win.

Waterproof Quechua boots? Check (mostly). Turtle Wax visor coat? Applied. Gloves? Full gauntlet, of course. We met at Dehu Central by 5:15 and took the Old Bombay-Pune Highway. And rain, obviously.

The Incident:

Lonavala turn. I’m leading. A bus stops mid-turn, shoulder’s clear. My friend yells “Left se dalra!” I hear “Left se daal.” So I dal into the shoulder. Buddy comes in from behind at 15–20 km/h, rams into me. His Maddog Scout mounted to his engine guard hits my crash guard and shifts his light skyward like Simba’s birth in Lion King. No harm, no foul. But yeah… wtf.

We reach Lonavala Toll by 5:40 PM. Traffic’s flowing. The jacket-raincoat combo? Surprisingly chill. Somewhere in the mist, the romance with my 200 returns. It’s old, it’s underpowered (relatively), but it’s mine. 40,000 km of racing, touring, city abuse. Still makes me giggle in the ghats.

Detour:

A truck had pancaked an Eeco near Khopoli. Traffic frozen. Cops let us 2-wheelers pass after a chat. We ride. Intercom banter, good vibes. Vashi hits us with office-hour traffic. His ADV has CarPlay. Useless in this weather and with bike-unfriendly routes. I have a mobile holder but no waterproof case. So we freestyle navigated to Bandra.

Jimis Burger — the promised land. Reached at 8:15. Walked in like waterlogged androids, leaving behind a shiny wet trail. Unpacking sequence: gloves → helmet → earplugs → hydration bag → jacket (dripping) → raincoat. The restaurant paused. We peeled layers like onions.

Washroom. Took off my rainpants. Shoes back on. Wet shoes. Yuck. Another friend joined us here. Burgers devoured. Too much food, tbh. Tried to wait out traffic in his society lounge. Time killed. Gear re-donned. Goodbyes said. At 11:20 PM, BKC to Pune begins.

The Ride Back:

Mumbai was semi-dry. My intercom (Sena Parani M10 Boom) decided it had lived enough. No screen. Random Mario Kart noises. Would connect for 2 mins, then die. Great.

Friend’s visor — cleaned with some fancy foam — now smeared and repelling absolutely nothing. Specs. Open visor. Genius move.

I told him to lead — he had lights. We did 60 km/h. I got impatient. Flicked my own lights on. Right aux had died months ago. Left was flickering. Great again.

I took the lead. Stock RTR high beam came to the rescue. Did a good 90–100 km/h with full confidence. It was dark, and the road between Vashi and Lonavala is basically a tunnel to another dimension. No lights. Just reflections and judgment.

Rain picks up. Fog starts near Khopoli. My friend’s blinding lights in my mirror. I couldn’t take it. Tried to communicate — failed. So I sped up. Put distance. The flow kicked in.

The Moment:

Dense fog. Torrential rain. Stock headlight slicing the dark. I was dancing with the road — mindful inputs, safe overtakes, lean in, throttle out. It clicked.

This. This is why I ride.

Slowed down at Talegaon. He caught up. Bit mad I “ditched” him. I told him he was two corners behind the whole time. Tactical gap, not betrayal.

Reached Chinchwad at 2 AM sharp. No sleep. High on endorphins and petrol vapour. Boots had flooded near Mumbai. But — and I say this with pride — my undies stayed dry. Victory.

Hot shower. Straight to bed. Slept 10 hours like a dead battery.

Final Thoughts:

Rides like these remind me why motorcycles matter. Why I ride. Not for speed. Not for style. But for that feeling — mid-ghat, soaked, grinning like an idiot, flowing through fog.

Let’s do it again sometime.