BHPian WhiskeyTangoFox recently shared this with other enthusiasts: It had been a little while since I got to go on a multi-day ride, so when the long weekend in August rolled in, I was determined to make the most of it. The usual suspects for a three-day ride, like Sakleshpur and Chikmagalur, were already on my radar. A friend of mine, however, made an interesting proposition. Instead of the usual hotel stays and sightseeing plans, we thought, why not shake it up and try camping? My friend, who was a part of an outfit called Nomadic Soul Adventures, sent over the details of the pilot run of an event they were hosting. The idea was simple yet deeply appealing. Camping in the hills of Coorg, surrounded by nature with nothing but a tent between us and the elements. To me, it was more than just a change in scenery. It was a chance to truly escape the regular corporate life; a chance to slow down, a chance to share stories over food, and to rediscover the joy of being a part of a community in its unadorned form. The plan for three days was simple, yet thoughtfully paced. There was no rush to look at every possible viewpoint or tourist attraction in Coorg. The idea was to unwind and take it slow. At the Meeting Point Barely an hour later, things took an unexpected turn. I had picked up a pair of Riderzone Hanle saddle bags for the trip, but in my eagerness, I completely overlooked a crucial detail-whether they would interfere with the exhaust. The bags were not touching the pipe, but the fumes were directed straight onto the edge of one of them. My friend, riding close behind, suddenly shouted through the intercom, “Stop, Kevin, stop fast!” Alarmed, I pulled over to the side of the road, only to discover that the bag already had a gaping hole and was on the verge of catching fire. We quickly put out the fire and saw that a couple of clothes were burnt, but the rest of the luggage was largely alright. Cutting our losses, we disposed the burnt clothes, strapped the bag onto the bike using a bungee cord, and carried on. Bike with only one saddle bag The damage We stopped for breakfast at Channarayapatna, downed some delicious masala dosa and goli baje. Hearts and tummies content, the next stop was Gorur dam. The dam, set on the hemavathi river, and against lush green hills was a sight to see in the monsoon. Gorur Dam A sight more beautiful than the dam maybe? We took a few short breaks here and there, with our stop for lunch being at Nomadic Souls’ hostel in Suntikoppa. The rain had been pouring since Gorur, and we were just happy to be under a roof, albeit for just a little while. The property is nice and quaint and felt homely more than anything else. At the Nomadic Souls Hostel Met these cute buggers at the hostel The rain showed no signs of letting up as we made our way toward the campsite. Perched on a hillock, it stood beyond the reach of our bikes, the ground too slick and treacherous after the downpour. A couple 4x4s (A Thar Roxx and a Pajero) waited on standby, ready to ferry us up and down through the mud and rain. The campsite was dotted with six or seven tents of varying sizes, each spaced out across the hilltop. A well-built washroom stood a short walk away, about twenty to thirty metres from the tents, while a separate kitchen took care of our meals. At the heart of it all was a warm and inviting common room, a space where strangers quickly turned into companions over conversations and laughter. This was no luxury staycation, but camping in its truest sense (with the added benefit of having a kitchen and a proper washroom). If you came expecting plush hotel bedding or room service, this was not the place for you. That said, the team at Nomadic Soul made sure we were well looked after, providing each of us with sleeping bags and fleece blankets. Some tents were equipped with air mattresses, while others had simple camping cots-basic, but more than enough for the adventure. On the first evening, we came together for a lively community cookout, each of us lending a hand to create a meal that felt both hearty and celebratory. The menu was simple yet delightful-loaded nachos, pasta in white sauce, and warm garlic bread; cooked by the people, for the people. It was less about perfection on the plate and more about the joy of cooking, sharing, and laughing side by side. Nomadic Soul was also preparing for an upcoming expedition to Ladakh exclusively for women motorcyclists, and some of the riders from that group had made their way to the campsite too, braving the relentless rain. Listening to their stories, their journeys so far, and the excitement with which they were gearing up for Ladakh was nothing short of inspiring. On the second day, the plan was to take a leisurely drive through the backroads of Coorg. I decided to leave the bike behind and hop into one of the cars instead, a choice that made for a more relaxed ride, Along the way we stumbled upon a few beautiful waterfalls, their streams in full flow from the rains, and on the return journey we stopped for steaming plates of Maggi at a little roadside shop. Soaking Wet Gloves By the time we reached the campsite that evening, Chef Eddy was waiting for us with a spread of smoky, delicious barbecue. After polishing off the last of the barbecue, we called it a night and slipped into our tents, the sound of rain pattering on canvas lulling us to sleep. The next morning, we set off from the campsite a little later than planned, around 11, held back by the relentless downpour. The ride back to Nelamangala was swift, but soon gave way to the inevitable snarl of weekend traffic. Even so, none of it took away from the experience. The trip had everything-rain-soaked roads, the camaraderie of fellow riders, evenings by the fire, and the quiet charm of camping under open skies. It was less about the destination and more about the journey, a reminder of why I ride in the first place. The Himalayan performed almost flawlessly throughout the trip. The Silkolene oil proved to be excellent, and I am fairly certain it will be my go-to choice from now on. But I did say almost. When I rolled back into Bangalore, I discovered that the three screws holding the ignition key assembly had somehow worked themselves loose and vanished, causing the entire unit to drop through the handlebars. I took the bike over to Big Bear Customs to get the issue sorted. In the end, we decided to replace the entire key set system-ignition, fuel cap, and seat lock. Beyond that hiccup, though, the bike has been running strong, and I look forward to having it as a companion for every twist, turn, and stretch of open road ahead. Check out BHPian comments for more insights and information.
