I had one close call when a cow walked in front of the Tuk Tuk I was passing, and my heart missed a beat when Phoebe rounded a corner in front of me into the path of a bus coming down the mountain on the wrong side of the road. We bade farewell to the beach and rode out of Palolem. We took the ‘highway’ to Chaudi and headed south towards Gokharna. We’d done this road before, but it was beautiful nonetheless.

I motioned for Phoebe to follow me off the main highway . I’d seen a row of palms and caught a glimpse of the beach . We followed a narrow sandy track , through a makeshift village of two or three shacks. We rode another 100 or so metres until the sand overtook the track and parked our bikes. Before we had time to dismount we were surrounded by curious locals. Dressed in brightly coloured saris and shirts, the three women and five children took a keen interest in us. We too out our camers and took photos, showing the images to the models after each shot. The delight this gave to these kids was a joy. They waved at themselves in the screen of my iphone and laughed. We took more photos, the women egging their children on into posing for the camera.

We rode past Karwar beach ,stopping for a freshly squeezed pineaapple juice before heading off once more. We were tired of the beach, and eager for the forest.

We rode along the highway, a single lane road that would barely be classsified as an A road in the real world. Cutting through green marshlands, the Goan backwaters, out of Goa and into Karnataka, where the hills began, the road twisiting up mountains. We passed more massive, ancient trucks, obiliging them with the customary “Horn OK Please” as we passed.

The trucks weren’t as much a problem as the cows, strutting across the road without a care in the world. Not even a shoulder check!

I had one close call when a cow walked in front of the Tuk Tuk I was passing, and my heart missed a beat when Phoebe rounded a corner in front of me into the path of a bus coming down the mountain on the wrong side of the road.

Phoebe handled her bike well and looked relaxed, she looked confident, and wasn’t shy of getting local and honking everything that moved.

The sun beat down on us as we rode up towards Jog Falls, our desination for the day from a hijacked itinerarary of a bike tour company we found with ‘the Googles', as Balram , our Tai Chi teacher form Arambol would have said.

“All this wonderful things you can find with the Googles” he had said on our first lesson, I saw Phoebe desperately trying not to burst out laughing as we practised “Stroking the Bird’s Tale “ at sunset.

We stopped again for a fresh coconut-natural electrolytes. I was sure that a lack of water had added to my pain on my sick day, and was determined to stay hydrated. Everytime we stopped for anything the first thing I went for was the water, forcing some down Phoebe’s neck too.

We rode past Gokharna, deciding to cary on and not stop for lunch. The road continued winding up and down green hills.

The road narowed to nothing more than a single lane track, and continued undulating up and down , round and round. I began to wonder if we’d missed a turn, when we came to a junction. Pulling over to ask for directions, a little Indian man approached-Are you going to Jog Falls?” He asked me.
“Yes” I began, as he walked round beside me, got on the back of the bike, and then asked me, “Can you take me there? I missed my bus”
“Well, seeing as you are on already, I guess so” I said.
“Looks like I’ve got a passenger “ I said to Phoebe, who looked around. She’d done this before, and was no stranger to the ways of the Indian.
“Cool” was all she could say.

With my pillion behind me, we set off for the last 16kms to Jog Falls.

My pillion, who’se name, as far as I could work out was ‘Superbad’ had been to the falls before. He showed us to the only guest house at the site and we checked in to what looked like a prison. The saving grace of this behmoth of a conctrete cell block was the unbelieveable view of the falls from our bedroom window. We also had a living room, and for the forst time in India, a real floor. We had the choice of a poop chute and a western toilet, but still nothing more fancy than a tap and a bucket for a shower.
Monkeys came tapping on our windows , little red faced fellows, eyeing us up as we checked that all the windows were locked tight.

We walked around the viewpoints and marvelled at the spectacular falls, thundering over a Grand Canyon-esque cliff. The monkeys ran around benaeath us. We sat and watched the sunset as swollows swooped and swirled above.

The place was deserted by nightfall. Phoebe and I seemed to be the only guests in the guest house, with the exception of our pillion, and when we went to eat at the only restaurant, we were all alone bar the waiters, and Superbad.

Exhaausted and stuffed on the first meal I had eated for 48 hours, we walked back to the guest house, Superbad following behind.

“So tomorrow, I’ll come to your room in the morning and we can go to Shimogga?” Said Superbad.

Phoebe had said she’d thought this was going to happen, and I was trying to figure wheather or not it would bring bad Karma if we didn’t take him, but then, we’d given him a ride here, so I’d done my good deed-I hoped!

We said we would take him to the next town in the morning , but made our excuses about taking him the 160 kms all the way to Shimogga.