Life on the Slow Lane: My First Ride on a Cruiser Bike
- Sudip Issac Sam
- Dec 21, 2025
- 21 min read
Updated: Jan 4
Okay.. I apologise, the title is a little bit click-baity. Nobody would call a Royal Enfield motorcycle slow by any means. But as someone who’d been used to riding sports bikes and street fighters all his life, a Royal Enfield motorcycle does feel a bit slow. But I don’t mean that as a bad thing, not at all. In fact, the experience of riding it for a whole day opened my mind to a different dimension of motorcycling that led me to go “Oh.. so this is what they were talking about” to all those things that, to date, I had heard only from cruiser bike enthusiasts.
Given the toxicity that is present in the contemporary corporate world, you can consider yourself quite lucky if you’re able to call someone an actual “friend”, and not just a colleague in your office. But by God’s grace, if that someone shares your passions just as intensely as you do, especially the love for motorcycling, well, then that elevates them instantly to a “brother-from-another-mother” category in my books.
Recently, through a mutual friend at work, I had the opportunity to meet someone such as this in my office, and to the surprise of no one, we hit it off instantly. A senior to me by age as well as designation, he had been in the organization for more than a decade. However, the stories that he has of his numerous adventures across the world, I’m sure, would put any wannabe travel influencer posting #wanderlust stories on Instagram in crisis mode. Needless to say, it is an absolute delight listening to him narrate these fascinating tales over our tea breaks, and I can honestly say that he’s one of those people who give meaning to the adage – Age is just a number if you’re young at heart.
It was on one of these occasions, when he mentioned his passion for trekking and how over the years, he’d conquered the several trails dotting the periphery and beyond of the city of Chennai, that I suggested that we should plan for something together. Somewhere which is not too far away from the city, so that we can wrap up the entire thing in a day, but also would provide ample distance to include a scenic ride to the location, as well as a 3-4 hour trek to a waterfall or something in the end to refresh and cool ourselves, would be an ideal location.
He eagerly agreed to the idea and promised to come back with the best location that would suit these requirements. The next morning, I got a ping on my WhatsApp with the name – Aare Waterfalls, Nagalapuram, and the details of how to get there. As per the reviews, it was only about 80 kms away from the city, and it was a fairly easy trek through the jungle with multiple waterfalls along the way, where you could take a dip and enjoy yourself. The photos looked quite alluring too, so I immediately agreed. Thus, a plan was hatched for the upcoming weekend.
As I did not want to take my F77 for this ride, the next major action item was to rent a suitable motorcycle for the trip. I wanted to go for something in the cruiser bike category, as my friend was riding his Honda CB350. He had decked it out with a windshield, handlebar risers for a more upright riding posture, saddle bags, and various other accessories that made it the perfect mile munching machine. I searched Google for well-rated motorcycle rental services in Chennai city and came upon the website of this company called ‘SFA Motorcycle Rentals’ with their office in Kodambakkam.
I reached out to them, hoping to get a Meteor 350, as my reporting manager in my previous organization had had one, and I’d always wanted to ride one long distance. But unfortunately, the weekends were a busy time for them, and to my disappointment, almost all bikes had been booked except for a 2018 model Thunderbird 350X. I paid the booking amount and blocked it for myself immediately.
Friday night, I was on the way to the rental place to pick up the bike, as the plan was to leave early Saturday morning before sunrise. Although I was excited to ride a cruiser bike extensively for the first time, to be very honest, I was a little bit apprehensive about my choice of motorcycle. As a 5ft 4’ 60kgs guy, I had a niggling doubt at the back of my mind as to whether I’d be able to handle the weight of the motorcycle and learn how to manoeuvre it properly once I had it in my hands. The thing is, I had gotten used to riding lightweight sports bikes like KTMs and Husqvarnas all my adult life, and had never really ridden a Royal Enfield before, let alone a Thunderbird. I had always been intimidated by the sheer bulk of Royal Enfield machines, especially the quintessential Bullet 350. I had indeed booked it on a whim, but I was hoping that the Thunderbird would turn out to be different and that I would not regret this decision. On the other hand, the fact that I was able to manage my F77, which weighed almost 200kgs, without any hitches for more than 2 years now, also gave me a bit of confidence.
I reached the office of the rental agency, completed the necessary paperwork, and took delivery of the motorcycle. It was a white Thunderbird 350X, and although it had only run about 35000kms, the condition of the motorcycle was quite rundown to say the least. The exhaust pipe was rusted near the engine, there were several dents on the fenders, and gear shifts were way too heavy and clunky for my taste. But on a positive note, I was happy to see that the low seat height of 775mm meant that I could easily flat foot on either side, and I didn’t feel the heft of the 175kg kerb weight once the bike started moving.
Since the rental agency only provided fuel till the nearest petrol station and the last bar on the fuel meter was blinking, I decided to fill it till half tank so that I’d have ample fuel for the ride ahead and a bit more for a buffer. On the ride home from the petrol station, I realized to my pleasant surprise that I was getting more and more comfortable with the motorcycle in the city traffic. The raised handlebars and forward-set foot pegs meant that I was sitting in a more relaxed and upright position than the aggressive sporty posture I’d been used to, and although the gear lever required half my body weight to shift, the Thunderbird had ample low-end power to zip between the traffic easily. In a nutshell, it was not a sluggish machine by any means, as I had imagined it to be. The reassuring thug-thug-thug of the twin spark engine also gave the motorcycle significant character and made me feel like I was riding something substantial and powerful between my legs. I was slowly starting to understand the allure of these motorcycles.
I reached back home, packed the essentials for the trek into a travel bag, such as a few protein bars for snacks, a water bottle, a small first aid kit, sunglasses, etc., and strapped it using fasteners onto the back seat of the Thunderbird. I also dusted off my trustworthy Spartan ProGear riding jacket and gloves from a forgotten corner of my shelf, as it has been quite a while since I’d gone on a bike ride. Now all that was left was to calm myself down from the excitement and catch some Zzz’s for the handful of hours left till when I’d have to leave.
The next morning, after a customary selfie, I started off to the rendezvous point where my friend and I had agreed to meet. We’d agreed to meet by 6 am, and my friend, being a very punctual guy, was there at the place on the dot. After a few minutes of brief pleasantries, we started our ride towards Nagalapuram with Google Maps showing the way.
I have to say that after riding my F77 for 2 years, which is loaded to the brim with technology and is as precise as a surgical knife, riding this rickety rented Thunderbird was definitely a curveball. Every twist of the throttle and every gear shift was a new lesson in learning. But I took it in its stride because not only was it interesting and a whole new experience for me, as this was a weekend ride, there was absolutely no rush to reach the destination either. We had decided beforehand that we’ll ride at a leisurely pace and that we’ll reach when we reach.
As expected, there were several issues with my motorcycle. Firstly, the clutch was quite heavy and did not engage fully. This meant that if you had to push the bike backwards from a standstill with the clutch pulled fully, while it was running, the bike would not move much. So, you had to put it in Neutral every time you parked. To complicate things further, the green LED light on the speedometer for Neutral was very dim, so during bright daylight, it was very hard to see if it was engaged. So, the only way to check was to shift up from 1st gear by putting my toe under the gear lever and releasing the clutch slightly to check if the bike moved. This, of course, made my toes hurt after some time, as I was only wearing sports shoes that did not have toe guards like riding shoes.
The vibration on the handlebars was also unbearable. It rattled so much that my hands were a bit numb throughout the entire ride, and wearing gloves did little to assuage it. It also meant that the rear-view mirrors were useless as they just showed a shaky blur of what was behind me while riding. The only workaround I could identify for this, halfway into the ride, was that if you kept the RPM at around 3500 or so, the vibration seemed to ease a bit. But this also meant that you’d not always be in the highest gear possible for easy, relaxed riding, and that the engine would always be in a state of higher rev than needed. But hey, I’ll take my comfort over the well-being of a rented bike any day. (which ironically is the mentality I believe, that had brought this motorcycle to this condition in the first place.)
Anyway, we were chugging along happily towards Nagalapuram on the highway, enjoying the bright golden rays of the morning sun just breaking through the horizon. But a few minutes into the ride, I realized that I hadn’t checked the air pressure in my tyres the night before, and I knew I had to do it urgently because the highway was filled with random potholes we were having to dodge. I’d had an experience previously where one of my friends bent the front tyre rim of his Royal Enfield motorcycle due to low air pressure and a nasty fall into a pothole, on a similar weekend ride. So I definitely did not want that happening to me this time around, especially considering it was not my motorcycle. So, I signalled to my friend to stop at the next petrol pump to check the air.
To our surprise, none of the petrol stations for about the next 15-20 minutes we checked had working air filling stations. Every petrol pump we rode into, the service guy would shake his head to say that it’s non-functional. After the 5th station or so, I felt that this was getting ridiculous because not only was I getting anxious not knowing the air pressure of my tyres through every bad patch of road I rode through, but I was also left wondering if none of the motorists in the vicinity cared about this crucial aspect of their vehicle maintenance.
Thankfully, a few kilometres ahead, we spotted a tyre repair shop for lorries with an air filling machine. A quick Google search revealed that the ideal solo air pressure is 20psi at the front and 30psi at the rear. The guy at the shop checked the tyres using his analogue meter and filled them to my recommendation. Paid him his small tip and a few minutes later, I was back on the road again, worry-free and finally able to focus fully on the ride ahead.
The sun had risen fully now, and the countryside was bathed in its fresh morning glow. We could see lush green paddy fields for many acres to either side of us. The early morning air was still cold, and I could feel it hitting my body through my mesh riding jacket. The full sleeve sports T-shirt I was wearing underneath was not much help either. But I didn’t mind. It was refreshing, and I felt the bike gradually coming into its element. We two were the only occupants for long stretches of the road, riding along at a comfortable 60-70kph with nothing but the thug-thug-thug of our long stroke engines and the scattered choruses of the morning birds breaking the morning stillness. “Get your motor running.. Get out on the highway.. Looking for adventure.. In whatever comes our way..”, The lyrics of the song “ Born to be Wild” started playing in my head. A big grin spread across my face. I was starting to enjoy this ride.
The landscape continued to change. All remnants of an urban setting disappeared. We were deep into rural Tamil Nadu, almost at the Andhra Border. Having ridden for almost 2 hours now, we were starting to feel hungry and started hunting for restaurants to have a short break for breakfast. Since we had already reached the entry point to Nagalapuram village, we decided to deviate from the highway and go through the village. Riding slowly through the muddy, potholed road, our eyes darted from side to side in search of any signs saying ‘Hotel’ or ‘Restaurant’, but alas, none emerged. Dejected, we got back onto the highway and started riding a little farther. Suddenly, on the side of the road, we saw a small tin-roofed shack with an elderly uncle and aunty making what seemed like dosa, steam rising from the tawa kept on a rudimentary stove kept on top of oil barrels. My friend slowed down and motioned towards me to park our bikes near the shack. Stomachs were gurgling, and by this point, I was ready to give anything a shot. It was a small shack with two plastic tables and chairs inside. Seeing two beings walk in wearing bulky riding jackets and carrying helmets, they immediately knew that we were not from around town and cheerfully invited us inside. The aunty smiled at us and asked, “Nīngal eṉṉa sāppiduve?” My friend asked, “Akka.. Romba pasikuthu. Dosa irrukka?” The aunty replied, “Haan.. unkalukku muttai dosai seyyatuma?”, to which both of us shook our heads eagerly. She chuckled and made us two delicious, steaming, thick dosas with a generous serving of egg on top. Needless to say, the plates were empty within minutes. We were feeling a bit relieved. However, since a strenuous day of several hours of trekking lay ahead of us, we decided to properly fill up. So we had a few idlis and also a vada for good measure, before thanking them and continuing the journey forward, stomachs filled and satisfied.
Riding for half an hour more through rural roads, we saw a huge signboard with the word “Aare Waterfalls →”. I had watched videos on YouTube of others who had ridden here previously, and there was a bit of an off-road stretch shown in those videos. I wondered if, after this turn, lay that stretch. Sure enough, after a few minutes of riding on a narrow and windy concrete road that seemed to go through people’s backyards, we came onto an untarred mud road which had imprints of tyre tracks meandering around rocks jutting a few inches from the surface.
Shifting into 1st gear, we gingerly maneuvered our bikes through the rocks, sticking to the tyre tracks. I was praying that nothing untoward should happen, as the Thunderbird is not an adventure bike and the ground clearance is quite low. A punctured tyre or a bent rim on this part of the countryside would be an absolute disaster. I pushed these thoughts away from my mind and cautiously followed the lead of my friend on his CB350 in front.
After a few minutes, we came upon a spot where there was a small stream flowing on top of the road, which we had to cross. There was also a small dam to our left for collecting water for agricultural purposes. Lifting our feet in the air to avoid wetting our shoes while wading through the water, we parked our bikes a little bit ahead, one in front of the other, to stop and have a brief photoshoot. After clicking a few pics of our bikes gleaming in the morning sun, especially the chrome on the CB350, we decided to continue ahead.
A few hundred metres ahead, after a brief check-in at the forest guard checkpoint, we reached the parking lot where the trekking trail started. When we arrived, there were not many people there, but gradually they started trickling in. Mostly youngsters and couples on motorcycles and some on scooters.
We locked our helmets onto the bikes, changed into our trekking attire - shorts and t-shirts, took up our backpacks with the water bottle and snacks, and started the trek. A signboard at the start of the trail mentioned the rules posted by the Forest Department, stating that visitors are strictly prohibited from going beyond the 2nd waterfall. (There are 5 waterfalls on the trail, one after the other, and many an adventurous trekker had lost their life trying to swim in them before the barricades were erected.) Milestones were installed on the side of the trail, mentioning how much further to the 1st waterfall, and we had about 1.5 km to go.
It was a pleasant trek, starting with an open muddy trail that gradually entered the dense Siddulaiah Kona Forest range. Chit-chatting with my friend about the ride and recent office affairs, we covered almost 800 mts into the trail, when the terrain started becoming more rocky and uneven, covered by a canopy of dense trees blocking the sun. The stream from the waterfall ahead was flowing beside us, its crystal clear water gurgling pleasantly along rounded boulders strewn across its path. We decided to stop for a moment and take a few more pics, trying to look as “cool” as possible. The pleasant climate, the shade of the dense forest, the rustling of the leaves in the wind, and the scattered songs of morning birds echoing in the distance, I could already feel the cortisol levels dropping in my system, slowly melting away the stress and tension of the corporate world and the hectic day-to-day life. The feeling of utter disconnect from the chaos and the hubbub of the outside world, replaced by the peace and calm of the lush greenery around me, was mesmerizing. A small pang of regret for not doing this sooner pulled at my heart, but I brushed it aside. “Better late than never..” I thought to myself.
A hundred meters ahead, there was a metal staircase installed into the rocks through which we had to climb down, and we saw other visitors coming opposite to us on their return journey, drenched from head to toe. I was glad we had taken spare clothes to change into because riding home in wet clothes would’ve been agonizing.
A few minutes later, we arrived at a wide opening where the trail descended through some rocks onto a pool in which a few people were swimming. A strong but gentle waterfall was falling from a short cliff into the pool at the other end. We had reached the 1st checkpoint on the trail. A forest guard was watching over the visitors in the water. Behind him, on a few lines of ropes tied to trees, hung bright orange life-jackets that one had to wear before getting into the water. The charge was Rs.50 for renting one jacket.
The sight of the life jackets made us suddenly realize that we had forgotten to carry cash with us. Since we’d been able to pay via GPay everywhere, even at the tiny shack where we’d had breakfast, we hadn’t felt the need to carry liquid cash. Feeling a bit stupid and embarrassed, I scrounged through my purse, hoping that this mistake would not cost us our opportunity to take a dip in the water we’d prepared very well for. A lone 100 rupee note smiled forlornly back at me, which I realized must have kept there long back and forgotten about. Thanking God, I quickly handed it over to the forest guard, grabbed two good-looking life jackets, and passed one over to my friend.
After storing our valuable items, including our mobile phones, into our backpacks and placing them strategically under a rock that we could see from the water, we cautiously climbed barefoot over the rocks into the pool. There was a rope tied underwater along the periphery of the pool, onto which people who did not know how to swim, like me, were clinging. The adventurous ones who knew how to swim, like my friend, were swimming across the length of the pond, some even climbing the rocky cliff side onto the top of the waterfall. I didn’t dare pull any antics like that, as the water was very cold and I was already starting to shiver a bit. The depth of the poll was also not gradual; it dropped off dramatically from where the rope was tied. So, hanging onto the rope, I tried to have as much fun as possible, dipping myself fully into the cold water and also trying to float with the life jacket on.
After some time, my friend swam over to me and told me that we should get out now, if we were to make it to the 2nd waterfall. I agreed. Quickly, we got out of the water, dried ourselves a bit, handed the life jacket back to the guard, and asked him for the directions towards the 2nd waterfall. That’s when the news hit us. Since a few guards had failed to show up that day, they didn’t have the sufficient number of guards to guide the visitors to the 2nd fall and so, it was closed! This was a huge bummer because, as per our research, the 2nd waterfall was even better than the 1st, and that was where we’d planned to spend the maximum time at.
We heaved a sigh of sorrow, dejected that we were not able to complete our trek properly. Promising each other to come back again in the future, we started our walk back to the parking lot.
On the way back, we passed a few more visitors who were on their way to the waterfall, who were enquiring about the distance to it. Some were carrying Bluetooth speakers blasting electronic music, disturbing the peace of the forest, which I found quite irritating, and the others were carrying big shopping bags that seemed to be full of food and other provisions, which left me amused and wondering why.
We had almost reached the start of the trail when we saw a signboard to our right with the words - ’Vana Ganga’. We had seen this board on our way towards the waterfall, but had ignored it since we didn’t have the time to check it out. Now, since our trek had been sadly cut short, we had plenty of time and decided to take the detour. A few meters down this new trail, we reached an opening where the stream had formed a tiny waterfall, almost like a jacuzzi, where you could sit and take a bath with the water falling over your shoulders. This was perfect! We quickly removed our shoes and surveyed a good spot to sit under the waterfalls. We were careful not to get ourselves trapped in some small but powerful whirlpools under the waterfall. After a few minutes of prodding and feeling around in between the rocks, we found ourselves the perfect spot to sit down, somewhere that was not too slippery, and the pressure from the water was also not too strong. Ah! This was heaven. The feeling of sitting on the soft, round boulders as if on a sofa, with the cold, pristine water gushing over our bodies, was amazing. There was nobody else there besides the two of us, and we thoroughly enjoyed it for a while. After some time though, we started getting company as other people had also found out about the trail. So, we decided to pack everything and head back. It was almost noon when we returned to the parking lot.
When we reached our motorcycles, I did a quick scan to see if anyone had tampered with our stuff. Thankfully, everything was as it was when we left. I changed back into my riding gear, packed the wet clothes into a polythene bag, pressed the ignition button on my Thunderbird, and the twin spark engine roared back to life after some coaxing. We were ready to ride back home. My friend entered the coordinates to the main road on Google Maps on his phone and started following the thick blue line on the screen, with me following closely behind. Dodging the protruding rocks again through the muddy off-road path, we arrived back at the main road in a few minutes. The sun was almost directly above us, but the weather was still only pleasantly warm and not hot, as I’d expected it to be. It was just the two of us and our motorcycles again, meandering through the windy rural road. We knew we had to stop for lunch after some time, but for now, it was just about enjoying the ride again and taking in the beautiful scenery. On one side of the road, we had lush green mountains, and on the other side, we had large ponds with tall grass growing through them, scattered here and there. White storks would sometimes fly down from the sky and land on the grass, dipping their beaks in the water to catch fish. It was an interesting sight.
The sights on the road weren’t any less amusing. We were passing through a farmland with paddy fields on either side, admiring the landscape, when suddenly we saw a motorcycle coming towards us. It was ridden by an elderly gentleman who had packed the rear seat with almost 2 ft of hay that was threatening to topple the motorcycle over. In front of him, on the petrol tank, sat a woman, I assume his wife, who was effortlessly balancing herself by holding on to the handlebars and staring straight ahead, as if to say it was not her first rodeo. I had seen people do this on their old Hero Jet bicycles and also sometimes on TVS XL 100 scooters in Chennai, but never on a motorcycle. We opened our visors, looked at each other, and chuckled. It was definitely an interesting arrangement. But who are we to judge?
We had ridden for about an hour when we came upon a restaurant on the side of the road. A man holding a signboard was waving at passing travellers to stop and eat. As our stomachs were starting to rumble again, we slowed down a bit upon seeing him. But when we peered inside, we couldn’t find anyone. This made us suspicious, as the thumb rule of judging a good restaurant was by the crowd of customers inside it. So I gestured at my friend, asking whether to stop or not. He gestured, "Yes," and we both pulled over in front of the restaurant and got off our motorcycles. The owner of the restaurant came out to welcome us, pleased that he had secured two patrons for his establishment. Seeing him, my friend asked why the restaurant was empty at 2 o'clock on a weekend, and he replied that he was equally as dumbfounded as we were. According to him, at the same time the week before, the restaurant was almost full, and he’d had scores of customers to serve. I did not want to proceed by simply trusting his words, so as he was saying this, I pulled out my phone and frantically started checking the Google reviews of the place. To my slight relief, it was rated 4+ with the majority of the customers giving it positive feedback. Anyway, as there were no other restaurants in the vicinity, we decided to take our chances and go ahead. We assumed that, worst-case scenario, since the next day was a Sunday, we could at least get some bed rest if anything bad happened. My friend started ordering our lunch while I stepped out to freshen myself a bit.
The food arrived after some time, and it was surprisingly tasty. The owner was very polite and kept asking us in between if we found the preparation good and if we needed anything else, to which we replied that we were fine. We were quite hungry, and the chapatis we’d ordered kept disappearing from the basket. After half an hour and several chappatis and a glass of lime juice down, we were full. In the meantime, our motorcycles parked out front had started attracting other customers to stop at the restaurant as well, and they were starting to trickle in. A few were also milling around our bikes and checking them out, especially the extra accessories on my friend’s CB350. We put on our riding jackets, waved goodbye to the owner, and started home, the wind blasting in our faces and our stomachs full once again
I put my motorcycle into lower gear to bring the RPM into the mid 3500 range to dampen the vibrations, and settled back into my cushioned seat to get comfortable. Only two lone motorcycles occupied the wide-open country road once again, and riding through them, with nothing but the soft rhythmic thug-thug-thug of the engine beating in my ears, the warm afternoon sun beating down on my back, and the feeling that nothing else mattered in this world other than me and my motorcycle, the sensation was damn near therapeutic. This is what bikers live for. This was true freedom. No wonder this feeling moved bikers all around the world to quote inspiring words such as ‘You don't need a therapist if you own a motorcycle’ and ‘Four wheels move the body, Two wheels move the soul..’ etc
It was late afternoon, and the sights of giant green signboards and flyovers confirmed that we were back in the boundaries of Chennai city again. We merged into heavy highway traffic, crawling along in 1st and 2nd gear. A few kilometers later, we reached Madhavaram, where my friend stopped on the side of the road to bid me adieu. I continued on until I reached my home.
As I was parking the Thunderbird in my garage and turning off the ignition key, I felt a pang of sadness in my heart. A short but wonderful ride had come to an end, and I had enjoyed it thoroughly. I had also learned many things on this ride, much more than what I had anticipated. I had learned about a new style of motorcycling, about handling a different kind of machine that was diametrically opposite to the one I was accustomed to, and most importantly, I had learned that it didn’t matter what you rode as long as you loved riding it. I also felt a new level of appreciation for Royal Enfield as a brand. It was the true OG Indian cruiser motorcycle brand that was able to shed its old, outdated image and reinvent itself to build such wonderful machines that provided such exquisite riding experiences to riders around the world, both young and old. The age of the anecdotes about machines that marked their territory (a.k.a leaked oil) and needed maintenance every 500 meters was indeed a relic of the past.
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