Pune, India. 1st July 2023.

I needed some thinking time. The question that needed answering was what to do now I’d left Pakistan, and was soon to leave India? I’d already given up on plans to ship the bike to Iran.It would involve obtaining a Carnet de Passage en Douane. That would involve paying a large deposit, which I wouldn’t get back as I wouldn’t be bringing the bike back to India.
The two remaining options were to continue touring in the north of India and ship the bike back to the UK in October. But that would require my going to Kathmandu to renew my visa. Not such a big issue as I would want to be in the north of India anyway. The alternative was to ship the bike to Turkey then ride the bike to the UK. Turkey didn’t require a CPD and I could easily get the bike on a ship before my current visa ran out. That seemed to be the best option but enquiries needed to be made before the final decision was taken.

From Amritsar I flew back to Pune and linked up with Jay and Dilip again. Dilip had found me a nice hotel close to where he lived, and organised a discount too. Conveniently located near to shops and cafés, and to his apartment for an invite to brunch.
When I went to Pak I’d left behind me a list of jobs to be done and parts to be obtained for the Himalayan. Jay and Dilip had diligently worked through the list and most of it had been done. I was very pleased, although a last few jobs still needed doing. I’d come back a bit earlier than they had expected me to.
Dilip took me over to Invictus where I bought new panniers. The others had got a bit knocked about in Indian traffic and had enjoyed some ‘Geoff style’ roadside repairs. I actually paid for this set, for the first time. I bought some new gloves as well.
Jay came over after a while, bringing all my bike luggage with him. We went to the service centre and I took the bike out for a test ride that cost me 500 rupees – £5. At the end of the road there was a part time one way system, indicated by a small sign at the side of the road. Needless to say the police were there waiting for their victims. That included me. Well and truly caught!
The bike wasn’t quite right so we left it at the service centre with a couple of small jobs to be completed. One of the jobs that had been done was to replace the instrument console because one of the displays had failed. I was disappointed to find that the odometer reading went back to zero so I’ve lost the record of distance ridden so far. I had thought that the ECU retained that information and would put it on the new console, but I was wrong. It doesn’t really matter much at the end of the day.

Next day we were able to collect the bike, with almost everything done. The only job outstanding was to fit some new spotlights. I’d bought some spare oil filters and a cleanable air filter, ready for the journey back to the UK, during which I’d probably be doing my own servicing.
Next morning I went over to Grand Designs, the company that had altered my pannier racks a few months ago. One of the new platforms that supported the pannier bags had broken off and gone missing. The plan was to repair that and add in extra metal straps to stop it happening again. It took a couple of visits to sort it all out over the next few days, but I was happy with the result.
The spotlights got fitted over the next couple of days. A straightforward job to mount them. A massive pain in the backside to sort out the wiring. I’ve said before that I regretted letting the workshop in Bangalore mess about with the wiring. I regretted it even more when I saw the mess they’d made when connecting everything to the battery. Basic things such as not putting a fuse in the main supply from the battery. Fortunately I know what I’m doing, even if they didn’t. Their “electrical wizard” is an idiot. It was all sorted out after a bit of rewiring and my spotlights look good.
Jay and Dilip were busy at work, of course, so I’d often go out and eat alone, or get a takeaway. But we did manage to go out together a few times, which was always a pleasure. I’d established a very meaningful friendship with these two guys, especially because of all the help they’d given me. It was a shame that my time in India was drawing to a close.

And on that topic, what about the shipping of the bike? I’d been in touch with Mustafa, at Seco Shipping. Mustafa is, to put it colloquially, a Diamond Geezer. He’s extremely helpful and very patient. He’d already given me a quote for shipping the bike to Turkey, but that was back in March. He sent me a revised one, which had actually gone down a bit. But the shock came when he told me I would need a Carnet de Passage en Douane (CPD) in order to take the bike out of India. But when I told him I wanted to permanently export the bike, he said I would need to get it de-registered. Things were getting complicated.
It seems that Indian customs will not allow an Indian registered vehicle to leave the country unless it has had a CPD issued for it, or has been de-registered. The exception to this is when going to Nepal. To obtain a CPD, which is issued by the Western India Automobile Association, I would have to pay a fee and a deposit, which is based on the value of the bike. Because I wouldn’t be bringing the bike back to India I would not get the deposit returned. That would cost me £2,000-3,000. No thank you! I’ll talk about de-registering in a while.

The guys had told me about a museum I should visit, one hundred kilometres or so outside the city. It would make a nice break from bike fettling and shipping worries, and also be a nice run out to check the bike. So one Saturday morning, after the rain had stopped, I set off.
Once off the main road the route up through the hills was slow, not helped by weekend tourist traffic and broken down trucks. The narrow road went up above a very steep valley, which had lots of viewing points for tourists to stop at.
The Vintage Miles Motorcycle Museum was started by a local entrepreneur who wanted to share his love of India’s small motorcycles. Since the post war period there has been dozens of manufacturers of small bikes for use by the ordinary Indian. Vineet Kenjale had collected examples of many of them. Some scooters, some mopeds, some bikes. Almost all of them two strokes, most of them old – 50s and 60s, mostly.

They were laid out in rows along the sides and the centres of two halls. Very nicely restored. Lots of Italian scooters; some unexpected Royal Enfield two strokes; many other makes and models I’d never heard of. I couldn’t imagine how awful it must have been to be breathing the smoky two stoke fumes in the big cities back then.

On the side of the building was a display which described the history of the motorcycle, stage by stage, across the 19th and 20th centuries. New halls are being built, ready for expansion. A good excuse to go back one day. It had been a good day out, despite the occasional rain, with the bike running very nicely. All of the repairs had worked well.

My last few days in Pune were all about researching my options for the next steps, and the more practical issues of sorting out my panniers and washing my riding gear. I still hadn’t decided whether to ship the bike to Turkey or stay in India until later in the year. Then I’d either ship the bike to the UK or sell it in India. Jay would happily buy it.

I went out for a walk one afternoon. There’s a temple just down the road. Fairly new but nicely designed. Further on from there was Bird Valley Lake. The kind of place where people go to relax and have fun. Plenty of seating areas; cafés; boats for hire; a walking track that went all round the lake. The weather threatened rain but was OK. The only birds I saw were crows, and a bird statue in the lake itself. Whatever else, it made a pleasant change from the hotel room.

Dilip knows all sorts of people and had been making phone calls on my behalf, to find some work-arounds regarding the CPD or de-registering the bike. In the end, there weren’t any. But he had made contact with a guy who was emigrating from India to Scotland. I contacted Pratik and he’d de-registered his bike in Mumbai, where he lived. They had taken the registration document off him, and had given him a certificate stating that the bike was now de-registered. That document would enable him to register the bike in the UK. But they also took the number plates from the bike as well.
Those two facts seemed to make permanent export extremely difficult until the guys pointed out that replacing the number plates would be very easy. We discussed my options and I decided that going to Mumbai was the best thing to do, where I’d be able to talk to the Western India Automobile Association, who issued CPDs, and also to Mustafa, who I knew would have some experience in the matter.
A last meal out with Jay and Dilip was had, so I could say Goodbye and thank them for all their help and support. They told me off for saying ‘Goodbye’ rather than ‘Adieu’. Fair comment, because we don’t know what the future holds. I really do hope I’ll see them again sometime.

An easy ride to Mumbai and I went straight to the office of the WIAA. Dilip had been in contact with them already so they knew who I was. I had a brief chat with the chairman, who felt sure they’d be able to sort things out without needing to issue a CPD. Simran, who actually controlled the issuance, said no to that idea. And that it was definitely the case that I would have to bring the bike back to India in order to get my deposit back. I pointed out to her that if I officially imported the bike into another country then the requirements of the CPD would have been met. (I’d been doing some research on this.) But she said no, the only way is to bring the bike back. Brick wall. But she did introduce me to some of her staff and bought me lunch. She also gave me a WIAA polo shirt, so the visit wasn’t a complete waste.

At Mustafa’s office it was a great pleasure to finally meet him and his assistant, Hetal. She immediately organised some ‘chai no cheeni’, thereby instantly endearing herself to me. I talked through the de-registration issues with Mustafa, who was pretty certain I’d be able to retain the original registration document, and the number plates. He’d never heard of them being taken before. But he couldn’t book me onto a ship until the process had been completed. By now, thanks to his encouragement, I’d decided to ship the bike to Turkey. That was always my preferred option because I wanted to explore that country and then ride back to the UK, up through the Caucuses.
But it would entail a visit to the Regional Traffic Office in Lucknow, where I’d bought the bike. Jay contacted a friend who owned a bike shop. He sent one of his staff down there to make enquiries but found the office to be closed because an ongoing corruption investigation!!
Later on Jay contacted me to tell me two things. Firstly that I wouldn’t need to present the bike at the RTO, which meant I could fly up there and avoid a 2,400kms round trip ride on the bike. Secondly, that the Assistant Senior Officer at the RTO was a family friend and would be happy to see me on Monday. Fantastic news. I booked a flight and Jay arranged for his son, Ansh, to meet me at the airport. Mustafa had arranged secure storage for the bike at a nearby filling station. All those little ducks were starting to line up in a neat row.

On Monday morning Ansh and I went to the RTO only to find that our man had been called into an unplanned meeting. So we waited around for almost three hours until he was free. We were shown into his office and I explained what it was I wanted. Mustafa had given me a copy of the letter that the RTO in Mumbai had given to Praktik, confirming the de-registration. I showed it to him. He said he’d never had to undertake this process before but that he’d be happy to do it for me. But he wanted to talk to his colleague in Mumbai to check the process. We needed to come back next day to see him. I was slightly worried that his colleague in Mumbai might tell him to take the number plates and the registration certificate. I’d told him I needed to keep the certificate for use back in the UK.
It took over two hours to get to this stage. I was very impressed with this guy. While he was dealing with us he kept making and taking phones call; signing lots of documents that his staff were bringing him; dealing with other visitors. His work seemed never ending. Meanwhile we were given chai and snacks to keep us going . I rather felt part of the office family by the time we left.
Next morning we went back to the RTO. I’d prepared a letter stating that the bike wouldn’t be used on Indian roads again and that I accepted full responsibility for any incidents that occurred. His staff went off and prepared the essential letter to Indian customs, confirming the de-registration. He endorsed the registration certificate to say that it had been cancelled. I’d had the foresight to get a decent copy made of it, so that I had a clean copy to use at customs in Turkey. All of this took about three hours again, with plenty of tea and snacks once more. But finally it was done. I had what I needed. Ansh told me later that there were seven or eight people running around sorting it all out and that without Jay’s input it would have taken at least fifteen days to get that process completed. Thanks Jay, once again.
It was good to spend time with Ansh. He’s a very nice young man of nineteen and is at college at the moment studying management. Once he’s got his degree he’ll become an army officer. I know that Jay is very proud of him.

Next day I flew back to Mumbai and went to see Mustafa. He gave me a big hug, very impressed with how quickly I’d got the process completed. We settled down to business. Copying, signing, planning etc. I needed to send him an inventory of what personal belongings were going to go with the bike. Customs wanted proof that I’d booked a flight out of India, although I couldn’t work out why. I used one of those websites that books a flight, produces a ticket, then cancels it. Very useful for getting visas and so on. The cost was £5. The only job left was to ride the bike up to the place that was going to put it in a crate.

It being monsoon season it rained all the next day. On the day after that I got enough of a dry weather window to ride up there, about an hour away. Having signed a letter saying I wouldn’t use the bike again, I was slightly nervous. But all was OK. With the help of the guy at the crating place I took the front wheel and the panniers off the bike, trying to reduce the size as much as possible. Then I left it with him. See you in Istanbul, Shakti.

I got an auto to the nearest station and got a train back to Mumbai. I was staying in the Fort area of the city, close to the main terminus station. I wasn’t sure how to get a ticket and I asked a young guy on the platform. I needed to go back to the ticket office, across the bridge, to pay the massive sum of …….. Rs15 for the 40km journey back. Yes, you read that right. £0.15. Amazing! OK, it was a 2nd class carriage, with wooden seats, but who cared at that price? The same young guy sat next to me and was explaining that the fares are heavily subsidised to help keep traffic off the roads. Britain, please take note!
I went to see Mustafa for the last time and finalised all the paperwork and paid him too. He’d already sent me photos of the crated up bike and it would get ‘stuffed’ into the container in a couple of days time. Sailing time was approximately twenty days but it would be a few days before the ship left.
Mustafa had been an absolute star and I’ve already given his details to some other shipping contacts, hoping to get business for him. He did tell me that he’d had some queries generated by me from when he shipped my CCM back to the UK. All I can say is that if you need to ship into or out of India, Mustafa is your man.

While the bike was sailing the seven seas my plan was to go to Thailand and kill time there before going to Istanbul. It was going to be nice to sit around and do not much. I’ve become quite good at that.
So there we are folks, the end of the Indian saga. It’s been a blast, as they say. I first arrived on 20th November 2019, which is close to four years ago. That’s amazing, when I think about it. I’ve made some great friends, who’ve all helped me out massively. Beginning with KK, over in Imphal, Manipur state; Saikat in Kolkata; various others in various places. But especially Jay, who literally scooped me up off the street in Lucknow when lock down arrived. Thanks to Dilip as well, for organising repairs, parts and hospitality. You’ve all been fabulous to meet and to spend time with. I’m sorry to be leaving you all, but I guess that’s just the sad part of travel.