Across the Mountains to Beaches

With the Royal Enfield Guerilla 450 as my companion, I journeyed from the Deccan Plateau, across the Western Ghats, and down to the Konkan coast

Story & Photography: Salman Bargir

A string of firsts unfolded for me: Motoverse, ride to Goa, and commingling with bona fide motorcyclists. The journey became a revelation, both about myself and motorcycle travel. With the Guerilla 450 as my companion, I set off from Pune, breaking the ride into two legs.

Already excited for Motoverse, I began preparing and researching for the ride the moment I learnt there was an opportunity to. Thankfully, someone driving down for the event agreed to take my luggage. That made my journey significantly easier and far more enjoyable. Having driven to Goa several times, the route was familiar, but riding a motorcycle is different.

November 19th, 2025. I wrapped up work for the day, grabbed a quick lunch, ran through my final checks, bid adieu to my dear ones, geared up, and finally rolled out. Aware that the Guerrilla is not congestion-friendly, I progressively got familiar with anticipatory steering, more so in traffic. As we gradually moved out of the city, I started to stretch the motorcycle’s legs.

The first stop was for refuelling. The motorcycle’s 11-litre tank had been topped up before I started. But, after covering just 32 km, nearly 20 per cent of the fuel had been gulped down. By the time I reached Karad, the sun had dipped below the horizon, and so had the fuel gauge–down to nearly half. I treated myself to dinner at a famous Akhkha Masoor spot, checked into my stay, took a much-needed quick shower, and crashed almost instantly.

Next morning I was up early. Excited for the next leg of my ride, I could barely get some sleep. I quickly got ready, packed up, warmed up the motorcycle, clicked a few pictures, forgot my helmet lock cable in the hurry, fueled up and rode towards the mountains, at the cusp of dawn.

The sun had just begun to rise, when I turned onto the road that would carry me across the Western Ghats. I paused a couple of times, partly to click pictures, partly to soak in the stunning colours of the morning sky. Once the moment settled in, I began to gun the motorcycle a little, easing into the flow of the ride. Anticipating that the pace would drop on the ghat sections and with plans to make several stops for photos and hydration, I rode briskly, when conditions permitted, always well within limits.

I made a brief halt on a narrow bridge, surrounded by picturesque scenery where the sun glowed softly through a curtain of fog settling over the streams below. Further, along the winding roads, tall windmills turned lazily in the backdrop. For a moment, everything looked like a scene lifted straight from a film set.

Across the mountains, finally on NH 66, the stops reduced considerably. One of them, though, was unavoidable: both the motorcycle and I needed to be refuelled. Different liquids, of course: gasoline for the “GRRR,” and buttermilk for me. As much as I’d have loved a hot cuppa of black, the weather was far too hot and humid to even consider it. Fortunately, Royal Enfield’s Gravel riding jacket and trousers, which had insulated me from the morning chill earlier, provided effective ventilation when on the go.

Around forty-five minutes past two, at Hilltop, Vagator, Goa, the final touches were still being applied to the venue. Over the next few days, the motorcycle and I formed a close bond. I respected the motorcycle and in return, it took me everywhere I wanted to go, without a hint of fuss. I loved how reassuring it felt at highway speeds, yet playful and capable on rough terrain. For me, the journey truly began the day I received the motorcycle, and ended the moment I handed it back. Even though it isn’t a relaxed touring machine and comes with sporty ergonomics, I still miss it. Especially its unmistakable grrrowl-like exhaust note that kicks in at intervals while accelerating. It’s addictive, understated, and every bit the Guerrilla it claims to be.

The flight home felt like a mere necessity, almost an obligation. In the fast-paced lives we lead, I’m grateful for everything and everyone who made this experience possible. To many more!