The Surrey Hills on a sunny May morning are unfairly beautiful. The lanes unspool through tunnels of budding beech, the tarmac still faintly damp from the night before, and the air carries that particular English countryside smell – wet earth, cut grass, possibility. I am on a Royal Enfield Classic 650, idling in the shadow of a Victorian water tower.

The tower behind me was already three years old when Royal Enfield made its first motorcycle in 1901. Both are relics of the Victorian age, both still in use, and neither appears ready to retire. 

Elspeth rolls up on a Royal Enfield Himalayan with the easy confidence of someone who has ridden across five continents. She stops beside me, visor up, eyes bright.

“Shall we?” she says.

Yes, we shall.

Forty-three years ago, Elspeth Beard was 23, freshly heartbroken, and fed up with being condescended to. When a British motorcycle magazine laughed at her plan to ride solo around the world, that laughter became rocket fuel. In October 1982, she pointed her 1974 BMW R60/6 toward the horizon and simply rode.

No sponsors. No GPS. No mobile phone. With just enough money to get across the Atlantic, a Haynes manual, and a stubbornness that would prove almost geological. Thirty-five thousand miles later, in 1984, she had crossed America, Australia, Southeast Asia, India, Pakistan and Europe, surviving crashes, illness, robbery in Singapore, brake failure on Zoji La, and the danger of riding through Punjab during a period of terrorism. She became the first British woman to circumnavigate the globe by motorcycle, then went home, qualified as an architect, and said almost nothing about it for thirty years.

She is 67 now, and she rides like someone completely at home on a motorcycle.

We pull away from the tower. In 1988, she bought the derelict 130-foot Munstead Water Tower at auction without planning permission or listed building consent – a huge gamble everyone said she couldn’t win. The council insisted it was impossible to convert into a home, citing rigid restrictions on fire escapes and historic preservation. But her world ride had taught her that nothing was truly impossible; difficulties could always be surmounted. She fought for 18 months, winning an appeal to the Department of the Environment that relaxed the key rules. Over the next seven years of blood, sweat and ingenuity, she transformed it into her six-floor home, complete with 142 steps to the roof – an award-winning design that preserved its industrial soul.

The Classic 650 settles into its twin-cylinder thump beneath me, a sound that feels both contemporary and ancestral. The Surrey Hills open around us, light breaking through the trees in long slanted shafts.

I first met Elspeth in June 2024, at this very tower. I had stumbled upon her book – Lone Rider – and had reached out to her with regards to a series of overlanding stories I was writing. I arrived expecting someone formidable. What I found was someone warm, funny, precise and entirely without affectation. We had 45 minutes and ended up talking for two hours – about the ride, the BMW, what it felt like to be a young woman alone in Baluchistan in 1983, and the repairs she improvised along the way.

I asked whether she had studied the Haynes manual in detail before setting off or simply learned as she went.

“Both,” she said. “You read the manual, and then the road teaches you things the manual never thought to mention.”

That meeting led to her being invited to speak at a motorcycle festival in Goa. Characteristically, she did not land in Goa. 

She flew into Mumbai, and a small group of us rode along the Maharashtra coast to Goa over three days. It was the third time Elspeth rode in India. The second was in 2002, when she returned as back-up driver and support for adventurer Nick Sanders, shepherding 23 riders across the globe in three months. She often drove a truck for 18 hours and 900 miles a day, and when riders fell off, she took their bikes. 

“On that trip”, she said, “I led a part of that ride from Madras – it is still Madras to me – to Bangalore, then Goa and Bombay, riding on a Royal Enfield Bullet.”

Riding with her in India, I got to see her off the page and in the saddle. She was unfussy and unpretentious. When asked what she wanted from a menu, she would say, “I’ll just dig into whatever is on the table.” If offered a choice of rooms, she would say, “Any room is fine by me.” She rode through the sweltering coastal humidity and rural Indian cacophony without complaint and moved through each day with the settled ease of someone who sorted out her relationship with discomfort a long time ago.

The lanes narrow as we drop into a valley, the hedgerows closing in, the tarmac damp in the shade. The Classic 650 feels planted and eager, steering with the directness these roads reward. I think about Royal Enfield’s 125 years not as a heritage story, but as a geological fact. Brands come and go; Royal Enfield has just kept making motorcycles. The company is Indian-owned now, and the Classic 650 is manufactured in Chennai. Yet the silhouette and character still carry something recognisably continuous with the motorcycles Royal Enfield was making when the English throne was still warm with Victoria’s presence.

I catch up with Elspeth at a junction and we pause.

“Does a brand that refuses to let go of its analogue soul resonate with you more than the high-tech superbikes of today?” I ask.

“There is something in a Royal Enfield that speaks to the idea of motorcycling as an experience rather than a performance,” she says. “You’re not being managed by the motorcycle. You’re riding it. There are no chapters and chapters of menus and settings. It feels refreshingly analogue, and I like that.”

I ask about Britishness – whether she feels anything specific in riding the oldest British motorcycle brand still in production through these Surrey lanes.

“The old Enfields had a very particular feel,” she says. “A thump, and a fussiness– they were quite fastidious machines, actually. These new ones, the engines are smooth, that fussiness and the mood swings are gone. But the form has remained. And that form is a hark back to the glorious days of British motorcycling. Royal Enfield has stayed true to that silhouette. You see this bike on a Surrey lane and something in you remembers what vintage British motorcycling used to feel like.”

We stop mid-morning at the Little Barn Café in Elstead. We order coffee, quiche and Greek salad. The Himalayan and the Classic 650 sit outside in the sunshine like patient dogs, and over the table, the ride momentarily slows down.

I ask whether, as an architect, she sees something of enduring architecture in Royal Enfield’s century-old design language.

“It is a masterclass in form following function,” she says. “They haven’t added things for the sake of adding them. What you see is what it does. That’s honest design. In a world of plastic-clad adventure bikes that look like they’re going to the moon, there is something very grounding about that.”

“And the metal, the chrome, the heft?” I ask.

“Planted,” she says immediately. “Solid. I like the simplicity of it. You know exactly where you stand.” 

“That is, unless of course, it falls on you,” she says with a wry smile – she once took a tumble as a pillion on a Classic 650 and broke her leg in three places.

I ask about self-sufficiency with motorcycles today, recalling her ability to keep the BMW running on her RTW trip through conditions that would defeat most mechanics.

“To a certain extent, yes,” she says. “You could change the oil, the filter, grease the chain, deal with a puncture. The basics. But I wouldn’t think you could strip the engine completely and rebuild it the way I did with my BMW. Which is fine – you’re not going to need to, most of the time. But the spirit of accessibility is still there.”

Then I ask the question I have been building toward all morning: if she were doing that 35,000-mile ride today, would it be possible to recapture the magic?

“You can’t do what I did,” she says without hesitation. “Not really. There is always an invisible buffer now. There is an eye in the sky even in the middle of nowhere. You can’t truly getaway.  Your last credit card transaction puts an approximate fix on your recent location, and your phone can be triangulated to pinpoint your precise location. And you can’t opt out of the digital space, either. Travel today is built on the phone and the credit card. Try to go without them, and you’ll find the infrastructure simply doesn’t work for you. The world has been wired in a way that makes disconnected analogue travel almost impossible.”

She pauses and then adds, “which is extraordinary, when you think about it. And a little sad.”

We finish our meal, pull on helmets and gloves, and head back into the hills. I ride alongside her on a long straight, the two engines in an easy rhythm, and the morning opens out around us.

After 20 minutes we stop at a view point, and I ask whether it is hard to find adventure in these lanes after the excitement and uncertainty of say the Karakoram Highway.

“The riding is beautiful here,” she says. “But the feeling is completely different. Out there – really out there, far from home in a strange country – everything sharpens. You are acutely aware of every sound the motorcycle makes, every change in the road, every person you pass, because that motorcycle is all you have. That awareness is its own kind of high. Here, you know home is around the corner. You relax, you breathe, you enjoy it. It’s the difference between edge and ease. Both are real. But they are not the same thing. And honestly, sometimes you miss the edge.”

We roll back to the tower as the morning tips toward afternoon. She dismounts, pulls off her helmet, and tucks it under her arm. She opens the garage door and wheels the Himalayan inside, and I catch myself standing still.

The garage is less a storage space than a testament. There is the 1998 R80 GS Basic, bought in 2001 and still her everyday motorcycle. There is an immaculate 1973 R75/5. There is a lightweight Yamaha Serow for trail riding. There is a Porsche in there too. And there, standing modestly in a corner, is the BMW R60/6 – her R60/6 – the motorcycle she rode around the world in 1982 and later restored with painstaking care.

It sits not on a pedestal, but among the other machines, as it should: a working part of a collection still very much in use.

Looking at the garage and then at the woman who filled it, I am struck by the fact that this love affair with machines, motion and the freedom of two wheels did not begin in 1982. It began earlier, in a teenager who looked at a motorcycle and saw possibility rather than danger. That teenager became the woman who circled the globe, turned a Victorian water tower into a home, and is nowhere near done.

Back outside, she looks at the Himalayan one last time before closing the door.

“You know what’s nice about this?” she says. “It doesn’t feel like it’s trying to impress you. It just feels like a motorcycle.”

From Elspeth Beard, that is just about the highest praise a motorcycle can receive.

Think bucket-list driving destinations, and you probably picture yourself driving up the Stelvio Pass, cruising down California’s Pacific Coast Highway, or going banzai on the Touge routes around Tokyo. But we don’t usually appreciate the incredible journeys we can make right here in India the same way. Part of the reason is that they come with their own challenges – inconsistent road quality, unpredictable fuel stops, and the hesitation of taking a low-slung supercar far from the safety net of the city. For Zain Rais and The Supercar Route, that hesitation is exactly the problem they’re trying to solve.

Zain has spent years driving some of the world’s greatest roads – from South Africa’s Garden Route to California’s Highway 101, and across Europe through Germany’s Black Forest and beyond. "After doing all of that," he says, "I realised we have roads in India that are just as special, but we don’t explore them the same way."

That idea turned into The Supercar Route – a series of curated drives designed to get owners out of their garages and onto India’s best roads. The approach is simple but thorough – detailed recce, tightly planned routes, and a full support system that travels with the convoy. Mechanics, a flatbed, and even a fuel tanker, in this case, along with coordination with local authorities, ensure that what would otherwise feel daunting becomes entirely doable.

After drives through Kaas Plateau, Himachal Pradesh and Sikkim, the latest chapter took the convoy to the deserts of Jaisalmer, Rajasthan. "Everyone does the usual Rajasthan triangle," Rais explains. "Jaisalmer is usually just a one-night stop. But when I did my recce, I realised there’s so much more here – and the roads are something else entirely." This is why Jaisalmer was chosen as the base this time, with four days to explore the city and the regions surrounding it.

Fourteen cars made the journey this time – a convoy dominated by Porsche 911s and Boxsters, joined by a BMW M4, Jaguar F-Type and even a brand-new Lamborghini Revuelto that was barely ten days old. That’s one way to run in a car.

Day one began with a loop out of Jaisalmer towards Mohangarh Fort, followed by a visit to the Army War Museum recently opened by the Battle Axe Division of the Indian Army. By day two, the convoy headed towards Tanot Mata Temple and the Indo-Pak border near Longewala – site of the pivotal 1971 Battle of Longewala. The roads opened up into long, uninterrupted stretches, cutting through vast desert terrain. "Driving the picturesque, long, open, sand-kissed tarmac roads, from historic Jaisalmer to victorious Longewala, with a superb group of car enthusiasts, was an absolutely thrilling, bucket list-worthy experience," said Porsche 911 owner Vinod Mehta.

A stop for a curated lunch at the abandoned Ghotaru Fort added a sense of theatre, while the dinner gave participants the opportunity to dine with Maharaj Vikram Singh Bhati and Rani Meghna Singh Bhati of the royal family at Nachana Haveli. On the third day, the group headed towards Barmer to explore its roads. "Away from traffic and urban chaos, the car finally breathes the way it’s meant to," said Alok Khandelwal, driving his Porsche 911. "Every stretch of tarmac becomes an invitation to explore the car in a completely different way."

The final day featured a sunrise run to Khabha Fort, followed by a visit to a local school, giving kids a chance to see cars that rarely make it this far out. The day ended with a double-barrel shooting and a dune-bashing experience – a reminder that these journeys are as much about immersion as they are about driving.

For many participants, the shift in perspective was the biggest takeaway. As Shreyas Pethe and his daughter Jahnvi put it, "We now have a deeper appreciation for how luxury can coexist with culture." It’s also as much about the people as it is about the cars. "Driving my 911 around Jaisalmer, with my daughter Fianna, was honestly one of the most memorable experiences I’ve had with it," said Kaushal Kapadia. "The quality of the roads really allowed me to experience its potential, and the surroundings made it unlike anything I’ve done before."

Of course, the challenges of driving in India don’t disappear. But what The Supercar Route does is acknowledge them and plan around them. And in doing so, it makes a larger point. "It reminded me that India offers some of the most diverse and underrated driving routes in the world," said Khandelwal. The next time you’re charting out your bucket-list driving destination, it might be worth looking a little closer to home.

A summer fling in a foreign land! That is an apt description for the month-long dalliance I had with the Royal Enfield Classic 650. 
For the 30 days that I had it on loan in London, it brought me joy every time I swung my leg over the saddle. 

Shiny, as I christened it, was my gleaming and good-natured companion on rides that began at a Victorian-era freshwater well funded by an Indian maharajah and ended with a silent salute to Raja Ram Mohan Roy at 6 am on a London street. In between, we crossed borders and time zones, and rode on roads on which Panzer divisions once rumbled.

A bit of Benares in Britain

The ride to the Maharajah’s well

Soon after Shiny arrived, I headed to Stoke Row in Oxfordshire, 40 miles to the west of London. On the motorway, Shiny was happy to cruise at 70mph (112kph) with me and a pillion on board. For the umpteenth time, I marvelled at how well Royal Enfield has not only mapped the 650 twin-cylinder engine but also mated it so nicely with the 6-speed gearbox.

The lesson I learnt that day, though, was that to ride with my ankles exposed was not a good idea. The protruding bulge of the crankcase and the placement of the footpegs meant I thoroughly burnt the inner knuckle of my left ankle because it would touch the crankcase every time I moved my foot in to shift gears.

When we stopped for a coffee by the river at Henley-on-Thames, an elderly gent walked up to the parked motorcycle shining in the sun and regarded it with such apparent admiration that it made me smile. When we walked up, he politely asked if the motorcycle was new or an immaculately restored vintage. His innocuous question spelt a triumph for the 650’s design team. They have managed to wrap modern engineering in gleaming nostalgia.

He told me he had owned a Royal Enfield “bright and red” in the fifties, “when they were manufactured up in Redditch”, he added, pointing to the north.

In Stoke Row, tucked off Kit Lane, stands another example of a cross-continental mission. Edward Reade, a British civil servant in India, once told Maharajah Ishree Pershad Narayan Singh about the scarcity of clean water in the Chilterns. Moved by the story of a boy beaten for stealing a drink, the Maharajah funded the construction of a well. It still stands, well cared for and loved – a poignant gift from Princely India to Victorian England. 

Photographing Shiny with the Maharajah’s Well was positively poetic. A motorcycle by a brand born in Redditch and rejuvenated in Madras, parked beside a well gifted by a Maharajah from Benares. Both relics of empire, one keeping history alive, the other reimagined for modern relevance.

Crossing the channel to chase history

To Bastogne to follow the Battle of the Bulge trail

Early one morning at the peak of the summer heatwave, I set off for Dover. The 90-mile ride to the English Channel was comfortable because rather than carrying my backpack on my back, I’d strapped it onto the pillion seat. At the border control at the Dover ferry dock, all I was asked to produce was my passport and Schengen visa. I was carrying all the required documents, though. 

While waiting to board the ferry, I met two Dutch motorcyclists returning from the Adventure Bike Rider Festival, where they’d experienced splendid British hospitality and food. So, their exuberance for all things British was infectious. The sight of my Royal Enfield sparked a happy conversation that continued through the two-hour sailing to Dunkirk.From Dunkirk, the 174km ride to Brussels was along the E40. Belgian roads, with their 130kph speed limit, seemed to be throwing a challenge to Shiny, further exacerbated by the fact that other motorcycles were tearing down the overtaking lane at speeds well over the limit. But I desisted. The Classic 650 is a gentleman tourer that invites conversations. Getting conned into competitions like a superficial speedster is just not its style. Shiny and I were happy to sit in the slowest lane at 100kph. At times, when I had to overtake a long trail of trucks, the 52.3Nm of torque on tap was sufficient to strongly surge ahead in sixth gear itself. 

Brussels welcomed me with cobbled streets and an every-so-often whiff of waffles.

Notwithstanding its 243kg weight, Shiny was very easy to manage in traffic thanks to its low centre of gravity. The ride over cobbled streets, though, was quite uncomfortable due to its stiff suspension. 

Shiny drummed up a fair bit of drama when I parked on the Rue Auguste Orts outside the Marriott Hotel Grand Place – bang in front of the imposing Brussels Stock Exchange building – its shining chrome, teardrop tank and bulbous twin exhaust pipes attracting glances of appreciation.

Pierre Charron, the director of sales and marketing of the Marriott, where I was staying for the night, was smitten by Shiny too when I met him in the hotel’s secure parking the next morning. Pierre turned out to be quite the fount of knowledge about local lore and locations of the Battle of the Bulge, and he gave me a crash course in getting the best out of my two days there.

I have had a fascination with the events of the Second World War since I was 10 years old, and riding to Bastogne in the Ardennes felt incredibly exciting to me. 

The Bastogne War Museum was a captivatingly immersive experience telling the story of the campaign through Allied, German and local Belgian characters. On display were uniforms, equipment, weapons, automobiles, letters, newspaper clippings and even a photo taken at the launch of the car that would later come to be known as the Volkswagen Beetle. I involuntarily chuckled as I drew a parallel to the car launches of today, which are complete chaos with influencers buzzing around the car like houseflies. At this launch in June 1938, there was just one influencer – the Führer! Everybody else maintained strict order.

For World War II buffs, especially those who have watched Band of Brothers, this museum and the areas around Bastogne are hallowed ground. 

Band of brothers in Bastogne

Just 4km from the Bastogne War Museum lies Bois Jacques, a pine forest near the village of Foy. Step quietly among the trees, and you will still see the shallow foxholes dug by the men of Easy Company, 101st Airborne Division, during the winter of 1944-45. It was here, in snow and silence broken only by shellfire, that teenagers became veterans almost overnight. For weeks, they endured hunger, cold and relentless German attacks – an ordeal immortalised in Band of Brothers’ Episode 6, ‘Bastogne’. Today, the forest is serene, yet those depressions in the earth remain as scars of that bitter season.

A kilometre further is Foy. Easy Company launched a daring assault from Bois Jacques to liberate this village from German forces in January 1945. Here, another scar lingers. On a house overlooking the main street, bullet holes mark the spot where a German sniper once held Easy Company pinned. After repeated failed attempts to silence him, it fell to Darrell “Shifty” Powers – a quiet marksman from Virginia, raised on squirrel hunts in the Appalachians. He calmly studied the window, waited for the slightest movement, and with a single shot from his M1 Garand, ended the standoff. The incident is depicted in Episode 7, titled ‘The Breaking Point’.

The next day, I went for a 90-minute ride to La Gleize, intentionally setting Google Maps to avoid highways. After all the sprinting across motorways and autoroutes, Shiny deserved a soothing saunter. That morning’s ride through the verdant and meandering ‘N’ roads of the Ardennes was a perfect example of the kind of roads this Royal Enfield thrives on. The creamy twin-cylinder engine, which was just a murmur at 70kph, added a meditative quality to the ride, allowing me to enjoy the road as it unfolded. 

I was headed to this little village because Pierre had told me a rather interesting story about a Tiger II or King Tiger (Königstiger) parked there. 

Even though I knew it would be there, it was quite a shocking sight to come upon it. Sixty-nine tonnes of German steel parked in a corner like any other car, its 88mm cannon pointing straight at me as I rode into the village. 

This tank (King Tiger no. 213) was a part of SS Panzer Regiment 1 led by Waffen SS Kommandeur Obersturmbannführer Joachim Peiper, who spearheaded the failed offensive through the Ardennes. 

Riding back from Bastogne, I felt a quiet fulfilment at finally seeing the forests and villages I’d read about since boyhood. But I had also ridden past cemeteries, both Allied and German, each with its rows of crosses stretching into the horizon. It was a stark reminder that books and films might sometimes glorify battles, but war always leaves behind haunting grief that is measured in graves and lingers through families, communities and generations long after the guns fall silent.

The Blue Plaque Trail

Before London awoke, I rode to homes where illustrious Indians once slept

In summer, London yawns awake indecently early. By 4.30, the sky is already rinsed with light. It seemed a fine time to ride, before black cabs began to bustle and the pavements filled up with tourists and takeaway lattes. To give my morning more meaning than mere mileage, I traced a circuit connecting the homes of Indians who, long before me, had walked these very streets – men who had gone on to shape India’s path through the twentieth century. 

So, at 4.45 – with Shiny purring softly under me with its exhausts at a ‘do not disturb’ decibel level – I slipped through empty boulevards and narrow mews. The air was brisk, the roads were clear, and I momentarily had the city almost to myself. 

Over three unhurried hours, I followed a circuit from Barons Court to Hampstead Heath (see map), connecting the former homes of Gandhi, Nehru, Patel, Tilak, Vivekananda, Raja Ram Mohan Roy, Ambedkar and Tagore. One by one, the plaques appeared like faint blue echoes of lives once lived, each man carrying in his head an idea of India still waiting to be born.

I couldn’t help but wonder. Did young Mohandas, painstakingly searching for vegetarian fare on meat-dominated Victorian menus, ever imagine his bespectacled face would one day stare back from banknotes? Did Raja Ram Mohan Roy, battling Sati and other patriarchal social evils, know he was chiselling himself into history as the ‘Father of the Indian Renaissance’?

And Tagore, scribbling verses on a cold December evening in 1911, perhaps by the dim glow of an oil lamp – could he have imagined what he was setting in motion? That the lines he penned, at first just a poem to be sung, would travel across time and generations to become a nation’s anthem? That one day, his words would halt a billion people mid-step, drawing them to attention in schools, stadiums and cinema halls, binding them, if only for a moment, in a shared silence of belonging?

That morning’s ride felt less like a tour of addresses and more like a quiet conversation with history.

The motorcycle beneath me was itself a small paradox: British in its birth, Indian in its heart, and straddling both worlds as gracefully as the men whose doors I stopped at.

Lunch with Gordon G May

280 miles to meet the master moto tourer

The day before Shiny and I parted ways, I took it on a 280-mile round trip to Stafford and back for lunch with Royal Enfield’s brand historian and gentleman adventurer, Gordon G May. 

By now, I’d grown accustomed to Shiny’s nature and little nuances, including the rpm it was happiest at and how far I could lean before the footpegs scraped. It was also now second nature for me to kick out the side stand without my boot brushing the hot exhaust and leaving a black smear on the shining chrome.

To meet me, Gordon travelled from Manchester on ‘Bullet’, which is what he’s christened his 1953 500cc Royal Enfield that he rode from Manchester to Madras over 8,400 miles in 2008. 

Over fish and chips and ginger ale, Gordon spoke of his other, more imaginatively christened machines called Peggy, Roxy, Rollo, and the mischievously named Chlamydia (thanks to an STD on the number plate).

The Oakley Arms served as a fine stage for our conversation. Between forkfuls of pub grub, Gordon reeled off the kind of yarns only someone with over a million miles in the saddle could tell. The sort of stories that make even the most diehard sofa-dweller toy with the idea of buying a map, a tent and a questionable motorcycle.

Goodbye, Shiny

1,392 miles over one month across three countries 

Handing Shiny back was like saying goodbye to that kind of friend who never once complains about or sulks over the surprises a road trip might throw. Returning the key, I felt that melancholic pang reserved for the end of a summer romance or a holiday fling.

The Classic 650 didn’t seduce me with speed or shouty horsepower. No, it won me over the old-fashioned way – steady hum, dependable charm, and the kind of presence that makes you feel you’re in good company.

Not a machine built for drag strips but for heartstrings. And yes, it tugged mine good and proper. In fact, the scar of the burn on my ankle makes me smile since it brings back good memories with this motorcycle!

I am standing up to my thighs in murky water and surrounded by cypress trees, partaking in an activity called ‘slogging’ – a sloshy hike in the swamps of the Everglades National Park. I’ve got over the rude shock of the cold water and am now striking a cheerful pose that suggests an air of carefreeness. It’s a sham!

Just moments ago, a full-grown alligator had stealthily glided past, its marble-like eyes unblinkingly taking in our group. As I stand waiting for Garl, our guide, to focus and compose the perfect frame, my bowels are flopping over like a stranded fish and I am immensely grateful that a few strides away is waist deep water – just in case.

I had arrived in Miami a few days earlier on an invitation from Lexus to attend the Miami Design Week. This city-wide celebration of art and design is a vibrant event that draws artists, enthusiasts and buyers alike. Lexus has been bringing installations to Miami Art & Design Week since 2018 and for the 2023 edition, the luxury car brand showcased an installation titled 8 Minutes and 20 Seconds at the Institute of Contemporary Art, Miami (ICA Miami).

With a name that’s a nod to the duration it takes for light from the sun to reach our planet, 8 Minutes and 20 Seconds was created by Dutch solar designer Marjan van Aubel who made use of organic photovoltaic (OPV) cells commonly employed in solar power applications. The new and advanced LF-ZC Lexus Battery Electric Vehicle (BEV) Concept car that was showcased at the inaugural Japan Mobility Show in Tokyo in October 2023 was the inspiration behind this work of art. 

I spent three days in Miami appreciating art before giving in to the allure of adventure. And so, I set off south behind the wheel of a Lexus RX 500h F SPORT Performance dressed in a lovely copper tone. Sitting at the very south of the state of Florida, the Everglades National Park is a unique wilderness. Called the ‘River of Grass’ by Native Americans, the Everglades is a motley mix of rivers, the sea, wetlands, swamps, lakes, grasslands and prairies. It can appear calm and serene but within it is an astonishing array of wild creatures, including birds, alligators, crocodiles, panthers and pythons. Encompassing 1.5 million acres, it is roughly divided into the northern and southern Everglades. I was headed to the latter. 

Florida City, the gateway to the Southern Everglades, is just 43 miles from Miami South Beach and an easy drive down an Interstate. The RX 500h has a transversely mounted 2.4-litre turbo internal combustion engine up front that is mated to a six-speed automatic transmission. This engine drives only the front wheels. The ‘h’ in the model name of this car stands for ‘hybrid’, with twin electric motors – one on each axle. The rear eAxle unit comprises an electric motor, a bipolar nickel-metal hydride battery to power front and rear electric motors, an inverter and a reduction gearbox. So the rear wheels are driven purely by electric torque.

When I pulled out of my parking at South Beach in Miami, only the electric motors were in play driving all four wheels. It was only when I stepped down further on the throttle that the IC engine came to life with an almost indiscernible quiver.

While negotiating traffic within Miami at a gentle pace, the power mostly came from the engine. But when I got to the Interstate and stepped down on the accelerator, the front and rear electric motors kicked in to assist engine, with electric torque now driving the rear wheels and electric plus internal combustion torque driving the front wheels. This translated into hefty torque always on tap.

On that day, I drove straight to the Earnest F Coe Visitor Centre on Florida State Highway 9336 that leads into the Southern Everglades. Armed with a map of the region, I started off to explore. State Highway 9336 is the solitary road that runs past the visitor’s centre to the Flamingo marina 38 miles to the southwest. And on this road, there are various pullouts and parking spots for ponds, lakes and hiking trailheads. The lady at the visitor’s centre had told me that the Snake Bight hiking trail would take me to the bight where there was a good chance of seeing flamingoes and spoonbills. 

“You could drive the dirt track if the rangers haven’t closed it for cars today, since it might still be slushy from recent rain”, she added.

When I got there, I saw that the barrier had been drawn across to bar cars. There was a small gap between the barrier and the edge of the trail for pedestrians to pass. I parked the Lexus and headed for the gap. My attention was up the trail where it met the sea and I was almost at the barrier when I stopped so suddenly that my shoes skidded on the slippery mud of the trail.

While I was parking the car, a full-grown alligator had parked itself in the gap between the barrier and the edge of the trail. Even though I knew there was a chance I’d see crocodiles or alligators, this situation had the same nonchalance as coming across a mongrel on the streets of Bombay. Such was my sense of disbelief that it was a full minute before my brain snapped out of surprise mode and went into selfie and social media mode.

But I reigned myself in, I have seen enough alligators to know how quickly they can lunge and how fast they are over short distances and there was no way I was going to turn my back to this one to get a selfie. In fact, I slowly backed away to a respectable distance and then took photographs. I then quickly went back to get the car in the hope of getting a picture of the Lexus and the croc, but when I got back, the croc was gone. Needless to say, I abandoned my plan of walking the trail to Snake Bight. It was already evening and light was fading, and I had no intention of playing Jumanji.

The next day I was at Robert is Here fruit stand at 11am sharp to meet Garl Harold who runs kayaking tours in the Everglades. While reading up about the Everglades, I often came across praise for Garl’s Coastal Kayaking full-day tour. So even though it was steeply priced at USD 181 (including tax), I decided to opt for it.

Our group that day comprised seven people and we drove off from the fruit stand following Garl’s SUV, with a trailer full of kayaks hitched to it, in our own cars. Since we were driving in a convoy, I turned on the Dynamic Radar Cruise Control that matched my speed with the car ahead. Yellow lines neatly divide the SH 9336, and so the Lane Departure Assist System kept the car in its lane. This autonomy gave me a chance to peek around as we were driving through the Everglades.

Somewhere between Pinelands and Ficus Pond, Garl pulled over and parked on the shoulder. We followed suit and alighted from our cars. Cypress domes bordered the road here. A cypress dome is a type of freshwater-forested wetland, or a swamp that forms when pond cypress trees grow in shallow standing water.

“Alright, here we go!” Garl announced and led us through a gap in the shrubbery.

It was like entering a magical world. Dappled rays of sunlight filtered through the domes formed by the cypress trees above. I was already till my knees in water and as Garl led us further, the water got deeper.

My encounter with the alligator a day earlier was still fresh in my mind and so I asked the question that I am sure was burning in everyone’s brain.

“Arre Garl, what about the crocs and gators?”

“Oh look!” replied Garl gleefully, “There’s an alligator” as one regally glided by.

As we pose for pictures Garl says that he has been taking tours like these into the Everglades for 20 years and there has never been an untoward incident. Even park rangers lead slogging walks into cypress domes.

As we continue to slog with the water now waist-high, Garl beckons us to stop and points out a pair of hatchlings on a bark covered with green lichen. It is an absolute Jurassic World moment.

Garl’s experience is apparent and documentary film crews from National Geographic and Netflix often hire him. His knowledge and jungle craft, honed over the years, help him track the park’s fauna.

“I’ve pulled out so many Burmese pythons from these domes,” he says casually. “These reptiles are not native to Florida and are considered vermin and there are plenty of them here,” he adds gesturing the area around with his hand, sending a little shiver up and down my spine. “I get paid per foot to capture them and bring them in,” he adds.

We exit the dome after slogging through it for over an hour and I breathe a little easier once I am back within the confines of the Lexus. Those 90 minutes of walking through waist-deep murky water with the knowledge of, but not knowing for sure, what lies beneath have been one of the most eerily exciting experiences of my life with equal doses of anxiety and awe.

We start off as a convoy once again on SH 9336 and arrive at Nine Mile Pond where we unload and launch the kayaks. These are sit-on-top kind of kayaks with backrests rather than the ones you slide into; these are far more stable than the latter, and in case you do topple over, getting back on is a quicker process. A significant advantage in these alligator-infested waters.

At the far end of the pond are mangroves, and once again, Garl knows the way through them like the back of his hand. He tells us that he is often called out to rescue tourist kayakers who’ve got lost in this network of mangroves. We see alligators here too, but like tigers in our national parks, the presence of humans doesn’t seem to bother them. Some continue to bask while others slip into the water. Some of the channels through the mangroves are so narrow that my paddle keeps getting stuck in the trees and I have my work cut out navigating these constricted waterways. I realise how easy it would be to get lost here.

Our last adventure of the day starts at about 4.40pm at the Flamingo marina with our flotilla of kayaks heading out to the open sea towards Snake Bight. Almost at once, we spot dolphins frolicking and fishing. A little further out, I point out a dorsal fin that is headed straight towards my kayak and shout, “Garl look, another dolphin.” 

“No,” Garl replies casually, “that’s a lemon shark.”

The shark circles my kayak once and then goes on to check out other kayaks before swimming away. It is not the only one, there are around 12 of them swimming about unconcernedly. Then Garl points out to the shore where a big crocodile is lounging. As if on cue, it slips into the water and starts heading towards us before its snout disappears below the water. The sight of all these water babies reinforces my resolve to stay on top of my kayak come what may.

By the time we get to Snake Bight, the light is lovely to photograph the flamingoes that seem to be literally posing for us. Darkness follows dusk with such alacrity that we find ourselves paddling back to Flamingo Marina in pitch darkness. It takes an hour during which I am eaten alive by mosquitoes. This is my second eerily exciting experience of the day because the sea is a shifting mass of black and often I feel a bump against my kayak and gulp and convince myself that is just driftwood. But, the next moment I see a dorsal fin cut the surface and circle my kayak. I paddle a little faster and position myself in the centre of our convoy of four kayaks. At intervals, Garl sweeps the surface of the sea with his torch and twice we see the shining eyes of crocodiles swimming in the sea.

It is when I am driving back to Florida City in the dark on SH 9336 that the adrenaline kicks in and I realise that I have been on such an awesome adventure in the Everglades. While I am reflecting on my day, the Lexus, which is on cruise control, slows down, and I wonder why. There is no car for miles ahead. But then I see movement on the road ahead – there are two alligators slowly crawling across the road and the car comes to a stop on its own; the gators momentarily freeze in the glare of the headlights. I contemplate getting down to get some photos but then I decide against it. I have tempted fate enough today!

We were in the village of Boot, at the base of the Hardknott Pass, which was hacked through these mountains by the Romans in 110 AD. I was contemplating the warning you see in the photograph above. Unlike the US, where any SUV is a ‘truck’, in England, the Land Rover Defender Octa is termed a car, but what I was mulling over is the word ‘light’. At 2.5 tonnes, the Octa is certainly not a ‘light vehicle’.

But then, the very premise of Land Rover’s creation was to stick its tongue out at warnings like ‘Narrow route, severe bends’, so I accelerated past the stickered signpost.

The Hardknott Pass and successive Wrynose Pass are truly steep and narrow affairs. At some hairpin bends, I needed to cut the apex of the corner, which often had boulders embedded into it. But thanks to the sensors and cameras, I had digital eyes that let me see exactly what was between the two front wheels. Added reassurance was the ground clearance that can be raised to a maximum of 323mm.  

Electronic eyes that ‘see’ between the front wheels make avoiding obstacles, such as rocks, easier.

While navigating these passes, we came across little hatchbacks and sedans in the opposite direction at incredibly narrow sections with sheer drops on one side. And the eyes of their drivers widened in apocalyptic horror at seeing this beefy and more muscular version of the regular Defender 110 squatly blocking their path. Fortunately, thanks to the knobby 275/60 R20 Goodyear Wrangler DuraTrac RT tyres and the 40.2-degree approach angle, I could confidently put the front left wheel up on the sloped shoulder of the road to let the cars pass.

The 320-mile drive from London to Loweswater in the western part of the Lake District was largely on the motorway, where these knobby tyres sent a bass drum-like hum into the cabin, even audible above the superb Meridian surround sound system. The tread pattern also translated into an ever-so-infinitesimal wobble on the steering wheel at the top end of the speed limit on smooth tarmac. But these are small prices to pay for capable off-road tyres that complete a very capable off-roader.

Additionally, this is also the most powerful Defender ever. The Land Rover website shouts out figures of maximum power and torque – 635hp and 750Nm, respectively. These figures turned emotive when I put my right foot down on the M6 toll motorway skirting Birmingham. Notwithstanding its bulk, the BMW 4.4-litre twin-turbo V8 nestled under the bonnet hustled this handsome car to high speeds in seconds, its AWD drivetrain working in symphonic synchronicity with the ZF 8-speed torque converter auto box.

The eastern part of the Lake District is where tourists pour in, packed in coaches and drawn to its associations with William Wordsworth and Beatrix Potter. The west is the weathered and rugged counterpart, where trails have been etched out by sheep and soles rather than a landscape artist.

I chose the west because we wanted this to be an active holiday where we’d come back with aching thigh muscles and the memory of the cold bite of an icy tarn. This is why into the Defender’s generous boot went sleeping bags, a tent, hiking boots, swimming costumes and a camping stove, among other outdoor paraphernalia.

This trip was certainly not planned to be laid-back luxury. The idea was to pack smart so that we could use the space in the car to sleep when setting up the tent was not an option.

This turned out to be the case on the first evening itself. We arrived at Loweswater, where choppy winds and ominous clouds greeted us. Rather than risking the tent being blown away to Scotland, we decided to sleep in the car.

The first overnight halt on a grassy knoll at Loweswater.

And since Loweswater is not exactly the bustling tourist hotspot, we staked out a bluff of land that jutted into the lake as our overnight halt.

It was a night with no moon, and thick clouds obscured the stars. Since we were miles away from the nearest town or village, there was no light pollution. That night was movie night as I hooked up my iPad to the sound system and mounted it using a suction holder. Both of us could fine-tune the performance front seats that the Octa features in 14 different directions to arrive at the perfect position to watch the movie: Jurassic World: Fallen Kingdom. The speakers gave the entire experience a cinematic touch.

At the part when the Mosasaurus leaps out of the water, both of us momentarily stared at the calm surface of Loweswater with irrational apprehension.

The original plan was to sleep in the back of the car after dropping the rear seats. But the front seats – at full recline and with pillows placed on the integrated headrests – were quite comfortable, like airline business-class seats before the advent of the flat bed. So, we covered the seats with duvets and switched on the seat heaters for a few minutes before slipping into the toasty warmth and sleeping fitfully through the night.

It rained steadily all night long, and that rendered the grassy knoll I had parked on squelchy and slippery. There was a micro moment of terror when I tried to reverse and the 2.5-tonne Octa started sliding sideways towards where the edge of the knoll sloped steeply down to the water. I had this terrifying vision of the Defender lying on its side, being gently lapped by Loweswater Lake. But in a flash, the Defender’s terrain response system kicked in and stopped the slide.

The terrain response is an automatic system with the option of manually switching to various modes. For some added reassurance, I set it to the ‘Grass/Gravel/Snow’ mode. All I had to do then was gently back up, and the electronic brain trickled torque and traction to the relevant wheels at the correct moment and for the right duration as the car crawled back onto solid tarmac.

To calm my nerves from that first flash of fright, we brewed some coffee using an electric moka pot plugged into the 230-Volt AC outlet in the rear and sipped it, enjoying views of the morning mist rising off the lake.

Red squirrels are abundant in this region of the Lake District.

For the first walk of our trip, we drove to Maggie’s Bridge, which is a National Trust-designated car park about a mile from where we’d spent the night. From here, we set off towards the Holme Force Waterfall. It was a gentle 4-mile walk to the waterfall and back, and though the waterfall wasn’t spectacular, the red squirrels we encountered while walking through the very pretty fell along the route made this walk enjoyable.

The serene trio of Loweswater, Crummock Water and Buttermere lie in a quiet diagonal across the land. Each of these is circled by paths for unhurried walks. After tracing Crummock’s edge, we drove to the village of Buttermere and bought some sandwiches from the Syke Farm Tea Room there.

With its muscular look and squat stance, the handsome Defender Octa dominated the narrow roads around Buttermere and Crummock Water.

Past Buttermere Lake, at the base of the Honister Pass, I saw a rough mud track leading to a scenic meadow at the base of a hill. This became our impromptu brunch spot, where we could lay out a picnic rug, sip on freshly brewed coffee and eat our sandwiches surrounded by serenity and some surprised sheep.

The map deems the Honister Pass a ‘bit hairy’, indicating that the drops are dizzying and the traverse dramatic. But for us veterans of road trips in the high Himalaya, Honister Pass was therapeutic with the long views it afforded and the confidence the Defender inspired. We continued on an anti-clockwise route, going past Seatoller and through the verdant Borrowdale valley to arrive at Derwentwater.

Keswick Launch Co. offers sightseeing boat cruises in traditional wooden launches on Derwent Water.

This large and scenic lake gave us a glimpse into the touristy part of the Lake District because here, there are sightseeing cruises on offer as well as kayaks and canoes on hire for those who prefer to man their own boat. It is something we’d have liked to do, but the weather that day, with intermittent rain and strong winds, just didn’t cooperate.

What we did do was drive the scenic 9-mile loop around Derwentwater in an anti-clockwise direction and then head back towards Buttermere through Newlands Valley. Along the way, we crossed over Newlands Pass, and at the summit of this pass, the Moss Force waterfall was simply spectacular. The Octa effortlessly hopped over rocks and got us right to where the track narrows and starts ascending in earnest towards the silver streaks of water tumbling down from Robinson Fell. To me, they looked like the silver locks of an ageing Rapunzel whose prince is yet to arrive.

At Moss Force, the Defender could go past the parking lot to the start of the trail.

Unlike Scotland, there is no free camping in England. Tents may only be pitched in areas designated as campsites. Fortunately, that evening, a landlord graciously allowed us to pitch our tent near a stone wall of a meadow on his land between Crummock Water and Loweswater. Too lazy to cook after the tent was up, we drove to the nearby Kirkstile Inn for an indulgent dinner of slow-cooked Cumbrian lamb shank. The exertion of the day and the hearty meal meant we slept like logs in the spacious tent.

Cumbrian lamb is a local delicacy often featured on menus as a slow-cooked lamb shank.

The next morning, as daylight strengthened over the fells, we found ourselves descending into Eskdale, a valley to the south of Ennerdale Water and dominated by Wast Water. The scenery had subtly shifted from rugged wilderness to textbook English countryside. Eskdale’s storybook charm was matched by the Octa’s ability to switch from beast to butler.

We were in no particular hurry, and I had a gentle foot on the throttle, and the Defender purred past storybook villages of Calder Bridge, Gosforth and Strands with its raucous twin exhausts muted to a murmur. Past Strands, Wast Water started peeking through the windscreen. This is England’s deepest lake, and it lies at the base of Scafell Pike, England’s highest mountain.

At Wasdale Head, the west end of Wast Water, is a National Trust campsite with a car park and information centre. Most visitors arrive here to climb to the summit of Scafell Pike, but we were after a spot of wild swimming, even though it was 9 degrees C and cloudy. We parked and started the 2.5-mile trek to Burnmoor Tarn. Nestled amid wild shrubbery, Burnmoor Tarn looked inviting until I waded into it, and icy reality shot up my spine and shattered all swimming strategies. This was compounded by a sudden pelting of rain that sent us scampering, like soaked spaniels, down the trail towards the dry and leathery embrace of the Defender’s interior.

Ritson’s Force, with its shallow pools, was the perfect introduction to wild swimming.

Just as we were pulling off sodden layers, the sun suddenly peeked out through the sky. It rekindled my friend’s determination to give wild swimming a shot, and so we drove north for a mile to Wasdale Head Inn. Just a 15-minute traipse from there is Ritson’s Force. Here, Mother Nature had arranged a particularly picturesque tableau. Water merrily gurgled down a series of little waterfalls, each with emerald-green plunge pools at its base. The sun was still shining, and we quickly changed into swimming gear and took the plunge. The water was freezing, but after the initial shock, it felt revitalisingly fresh.

This particular waterfall is named after Will Ritson, a 19th-century landlord known for his outrageous fibs. Such was his notoriety that there is an ale – Ritson’s Biggest Lie – christened in his honour. Additionally, the annual ‘World’s Greatest Liar’ contest at the Bridge Inn in Santon Bridge is held in his honour. To give amateurs a sporting chance, the only folk barred from entry are politicians and lawyers.

As we were throwing wet towels and swimming costumes into the boot of the Defender, I realised that my stomach was growling. All we’d had since sunrise was a mug of oats porridge and a plum each, the former hastily cooked over the portable camp stove we were carrying.

The River Mite steam engine, built in 1966, is still in active service on the Ravenglass and Eskdale Railway.

Salvation was just 9 miles away, a little past Santon Bridge, in the form of the Bower House Inn, once a coaching stop and now a 3-star hotel featuring a lively pub with a crackling hearth. We dined on a meal of garlic mushrooms, fall-apart pork ribs and sticky toffee pudding, all the while chuckling at the ease with which all our best-laid plans of cooking our own food had been defeated just by the aroma wafting out of the pubs we had driven past during the day. Camping plans, too, went askew that evening because the tent was wet and the car’s interior was now redolent with the aroma of burnt porridge, wet towels and tent, muddy shoes and stale coffee.

Fortunately, Forest How Guest House at Eskdale Green, less than a mile from the Bower House Inn, had a vacancy. We really struck gold with this spur-of-the-moment booking. Run by the mother-daughter pair of Corrine and Kate, this little guest house was cosy and comfortable. The full Cumberland breakfast the next morning, including free-range eggs, bacon and sausages, was supremely satisfying. An added delight was red squirrels scampering about in the garden.

Blea Tarn at the base of Wrynose Pass is a deep and calm lake ideally suited for wild swimming.

We spent our last day in the Lake District tracing the serpentine paths of Hardknott and Wrynose passes. These are ancient remnants of roads etched into the Cumbrian landscape by the Romans, circa 2 AD. Hardknott, with its switchbacks and slopes that flirted with the vertical, threw down a challenge that the Defender Octa accepted without hesitation. It climbed with poise, its 6D suspension with hydraulically interlinked, triple-valve dampers absorbing the terrain like a seasoned mountaineer’s knees.

At the foot of Wrynose lay Blea Tarn – still, silent and gilded by the late afternoon sun. Not so apprehensive about wild swimming anymore, we slipped into the tarn’s icy embrace. The shock of cold was immediate, but so was the delight. Floating in the middle of that tarn, I felt the heady happiness of getting hooked onto a new adventure activity. Breathless and wide-eyed, we emerged shivering, but with an effervescent tingling that only wild water can deliver.

Freshly brewed tea helped bring back warmth after a swim in Blea Tarn.

Back on solid ground, muscles humming with exertion, we brewed our final roadside tea. The stove hissed, gasping at times as the gas in the canister got to the dregs. Enamel mugs clinked softly while clouds settled into the folds of the hills.

The Defender stood nearby, streaked with mud and clumps of clay on its tyres. It had been more than a vehicle – it had been a companion, a cocoon, and a conqueror. We left the Lake District for London, taking along with us blisters, bruises and a quiet sense of belonging. The escape we’d sought had found us.

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This article was published in Autocar India's August 2024 issue.

You could say that Autocar India is the crucible of road travel, with our drives across the country and around the world. We have driven from Kargil to Kanyakumari and Koteshwar to Kibithu in every car – from a Maruti 800 to the Lamborghini Huracán. We have driven through Asia, the Americas, Europe, Africa and Australia, and logged thousands of kilometres. Road trips and convoy driving are part of our job. We thought we had seen and experienced it all until we joined Mahindra at a rally titled ‘Hearts to Bravehearts’. This involved three convoys of Mahindras flagged off from three corners of the country. From Tezu in the east, Tanot in the West and Kochi in the South. The Mahindras converged in Delhi and formed one long convoy for the final run to the Kargil War Memorial in Ladakh after covering a cumulative distance of 10,000km. Nothing had ever come close to the experience and emotions we felt during this rally. It made us all feel proud to be Indian.

To understand this, we must go back 25 years, two months before Autocar India’s first issue. On July 26, 1999, Indian forces sent the Pakistan Army packing from the heights they had occupied in Kashmir. This day is celebrated as Kargil Vijay Diwas, and 2024 marked 25 years of this famous victory.

The route taken by the three convoys.

The most famous face of the Kargil War is Captain Vikram Batra – the Param Vir Chakra awardee who sacrificed his life leading the assault on Point 4875 in 1999. There is even a movie about him, Shershaah, starring Sidharth Malhotra. But do you recognise the names Captain Manoj Kumar Pandey, Grenadier Yogendra Singh Yadav and Rifleman Major Sanjay Kumar? They, too, received the Param Vir Chakra, India’s highest military decoration. The Param Vir Chakra has been awarded 21 times, of which four were for the Kargil War.

During the Kargil War, 10 Maha Vir Chakras were awarded, six posthumously, to soldiers who died in battle. Over 70 Vir Chakras were also awarded, many of them posthumously. The Kargil War Memorial at Dras also lists 542 names of Indians who were martyred during the Kargil War, including two civilians.

The Tanot leg of the drive stands ready to depart.

Remember, most of these were young men in their early or mid-20s. Captain Vikram Batra was just 24-year-old when he laid down his life for the country. We might have lost Jammu & Kashmir if not for them. Pakistani guns had targeted the NH1 that you take for the drive from Srinagar to Leh. The annual drives and rides to Ladakh that many of us look forward to might not have been possible if not for the sacrifice of our brave soldiers. We owe a debt of gratitude to this band of men, whose names most of us don’t even recognise.

Autocar India is proud to have been a part of the ‘Hearts to Bravehearts’ campaign to remember and thank our soldiers on the 25th anniversary of our victory in the Kargil War. The idea was simple: every citizen of this country could write a letter or a poem, send a greeting card, or create a painting to thank our soldiers. You could drop your thank you note at any Mahindra showroom, and the company would deliver it to the soldiers guarding our country. The mission of this drive was to collect these messages of gratitude and deliver them to the soldiers who keep our borders safe. Stopping by military garrisons and cantonments along the way and delivering these heartfelt messages brimming with love was the most poignant part of the journey and a small way to pay tribute to our armed forces.

Some of the heartwarming letters of gratitude delivered to our bravehearts at Kargil.

As the cars were flagged off, most of India was reeling from the fury of the monsoon. Roads in the northeast are a challenge at the best of times. Add heavy rain to the equation, and the level of difficulty multiplies. Landslides in the hills meant that the Thars, Scorpio-Ns and the XUV700s, had much work to do. Floods in Kaziranga had animals come out to the roads, adding even more drama to the drive, but the big confidence booster we had was the men in these cars. At Autocar India, we have shared the cockpit with celebrities, race drivers, high officials, and fellow journalists and professionals from the automobile world. But this group was different. These were Kargil veterans who had dodged bullets and bombs, faced death in the eye and thumbed their nose at it. Rain and mud was not going to stop them. 

The final leg of the drive takes the convoy over the mighty Zoji La Pass.

Each one had a captivating story to tell. Amongst them was Captain Utpal Datta, a helicopter pilot with the Indian Navy. He was awarded the Nau Sena Medal for gallantry during Operation Vijay, becoming the only naval pilot to be given this honour. During the Kargil War, this navy pilot was deployed with the Army Aviation Corps in an exchange program and saw action at the front. To guide the Bofors guns, he flew high-altitude sorties in his Cheetah helicopter with missions requiring him to fly as high as 26,400 feet, well above the official operating ceiling of 21,000 feet. What was it like flying at such heights? “At this altitude, where the air is so thin, the chopper gets very sluggish. It’s like a 6-cylinder car running on three cylinders with no power steering,” said Capt. Datta. And all that kept him flying was a bottle of oxygen and an angel on his shoulder.

The convoy from Kochi drives through the lush forests of Kerala.

Col. Rajinder Kumar Sharma, awarded the Kirti Chakra, Shaurya Chakra, and Sena medals, is one of the most decorated soldiers. You can understand why, when he shows you his shrapnel wounds from fighting the enemy at close range. He quips, “I still have some copper fragments in my body!”

Another of the Kargil heroes who joined the drive was Brigadier Khushal Thakur, Commanding Officer of the 18 Grenadiers during the Kargil War. Instead of giving orders from a tent, he walked with his men and faced bullets with them as they launched an assault on Tololing Top. He recalls, “when we lost JCO Subedar Randhir and operator Havildar Ram Kumar, they were right beside me. I lost my second-in-command, Lt Col R Vishwanathan, who took his last breath in my arms.” All three soldiers were posthumously awarded the Vir Chakra. He lost 34 of his comrades, each of whose names he can still reel off without missing a beat.

The Tezu leg of the drive makes a stop at the beautiful Golden Pagoda at Namsai.

The fountainhead of this campaign is found at the Army’s barracks itself. It was brought to life by Faujiana, started by ex-Autocar India staffer Veena Kabra, who was a part of our sales team until she married an Army aviator and joined him at his postings. Faujiana designs and delivers lifestyle accessories, and celebratory mementoes within army units and regiments. Unfortunately, you or I can’t buy Faujiana products, unless we enlist in the Army that is.

The Bofors gun was instrumental in India’s victory at Kargil.

Word about the campaign spread like wildfire even as the cars were flagged off. Messages started pouring in by the sackful, especially from schoolchildren and Gen-Zers who had never even seen a postcard. What about this campaign captured their imagination? Maybe the answer lies in the facts and figures, the nuts and bolts, the numbers and specifications of this drive. Or maybe it lies in the stories of the bravehearts who shaped India’s victory.

Joy Chaudhuri  

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Autocar Rewind: Kargil to Kanyakumari Expedition

I think one of the great pleasures of driving, apart from enjoying the car itself, is the joy it brings in discovering new roads and seeing new places. So, when Honda sent across the invite for the 13th edition of Drive to Discover, which would take us for a monsoon trail through Kerala and Tamil Nadu, I was prompt to make my case to be sent for this drive. This is not just because the idea of driving through rain-soaked and mountainous regions of Munnar and Kodaikanal was simply too tempting to give away but also because South India was still largely unexplored by me, especially by road.

Honda's entire lineup – Amaze, City and Elevate – were to be our companions for the drive.

So, some negotiations and convincing at office done, I arrived at Kochi, along with 40 fellow motoring journalists, on a very wet day for the flag-off of the journey. The weather appropriately announced the mood for the drive, which was going to take us from Kochi to the quaint town of Athirapally, then through the picturesque hill stations of Munnar and Kodaikanal, before culminating in Coimbatore – around 500km across four days. Our rides were not a surprise, though – Honda’s entire fleet including the Amaze, City, Elevate and the City e:HEV were to be our companions for the drive.

Day 1: Kochi to Athirapally

A ceremonious flag off accompanied by beats of the Chenda (a traditional percussion instrument of Kerala) signalled the beginning of our drive, and I found myself behind the wheel of the Honda Elevate. Each of us were sharing a car with another person, and my co-driver happily let me start off our journey. He said he was sleep-deprived, but in hindsight, it may just have been to avoid the traffic in the first leg.

Barely 20km out of Kochi city, and we were already in dense forests.

We started off quite late in the afternoon post lunch, but our drive on the first day was rather short, just about 40km from Kochi to Athirapally – a beautiful town nestled on the banks of the Chalakudy river. Navigating out of bustling Kochi, we soon found ourselves surrounded by the lush, rural backdrop of rain-soaked Kerala. As I said before, this was my first time exploring God’s own country, and barely 20km into the drive, we were already snaking through a dense forest with finely laid tarmac. Oh, the joys of driving!

Scenic views from the Vettilappara Bridge persuaded us to stop for photos.

The good roads didn’t last very long, though. As we made our way deeper into the forest, small broken patches gave way to large craters, but the Elevate had sufficient ground clearance to keep us sailing through happily. Soon enough, the Chalakudy river appeared in sight, fully swelled up, gushing and roaring downstream thanks to the incessant rains. Now, during the briefing in the morning, we were alerted that our route passed through an active elephant corridor. But you never imagine you’d get lucky with such wildlife spotting, do you? Surprise, surprise, we did!  Off the road and a little into the distance was a fully grown elephant munching away the greens while merrily flapping its ears. What a sweet sight!

Elevate strikes a pose with the Charpa falls in the background.

We clicked a few hurried pictures on the move, then stopped at the Vettilappara Bridge for some photo ops with the Elevate before finally arriving at the Athirapally falls – the largest waterfall in Kerala. But to our disappointment, the viewing deck was too far from the waterfall and we were not the only tourists, of course. Thankfully, my co-driver was just as enthusiastic about exploring, so we went a little further up the road in search of a more secluded place. Eventually, we ended up at Charpa falls where we could get to touching distance from the waterfall. Perfect for some more snaps with the Elevate! By this time, dusk was setting in, so we headed back to our hotel and retired for the night.

Day 2: Athirapally to Munnar

The following day, our destination was Munnar, which was some 130km away from Athirapally. A proper day of driving then! And our ride for the day was the City hybrid, very appropriately so, as I would find out later. Once again, I kicked off driving the first leg for the day, and having exited Athirapally, we arrived at a forest check post. Permissions cleared and into the forest, we found ourselves in the thick of a rubber plantation, and this is where the City e:HEV really got into its element. The roads were narrow and slightly broken, which meant our pace was slow and the City was driving in EV mode very often. There was a sense of satisfaction in not making any noise, just seamlessly coasting through the forest while taking enough time to soak in the beauty.

The City e:HEV felt like the most appropriate car to drive through the dense forests.

The forest eventually ended, and once we were out on more open roads, I let my co-driver take the wheel. Incidentally, he was a Keralite, and him knowing the local language was very handy when asking for directions from the locals in the deep forest roads where network was scarce. But that aside, he was keen on making me sample a local drink called Sharjah. The recipe is interesting – it’s a Bournvita, milk and banana shake with some dry fruits thrown in for good measure. Doesn’t sound right, right? But it was really delicious! Must try if you are in Kerala, because it’s a hard find elsewhere, he told me.

Mist-covered twisties up to Munnar made for a very pleasurable drive.

After the quick pitstop for the drink, we started our ascend up to Munnar, and the heavens broke loose. Visibility was quite poor, and it was one of the heaviest downpours I had witnessed while on the road. The City hybrid went about its business without breaking a sweat, though, and after a lunch stop in between, we finally reached Munnar. The last leg took us through some lovely, twisty roads covered in mist, so we slowed our pace, rolled down the windows, and just soaked it all in with a leisurely drive to the hotel before calling it a day.

Day 3: Munnar to Kodaikanal

The destination for the third day was Kodaikanal – a distance of about 180km from Munnar – for what was to be the longest day on the road. I woke up early because both my co-driver and I wanted to see a little more of Munnar before heading out. He recommended we visit the Tea Museum. Munnar is, of course, most popular for its verdant tea plantations laid out on the rolling hills. I learnt a little bit about Munnar’s colonial history, saw how tea leaves are processed before it makes it into your cup and also picked up some special varieties to enjoy back home.

Tea Museum in Munnar is a must visit if you are a tea aficionado.

Oh, I’ve missed introducing our car for the third day – it was the Honda Amaze with a manual gearbox. A compact manual sedan on twisty mountain roads sounds like the right recipe for fun, right? Well, I’ll come to that later. I must first introduce the road we would be driving on. Exiting out of Munnar and on your way to Kodaikanal, you’ll have to take the National Highway 85, or what is better known as the GAP road. Now, before I came for this trip, one of my colleagues had told me that the drive from Munnar to Kodaikanal is absolutely breathtaking. I believed him, of course, but nothing really prepares you for the sheer beauty the GAP road is until you experience it yourself.

Munnar is aptly called the 'Queen of hills' with its verdant, rolling tea plantations.

Wide, with fast-flowing corners and changing elevation, it has to be one of the best driving roads in the country; it certainly was the best stretch of tarmac I have ever driven on. Good thing I was on the driver’s seat for a majority of the GAP road, much to the chagrin of my co-driver. Despite having travelled this route before, he too was awestruck. Turns out that the road was recently redone and how! But while I was grinning from ear to ear, the Amaze wasn’t really in a happy place. It needed to be worked hard to traverse these roads. Climbing up the hills, perhaps, wasn’t one of the Amaze’s amazing bits, but frankly, I didn’t care. The views of the lush green tea plantations with clouds rolling through the valleys were enough to make this a memorable drive.

GAP road is not only a lovely stretch of tarmac but also very scenic.

Driving duties exchanged for the second leg, I took the passenger seat whiling away my time photographing the beautiful landscape. Crossing into Tamil Nadu, we climbed down the hills, stopped for a lunch break once we reached the plains, and then started our ascend up to Kodaikanal. I took over driving duties again, and having understood the Amaze a bit by now, I worked the gears a lot more to always keep it in the power band. This, finally, made climbing the hills easier. By the time we reached our hotel in Kodaikanal, it was almost dark, so I wrapped up the day with a hearty meal and with the satisfaction of a great day spent on the road.

Day 4: Kodaikanal to Coimbatore

The last day was all about making a straight dash to Coimbatore to catch our flights back home. We started really early, at 6:30am, because we had to cover a distance of 180km to make it on time for a 3pm flight. We were back behind the wheel of the City, this time in petrol-CVT guise. Luggage loaded in the boot and breakfast packed, we set off just as the sun was beginning to come up over the horizon. Even though we were on a tight schedule, the golden morning light and the picturesque hills compelled us to stop a couple of times for some photo ops, and soak in the last of what the place had to offer.

Last day's drive kicked off at the golden hour, allowing for some picturesque snaps with the City.

It took us a little over two hours for the downhill journey, and once back in the plains, I took over driving duties for the last leg to the airport. What followed were smooth, open highways and the City’s CVT gearbox was up to the job of making it a smooth and relaxing cruise. That also gave me enough time to ponder upon this entire trip.

Frankly, this counts as one of the perks of being an automotive journalist, more like a workation, if you will. But that’s not why I was here in the first place. For me, it was really about seeing places I hadn't seen before and driving cars I hadn't driven before. To that end, for me, Honda’s Drive to Discover is really appropriately named. As we drove into the airport, I couldn’t help revel in the joys of the journey, but like all good things, this too had come to an end. I think discovering the world through the windscreen is one of best ways of exploring, and I am glad I am in a profession that does exactly that.

Also See:

Cybertruck: Tesla's tech marvel driven in India

300kph Club at NATRAX: 12 supercars maxed out

Learn Offroad turns 5 – a weekend full of mud, rain and adventure

To our readers outside of Mumbai, we apologise. Let there be no doubt, we had an absolute blast last month letting a Lamborghini V10 sing its greatest hits through the acoustic chamber that is India’s first undersea tunnel – part of Mumbai’s Coastal Road project. But we concede that some of you who don’t live here, engineering feat aside, might have wondered what all the fuss was about. Allow us to explain.

In other big metros, huge road infra is not unusual; heck, the average service road in Delhi is wider than parts of our Western Express Highway. For us Mumbaikars, then, a big new road is nothing short of a revelation. The reason is simple – Mumbai is a collection of islands, conjoined artificially, that snakes southward in a roughly peninsular shape parallel to mainland India. And it’s narrow, dense and heavily built up, which is why we can’t have wide roads or endless flyovers. The Coastal Road project posits the solution of transplanting the highway alongside the city, in the Arabian Sea no less; and for the 2km stretch we drove last month, underneath it.

For now, the only part of this ambitious new project open to the public is the southernmost section, connecting the hub suburb of Worli to the Princess Street junction at Marine Drive, just before the busy business district of Nariman Point. Eventually, the Coastal Road will join up to the northern suburbs as well, but even this small patch is said to have eased up congestion considerably on this final leg of the officegoer’s commute. But just how much has it eased up?

We’ve decided to drive the new road simultaneously with the old, during rush hour on a weekday, to see just how much of a difference it makes, and I’ve drawn the short straw in what is undoubtedly a one-sided race. Nikhil Bhatia will be commandeering a Hyundai Tucson across the Coastal Road. I, meanwhile, will be reaching Nariman Point the way countless Mumbaikars have for decades, but in anticipation of the impending gridlock, I’ve chosen an MG Comet as my steed. No amount of extra horsepower can get you through Mumbai faster, but a smaller car certainly can.

Comet’s tiny dimensions helped shave off a few minutes.

The clock reads precisely 9:21am as both cars spear off from Bandra West, via the Bandra-Worli Sea Link bridge. Opened in 2010, it’s the original Coastal Road, and will be an integral piece of the completed project. It bypasses a huge chunk of traffic, but at rush hour, it’s also the biggest bottleneck in town, as four southbound lanes merge into two and end in a T-junction, commuters jostling recklessly to get ahead. The crowd builds up on Worli Sea Face, as we get closer to the sole on-ramp for the new road, and then, the moment of truth as our two cars split off from each other at 9:50am. Now the race is really on.

Cars split off at crowded Worli Seaface, currently the earliest access point to the new road.

It’s Nikhil’s first time on the new road and suffice it to say, the sheer magnitude makes it a little distracting. The two-lane on-ramp takes a cautiously wide and gentle curve, and moments later comes a sight none of us have ever seen before. It’s our familiar city from an entirely different angle and perspective, and not since the Bandra-Worli Sea Link opened 14 years ago have we been hit with such a sense of novelty. He’s also having to remind himself that the speed limit has gone up to 80kph, which was thus far unheard of in the heart of the city, and possible thanks to the 3-lane width of this new road.

Moments later, he’s soaring past the NSCI stadium and Mahalaxmi Race Course on his left, and water-locked Haji Ali Dargah is below him on the right. This is proving to be less a race, and more an exercise in time travel. All around, one can see new on-and-off ramps ribboning into view and joining up with the main road, the impact of which is only amplified by the sea all around. Even at this early stage of development, you can see the new walking promenade and parks being built alongside, which should add some greenery to this monument in concrete.

New road runs alongside the coast, giving a new view of Mumbai skyline.

Next thing you know, the final off-ramp to Breach Candy (and several other affluent SoBo neighbourhoods) flits by, and in the distance, the mouth of the tunnel appears. That can’t be right. Nikhil checks his watch in disbelief, and indeed, it’s only 9:55am. Five minutes from Worli to Breach Candy! Yes, there’s a bit of traffic now as all the tributaries have joined the river, but it’s hardly what you’d call bumper-to-bumper.

Strictly enforced 60kph speed limit lets you take in tunnel’s grandeur.

The speed limit drop from 80 to 60 in the tunnel feels agonising, especially when we saw what a Lambo unleashed felt like just last month. But then, as they hop onto Marine Drive where the old and new roads meet, the traffic is back! The final 2km is the same as it ever was – a crawl past Wankhede and Brabourne stadiums into the crowded business district and our destination. Still, it must be better than the classic route, right?

Well, no actually. Having broken off from the Tucson at Worli, the Comet and I are buzzing down past the Nehru Science Centre, with only a few meandering cabbies slowing us down. I drive past the second on-ramp to the new road that I’m tempted to take, but of course, I can’t. From this angle, too, seeing the ‘spaghetti junction’ of ramps over the bay is an astonishing sight; the horizon I’ve grown up with is altered forever. But even amidst the wonder, I can’t help but realise, I’m making good time. It’s at the popular Heera Panna shopping centre junction that I realise my biggest downfall will be stop lights, and every moment sitting still reminds me that the new road is signal free.

Peddar Road’s infamous traffic now just a few 2-wheelers, which aren’t allowed on the Coastal Road. Note the other side.

But then, the moment of truth as I approach perhaps the biggest hurdle of all – Peddar Road – at 9:58am. Infamously jammed every morning and ringing with the cacophony of horns, I can understand why the late great Lata Mangeshkar fought against more traffic running through here. But as I reach the traffic lights outside Cadbury House, I’m in shock! As I ascend the traffic-free hill, I’m checking to make sure I’ve got the day and time right – I haven’t seen it this empty on a working weekday in the last decade. 10:03am and I’m clear; maybe I still have a chance.

Traffic jam resumes as soon as old and new roads meet.

It’s a similar story at Girgaum Chowpatty at the start of Marine Drive and, a few pesky traffic lights aside, I’m past the Taraporevala Aquarium in no time. But as I cross the mouth of the tunnel that Nikhil has surely come through a while ago, I’m in the same jam he was. Perhaps the Comet’s tiny footprint will buy me a few minutes, but I doubt that will make a difference. As I make it to the end of Marine Drive, I’m expecting a smug-faced Nikhil to be ready with a quip in one hand and maybe a celebratory snack in the other, as he’s wont to do in these situations.

Instead, I find him still in discussion with the photographers and crew, preparing them for the money shot of my arrival – something they thought wouldn’t happen for a while longer. I see visible bewilderment as I park alongside the Tucson and step outside. “Did you also take the Coastal Road?” Nikhil asks. Surely it wasn’t that close; 15 minutes apart? 12?

The end result was way, way closer than we expected.

Also see:

Howling through the Mumbai Coastal Road Tunnel in a Lamborghini Huracan Video

Driving on Mumbai Trans Harbour Link video

“What do you mean we can’t leave?” Not that it’s a complaint, given our current location – the gorgeous Vivanta Dal Lake View hotel atop a hill overlooking Srinagar in Kashmir. But right off the bat, this was the first of a mercifully precious few hiccups in an otherwise meticulously planned journey. It turns out severe landslides have all but wiped out a section of the highway to Jammu, and it will be closed for a day while the authorities clear things up. Luckily, we’d budgeted some buffer days on this journey, which we would need to pull off something like this.

Devastating landslides in Ramban district washed away the road, but with a quick suspension lift, the Taycan was able to make it through.

They say the two types of cars you simply cannot take on a road trip across India are a sportscar and an EV. We’re attempting to do just that in a car that is both – the Porsche Taycan. And it’s not some casual jaunt to a hill station over a weekend; this is the mighty K2K or Kashmir to Kanyakumari – over 4,000km from the northern to the southern tip of India. And before you ask, no, this is not a race against time or a test of range. In the real world, you do road trips comfortably, and that’s how we planned this.

Delayed by a day due to landslides, our flag-off from Vivanta Dal Lake eventually happens in grand style.

So one extra day in Kashmir, huh? I’ve only so much as laid eyes on this Frozenblue Metallic Porsche Taycan once, at its launch in November 2021, so this is a good chance to get to know it better, I think. And what I get to test right off the bat is how good it is at being a Porsche. Twisty mountain roads, narrow, but decently surfaced, and since we don’t have any vast distance to cover today, I’m allowing myself a bit of fun.

Taycan Drive Kashmir to Kanyakumari: Srinagar to Jaipur

– Gavin D’Souza

Straight into Sport Plus mode and off we go. What gets me first is the steering – a hallmark of every Porsche. In Sport Plus, it makes no concessions to lightness in the quest for the ultimate feedback. The whole car feels just so tightly wound in a way that no EV I’ve driven before has, and this is not even the mighty Turbo S. There’s a purity to how this base, rear-wheel-drive model drives, and its 326hp is ample without feeling over the top. Some breathtaking views and a fair few hairpins later, it’s time to put the car back on charge and head off in search of a Kashmiri dinner.

The 85-litre ‘frunk’ can hold a lot, including a photographer in search of that perfect frame.

The following morning, a proud 100 percent and 370km of indicated range showing on the screen, we’ve got the all-clear from the highway authorities and we’re ready to flag off. But first, a little matter of packaging. The 84-litre frunk can hold a surprising amount, but as we’re going on a long trip, we’ve packed some extra charging gear – including a custom-made 15A extension cord, just in case. It’s the 407-litre rear boot that, impressively, swallows up two week-long bags and then some, despite also housing the space-saver spare tyre.

Our custom-made 25m 15A extension cord came in handy.

Our exit from Srinagar is far more subdued than my little jaunt from the day prior, as we settle down nicely with the ‘Normal’ drive mode. I make sure to turn brake regeneration on, however, as it’s all downhill from here. As the kilometres tumble, the indicated range stays more or less the same, which means we’re driving this car more efficiently than the last person – me, yesterday.

The roads up here are heavily militarised, and it’s not unusual to be stopped for long spells to allow convoys to pass through. It happens on more than a few occasions, which gives the local sellers of apples, shawls and cricket bats enough opportunities to accost us with their best possible deals. It’s not long before they turn their attention to the blue bolt, however, and the conversation changes from bargaining to wild curiosity.

Completed in 2021, the 8.45km long Qazigund tunnel cuts 16km off the journey from Kashmir to Jammu.

The road to Jammu takes us through the 8.45km long Qazigund-Banihal tunnel, among several others, and before long, we’re in Ramban district, where those devastating landslides took place. The authorities have done a tremendous job of clearing the road, but it’s still something of a mucky minefield, and the first real test of the Taycan’s go-anywhere ability. Thankfully, air suspension is standard for India, and raising it a few times lets us navigate the watery ruts left behind by the heavy truck traffic. That slowdown and the many traffic stops meant it’s after dark as we roll into Jammu for the night.

An uneventful driving day suddenly turns tense as we encounter heavy water-logging in Zirakpur, Punjab.

We thought the most eventful part of this journey was behind us, but we’re in for a surprise. For the most part, the journey to Chandigarh comprised superb, wide highways and superb road surfaces. But as we enter Zirakpur, the sky breaks open with some of the most intense rainfall I’ve seen all year. Visibility is non-existent, other road users are in a panic, and huge ponds of standing water begin to emerge out of nowhere. And then, after a long traffic jam crawls us towards a blind junction, the penny drops. A huge water-logged stretch spreads out before us and we have no choice but to wade through. It’s already taken a few vehicular victims, abandoned in the middle or to the side, but we push on. I’m quickly reminded that with this being an EV, there’s actually less chance of internal powertrain damage, as there are no intakes or exhausts for water to enter through. Still, it doesn’t stop my heart from being lodged firmly in my mouth, and once we’re finally clear and into Chandigarh, we inspect the car, and all is well.

On our most efficient day, the Taycan did 7.1km/kWh, translating to an indicated 475km of range.

It’s an absolute breeze getting to the Capital the next day, and although quite uneventful, the long, smooth highway gives me a fun game to play. The Taycan, unlike most EVs, actually has two gears in its transmission, the second being an overdrive for better efficiency on the highway. Putting the car in Eco mode actually lowers the suspension for better aero, and it’s here that I start chasing my new favourite number on the screen – the km/kWh reading. Much like kpl, a higher number is better, and in my experience with EVs so far, anything above 5km/kWh is good. Coming down from Kashmir meant we were already doing a pretty good 6.2, but by the time we roll into Delhi, I manage to take it up to 7.1km/kWh!

The future meets the present as we bump into some supercar owners in New Delhi.

As we dock into a fast-charging bay at a large fuel station in the heart of the Capital, the unexpected happens. Car enthusiasts, two, three, four at a time, start to pull in and fill up; they serve 100-octane here. As it turns out, they’re all on their way to a Cars and Coffee New Delhi meet-up. It’d be silly not to go and check it out, and when we do, we’re treated to an incredibly warm welcome from scores of enthusiastic car owners. The Taycan is the only EV there, of course, and parked amongst internal combustion’s finest, it’s a great way for all of us to unwind.

My brilliant 7.1km/kWh figure is quickly eroded the next morning as progress is brought to its knees by Delhi traffic. An EV is technically more efficient in traffic than an ICE car, but nothing could be efficient here. After a quick spin around India Gate, it’s time to make our way to Jaipur. While Rajasthan’s highways are generally some of the best around, the monsoon seems to have taken its toll, and we’re regularly engaged in a game of dodge the surprise pothole. It’s back up to Comfort mode and mid-height suspension, I think. The final stretch to our hotel – thanks to some of Google Maps’ finest botchery – is on a tiny village road, replete with traffic snags and annoyed locals. But now that I’m so well acquainted with the Taycan, it’s as easy as driving a family hatchback.

Taycan Drive Kashmir to Kanyakumari: Jaipur to Mumbai 

– Jay Patil

Starting the second leg of the Taycan K2K drive was pretty much like being the second runner in a 4x100m relay: vastly underrated and little in terms of excitement. The flag dropped and in true relay fashion, Gavin started off in the twisties of the north that straightened out as he passed me the baton. It was bittersweet, to be honest, considering the Jaipur to Mumbai leg is mostly flat with only a handful of bends thrown in to break the monotony. And going by Shapur’s review, the Taycan, despite being an all-electric Porsche, was one that offered the full experience.

 It’s mostly big highways and open roads, but we often have to go off the beaten path on this journey.

My straight jaunt to Mumbai started off from the quaint Devi Ratn Resort in the beautiful city of Jaipur. Beautiful it was, right until the clock struck 9am and traffic clogged the picturesque but narrow streets. Nursing the Taycan out of the city amidst the parking  sensors’ greatest hits was nerve-racking and a gentle reminder that it wasn’t going to be a road trip like in the movies with just long looping highways.

What most of the Jaipur-Mumbai stretch looks like. An arrow straight ribbon of tarmac.

As we got out on the highway, I could relax and stretch the Taycan’s legs to get a feel of the zero-emissions Porsche. My first thought was of disappointment, because there was no exhaust purring away as I squeezed the accelerator. What was surprising, though, was how adept the Taycan was at cruising speeds. It exudes a feeling of a superb long-distance tourer that makes light work of hundreds of kilometres. As it munched on the miles and kept washing them down with lithium-ion juice, my range anxiety too was tapering slowly. The Taycan’s battery management is superbly calibrated and it gently sips on charge as you trudge along. But, of course, on long, straight highways, there would be a change in drive mode every once in a while. While Comfort is the ideal setting for a drive like this, Sport Plus is where the drowsiness of a lengthy road is eradicated. However, while the instant torque does make for cheap thrills, there are only so many times you can enjoy a shove to the body.

With my eyes peering out in the distance for some corners, we entered Udaipur, and my hunger for a few twisties was temporarily satisfied by some spicy Laal Maas.

An extremely comfy night at the wonderful Taj Aravali Resort and Spa made sure I was fresh for the next day when we would be leaving behind Rajasthan and entering Gujarat.

Long charging times, especially without fast charging allow you to have a relaxed meal.

The start to each day was methodical and started by filling out a log for each day’s trip and charge reading. Udaipur was yet another breezy drive, until we needed to recharge. You see, when you are on long drives like these, even the most diligent planning can go for a toss. And so it did when we reached the charging location at a remote, under-construction hotel. Now, recharging isn’t as effortless as parking your car and plugging it in. There can be some rough patches there too. We found out the hard way as we plugged the car in and realised we were out of network. This rendered online payment impossible, and just as we were about to lose all hope, Rahul decided to walk around and managed to find one bar the traditional way – one arm in the air. If that wasn’t enough, there was a power cut at the hotel, which halted the charging. As ironic as it was, a diesel generator was used to power the charging station, but the entire process of rebooting the charging software, with the weak network and fluctuating power supply, cost us a good chunk of time. Fingers crossed, we hoped the car charged as fast as possible and started prepping for a night drive into Gujarat.

As we set off, I made good use of the Taycan’s straight-line prowess and as the sun bid adieu, we crossed into Ahmedabad.

Taycan Drive Kashmir to Kanyakumari: Mumbai to Satara

– Hormazd Sorabjee

With the Taycan’s 79.2kWh battery topped up to 100 percent charge via our wall box charger in office, the first stop of the day was Pune. After a ceremonial flag off of the southern leg of our K2K drive at our office by Manolito Vujicic, head of Porsche India (also my co-driver), we eased the Taycan into Mumbai’s rush hour traffic towards the expressway. Two nasty speed breakers just outside office saw the Taycan pass the ground clearance test with flying colours. The Mumbai-Pune Expressway was where the Taycan came into its own, silently and swiftly slicing past traffic. That Mano and I were engaged in animated conversation throughout was evidence of the Taycan’s ability to gobble miles without any drama. Truth is, though it was a quick drive to our lunch stop, deliberately chosen not far from a Tata Power 25kW charger, I wasn’t driving this Porsche like a Porsche. That would be saved for the Khambatki ghat after Pune. We arrived in Pune covering 165km and with a 63 percent charge.

The Chhatrapati Shivaji Terminus was part of Taycan’s Mumbai darshan.

Lunch at Sayaji hotel took a little more than an hour, enough time for the Taycan’s battery to get upto 99 percent. Driver and car nicely fed, we made brisk progress on NH48 and reached the bottom of Khambatki, where the fun would begin in earnest. Camera team in position, Sport Plus mode selected, a pause for a gap in the road and wham. Acceleration is quick but not super quick (this is not the Turbo S but the base model), but the handling is just next level. The wide, smooth and curvy uphill one-way section of Khambatki was the ideal playground for the Taycan. The way it dives in and out of corners, the purity of the steering, the flat and composed ride was just incredible. In fact, it was so much fun, that we did the Khambatki loop twice.

The car and the journey got a thumbs up from everyone.

Twenty kilometres later, we were stopped by the police, not for speeding but because they wanted to have a look at the car. The blue Taycan was making all sorts of friends wherever it went!

Exciting Taycan came into its element on ghats en route Satara.

Flat-out uphill driving did take its toll on the battery, but when we reached Satara, a good 140km after our last top up, we still had 54 percent charge. I left the inconvenient job of finding a charger in Satara before calling it a day. Any regrets? I just wish I had more time to have driven it all the way to Kanyakumari, I was just getting warmed up.

Taycan Drive Kashmir to Kanyakumari: Satara to Kanyakumari 

– Nikhil Bhatia

I’d been following the Taycan’s adventure through India via Instagram thus far and had been itching to be part of the proceedings myself. Satara is where I gleefully joined car and crew. I’m no stranger to the highway we are on (it’s part of the route to Goa!), but I was a stranger to the Taycan. I’d not driven one before and there really wasn’t any time for an ice-breaking session with it either. A quick run through of the Taycan’s four screens and some of its quirks like the unusual position of the light switches beside the instrument screen was pretty much it. Thing is, as I find out almost instantly, the Taycan is a car that puts you at immediate ease. It’s very 911 in that sense. Frontal visibility is excellent, the beautiful bonnet ‘buttresses’ are a great reference point, and the driving position is spot on. I think I’m going to enjoy my time in the Taycan!

The Gogte Plaza charging station at Belagavi supplied cleanest energy.

The drive to Belagavi is smooth and ends with a charge at the Gogte Plaza charging station. Set up beside a solar field that powers it, with windmills churning away in the distance, it’s the ‘cleanest’ and greenest of our charging stops. I hope it’s a model we see replicated over the larger journey to electrification. The roads improve as we charge on deeper into Karnataka. Our average speed is up, travel time is reduced and what that means is a lot more can be packed into the day. Our stop at Davanagere is well spent in the quest for the best Benne Dosa – butter dosa with butter level Pro Max! Ahem, some of us may have packed in a kilo or two over the drive.

Resplendent Vidhana Soudha in Bengaluru is a must-see.

It’s on the way to Bengaluru that it hits me – range anxiety hasn’t hit me yet! Save for a range check at the start of each day, I’ve not paid much attention to the number over the course of three days of driving. EVs minus their most notorious stress point are a win in my books. A charger in easy reach just sweetens the deal. Luckily for us, Taj Yeshwantpur in Bengaluru, our halt for the night, is home to EV chargers.

There was just no getting around Bengaluru traffic.

Our plan of a late exit out of Bengaluru to avoid the early morning rush is met with partial success. We get a good run to the resplendent Vidhana Soudha, a must see, but it’s a crawl for the rest of the way out. The Taycan’s natural silence has a calming influence in the madness, I can tell you that.

The day’s driving has us enter Tamil Nadu, the final state on our journey. My devious plans to beat Gavin’s efficiency record are quickly aborted. The road is super-smooth and there are some wide, sweeping corners too. It’d be rude not to enjoy it to the fullest. Sport Plus dialled, the Taycan quickly (quickly being the operative word) reminds me it’s a Porsche first and then an EV. That gorgeous balance to the handling is just so, so rewarding. It’s only later that I realise we weren’t all that far from Kolli Hills, the 70-hairpin hill climb. Talk of a missed opportunity!

Zeon Charging’s RFID-enabled interface was really user-friendly.

It’s smooth sailing from Salem to Madurai. Again, it’s the road that impresses and what’s also reassuring to know is that we are never too far from a fast charger. The EV charging network is denser in the south. We use Zeon Charging’s 50kW charger, and it’s a joy to see the car ‘tank up’ so quickly, relatively speaking. The Taycan can accept charge at up to 225kW, which, infrastructure supporting, can give 100km of range within 5 min of plugging in.

I’d have loved to stay on to explore the temple city of Madurai and the historic Taj Gateway hotel we were staying at, but there’s a futuristic car waiting for me and a journey to complete. Today is the day we drive to Kanyakumari.

Gorgeous final run was almost ceremoniously lined with windmills.

I do feel for poor Gavin and Jay, but I think I’ve lucked out with the best roads of the entire trip. The surface is brilliant and the icing on the cake is that the traffic has thinned out the further south we’ve come. This is my last dance with the Taycan and I sure as hell make the most of it. Gorgeous skies and a forest, and I mean it, a forest of windmills on either side of the road lead us into Kanyakumari.

It’s a busy Sunday evening at the southernmost point of mainland India, but we politely creep our way forward till we make it to Sunrise Point (incidentally down the road from Sunset Point) and have the iconic Vivekananda Rock and Thiruvalluvar statue in view. This is it! Job done! Manolito Vujicic, who is donning two hats – of Porsche India head and a wide-eyed tourist – joyfully flags us in. Curious bystanders, and there are hordes of them, can’t comprehend our drive all the way from Kashmir, let alone one in an EV.

To us, the 4,467km journey has been epic in so many ways, but one of many learnings too.

Our Taycan lived an entire life in those 4466.5km.

For one, isn’t it gratifying to know we have the roads, at least many, to really enjoy a Porsche on? Then there’s the EV infrastructure. There’s no arguing here because there’s still a long way to go, but the fact that the Taycan did the trip from Kashmir to Kanyakumari without burning a drop of petrol or diesel, or needing any form of external assistance should tell you we’re surely headed in the right direction. And it cost us ‘only’ Rs 15,422 in charging. Fast charging isn’t cheap, but you’d be spending in multiples on fuel with a similar powered petrol car.

Bustling Kanyakumari was a place of quiet reflection of one epic journey.

As for the car. What a machine. We put it through everything. Rain. Shine. Good roads. Bad roads. No roads. The Porsche Taycan took everything like a champ. We knew it’d be fast and exciting, but what we’ve come to appreciate is how India-friendly the car is. Ironically enough, the Taycan’s impressive real-world range meant the whole journey wasn’t as much of an adventure as we anticipated it to be. And that is no bad thing.

Who said you can’t road trip in a sportscar or an EV?

Also see: 

Porsche Taycan India review: The best driving EV in the world

Turning onto the NF600, the road through Lamoille Canyon, is like driving in the barren and desolate desert landscape of Nevada and magically finding yourself in the lush and verdant Himalaya. The change in topography and scenery is like night and day.

The icing on the cake is that NF (denoting National Forest) 600, running from the town of Lamoille to the car park at the trailhead for the hike up to Lamoille Lake, is a lovely 19km-long ribbon of tar lazily draped around undulating canyon cliff sides. There are short straights stitched together by stretched out ‘S’ bends. It was an opportunity too hard to resist, because over the past couple of days I had stuck to speed limits like the most obedient child in the classroom, often slotting this very capable BMW 328i into cruise control for 400km at a stretch – the distance from Delhi to Ajmer.

It was 4.55am and I was on the NF600, feeling like a kid locked inside a candy store. Dawn was breaking as I slipped the Beemer into ‘Sports’ mode, effectively transforming it from librarian to Lara Croft. Needless to say, I drove through the canyon on the more exciting side of the speed limit. The combination of steering feel, the suspension dynamics – with traction control turned off – and the 2.0-litre, 240hp engine had me grinning like a loon. I was at the wheel of the ‘ultimate driving machine’ on a mouth-watering road. And I was all by myself.

Not exactly, as it turned out, because as I was pulling into the parking lot, happily sniffing the smell of burning rubber, one of the deputy sheriffs of Elko County pulled up behind me. “Bollocks! Here comes the ticket,” I thought. But he seemed more interested in what I was doing here so early in the morning. I explained that I wanted to get to the lake to photograph it before the wind started up and the sun became too harsh. Deputy Sean Murphy turned out to be quite the outdoors photographer, and soon he was pointing out routes that I should take up to the lake and showing me photographs he had taken and videos he had cut during his summer treks and winter snowmobiling safaris. After wishing me good luck he started off, stopped a few feet ahead, backed up and said, “Go easy on the drive back! Okay?”

“Yes sir,” I replied sheepishly and he drove off. But the tips that he’d given me made that four-hour hike up to the Dollar Lakes and the Lamoille Lake one of the most memorable highlights of my week-long road trip in Nevada.

What Happens In Vegas

I had landed in glitzy Las Vegas a few days before, after a hectic conference in New Orleans. This city with everything standing in the middle of nothing was the perfect way to wind down. Especially since I had tickets to The Beatles LOVE by Cirque Du Soleil being performed at The Mirage. Having grown up listening to The Beatles, this audio-visual treat of imaginative props, strobe lights and superbly synchronised acrobatics was a delight, particularly since it was played in loud high fidelity.

If you ever see this show, try to spot Shamanth, a Telugu boy from Hyderabad who learnt street-style dancing by watching YouTube videos and then scored a job in the Cirque Du Soleil troupe (hint: ‘Here Comes the Sun’).