Where the River Learns to Rest

A father, a son, and a friend — chasing the growl, finding silence, and cherishing each other.

The morning wasn’t looking good.
The sky hung heavy and grey — a reluctant, sulking sort of weather. One of those days that seems to whisper, “maybe not today.”

My son stepped out, frowned at the clouds, and asked, “We’re still going?”
“Of course,” I said. “It’s only water.”

He grinned. And just like that, the day changed.

The Road Finds Its Voice

Three riders. Three machines. One plan: just ride until the noise inside quietens down.

It had been a while since I’d ridden properly — really ridden. This was my first decent outing with Lila, and I could feel her impatience under me from the moment I turned the key. That thrum — deep, confident, a little wild — filled my chest like breath after a long dive.

We hit the highway, and suddenly the world was motion. The city melted away in the mirrors. The tarmac stretched ahead, smooth and eager. The clouds that had seemed so threatening earlier now framed the road like a scene waiting to be lived.

Lila roared and I let her — the speed wasn’t about thrill; it was about release. The faster she moved, the clearer everything became. Every worry, every doubt, every unfinished conversation in my head — gone in the rhythm of gears and wind.

The Wrong Turn

I was leading, of course — full of joy, momentum, and misplaced confidence. Which is how I completely missed the turn.

We went on for several more kilometers before realizing our dam had somehow vanished from the map. No big deal. We laughed, looked at the maps, and took the next road that looked like it might vaguely point toward water.

It did. But it also pointed toward gravel.

The kind of gravel that makes you rethink your life choices.

Rakesh in His Element

While my son and I gingerly tried not to lose traction (and possibly our teeth), Rakesh transformed into a man possessed. He stood up on the pegs, balanced like a dancer, and just flew. Dust plumes behind him, gravel bouncing, bike steady — it was poetry on wheels.

By the time we caught up, he was waiting by the side of the road, visor up, laughing like a man who had just made peace with chaos.

Every ride has that one rider who comes alive when things get rough — Rakesh was ours.

The River Appears

And then — as if we’d earned it — the road softened, and the view opened.

There it was: Singoor Dam.
The water stretched endlessly, still and blue, framed by rolling green and clouds painted in impossible whites. The sun had broken through at last, turning the grey of morning into something golden.

There were no crowds, no chatter — just wind, light, and that low hum of existence that comes when everything aligns.

We parked our bikes. Walked around. Talked a little. Fell silent a lot.

You don’t say much when the world looks like that.
Some silences are meant to be kept.

Lunch and the Long Ride Back

On the way back, we stopped for lunch — a roadside palace - with the kind of food - and humungous portions of fish - that tastes infinitely better after a few hundred kilometers. The laughter was easy, the conversation lighter, and the bikes cooled quietly in the shade — the kind of companionship that asks for nothing and gives everything.

The ride back was pure flow.
Long stretches of good road, light traffic, and that rhythm that only a rider understands — where the bike breathes with you, and time loses its shape.

For me, it was bliss.
Just the engine’s growl, the whine of the wind, and the faint smell of sun-warmed fumes.

High speed doesn’t scatter your thoughts; it aligns them. Every gear shift feels like an exhale. Every curve like forgiveness.

It was the kind of ride that reminds you why you fell in love with this madness in the first place.

Reflection

When we left that morning, it was overcast, uncertain, and easy to give up on.
But we didn’t.
And because we didn’t, we found something rare — that space between speed and stillness where the world makes sense again.

That day wasn’t just about distance covered or roads conquered.

“A father, a son, and a friend — chasing the growl, finding silence, and cherishing each other.”