Mohan, the local mechanic, had called ‘the papa’ at the guesthouse to let me know that he had spoken with a gentleman whom had an older enfield that he was interested in selling, and I had gone by his shop the following afternoon to see the bike. It was in fine condition, with a chrome oversized petrol tank that parted the legs wide, to which an American rider over dinner had commented: “Like riding a fat girl”.
The American walked with me after breakfast to look at the bike; he’d ridden throughout China, India and Nepal on native bikes. It was cold outside and the gentleman showing the bike had a time getting it to crank.
“Your new morning workout”, the American joked.
We each took a turn driving the bike, and it handled fine with only minor issues including the third gear. I agreed that I’d stop by later in the day with money and so took the bike with me down to Mohan’s to have a clutch plate replaced and to have the epic ‘Ladakh rack’ added to the back for hauling gear.