Off Road

To understand the kick, you’d have to be there with me. At your own risk, of course

To understand the kick, you’d have to be there with me. At your own risk, of course

You know what’s a good way to perplex your urbane tarmac-loving auto buff? Show him the jeep picture above. It’s out in the wilderness, and the only way you can fit all four tyres is if three are in different ditches and the fourth on a rock. Welcome to the world of offroading, where the only way to get a tow truck is to have it air-dropped.

But let’s do it like a Rakeysh Mehra movie—the action first and then the flashback. So, one Sunday afternoon, I tightened a couple of screws on my jeep’s differential, stuck a fake Punjab number plate on my still-waiting-to-be-registered vehicle and set off for Sushant Lok, Gurgaon, with a knot in my stomach that only got worse when I saw the medley of jeeps standing there—a classic lookalike, a Trax Gurkha, a CJ3B, two Gypsys and three 550s (including mine).    

The destination? Into the hills of Behrampur, 20 km from Gurgaon, and there’s a reason for that ‘into’. My metallic gray 550, to be called Work in Progress (WIP) henceforth, was chugging nicely along when I saw all the other jeeps taking a right and disappearing.

Fellow jeeper Harjeev yelled for me to do the same and the jeep’s bonnet vanished into a sand pit faster than I could gulp. I clutched the steering wheel for dear life and found myself coming to a sudden stop, next to the other waiting jeeps. Phew! And, we hadn’t even reached the offroading course yet. I climbed down from the 550 (it’s always ‘climb’) and saw a gentleman bringing down a white CJ3B (an older, smaller jeep with a brute of an engine) at a 30º incline barely wide enough to fit its tyres. Overcome with enthusiasm, I put WIP to the same task, cruising through weeds and looking for that irresistibly dangerous dip. A gentleman with a Nepali cap emerged from somewhere to issue instructions: “Tyre to the right, right… straight, straight, straighten the tyres…now let her…No. No. No brake, no accelerator, just let her go.” By the time I was done panicking and cussing, I was down.

In one piece. Body, soul and jeep.

After twisting my head around to confirm that, I felt my exultation surge. “Take that, offroaders!” The man in the cap was far less impressed. “Never brake on descent,” he glowered, “the jeep will topple over… put it in 4WD and take your foot off the brake.” And that was my first offroading lesson. Don’t press the clutch on your way down, it’ll fry it. Don’t brake, you’ll topple. And don’t accelerate—unless you’re in a hurry to meet the Maker.

The fear of God so instilled, I took the same descent one more time, nudging the brake, recovering in a split-second, taking a leap of faith and letting my foot off the brake. My reflexes went no further than digging my nails into the steering wheel. Whoosh, we were down, my heart thumping my ribs.

Next up, an ascent through sand. Equipped with Sandgrips and a 2498 cc engine with the ground clearance of a small truck, WIP was raring to go. I watched a black Gypsy slip and spray sand in its attempt; veteran jeepers had to dig sand around the incline before anything came of it. I was told to build some speed and try it in second gear (first gear wouldn’t deliver the steady acceleration needed), 4WD low. Unaware of the difference, I vroomed ahead in 4WD high. My WIP grunted and crawled over the ascent with the surefootedness of a mountain goat. The adrenaline buzz was to last the entire day.

As we left Behrampur village for the fringes of the Aravalis, I noticed that WIP’s racket on tarmac—its door clangs, pips and squeaks—was gone. The jeep, you see, is a master of rocky terrain. I was still basking in that discovery when the jeep trail vanished again, this time through a clearing in the shrubs off into a two-storey drop. No brake, no accelerator, 4WD high. My WIP leapt off the descent and came to a halt near a dry pond bed. More advice. Don’t go sideways on a descent, you’ll roll over. And don’t sit at the corner of a pond eating a ham sandwich—not unless you’ve driven through the pond with your foot on the gas for some satisfying mud plugging.

That’s how I found myself stuck in the middle of the slush, my tyres threatening to sink deeper every passing second. As I was towed out by another 550, there were more lessons for me. My momentum wasn’t enough. Plus, I needed higher speed and rhino-towing hooks next time round. And shutting off the engine would’ve been an invitation for the goo to clog the exhaust and make the rescue operation all the more urgent.

I headed back, letting my mind drift off into flashback mode, Hindi film style. Just two days before I was supposed to take delivery of a civilian 1997 model Mahindra 540, I bumped into Harjeev. He knew his jeeps, and how. Did I want a jeep for offroading? Yes? Good. He took charge.

WIP is a 2001 model 550 brought from an army auction after service in Leh, and even had bullet holes in the doors. Now, such a vehicle outguns the civilian 540 by 500 cc of engine capacity, a horde of horses, and much else. A 4WD with front disc brakes and rear drums can’t be compared with the 2WD 540 with drum brakes and boom I was almost about to acquire. The uber cool army features were a bonus—skid plates, and a way to turn the engine into an electric generator.

It took four weeks of reengineering, including new piston heads and much else. Some serious overhauling later, I drove the jeep for the very first time. Ah, the experience. It was truly intoxicating, right from hauling myself into a seat much higher than any other on the road, to the raw grunt of the diesel powertrain.

It’s hard to explain the kick. But if there’s a grin on my face and cop on my tail as you see me clambering over the divider, it’s not because I want to, but simply because I can.

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