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Kyle swings, er, walks over what could possibly be the world\'s fastest Indian... BulletBy:Kyle Periera |Published :March 21, 2011 

Pain. A sensation that riddles my arms, my feet and pretty much all of me. My eardrums are just short of imploding within my skull and my knees cry out for some relief. Yet, I keep at it, like a masochist out for his daily fix. And beneath all of that torment, hidden behind the helmet is the broadest grin in the recent history of Kyle-kind. At low revs, the push-rod motor splutters and complains like a rabid pitbull on a leash. A very short one at that. Once the revs spin past about 2000 rpm, that leash snaps, unleashing the beast and all the fury pent up within. It lunges forward and I imagine my face going white. The painted lane markers turn into a seamless line, my helmet fogs up, my sense of self preservation is flung into a dark cranny somewhere in my cranium where it ceases to be heard and my right wrist twists back. I’m already clocking a hundred kilometres an hour, with a couple of thousand revs to go before the redline. And it’s only in second gear, with three more cogs in store. Oh Lord, I’m coming home. With a rigid rear end and a rexine encapsulated sheet metal job that functions as a seat, the very concept of ride quality is non-existent. While doing the runs, every ripple on the road sends tingles up my spine and reduces my chances of raising a family by half.

But all of that is a small price to pay for the manic rush that this machine provides. The tarmac skims a few inches below my knees, threatening to grate them like Swiss cheese if I try something stupid. The loud blat of the unsilenced exhaust pipe ricochets off the median and it keeps growing louder and louder till it drowns even the Sukhoi Su 30 that’s taking off from the nearby Lohegaon air force base.

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