It was noon and we were famished. And we saw one of us gorging on a babugosha. Where from? He pointed to the tree above. So began the efforts to shake the tree for more fruit, but no luck. Help came soon, fortunately. In a matter of minutes, Partap Singh, a village youth, climbed on to the tree and broke off as many babugoshas as we wanted. Rimjhim was confused, “aapke yahan bagiche nahin hote”? Thankfully, the Raid participants came vrooming, the first lot was on motorbikes, splashing through the water, precariously balancing the two-wheeler on the stones and then followed the speeding four-wheelers. One of the villagers wearing a Team India T-shirt wasn’t impressed. Bobe Singh Sain was a driver, and not interested in being part of the motorsport event. This wasn’t his calling, “I am happy with my truck.”

Finally, the journos decided to get moving too, back to their vehicles. As you walked back to the vehicle in the balmy October afternoon, you saw sights that woould make wonderful memories. The tall deodar trees, marigolds blooming around a village house, bright orange makki drying on the rooftops, groups of rose-cheeked children walking hand-in-hand. On the other side of the mountain, you could hear the roar of vrooming tyres approaching the stream. More participants are on their way. You suddenly didn’t want to take a lift in the Mahindra jeep to where your vehicle was stationed. You would rather trek back. This is the moment. Live it. Back in the city, after the adventure was over, you would be behind the wheel often enough.