Motor(quadra)cycle Diaries - A game of points

Disclaimer: If you are a family member of mine kindly skip this post.
After all I could do without another tirade of cling and clang [refer: The Prelude]. As my parents rightly put it – post-trip – the Maruti, a very light car with minimal safety features, isn’t the best suited vehicle for doing 1900kms on the highway. And it was our very job to find out why. It all started with the post-dinner drive in the first leg of the journey. After a filling snack of chicken kebabs and paneer manjuri (this is how they spell Manchurian in namma Karnataka), washed down by on-the-house rasam shots – spicy enough to disinfect the entire system – we took on the highway again. Four hours on the road prior to this had seen off the frustrating and infuriating city traffic and the deceptively well-laid highway stretch. Ak had indulged in the thorough cleaning of the wind-shield while we chewed furiously at the kebabs in the dimly-lit bar (no thanks, we were keeping away from the drinks). The highway deserves a mention here. It was mosaic of ravaged bits of pathway threaded together by crumpled boards whispering "diversion", visible only when your nose is touching the board. Driving on this 150km stretch of rubble at night was quite a challenge. Ak took it up as I struggled to get a couple of winks, crumpled in the back seat of the car with another soul, B, with a gargantuan ruck-sack wedged between the two. Rather, I was wedged in and was only hoping that I was born a frog with three folds in my legs. We started off flying over a bump, and braced ourselves for the ride to follow.
Another interesting feature on this stretch was the immaculate positioning of bumps; a couple of meters before the diversion. In case one didn’t spot the board, the bump would do well to throw the car off balance before consummation, be it the ditch at the end of the road or the car heading surreptitiously from the other side of the diversion. This is exactly what happened at one of the diversions, as Ak didn’t spot it on time, and hurtled down up the bump and down the incline, barely managing to lose some speed in the process and missing the car from the other direction by a mere whisker. 50 points. And thus began the game of points.
Another diversion; another mangled board; yet another case of night blindness; screeches; clouds of dust; car stopped within kissing distance of a mound of red mud, or was it coagulated blood? 40 points.
2am: on a smooth road, well marked with boards on both sides. I am driving with the windows rolled up to keep the chill out; music fills up the car; I am humming to myself enjoying my personal time as the others have been engulfed by sleep. Thoughts stray back and forth as I don’t bother to wake the others – they have to get behind the wheel later – but the truth is I am thoroughly enjoying it, whizzing at no less than 100km an hour. The signs on the sides forewarning turns race by as they lead to mellow turns with banking that are negotiated easily. Another board marking an impending left turn; a casual glance as my foot is firm on the accelerator: mistake; another seemingly innocuous turn, and there is no urgency to floor the breaks: mistake. The turn coiled menacingly and it was too late to jam the breaks. I gently squeezed the breaks and turned the wheel a fraction alternately; too much of either would throw the car off balance. The screech of the tyres rises to drown the music within. I entered the curve from the left and finished on the right, couple of feet off the railing on the right. As the car slowed, the heartbeat raced. Victor: 50 points.