# Not About Horsepower. About Beer, Bikes & Bakchodi.

I’m an IT guy..

Twelve years in US healthcare tech. Long calls, long decks, longer meetings. Before bikes entered my life, cars were my escape — four wheels, long drives, and the freedom that only highways give you.

Then, somewhere around 2018–19, my boss ruined it for me by buying three motorcycles.

A BMW GS 1200 (obviously), a Pulsar 200, and a Mahindra Mojo XT 300. For reasons I still can’t logically explain, I fell in love with the Mojo. Big, mean, two round headlights, I’ve always had a thing for twin circles, be it cars or bikes. To make matters worse, he had somehow broken the front dome, so the bike was running with just the two exposed headlights and wiring hanging out like it had survived a street fight. It looked illegal. I loved it.

My first proper ride on it was during a road trip to Bir. Somewhere between the mountains, torque, and questionable decisions, motorcycling officially hijacked my life. Soon after, his family decided three bikes were one too many, and to “relieve his misery,” I bought the Mojo, on installments, because middle-class emotions with superbike dreams.

Enter the Bug Eyes

When upgrade fever hit, I went looking for a lightweight naked. That’s when the Triumph Street Triple happened. Moto2 pedigree. Insanely engineered engine. And those headlights, bug eyes, twin rounds, exactly my weakness.

I test-rode it in 2019. Got off the bike. Didn’t speak for a few minutes.

I waited three years before finally buying it. I was also obsessed with the Continental GT Chrome, but Royal Enfield’s waiting period felt longer than a government project, so the Street Triple won.

Here’s the fun part:

My son had just been born. While the family was celebrating life, I quietly celebrated financial irresponsibility and booked the bike without telling anyone. A few weeks later, my office sent me to the US. Before leaving, I dropped the bomb at home. By the time the ₹11-lakh shock fully landed, I was already in another timezone.

Lockdown delays worked in my favor. I prayed, sincerely, that the containers from Korea would arrive before I flew back. They did. The showroom called for full payment just as I was wrapping up in the US.

I didn’t even get to unbox my first big bike. As part of the family compromise, I was summoned to my hometown, and my best friend (also my boss, also the guy whose Mojo I still own) ran it in for a month. When I finally returned to Delhi, my Street Triple was waiting, broken in, ready, and slightly offended I missed the delivery.

So… Now What?

Once you have a bike, the next logical question is:

“The f*ck do I do with it?”

Instagram answered that for me.

An ex-colleague had bought a Trident. One DM later, phone numbers were exchanged. Twenty minutes after that, Tanay, Sunny, and I were riding to Jewar. From there, friendships formed. Triumph rides followed. More riders joined.

Then there was Karan.

An uptight a**hole I met on a Sunday ride. I was happily discussing my future Hilux dreams when he shut me down with, “When you have 30 lakhs, then open your mouth. Until then, shut it.”

He rode a Trident.

Not even a bigger bike than mine.

Naturally, we became friends.

Why Get.Set.Throttle Happened?

Triumph rides were fun, but too diplomatic.

Too polished.

Zero Bakchodi.

It didn’t feel like a friend circle. So we started riding every Sunday. Rain, heat, fog, it didn’t matter. Short rides if needed, cars if weather was brutal, but Sundays were sacred.

Then Sunny, our in-house budget Vin Diesel created a WhatsApp group: Get.Set.Throttle.

The rule was simple:

We ride every Sunday. No excuses.

Our first long ride was to Chandigarh, where Sunny hoped to buy an S1000RR. He didn’t fit on it, but we came back with stories, laughter, and one legendary overnight trip. That night, drunk and waiting for chicken korma under a parked auto, Karan told me how he became a rally driver. That’s when I saw the human behind the a**hole.

Three idiots. One group. Too many rides.

Eventually, the money involved in outstation trips started touching numbers we didn’t want hitting personal accounts. That’s how Get.Set.Throttle became a company, equal ownership, zero ego, full trust.

How We Ride

I ride safe. I enjoy the journey.

I don’t do sustained triple-digit madness. My tyres last 20,000 km. Brake pads last just as long. I’ve pushed my bike to 248 km/h, on the Buddh International Circuit, where it belongs.

Safety isn’t optional with us.

No gear = no ride.

Reckless riding = public mocking.

If someone does chappri giri, they’re called out immediately. On the saddle, we expect gentlemen.

We don’t control pace. Routes and break points are researched and shared. After that, everyone rides their ride. Karan likes ripping his soul out, he’s usually ahead. I prefer marshaling at the back, making sure nobody gets left behind.

There are no designations, leaders, scouts, marshals just emerge. Because seasoned riders do what needs to be done. Everyone’s got everyone’s back. And everyone’s leg gets pulled equally, first ride or fiftieth.

Brotherhood, Not Bikes

We don’t care what you ride.

Splendor or superbike, doesn’t matter.

What matters is heart, attitude, and respect. No snobs. No nonsense. No random additions. New riders ride with us first. One Sunday is usually enough, you either belong, or you don’t.

We’ve removed people too. One warning. No second chances. We have members who’ve served the country, built meaningful lives, so loose talk, indecency, and garbage behavior don’t fly.

Some riders have moved cities. Some countries. They’re still part of GST. Because this stopped being a riding group a long time ago, it became a family. Our spouses know each other. Parents know each other. And if someone says they’re riding with Get.Set.Throttle, people already know it’s going to be a good time.

Why Sunday Matters

Sunday morning is quiet.

Families are asleep.

We’re back by brunch.

It’s harmless boys’ time out, a reset from corporate nonsense, a reason to sleep early on Saturday, a way to start Monday sane. If GST ever skips a Sunday ride, it’s probably because we’re on an outstation trip and will be back with stories instead.

The Honest Part

Running GST isn’t free fun.

Capital, compliance, ITRs, billing, it’s real work.

But expectations are easy because our riders understand. Mistakes happen. They forgive us. That trust is rare.

People management can get messy. Arguments happen. We step in. We fix it. Vibe protection is non-negotiable — and our referral-only culture keeps it alive.

What Motorcycling Changed

I’ll never sell my Mojo or my Street Triple. Ever.

And as long as you’re with us, expect leg-pulling, stolen food, bad jokes, and absolute loyalty.

Because Get.Set.Throttle is not about horsepower.

It’s about beer, bikes, and bakchodi — and the kind of brotherhood that shows up, every single Sunday.