Outstations by Get.Set.Throttle

Ride, Resolve & Brotherhood: From Delhi to Lucknow on Two Wheels

There are rides that test your machine, and then there are rides that test your spirit. The highway between Delhi and Lucknow is not the most treacherous route in India, but when twenty riders from across Delhi, Gurgaon, and Noida came together for a weekend on two wheels, it became something much more meaningful.

The sun had barely hinted at the horizon when riders began assembling at the Starbucks in Jewar. Chrome and rubber gleamed under the soft light as engines warmed and coffee cups emptied. This was the kickoff point, the ritual starting line where caffeine met gasoline. The smell of fresh brew mixed with the faint tang of fuel as laughter filled the space. Every ride has a story, and ours began with one stubborn motorcycle that refused to start.

It was the kind of hiccup that could dampen enthusiasm, but not when two dozen determined riders were around. Wrenches clicked, jumper cables appeared, and spirits stayed high. A few minutes later, the familiar thump of the engine broke the morning stillness. It was as if the road itself was inviting us forward.

Into the Fog, Into the Flow

As the convoy rolled out, the NCR skyline faded behind a silver curtain of fog. Visibility dropped, but focus sharpened. The rumble of engines turned into a rhythm, the kind that syncs hearts and throttles alike. Dense mist shrouded the expressway, making every kilometer feel like a mystery unfolding.

Fuel stops came often for bikes with smaller tanks. These brief halts turned into warm moments of camaraderie, cups of tea passed around, light banter echoing over idling engines, and the occasional roadside laughter about who would need to refuel next.

At one of the busy food plazas along the way, the same rebellious bike decided to test our patience again. Despite every trick in the handbook, the engine refused to budge. Tools came out, riders discussed theories, until someone called for the tried‑and‑tested solution, the push start. A quick sprint, a drop of the clutch, and the engine finally came to life. The group erupted in cheers, half in triumph, half in relief. The unspoken instruction followed shortly after: “Don’t turn it off again until Lucknow.”

The Road Opens Up

Past Etawah, the fog began to clear, unveiling an open stretch of tarmac glistening under a gentle winter sun. The highway felt infinite, smooth, and welcoming. These were the moments every rider lives for, when the landscape rushes by in a blur, the air tastes of freedom, and fatigue becomes fuel for the spirit.

Cruising speeds settled into a comfortable rhythm. Between toll gates and occasional smoke breaks, conversations drifted over intercoms or through helmet nods at red lights. By early afternoon, Lucknow began to shimmer in the distance, the city’s warmth a contrast to the morning’s chill.

It was 3:30 p.m. when we finally rolled into town. The dust of the journey still clung to our jackets, but smiles were wide and unfiltered. Lunch was abandoned in favour of an early dinner, and what a feast it was. Lucknow, the city of Nawabs, served up its best : fragrant biryanis, melt‑in‑the‑mouth kebabs, and rich gravies that silenced every conversation for a while. By evening, the ride’s fatigue had been replaced with unrestrained laughter and that familiar comfort of shared accomplishment.

Mornings, Machines, and Minor Miracles

The next morning began calmly, the kind of peace that follows a night of heavy stories and heavier food. Until another bike decided to throw in a challenge. It wouldn’t start. The group’s collective groan was immediate.

Suspicions ranged from battery to fuel pump, spark plug to wiring. Yet again, the issue turned out to be deceptively simple - a dead keyfob battery. Hours of elaborate troubleshooting ended with a joke shared over coffee and a tiny disc cell that saved the day.

With batteries replaced and spirits restored, the group set out once more on the open highways. The plan was tighter this time, strategic fuel stops, quick meals, shorter smoke breaks. The miles melted away faster than expected, as if the road itself was smoothing our way home.

When the sun dipped low, painting the sky amber, the convoy began to disperse, some riders toward Delhi, some toward Gurgaon or Noida. The engines fell silent one by one, but the memory of the ride hummed softly in everyone’s mind.

Beyond the Horizon

This wasn’t just a road trip. It was a reaffirmation of why riders ride, the unspoken trust among strangers turned brothers, the grit of the journey, the laughter that follows breakdowns, and the undeniable joy of open highways.

From the foggy start in Jewar to the aromatic feast in Lucknow, and finally the golden dusk of the return leg, every mile carried a story. Machines tested resolve, roads tested patience, but the reward was something no destination could offer a connection with the road, with each other, and with that part of ourselves that feels most alive when the world rushes by at 100 kilometers an hour.