Lost and Found

Every motorcycle rider has a ritual before setting off on their two wheeled beast. It may vary from person to person, but the sequence is almost always the same. Helmet goes on, Gloves get zipped, a quick glance at the motorcycle to admire its beauty, the engine comes to life, mirrors are adjusted, and one last check before rolling away. Much like a pilot’s pre-flight checks these small habits are built on repetition and the unconditional belief that preparation is as much a part of riding as the journey itself.

As the years have gone by, these habits and rituals have also evolved with the times. Motorcycles have changed, riding gear has become more sophisticated, and smartphones have made their own special little place in this routine. Almost without noticing it, mounting the phone has become as instinctive as putting the key in the ignition. Whether we need it for navigation or not almost ceases to matter. Instead, simply knowing that it is securely mounted and is within sight becomes part of the comfort that precedes every ride.

For me too, this ritual of mounting my phone had become another unconscious part of every ride. Ironically, it was this very, seemingly innocent, habit that set the stage for everything that followed on that fateful evening.

My cousin had recently brought home a bran new Hero Xtreme 250R. For any motorcyclist, a new motorcycle is almost impossible to ignore. Each new motorcycle promises a different personality. Enamoured by the curiosity to tame this new beast, and after a bit of friendly persuasion, I managed to convince him to swap his bike with mine for a day.

The ride was effortless and the motorcycle was an absolute delight on the saddle. In fact, by the time I began my journey home, it had been a perfectly uneventful day. As soon as the journey began, I heard an almost insignificant “tak” sound. In that moment, it sounded like nothing more than another sound from the road. It could have been a stone flicking of the tyre or a twig snapping beneath the wheels or any of the countless sounds that become part of the soundtrack of an ordinary ride. There was nothing about it that suggested anything was wrong, and I had completely forgotten about it within just a few seconds.

A few moments later, almost out of instinct, my eyes drifted towards the phone mount. Years of riding had turned it into muscle memory. Even when I knew the route by heart and had no need for navigation, my eyes would still find their way to the phone mount every few minutes. There was this unsaid expectation that everything has to be exactly where it should be.

However, this time around that expectation was shattered. The mount was exactly where it was supposed to be. The phone wasn’t. Panic set in almost instantaneously. I pulled over, turned the motorcycle around, and retraced my route on foot. For the next several minutes, I searched both sides of the road, scanning every patch of grass, every drain, every crack in the asphalt, hoping to catch even the smallest glimpse of my phone.

To anyone passing by, I probably looked like I had misplaced something far more valuable than a smartphone. I was walking up and down the road, eyes glued to the ground, inspecting every inch of tarmac as though I were searching for a lost diamond.

One passer-by possibly amused but clearly curious about what could possibly warrant such a frantic search, decided to slow down and inquire about it. Perhaps, he simply saw someone having a bad day and decided that no one should have to go through it alone and decided to join in the search.

As we discussed my ordeal and I explained where I thought I could have possibly lost my phone, we came to realize that we both were Malayalis. That was all that it took. We went from being complete strangers to being brothers in arms within a matter of minutes. The mission was no longer mine alone. We were in this together.

Fortunately, I had my work laptop with me. Unlike how it usually happens in times of crisis, this time brain fog refused to affect my steadfast determination in finding my phone. I quickly opened Find My Device and all I could do was pray and hope that the phone hadn’t already been crushed under a passing vehicle. To my relief, the location appeared almost instantly. To my disbelief, however, To my surprise, the location appeared almost instantly. For a few seconds, I simply stared at the screen, trying to make sense of it. It had slipped off barely moments earlier. How could it possibly have travelled that far already?

It was evident that somebody has picked up the phone. There we were, with a beast of a machine, a lost phone and two newly minted brothers. With a location finally on the map, we thought the hard part was over. We hopped on the Xtreme and started chasing it. That was when we discovered the biggest flaw in using Find My Device to chase a moving phone. It is excellent at telling you where your phone is but is remarkably poor at helping you catch it.

Every single time we’d stop, refresh the location, identify the nearest shop or landmark, punch it into Google Maps, and ride there as quickly as we could. By the time we arrived, we’d refresh the location again, only to discover the phone had already moved somewhere else. We did this again and again. First it was 2 km away, then 1 km away, then 1.5 km away, then 2 km away again. Our search had turned into a bizarre game of cat and mouse. After 5 or 6 location updates, I genuinely felt like my phone had embarked on a journey of its own, and had absolutely no intention of coming back.

After what felt like an eternity of chasing a phone that clearly had a better travel itinerary than we did, my new comrade finally looked at me and asked, “Bro… should we just go to the police?” My response, well let’s just say it was less measured than it should have been. I said, “Bro, by the time we explain this story to the police and finish the complaint, my phone will probably complete its deliveries and get promoted.”

So we continued our highly professional recovery strategy. Refresh location, panic, full throttle, repeat.

By then, I had convinced myself that my phone had to be travelling with a delivery rider. Nobody else could possibly cover that much ground within the same neighbourhood in such a short span of time. Meanwhile, I was running entirely on panic. The phone had all my photos, data, and I definitely wasn’t planning on buying another one. So every time we got a location update, I switched on the hazard lights, started honking my way through traffic, and gave the Xtreme full throttle. At one point I touched 100 km/h trying to catch up to that moving location pin on a terrible road.

My teammate was probably questioning every life decision that had led him to sit pillion behind me. I accelerated hard a few times and nearly introduced him to low-altitude human flight while sitting on a motorcycle. Nonetheless, to his credit, he never complained.

The funniest part is that, The Xtreme, on the other hand, seemed to be enjoying itself. Despite all this chaos, the Xtreme never felt out of control. There were multiple times when I braked much later than I should have, and the bike simply handled it. If anything, it was the calmest participant in the entire adventure.

At one point we even reached a level crossing that was about to close. Traffic was slowing down, a lorry was blocking most of the way, and the sensible thing would’ve been to wait. Unfortunately, I was no longer operating on sensible thoughts. My brain only had one instruction, that was to “Catch the phone.” Somehow we squeezed through and continued the chase. Looking back, if I had been riding my FZ V3 that day, there is more than decent chance both of us would’ve become a road safety advertisement. The Xtreme’s brakes were ridiculously good and probably saved us more than once during that adventure.

Finally, after another refresh, we noticed the location had entered a residential layout and was only around 950 meters away. This was the closest we’d been. We rushed there but got stopped by security.

We somehow managed to convince the security guard to let us in after I uttered what was probably the most convincing line of the day: “Sir… my phone is inside.” To my immense relief, he bought it, and the search resumed. Then we finally found him. A delivery rider.

We asked if he’d found a phone and he casually pulled my phone out of his delivery bag. Turns out he’d picked it up from the road, couldn’t find the owner, and kept it safe while continuing his deliveries. Meanwhile, the two of ua had spent the last hour conducting a near city-wide manhunt.

I gave him ₹200, thanked the new friend I who had spent a better part of his evening helping me and finally relaxed.

So yeah, I borrowed my cousin’s Xtreme 250R for one day and somehow ended up starring in a low-budget action movie featuring a missing phone, a random sidekick, a delivery rider, and a GPS chase across the city.