Twenty-five years on the saddle has taught me more than how to handle wet gravel or a stubborn clutch; it taught me how to read people on the road. Riding isn’t just throttle and balance, it’s trust. You trust yourself, your motorcycle, and the people you choose to share the miles with. That trust is earned, not assumed.

So, when I heard about the young girl who died on a trip, and that the group continued because there were appointments to keep and a minister to meet, something in me went cold. I am completely heartbroken for the family; a life cut short is always devastating. My anger isn’t at grief. It’s at the casualness, the prioritizing of selfies and schedules over a human being’s life.

Motorcycling culture isn’t what it used to be. In the past, a group ride meant a tacit contract: look out for each other, stop when something goes wrong, use your network for help. Now I see more people for whom the ride is content, status, or an item on an agenda. That shift matters because riding is full of unpredictable variables. India makes unpredictability an art form. Potholes, livestock, errant trucks, sudden monsoon bursts, distracted drivers: anything can happen any time.

I pick my group rides carefully. I ask (sometimes silently, sometimes out loud): Do I trust these people to take care of me the way I will take care of them if something goes wrong? Do they have the presence of mind to stop, assess, and help? Do they know what to do at an accident scene? If I’m unsure, I’d rather ride alone than be in a group that would leave me worse off.

That may sound harsh. But the responsibility is real and personal. An organizer can’t ride for you. A celebrated brand or a high-profile meet doesn’t reduce risk. If an organizer deliberately puts you in an obviously dangerous situation, like sending people down rapids without life jackets or into an avalanche-prone slope, that’s criminal negligence. But most motorcycle hazards aren’t that obvious. A truck misjudges a gap, a distracted driver clips you, a simple fall turns catastrophic. It can happen to the most experienced of riders. One of the best motorcyclists I have known, got taken out, by a distracted driver, on the way back from an event. Experience reduces risk, but it doesn’t eliminate it.

There are times when organizers and fellow riders deserve blame. If someone is injured, you stop the ride. Period. Social media activity, meeting a VIP, or keeping an event schedule is not more important than a human life. If you have connections, use them for evacuation and medical help, don’t use them as a photo-op. I’ve seen the reverse: less than a year ago at a brand event, a rider had a fall broke his foot. His so-called group kept going; they didn’t notice he was missing. My friend and I stopped, called the brand POC, and they arranged an ambulance that was already on-site. Imagine if we hadn’t. The difference between chaos and order in those moments is often a single phone call by someone who cares.

The bitter truth is people have become inconsiderate, even to those in their own circle. That makes personal responsibility even more important. So, what can you do to safeguard yourself as a motorcycle traveler? A few practical things that come from years on the road:

Do

• Vet your group: ride only with people you know or who come with strong recommendations. Trust is non-negotiable.
• Learn basic accident response: first aid, how to stabilize someone, how to stop bleeding, how to move an injured rider safely only when necessary.
• Carry the right kit: basic trauma first-aid, a compact splint, a phone power bank, emergency contact card, and quick-access insurance/medical info.
• Train for first aid professionally: attend certified courses (NOLS, advanced first-aid, or riding organizations). I’ve done training runs with MTM; they matter.
• Know your ride: don’t ride unfamiliar bikes aggressively. If you must, take time to get comfortable before pushing limits.
• Plan evacuation: have a contingency plan, local emergency numbers saved, and a clear meetup point if someone goes missing.
• Use your network: if you know influential people, use their help for medical or transport assistance — that’s what connections are for, not for optics.

Don’t

• Ride with strangers just because a group looks big or “cool” online.
• Assume organizers will handle every emergency. They often won’t be prepared.
• Ignore red flags: slow response to a crash, people who prioritize pictures, or organizers who push schedules over safety.
• Leave an injured rider unattended or assume “someone else will call.” If you’re there, act.
• Ride a motorcycle you haven’t familiarized yourself with at speed or on difficult terrain.
• Trust social media narratives over facts when judging an incident. Investigate, but don’t excuse inaction.

We can debate who is at fault in any particular tragedy, organizers, fellow riders, or systemic failures. #influenzaaaa and online chatter will push their narratives; some of it may be fair, some of it performative. But the core is simple: you are ultimately responsible for your own safety. Choose who you ride with. Train yourself to handle emergencies. Wear the right gear. And if you see something go wrong, stop.

I’ll sign off with an uncomfortable preference I’ve lived by: given a choice between being alone and being with people who won’t pick up the phone for you, I’ll choose to be alone every time. I’d rather face the risk on my own than be at the mercy of dimwits who treat life like a background prop for their next post.