Six Friends, Three Royal Enfield Himalayans, and Four Unforgettable Days in Meghalaya

We arrived at Jorabat early, the kind of early that still feels sleepy and fresh at the same time. Three Royal Enfield Himalayans were lined up together, looking ready for the road while six friends moved around them with the usual last-minute checks — gloves, camera bags, rain gear, water bottles, phone mounts, and all the small things that somehow become essential once the ride begins.

The moment we took the great right turn toward Shillong, the city behind us began to disappear. The road climbed steadily, the air turned cooler, and the scenery started changing in a way that made the whole group go quieter than usual. There is a particular kind of silence that appears on beautiful roads — not because people have nothing to say, but because they are too busy looking.

Umiam Lake was the first true pause of the journey. After the climb and the bends, the lake opened up in front of us like a wide blue welcome. We stopped, removed our helmets, and just stood there for a while. It was not the kind of stop that needs a reason. The view itself was the reason.

Shillong had its own rhythm, but our route was already pulling us forward. The road to Cherrapunji felt like a ride made for motorcyclists — smooth stretches, sharp bends, cloud shadows moving across the slopes, and one scenic turn after another. We kept stopping for viewpoints, not because we were lost, but because the road kept offering better and better frames.

Dawki was one of those places that looked familiar in photographs and yet still managed to surprise us in person. The Wah Umngot river was so clear that the boats almost appeared to float in the air. The colour of the water kept changing with the light, shifting between blue, green, and a deep transparent turquoise that looked almost unreal. Everyone took too many photos, and still no picture seemed enough.

Shnongpdeng slowed the trip down. After Dawki, the quieter river stretch gave us time to simply sit beside the water and do nothing for a while. Then Krang Suri Falls changed the mood again. The walk in, the sound of water growing louder, and the sudden sight of the turquoise falls made everyone stop talking for a moment. It was the kind of beauty that felt earned, not just visited.

From Krang Suri we moved toward Jowai, then back to Shillong, and finally returned to Guwahati. By then the road was no longer just a route. It had become a shared memory. Four days, six friends, three bikes, endless curves, and a country-side feeling that stayed with us long after we reached home.

When people ask what made the trip special, I usually say it was the scenery. But the honest answer is a little bigger than that. It was the feeling of moving together through one of the most beautiful corners of the Northeast, one stop at a time, with enough time to notice everything.