The adventure gets off to a slightly stressful start. My train from Antwerp to Schiphol is cancelled, leaving me scrambling into a car and racing towards the airport with Waze and a worried mother as my co drivers. Somehow, I make it onto my KLM flight to Delhi just in time. Seven hours later, I am standing in India. The following morning, a domestic flight takes us to Khimsar, where the real adventure begins.

Our first night is spent in a luxurious camp surrounded by sand dunes. As the sun sets over the desert, its reflection shimmers across the water and the whole scene feels almost surreal. Later, a campfire keeps us warm as we get to know the group over a few beers and a seriously spicy Indian dinner. Tomorrow, things will get considerably more physical.

A fresh batch of KTMs

Before sunrise, we head towards five brand new KTM 450 EXC Fs, each showing exactly zero kilometres. Or at least that was the plan. None of them wants to start. After some improvisation and a simple piece of rope, we eventually manage to bring the Austrian enduros to life.

Once underway, we disappear into the Indian countryside, weaving between agricultural fields as farmers begin their working day. Morning mist hangs over the landscape and gives the first kilometres an almost magical atmosphere. The pace is immediately brisk, with the lightweight KTMs proving perfectly suited to the sandy tracks and narrow passages between the fields. More than once, we have to open farmers' gates ourselves to continue along the route.

This is no gentle sightseeing tour. Some stages will cover as much as 300 kilometres off road, and the soft sand is already giving us a taste of what lies ahead. When we eventually reach a small village and meet the support vehicle, our hotel packed lunches provide a welcome break. The orange KTMs attract almost as much attention as their foreign riders. Within minutes, half the village seems to have gathered around us, eager to take selfies with the unusual visitors and their exotic machines.

A collision with a sacred animal

After saying goodbye to our unexpected audience, we continue towards Pokhran. I am riding second behind organiser Philippe on one of the rare stretches of paved road. The road is straight and in perfect condition. Up ahead, another cow is standing casually on the roadside, staring towards the fields. In India, of course, this is not just any animal. Cows are sacred and should be given plenty of space.

The briefing had been clear: pass a cow from behind because, if startled, it will supposedly move forwards rather than backwards. Philippe passes safely and I follow. But the loud KTM exhaust scares the animal, and instead of heading towards the fields it suddenly turns and runs straight onto the road. I grab the brakes, but there is no time. The impact is unavoidable.

I hit the rear of the cow hard and am thrown across the road. As I slide along the asphalt, I catch one last glimpse of the animal running away while my KTM scrapes along the ground in a shower of sparks. When I open my eyes, I am lying in a ditch on the opposite side of the road, completely disoriented and unsure of what has happened. The answer is lying beside me: my badly damaged helmet.

The support vehicle arrives and takes me to hospital. During the journey, I have plenty of time to process what has just happened. The idea of being admitted to a hospital in an Indian city of millions triggers every possible worst case scenario. Yet once again, India manages to challenge my assumptions. I receive immediate medical attention and, an hour later, a neurologist goes through the results of my CT scan with me. Thankfully, there is no reason for concern, although I am advised to remain in hospital for 24 hours for observation.

I decide against the doctor's advice and continue with the support vehicle towards our planned overnight stop. After all, the luggage of the other riders is in the car. Four hours of driving through India's secondary roads later, we reach an imposing hotel that feels more like a palace. I am battered, exhausted and relieved to be there. One thing is already certain: I won't be riding tomorrow. My helmet is destroyed and my right shoulder is in no condition for another day on an enduro.