
2023 Bajaj Pulsar NS200 And Pulsar NS160 First Ride Review: Going...
- Mar 25, 2023
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Most race weekends test your speed, while some your spirit, but this one did both and then some. June 7, 2025 - the Madras International Circuit was buzzing with anticipation as the media riders of TVS YMRP 9.0 Round 1 suited up for practice and qualifying. I rolled out for the morning practice session with adrenaline pumping, feeling the rush of track life all over again. My lines were improving, the rhythm was coming together until…
On practice lap 5, all that momentum unraveled in an instant. At Turn 7, there’s a rectangular patch of fresh tarmac. It's usually subtle at first glance, but a trap if you're not paying attention, and well, I wasn’t. I committed too much lean angle instead of using proper body position, and the rear tyre lost traction and slipped, the right footpeg caught, then the low-side came hard and fast. One moment I was chasing apexes, the next thing I knew I was sliding across one.
And then, the unthinkable happened - flames erupted as the bike slid and I tumbled into the grass runoff. Within seconds, the fire had swallowed the rear half of the bike. All the plastic and foam parts of the Apache RTR 200 4V like the fuel tank, side panels, tail section, and both seats - were all gone within 10 seconds. A thick black cloud rose from the now ablaze bike, and the grass scorched with a permanent black circle - a reminder of what had just happened. I was told later it was a first in YMRP, no bike had ever caught fire like that during the program in all 9 years since this event commenced in 2016 - talk about making racing history!
My Alpinestars Tech-Air 5 airbag vest deployed the moment I hit the ground. It probably saved me from a more serious injury, but for the first few seconds, it felt like I was trapped inside my own body. I couldn’t breathe, my chest was locked tight, panic rising fast, and then just as suddenly, it eased. I gasped, coughed, and realized I was bruised, shaken, and rattled - but still in one piece.
My left wrist, elbow, knee were sprained, and everything hurt - my body ached all over. The practice session was red-flagged and cut short for everyone — just 15 minutes instead of the scheduled 25. I was taken off the track by the Medical Car - a Toyota Etios Liva, and the marshals on scene extinguished what was left of the bike. Still, a few hours later and after having our lunch, I suited up for qualifying.
The physical pain was real - my wrist throbbed with every input, my elbow stiffened with each left hand corner, and every lean felt like a gamble. But the problem wasn’t my body - it was my head. That crash had broken something deeper than bone or muscle, my confidence was rattled. Turn 7 haunted me on every lap, the fear of falling again crept in every time I entered the corner. I backed off, braked early, rode cautiously but not smartly, and all my lines were off.
Despite all that, I pushed through all five qualifying laps and managed a best time of 2:33.302, which was five seconds slower than my earlier practice time of 2:28.133, and a full 18 seconds off the session’s fastest lap of 2:15.411. With that benchmark, the 110% qualifying cut-off landed at 2:28.952; meaning I was out. In comparison, I had done a best time of 2:30.028 and qualified 10th in the selection round last time around held on May 9, 2025. To add to the sting, the medical team officially declared me unfit to race on the morning of June 8. Just like that, race day came and went and I never got to line up on the starting grid.
There was no comeback story this weekend, no underdog miracle, no P1 moment, no blaze of glory (ba dum tss). I crashed, missed the cut, and didn’t race. But what I did do, and what I’ll carry with me is that I got back up. I showed up for qualifying bruised, aching, and most importantly, scared. I rode through the pain, the doubt, through a crash that could’ve easily kept me in the paddock. That doesn’t earn you a podium, but it does earn you something else – grit.
Motorsport doesn’t reward comfort - it punishes ego, exposes weaknesses, teaches hard lessons in the harshest ways, and reminds you why you do it all in the first place. This wasn’t the weekend I hoped for, but it’s one I won’t ever forget. Because the bike may have burned, but the fire in me didn’t. And I still have 2 more rounds to prove my mettle - I survived this time, came out alive, and that’s what matters more.
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