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For months I had been working on a product to improve Arctic Cat ATVs and had numerous people visit me from India. At Pricol, Ltd. in southern India they developed the electronics to drive my device and were in preparations to build tooling.

I was working away at my project one morning in March when I checked my email and there was one new message. It was from Dick Nyberg, one of the owners of Gear & Broach, Inc. before the sale to FastenTech. He’s still my "boss". The email just had two sentences.

"Hey Jim,

        When you have a chance come down and see me, I have an interesting proposal for you.

        Dick"

"What could this be?" I thought. Dick is one of the greatest people I have ever met and I knew that whatever it was would be a good thing. Soon afterward I was at his door but he was on the phone. Moments later I tried again and he motioned for me to come in. Soon he completed the call. He said with minimal hesitation, "How’d you like to go to India?".

Somehow I had expected this at some time and my heart leaped at the thought that it was really happening

"Yes, I would" I announced. I recalled my recent thoughts about how nice it would be to have a passport and where would I go if I did. This was great! Now I had a reason to get a passport right away, and I could even use some company time for procuring it.

Of course, in order to get your passport you must first have a birth certificate or an official declaration that no such document exists. I dug through my files and found a pretty official looking hospital birth certificate. I took a drive that Friday to the Hennepin County Courthouse in Brooklyn Park, Minnesota. I found the place where you can get all these official items including passports. At the reception desk I told the rather efficient young lady that I wanted to get a passport. I saw that I needed to have cash or a check. I brought neither. I showed off the birth document.

"That is not a birth certificate. You will have to get a real birth cettificate before you can apply for a passport.. What state were you born in?"

"California", I said. She checked her computer and printed off a form..

OK. I showed her the self-portrait I had taken.

"There are problems with that photo. The background is too dark for one thing. It should be white. You will have trouble with it. That’s OK, though because we will take your picture."

All rightr. I left somewhat dejected. She gave me the form for obtaining a California birth certificate. California is one of these exceptional states with tougher identity protection laws so I would have to get a notary to certify that I am really who I say I am and show cause as to why I can get a birth certificate. I went right to work on it and quickly got the form notarized at my bank branch. It would be at least six weeks before I would see the birth certificate, however, and I emailed my Pricol friends to let them know this.

My first contact with Pricol had been about a year earlier when International product development engineer Sivarajan visited us and expressed great interest in producing the newly emerging product. Sivarajan is a brilliant, enthusiastic workaholic with excellent English speaking skills. Shortly after learning of my coming visit to Pricol there were meetings at Gear & Broach in which Sivarajan was present. He had sent us prototypes of the device earlier and there were some problems with the circuitry. I had the really important question to ask.

"What clothes should I wear when working at Pricol?"

"Just wear jeans and a golf shirt and you'll be all right".

"OK, that sounds good"

I took him seriously. I didn't own a single golf shirt. Soon I had five. And a cloth belt and wallet because I would not want to offend any Hindus, who deem the cow sacred, by wearing leather. Shopping for clothes to wear to India really was fun.

About two weeks went by and then I got this email from India explaining that I could visit a certain web site and get a birth certificate a lot faster than the one I ordered earlier. Once again I went through the entire process but I sent the information to the address given on the web site. It took about ten days and I received the document in an overnight envelope.

That was Friday the 28^th of March and I promptly went into action. I went right home and washed my hair. I changed clothes and gassed up the truck. Then I went back to the County Courthouse. This time everything worked out perfectly. I got my photo right there and I paid extra to have the passport expedited. That means I get it in a few days instead of weeks. When I returned to the office I took some time to study how I would obtain an Indian visa once the little blue booklet arrived.

I just got my passport.

It didn’t take me long to get the passport. April 5^th. There it was wasy down in a large overnight delivery envelope. I began in earnest to acquire the visa. I went to FedEx Kinko's and got two more passport photos. Using a rapid visa website I downloaded the requirements and form. On the next day I overnighted my complete application which included two business letters and a goot sized check along with the passport and other items. On Friday the 8^th another envelope showed up. There was my passport. I could not find any sign of a visa. After looking more closely I found the sticker attached to page 12 of my passport. It was good for one year and for multiple visits. Now it was up to Pricol.

I had a great weekend and anticipated that I might even be in the air by Tuesday. Not quite. For a few days I didn’t know anything for sure but then I got notice that an e-ticket had been purchased for me and that I would find information on the net for my trip and be able to download a boarding pass from Northwest.

I logged onto the Northwest Airlines website. The instruction I received was that I had to wait until 24 hours before my flight left before I could get the boarding pass. Oddly, I didn’t know for sure when that would be because I would be learning my flight time from the ticket information.. I simply assumed that it would be about 3:30 on Thursday afternoon before I would download. When that time came I tried again and I received a message that said I would have to visit a Northwest agent personally when I get to the airport. So I made sure I got there with lots of time to spare. As it turned out It was a good thing I did.

I carried my suitcase and briefcase the two-plus blocks to the bus stop,. I took a local bus downtown and from there I hopped on the Hiawatha Line train to ride to the airport. A man sat down alongside me and I started a conversation. I learned that he was the former head of rail transit for the City of Cleveland. It was great for a railfan like me. We talked all the way to the airport. He was traveling to Houston to begin work on the rail operations there. I got my first ride on the airport shuttle on the way from the station to the terminal.

At the terminal I had trouble locating the agents who might help me with my e-ticket so I asked a female official where I should go. The lady had a strange accent and I needed to have her repeat the instruction. Finally I understood that I was to go under the hanging clock. Problem: There are several of them, but I felt I knew which one she meant. I stepped right up the the counter and handed the lady my e-ticket number. Soon she had some boarding passes for me but there seemed to be a problem. She stared at my boarding passes and paced about nervously. Finally she complained "I don’t know if I can do anything about this. They have your name backwards on these. You will never be able to board your flight."

"OK" I said, somehow feeling that something could be worked out. I now understood why I had been unable to print out the boarding passes on the internet..

I stood at the Northwest Terminal as the agent pondered what to do with the name reversal. She requested that new boarding passes be printed. When they came they had my name correct but they weie for the wrong flight! After she experienced some moments of frustration she repeated the process while I attempted to exude calm and keep things from getting completely out of hand. I passed the time watching people make their way through the security checkpoint. Finally I had my boarding passes and I proceeded to go through security myself.

Boarding the aging Northwest DC10 was uneventful and I was very pleasantly surprized to have an Indian man sit down right next to me. I asked him if he was going to India to visit or to head home. He said he lived in Florida and was traveling to Mumbai (Bombay) and Chennai (Madras) to visit and vacation. I had plenty of questions and soon learned that his name was Senthil and that he was born and raised in the Indian state of Andhra Pradesh in a town called Hyderabad. I asked him a great number of questions and told him things he asked about Minneapolis. He told me about a beautiful place I should not miss seeing called "Ooty". We had a great time all the way to Amsterdam. We continued to chum together at the airport. There were some LaCoste shirts for sale fhere for about 60 Euro and he said to wait until I got to my destination city of Coimbatore because that is where the shirts are actually made and that I could get them under the name CROCODILE for a much lower price.

Senthil in Amsterdam

Senthil took my picture, too

On the next flight which took us from Amsterdam to Mumbai he sat four seats away but we still kept some degree of conversation. I also met another Indian once again sitting next to me. He was going to Bengal. The first leg of the trip had taken about eight hours and the second leg nearly nine. Eleven and a half time zones were crossed and this was enough to really confuse the body although Minneapolis is in daylight savings time and Mumbai is in Indian standard tme so for now the time difference is ten and a half hours. It was around 9PM in Mumbai. As we descended into the city I could feel the humidity rising in the cabin. When we landed there was a distinct twist of the airplane and I feared we might topple over. I never experienced such a fast deceleration and we seemed to stop in about half a block.

The airport terminal had a distinct human odor. Senthil and I both stopped in the "gents’" room where there was an instant lesson in Indian plumbing. There were two stalls. One had a sign on the door that simply said "IWC". The other had a similar sign, "EWC". And with my rather quick mind I had a feeling I knew what they meant. To verify, I looked into the stall marked "IWC". Yes, it was a rather fancy hole in the floor with two roughed areas, one on each side. On the left was a small bucket of water. This was an Indian water closet". You use it by planting your feet on the rough zones and squat. When done you take your left hand and dip it in the bucket after which you wipe yourself with the hand. From the look of the plumbing you could flush the thing afterward, too. The other stall was, of course, an English water closet - a normal looking toilet complete with paper to wipe with. Just to be complete, every toilet I saw in India included the bucket of water as well as the paper. Because of this usage of the left hand that hand is considered to be unclean and is never used for picking up food.

After a confusing trip through Immigration (Don’t lose the paper for the return, please) and security I walked in a circle looking for the Jet Airways booth. Finally I found it in the exact opposite location from what I had thought. It was just a cubby hole office with one man running it. He looked at my ticket. I told him I was James Robert Preston and that I should have a paid ticket from Pricol Travel. Soon he had one printed up for me. Walking down the hall I was approached by people hawking hotel rooms. I couldn’t remember the name of the hotel I was to conntct with. I just knew that someone would be holding up a placard with my name on it. I refused all offers and found the place where people were holding placards. Wow, was it ever hot! I am really nearsighted and I also get sort of "hysterical" in situations like the one I was in and so I tried to take my time. I have a strong tendency to miss seeing the one I’m looking for. I found no sign with my name on it. I tried again and again. One sign blared out "Hotel Atithi" and I ignored the writing beneath. I began to slowly panic. I am in India and I am out of ideas as to what to do next. Suddenly Senthil showed up. Senthil had replaced the card in his cell phone with a card that carried an Indian phone number. I gave him the number for my contact in Coimbatore, whos name is Sivarajan. Sivarajan was glad to help and he connected with the hotel and told Senthil to direct me to the guy with the Hotel Atithi sign. Sure enough it was my name under the sign. Wouldn’t you know that the sign for my name was so different from all the rest that I ignored it! I profusely thanked Senthil.

My room at the Hotel Atithi

I was driven out of the airport grounds in a jeep-like taxi vehicle owned by the hotel. We drove on the left side of the road, an expected rule passed forward from the British raj which ended in 1947 after the work of Ghandi had convinced the British to allow Indian independence and also caused the country to be split into India and the largely Muslim Pakistan. Everybody was honking their horns. There was a certain rhythm to it. They were talking to each other with messages like "I am passing you" and "You are past me". It certainly wasn’t the angry or impatient honking of American roads. Compared to the roads back home, however, it was seemingly "Bedlam"

We passed a lot of construction areas and some city streets and soon we were at the hotel. I had learned from Senthil not to tip the driver. Bad idea. He looked like he was going to cry. After that I always tipped. I checked in. In my room I found the room service number although I called the wrong number a couple times first. I tried to order a rum and coke.

"The bar closed fifteen minutes ago. Sorry"

Oh well, I will just take a sleeping pill and set my alarm. This was a good move because my body was trying to tell me it was daytime.

Morning came soon enough. I had time to order some breakfast and freshen up. Then I was driven to the domestic airport. This place really reminded me of a US airport from the 1940s but more chaotic and cramped. I checked my one suitcase and got a boarding pass. Then I waited in what was really the wrong room until it was almost too late. Going through security I forgot my briefcase and had to push my way back past some guards to get it. I went out to get on the plane and instead there was a bus which picked me up and drove me out to where the Jet Airways 737 was waiting. On the plane I met two people from Pricol. A very friendly Indian lady was working her way down the aisle offering everybody cold towels. I took one, opened it and proceeded to wipe my face, arms and legs. I was still wearing the red cargo shorts I began the trip in. They have a handy zipper pocket for my passport. The trip was just an hour and a half, and lunch was served.. We were warned to expect a fast braking upon landing because the runway was rough. This landing was as quick as the last one but didn’t have that twist in it.

The airport grounds were almost park-like although the actual building was another example of architecture somewhat similar to the one in Mumbai. Sivarajan made a cell call to the Pricol people who got off the plane with me. He said he was stuck in traffic, so my new acquaintences gave me a ride to the Alankar hotel.

We headed out onto the road in a small sedan with four passengers including myself. I got my digital camera out and began taking Quick Time movies of the buildings and people we passed along the way. Mostly small shops in poorly constructed buildings sometimes crowded closely together. There were no sidewalks in this town, and no curbs and gutters. Just a strip of dirt on either side of the road wide enough for angle parking or for motorcycles and people. We did pass one palatial building, the purpose of which I do not know. There were a lot of modern buildings, too, but the infrastructure was consistently simple. The climate was hot but a lot drier than Mumbai and, thus, far more tolerable.

I spent two hours sitting in my room before I went to the front desk to ask when I would get my key. I was told that it was in a slot near the door and was used to keep the power on. I though he was joking. I couldn’t find it so I asked for someone to show me. I had been looking everywhere but the right place. It really did work the lights. When you took it out of the slot you got about two minutes ant the lights went out. I went out for a very short walk around one block. I didn’t talk to anyone and, in fact, I passed only a few of the Tamil people that inhabit Coimbatore, a city of 850,000 citizens. I did feel a bit out of place. I spent the remainder of that Sunday watching TV and feeling sort of like a place-holder. In one moment of shock I discovered that I had lost my immigration paper and became worried about how I would get past that guy when I got back to Mumbai.

In the morning I ordered breakfast brought to my room. It took half an hour to arrive so I had 5 to 15 minutes to eat it before Sivarajan was to arrive. Fortunately he was a little late so I had a good breakfast and went down to meet him. A 45 minute, 22km drive came next. We went north up the Mettupalayam Road. I have posted many pictures of the sights along this road in the web page I named "The Street". The ride resembled a video game with all kinds of obstacles such as motor scooters, auto rickshaws, busses, ox carts, etc. and gates which blocked half the road here and there just to keep traffic from getting too fast.

I worked from 8:30 until around 7:00PM the first day. I worked a 58 hour week including a full day on Saturday. I had two close helpers. They were G.A. Prakash, a senior engineer, and Dhana Sekaran, a technician. I taught Prakash a bit of Unigraphics (drafting software). Note that I used his last name. In Southern India this is usually the convention. Each day at 1PM we went to the canteen for a lunch that was mostly vegetarian but usually had eggs and always had yogurt and buttermilk available. The Pricol campus is beautiful with thick growths of palm trees and dense vegetation well manicured between the many white buildings.

Here I am working at Pricol with Sekaran in the background

On my second work day I had several of us go outside at a few minutes before 12 Noon to observe a special sight. On that day the sun should be directly overhead at noon. 90 degrees high from all angles. This is a sight that could never be seen in Minnesota. The highest sun in Minneapolis is about 68.5 degrees above the horizon. The region of the earth that can experience 90 degree noontime sun lies between the tropics, and in fact helps define the tropics. Coimbatore is located at 11 degrees north latitude. Unfortunately, my timing, based on memory, was off. We saw the sun and I could see that it was 90 degrees high in the north-south direction but was still rising in the east-west direction. I should have waited till 12:15. Oh, well, that was fun.

On the third day Sivarajan took me to see the "RPT man". RPT stands for "rapid prototyping". It is also called "stereo lithography". The RPT man showed us the machine that was already at work making full-size 3D plastic models of my parts using the computer files as a guide. The models would be built up over a 36 hour period. We took the RPT man to dinner that night at a restaurant named "Wellington". Actually it was named after a town in the "Ooty Hills" which Senthil had introduced to me on the plane. Here I was able to have my rum and coke.

One night I suddenly realized that there was something missing from my pants pocket. Oops! My house key was gone. No doubt I lost it while going through security somewhere. I also had a surprise when I checked my boarding passes for the trip home. At least by now I had found the bar and if I wanted a drink I could get one. When I got back from Pricol very late I could order fish fingers there. With a drink they provided hot chicken wings, nuts and soy beans enough to fill you up. The Alankar also has a buffet and I used it for breakfast every day after the first day. They had Indian and Western choices, which I mixed for a tasty start for my days. Speakers in the ceiling reproduced the sound of American Country music. Thanks to Satellite radio you heard Alan Jackson, Brooks & Dunn and all the Nashville names. This music pervaded all the halls and the elevators as well although the bar had more of a disco selection playing.

Hotel Alankar Restaurant

I was in my hotel room looking over what should have been my boarding passes for the return trip. Clearly printed on the first one were the words "NOT VALID FOR TRANSPORTATION". I quickly checked the second one. Same thing! These were not boarding passes. Obviously the Northwest Agent had only partially regained composure as I had stood at the desk back in Minneapolis. Now I find myself in southern India without a ticket home, immigration papers and a house key! It was now clear to me that some sense of unease would haunt me all the way back to my front door.

Saturday, April 23^rd, 2005. Pricol closed a little early so I got back to the hotel in time to take a short walk in daylight. I left my valuables in the hotel room and just took 70 rupees along, or about $1.70. I walked one rather long block to a wide, divided street lined with vendors, some of whom had old sewing machines. One man, who resembled a guru with his beard and dhoti (loincloth), worked a motorized spinning machine. We had a disjointed conversation. He barely knew any English. Further down I saw two men working a small booth and they motioned me over. I told them I didn’t have enough money to buy anything and the man on the left hesitated and then said "No English".

I replied, "No Tamil" and we both laughed and shrugged.

I walked on and found a narrow lane at a right angle to the main road and I started walking it. It was maybe ten feet between the buildings on either side. Every shop sold one product: Bearings. Nothing but bearings all down the lane. I thought if I turned right at every corner I would eventually find my way back to the hotel. I took several right turns and found myself lost. I continued straight ahead for a couple blocks in what was now total darkness. Maybe I should have gotten some bearings back at that narrow lane. Finally I thought that retracing my steps would prove more fruitful. I walked a block back and looked to the left. I saw a Xerox sign which I recognized. So I looked to the right and there was the Alankar. I went to the bar.

Next day, Sunday, I got up for breakfast as usual. Sivarajan was originally going to take me to Ooty but he had to meet some people at the airport. Instead, another engineer accompanied me. His name was Sai Krishna and he was a friendly, younger guy and I liked him a lot. We had a driver for our SUV ride up into the hills. I took a lot of pictures and movies. Later I will explain why there are none of these on the web pages. There were monkeys along the side of the road. In the distance you could see "tea estates". This is a fabulous trip and probably the thing to see if in Southern India. The Toyota SUV was powerful, and we passed every vehicle we encountered, which was many. At one point a bus coming to a switchback got trapped by one coming the other way. There was a lot of commotion and nobody could move. Our driver got out and barked some orders and soon we got the cars and motorcycles to back up a little and the bus was able to move through.

Sai, who went by his first name, guided me across the rocks to get the view from the highest (or maybe the second highest, but certainly the highest you can easily reach) peak in South India. It is named Dodabetta and it is 2638 meters (8654 feet) high. Then we meandered back down the road to the city of Ooty where they have an artificial lake with pedal boats. We went for a ride on one of these. It was fun but extremely fatiguing for my legs not used to the pedaling. The lake was created back around 1847 by some wealthy British guy. After that we had lunch followed by a visit to the extremely popular botanical gardens where there were hedges everywhere with elephants sculpted onto them surrounding the lawns and flowers. On the way back down out of the hills Sai told me where to find the Crocodile Showroom in Coimbatore where they have those shirts like I saw in Amsterdam.

It was 5PM when they dropped me off at the hotel. This meant that I had a full hour and a half of daylight. I set out on foot for the mile or more walk to Cross Cut Road where I passed a Hindu Temple and hunted for the Crocodile place. While most shops in town are dingy and rough looking the Crocodile Showroom stood like a glass jewel and there waa someone to open the door for me as I walked in. There were two salesmen and they spoke very good English. I found just what I wanted. A polo shirt went for Rs 630. The long-sleeved plaid dress shirt was about Rs 770. It’s 43 rupees to the dollar so were talking $14 to $18. Not bad.

That night I awoke in the middle of the night and, to pass the time and get tired agan I began to review my Ooty pictures. Strangely, some of my photos did not seem to be there. I looked through and got to where our driver had paused so I could take photos of monkeys along the side of the road. The monkey pictore looked great but it was the last picture. All the rest were gone. I made a chart of the pictures and movies in the camera and added up the total memory used. To my shock I found that half my memory card was absent! I had given Prakash my camera to transfer photos into FTP for sending home and he evidently passed some sort of worm into my camera. Wow! No immigration papers, no house key, no ticket home and now, my pictures are disappearing.

Monday the 25^th was to be my last day but Sivarajan got me to stay untl Thursday. I wish I could stay even longer but it is really my cat and my bills back home which pull me back. Prakash loaded the pictures from my camera into the computer. Now there were even fewer. I had no Ooty pictures at all. There was a folder in the camera’s memory card and it would not open. It was corrupt. I gave up and formatted the memory card, after which it was back to its normal self and has remained that wasy ever since.

That night I had a special treat. Sunil, Sekaran and I took the short drive from Pricol to Prakash's house after work. Prakash had invited me to visit him and his new bride. We worked our way down a rutted road through puddles and mud to a gated lot with a nice white block house. The roof was flat and had ladders to the top. The style was Indian but it was completely modern and it had an EWC (Remember the Euro water closet?). Prakash showed me around and showed me his room with walk-through closet and his own bathroom. In India it is normal for young couples and families to live with their parents. I met his father. His wife prepared apple slices and fried cauliflower. That was realy great. Then there was a meat-like vegetarian dish which was very enjoyable.

Sunil (left) and Prakash at Prakash's house

Prakash then presented me with a gift, wrapped in beautiful red paper. Having studied Indian customs and etiquette I knew to NOT open it. Profuse thanks were followed by my simply holding it in my lap. I didn't open it until I got back to my room.

Sculpture still with tusks removed for travel.

It turned out to be a beautifully created wooden sculpture with two Indian elephants. Happily it fit on one side of my wooden briefcase so it would be easy to carry home.

Wednesday evening was very special. On that day the technicians had gotten one of my prototypes working. I cannot tell what this device does just yet. When Arctic Cat hopefully introduces it I will then say what it is. Earlier in the day I had Sivarajan stop at a shop where I bought two AA batteries becaause my camera had burned up all the ones I brought from home. The two batteries, made in Calcutta, did not work well enough to take a single picture, so I got no photos of the device working. Just a little frustration to spice an otherwise giddy moment.

I went to work on Thursday the 28^th of April but only until 11:00 AM. It was time to go back to the USA. I was taken in an SUV to a restaurant that resembled an American fast food joint except that they didn’t serve beef. Only chicken and vegetables were served along with fries. They had chicken pieces and chicken burgers and in excellent portions. We stopped by Pricol Travel to get my Northwest Airlines tickets.. Yes, I now had tickets home thanks to Sivarajan and Pricol Travel. I saw that the time of my flight was given as 0050. This was a surprize because I had been told that the plane would leave Mumbai at 5AM and they even had a room for me in Mumbai with instructions to be awakened at 2:30AM. When I showed my ticket to the driver he turned right around and went back to Pricol Travel and got it verified. I was right. Good thing I checked. My flight was at 12:50AM and not 5AM.

We walked into the Coimbatore Airport and waited in line for my boarding pass to get on the Jet Airways flight to Mumbai. At the counter a mighty change was taking place inside of me and I had to do all I could to keep from defecating in my pants. Fortunately I got the pass and got through the first security checkpoint quickly. Properly relieved, I proceeded on a very pleasant flight with a window seat to Mumbai Domestic Airport.

There was someone ready to help me find the placard with my name on it. This wasn’t a problem to find anyway. They couldn’t get me the Atithi Hotel so I had to go to the Regent. The ride was rather long to the Regent and there was one point where we watited a long time at a traffic light and a beggar started knocking on my window. Then she opened the door. I pulled it shut and the driver shouted something at her.

The Regent had no bar. There was no light in the bathroom. There was no bath tub. Just a shower. However they had good food and I ordered room service to bring me some. My stay was really short. I was driven to the International Airport, a short distance it turned out. Here I had more help than I even wanted. Obviously, Pricol Travel didn’t want me to have any more uncomfortable moments like I had when I was on the way in to Coimbatore. As I moved deeper into the building my young helper started saying in a high-pitched voice, "Teep, teep, rupees" and I gave him a 100 rupee note which satisfied him to continue escorting me along. At the Northwest counter I found something that made me very happy. They had immigration forms. I filled out a return form just like the one I lost. I was led to immigration and was through it in a flash. One more hurdle passed.

Now for the 17-hour flight home. All of this time was in the middle row of a DC-10 and I had to use the bathroom several times. Each time I had to solicit the courtesy of some rather stubborn Tamils and Kenyans so I could get out of my seat. In Amsterdam I at least had a chance to enjoy a rum and coke at a coffee shop.

A rum and coke in Amsterdam

I reached Minneapolis-St.Paul International Airport by about 12:30 PM on the 29^th. I qot my suitcase, went through customs and finally went to a phone to call a locksmith. The train and bus ride home was smooth. The locksmith met me within five minutes of my arrival home. DONE. What a trip!!!!! I would love to do it again.

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