Among seasoned travelers, the auto-rickshaw is celebrated and scorned as an authentic yet masochistic means of crossing India. Notoriously unreliable, with an uncanny tendency to breakdown or spill passengers without warning, and an easy target for aggressive, maniacal bus drivers, the tuk-tuk is my death wish.

Armed with but a map, a pocket camcorder, and a good luck charm, I envision a solitary sojourn across the vast landscape, sprawling cities, and abandoned back roads of India on the worn treads of three rickety thin tires. Aside from the leisurely pace a tuk-tuk offers, unavoidable setbacks such as mechanical failures, empty fuel tanks, and a sore bum become memorable opportunities to meet and interact with people of all backgrounds. Naturally, free rides to all who share my death wish and want to accompany me.

Beginning at the southern most tip of India by the sleepy fishing village of Povar, I carefully weave through the town's lush coconut groves and palmed-fringed backwaters while waving at the herds of grazing water buffalo. I promise to be a strict but loving master over this 150cc seven-horsepower beast and spur it nobly through India's most challenging terrains: humid jungles, isolated dirt roads, and treacherous city highways.

With luck, I cross the northern border into Nepal in about eight weeks where I bid adieu to my beloved rickshaw in the historic mountain town of Bandipur. With the Himalayas at my back, I sip a warm cup of darjeeling, share a few celebratory cigars, and look forward to the modern comfort of cushions, all the while daydreaming of where to go to next.

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