Nine days. Three states. One electric motorcycle. Infinite possibilities.
Rain hammered against my visor as Mumbai blurred behind me. Somewhere between the chaos of honking rickshaws and the calm hum of the AERA beneath me, the Aerathon began.
The Aerathon is MATTER’s audacious experiment: to ride the AERA through every state of India, proving that electric motorcycles aren’t confined to short commutes or city limits. Our role? A 1,500-kilometre leg from Mumbai to Bangalore, tracing Maharashtra’s hills, Goa’s coastline, and Karnataka’s forests before arriving in the tech capital. One machine, no backup plan, nine unforgettable days ahead.
Leaving Mumbai felt like swimming upstream through a concrete river. Diesel fumes choked the air, buses lurched like prehistoric beasts, and the impatient honk-and-swerve rhythm of the city threatened to swallow us whole. Yet the AERA floated through it all, whispering forward with purpose. Not the lifeless silence of some EVs, but a purposeful hum paired with the 4-speed Hypershift gearbox, giving me clicks and shifts to play with—a tactile connection between rider and road that pure automatics simply can’t match.
As Mumbai’s concrete tentacles finally loosened their grip, the Western Ghats rose like sleeping giants ahead. Rain streaked silver across the tarmac, turning the world into an impressionist painting. Normally, I’d worry about heat build-up or moisture playing havoc with electronics, but the AERA’s liquid cooling system and IP67 protection didn’t even flinch. The bike seemed almost to relish the challenge, its systems humming contentedly as we climbed higher into the monsoon’s embrace.
By dusk, Pune shimmered ahead like a mirage, the battery warning pulsing like an anxious heartbeat. But fortune had orchestrated a perfect first act—the MATTER team invited us into their Experience Centre, where we topped up the AERA and discovered features that would prove invaluable in the days ahead. The act of plugging in was strangely comforting, the onboard intelligent charger making it as effortless as charging a phone. It felt almost intimate, like putting both of us to rest after a long, rain-soaked day of urban warfare.
That night, as rain drummed against the hotel windows, I realised this wasn’t just another road trip. It was a moving piece of a much bigger story.
Morning brought the first real test. Tamini Ghat loomed like nature’s own gauntlet—steep inclines blurred by fog, descents slick with overnight rain, switchbacks that dared the careless to make one wrong move. Here, away from Mumbai’s chaos, the AERA found its true stride. Downshifts came smooth with the slipper clutch, and the motor pulled with unwavering consistency, unbothered by gradients that would have lesser machines gasping.
But it was on the downhill sections where magic happened. Gravity transformed into free energy, the regenerative braking feeding electrons back into the 5-kWh battery with every bend. Each descent stretched our range further than I’d believed possible, turning physics into poetry. By the time we rolled out of the ghats’ embrace, we’d covered over 160 kilometres on a single charge—a feat that silenced my lingering doubts about electric touring.
As night fell, the ride transformed into a game of shadows and light. Truck headlights glared through the mist like angry eyes, but the bi-functional LED projector lamps carved out a clear tunnel ahead, whilst the integrated turn signals blinked confidently into the darkness. There’s something profoundly reassuring about good lighting when you’re threading through mountain passes in the monsoon—it’s the difference between riding and surviving.
The transition from Maharashtra’s mountains to coastal bliss felt like stepping through a portal. Morning brought Ganpatipule, where temple bells mingled with the eternal crash of waves against ancient rocks. The AERA, charged and ready after a night’s rest, rolled onto the sand with surprising confidence. Heavy bikes usually sink and stumble on beaches, becoming expensive anchors, but with 26 Nm of torque at the motor and 450 Nm at the wheel, the AERA skimmed across the sand like it was born for play rather than just transport.
I found myself grinning inside my helmet, the visor fogged from laughter as we carved lazy figures of eight in the morning light. This was pure joy—the kind that reminds you why you started riding in the first place.
But joy, like all pure things, casts shadows. At Aare Ware Beach, plastic waste clung to the shore like a guilty conscience—paradise scarred by progress. There I sat, astride a motorcycle that emitted nothing but possibilities: no fumes choking the sea breeze, no noise disturbing the dawn chorus, no guilt weighing down the adventure. It struck me then that the Aerathon wasn’t just about covering states or proving range; it was about proving that adventure and responsibility can not only coexist but enhance each other.
The road inland wound past emerald hills before opening into Kolhapur—a city that assaults the senses in the most wonderful way. The legendary misal scorched the tongue with its perfect balance of heat and flavour, dosa batter crisped into golden perfection on hot griddles, and keema oozed with spices that had travelled the same trade routes for centuries. But Kolhapur’s deeper treasures weren’t edible.
In narrow lanes barely wide enough for the AERA, artisans shaped Kolhapuri chappals with the same reverence their grandfathers had shown, their hands repeating gestures passed down through generations. Watching them work reminded me of the AERA’s own craftsmanship: pro-foam seats sculpted for long rides, sleek body-integrated indicators that seemed to grow from the bike itself, and polished panels that caught reflections of the monsoon sky. Different crafts, different centuries, but the same fundamental reverence for precision and purpose.
The New Palace stood majestic in black stone, its stained-glass windows bathing Shivaji Maharaj’s life story in kaleidoscopic colour. Walking through its halls, journeys of courage from centuries past seemed to whisper from every corner. Suddenly, riding an electric motorcycle across states felt less like a modern gamble and more like a natural continuation of India’s ancient love affair with ambitious travel.
Miles melted away as we pushed towards Belgavi, where the landscape transformed yet again. The city’s skyline had become an orchestra of windmills—white blades slicing silently through monsoon clouds, harvesting clean energy without drama or fuss. It was the same philosophy that pulsed through the AERA: quiet effectiveness, thrilling without excess, powerful without the need to shout about it.
Goa revealed itself differently this time, not as the beach cliché of tourist brochures but as something more subtle and profound. In Ponda’s temples, silence carried weight and meaning, and here the AERA proved itself the perfect guest—no roaring engine to shatter sanctity or disturb contemplation. Later, threading through Panjim’s Fontainhas quarter, pastel colonial houses leaned into narrow lanes like old friends sharing secrets, each façade whispering stories of Portuguese dreams and Indian adaptations. Handwritten signs requested quiet; the AERA complied effortlessly, gliding without intrusion through corridors of living history.
It was in one of these rain-slick lanes that technology proved itself more than marketing speak. A stray dog—one of Goa’s thousands—dashed across our path with the casual confidence of local ownership. The e-ABS caught us before panic could even register, bringing the bike to a controlled stop with the kind of invisible competence that reminds you why good engineering MATTERs. It was one of those saves you never see in brochures—real tech for real roads, real mistakes, real riders.
The journey south brought us to Karwar, where India’s maritime might stood preserved in steel and ambition. The INS Chapal, a Soviet-built missile boat, and the TU-142M, the world’s fastest turboprop patrol aircraft, both rested now but still buzzed with stories of innovation born from necessity. Standing beside these monuments to human ingenuity, the AERA’s own quiet brilliance felt entirely appropriate—real-time diagnostics and an Intelligent Thermal Management System working unseen to keep everything in perfect balance. Like the warship and aircraft, it too was born not just to impress but to endure.
From human engineering marvels to nature’s raw theatre, we rode towards Jog Falls through increasingly wild country. Four streams hurled themselves 253 metres into the valley below, mist swallowing us whole in their eternal dance. The metaphor felt perfect—the Aerathon was like that cascade, individual rides from different states all merging into one collective roar across India’s vast canvas.
But it was the forest stretch after the falls that provided the ultimate examination. Five brutal hours through terrain that seemed designed to test every component: narrow roads that twisted like angry snakes, rain-drenched bends with no margin for error, and gradients that would humble a mountain goat. Both rider and machine were pushed to limits we hadn’t known existed.
The dual-cradle frame kept the AERA composed when physics suggested otherwise, telescopic forks absorbed punishment from tarmac that resembled a battlefield more than a road, and the 270mm front disc braked with surgical precision when stopping distances became MATTERs of survival rather than convenience. But what lingered afterwards wasn’t the engineering triumph—it was the soundscape that petrol power could never provide.
On a conventional bike, I’d have been deaf to everything except my own exhaust note. Here, in the AERA’s whispered wake, I heard birds darting between ancient trees, the urgent rush of hidden streams carving their own paths through stone, the crack of branches under unseen footsteps. Riding became listening, and mechanical connection transformed into something deeper—a conversation between human, machine, and the wild world we moved through.
The road to Udupi offered tribute not just to gods but to pioneers who’d dared to dream beyond earthly bounds. Dr. U.R. Rao, father of India’s satellite programme, was born in these parts—a reminder that from the most unexpected corners can come journeys that redefine what’s possible. The Aerathon carried the same audacious spirit, proving that an electric motorcycle could cross every state without compromise or excuses.
Further along, Bylakuppe unfolded like stepping into another dimension entirely. Monasteries painted gold caught the afternoon light, prayer flags snapped urgent messages to the wind, and chants echoed in rhythms older than memory. The AERA fit effortlessly into this sacred landscape—keyless entry, adaptive dashboard brightness, guide-me-home lights, all the features that simplified the practical so the profound moments could remain undisturbed.
Sometimes journeys aren’t about speed or distance. Sometimes they’re about learning when to be still.
Mysore opened its final treasures with the generous spirit of a perfect host. Steam engines gleamed at the Railway Museum, each rivet a reminder of past revolutions in transport, whilst the Krishnarajasagara Dam demonstrated how flowing water could be transformed into the electricity that powered millions—a fitting precursor to the silent battery humming beneath us.
Then Bangalore welcomed us with its familiar chaos, but by then the city couldn’t break the spell we’d woven across three states. The 3.5-litre storage compartment swallowed rain gear that had become like old friends, whilst the connected app quietly logged ride history and range statistics that told the story of our adventure in data points and battery percentages.
At the Visvesvaraya Museum, I stood mesmerised before a hulking IBM computer the size of a small room, its magnetic tape drives spinning with prehistoric dignity. Outside, my motorcycle carried Android 11, 3GB of RAM, and a 7-inch touchscreen between its handlebars. From mainframes to motorcycles in barely one generation—the acceleration of human ingenuity felt almost supernatural.
The MATTER Experience Centre proved to be our perfect curtain call—not a conventional dealership but a futuristic lounge where possibilities gleamed under carefully orchestrated lighting. AERAs in Cosmic Blue, Nord Grey, Blaze Red, Cosmic Black, and Glacier White stood ready for new adventures. The DC fast charger revived our faithful companion to 80% in just 1.5 hours—barely enough time for proper coffee and the kind of conversation that only comes after shared ordeals. And then came the ultimate statement of confidence: a lifetime battery warranty, 15 years, unlimited kilometres. Not just a promise—confidence made policy.
Nine days had become nine chapters in a larger story still being written. Three states had offered their unique gifts to our adventure. Fifteen hundred kilometres had proved that the future of mobility isn’t waiting patiently in laboratories or boardrooms—it’s already humming on highways, whispering across beaches, and climbing confidently through mountain passes.
Our stretch was Maharashtra, Goa, and Karnataka. Others would carry the baton across deserts where horizons shimmer with possibility, mountains where air grows thin with altitude and ambition, and plains where the curve of the earth becomes visible. Together, these individual journeys would draw an unbroken line across India’s incredible diversity, proving that electric adventure knows no boundaries.
We didn’t just ride a motorcycle across three states. We lived a story that’s still unfolding, state by state, rider by rider, like golden threads being woven across an ancient map. The story says this: the future doesn’t announce itself with roars and fury. It arrives with quiet confidence, gliding forward on whispered promises of what’s possible when technology serves adventure rather than replacing it.
The future, it turns out, doesn’t roar. It glides.
