#cymour

A few friends have been inquiring if I have given up cycling. This, I must admit, is quite typical of me as is with most things I take up with too much enthusiasm. But for once, my laziness has been limited only to writing and posting on the blog. Cycling, thanks goodness, is still on. Here’s a quick update on two not so recent trips. 

Aug 23, 2015. Cymour Sunday Ride to Kusegaon Dam. Total Distance: 65 kms 

I would have liked to write an elaborate post about the ride to Kusegaon Dam. Because it was on this ride that I finished my first 65 kms. But after about seven weeks, most of the details escape me. One memory, however, still lingers...the one I relished over and over again in my mind that day. 

 Let me give you some background. About a year back, I was stuck in a job I did not like too much in Mumbai, a city I was born in but had, over the past few years, begun to fall out of love for. 

 As a part of this job, I had to frequently visit a fancy township in Pune (still under construction) for research, field visits and meetings. It should suffice to say that these trips were no fun. 

Those days, my passion for cycling (if I may use the word) was limited to gawking at cyclists from the car window. 

When I moved to Pune some months back and took up cycling, I would often imagine myself pedalling away while my old boss passed me in his car on the way to those very meetings, with me briefly catching his eye. This, of course, never happened but I nevertheless took great pleasure thinking about it. 

So, when I crossed the same very construction site that day on the way to Kusegaon dam, you can imagine how I must have felt. 

You can’t? Then picture the saddle under my bum transforming into some throne and me gliding alongside the periphery of the township lined with their hoardings, gloating. 

A naive sense of triumph and exultation took over me, while minutes ago I was grumbling about the difficult and uneven gravel filled road. I had a strong urge to wave my middle finger at their entrance but good sense prevailed and I resisted, lest I lose my balance and fall and am shown quickly shown my place!

This utterly silly or inconsequential moment was, to my mind, a celebration of my now different life. Call me a snob or a fool, but that’s how I felt. 

The tranquil beauty of the dam, the exhaustion of the never ending road, the experience of riding a Mtb in place of a hybrid, the brief spell of rain, all these details fade out in front of that feeling. And it was this elusive feeling, I believe, that helped me pedal on for the rest of the ride and finish 65 kms.

Aug 9, 2015. Cymour Sunday Ride to Kudje Village.Total Distance: 55 kms

In contrast to my snail like start in the ride to Bopdev Ghat, this Sunday, I rode my fastest in the first few minutes. It wasn’t an act to outdo my earlier pathetic performance, but a desperate attempt not to miss the ride. Having slept really late the previous night, I completely missed the alarm and woke up with a sudden start just minutes before the ride began. 

I brushed my teeth and changed my clothes in frenetic haze, as I called up someone from the Cymour team and asked them to wait for me, before snatching my ladybird and pedalling furiously towards the store, which turned out to be unusually crowded that day. 

I parked my cycle and walked in to find a big gujju group (besides the few regulars I could recognise) getting all pepped up for the ride. 

When they let out a united cry of ‘Jai Shree Krishna’ at the start of the ride, I did not know how to react but when they took off in the opposite direction, I found myself heaving a sigh of relief. 

The rest of the ride was pretty much devoid of any more drama, thanks goodness. The route was similar to that of Khanapur, only more beautiful. We rode on the other side of the Khadakwasla dam, so this time, the water was on our left, and the right was lined with trees and bushes. The road was pretty much empty except for an occasional car and a few bird watchers clutching on to their binoculars as I rode past them. 

On most rides, there would be brief pockets of time, when I would find myself alone, with no other cyclist from the group in visible distance. By now, I was not only used to being left behind and but had also unconsciously begun to enjoy the solitude it offered. 

It was, however, only during a similar moment in this ride, as I pedalled along a narrow lane with lush green foliage, that I gave it some conscious thought. 

Those few minutes are always like entering some kind of a void, a warm welcoming sort, which dissolves all the chatter in your head and heightens your senses. Your mind is very much in the moment as a wave of gratitude glazes over you, until the next car horn snaps you out of it. Is this how I will feel on a solo trip, I wondered. 

I am not a loner, but I am increasingly becoming very possessive of my time alone. And while most of my friends cringe at the idea of eating alone or going to the theatre alone, I have not only been doing often but have also begun harbouring fantasies of travelling alone. 

Almost empty roads and wide flyovers. Gullies with nice old houses and trees. Some known faces and a leisurely pace. Nice. Short rides can be uneventful. But as I write this, I am reminded of a super short ride one hot summer night in Ahmedabad when having run out of drinking water and tossing and turning in bed for hours, I decided to venture out at 3 am in the morning to fill a few bottles from my college’s water cooler and got chased by three dogs. My already dry throat became even more dry and my heart almost jumped to it’s death.

We have grown up with women telling us what to do. No, I don’t mean our mothers. I am referring to the coquettish women calling out to us from hoardings and Tv screens, urging us to try this and buy that. This morning, I met one such woman at the cycle store, dangling on a shelf near the reception desk. Don’t know why I didn’t notice her before. Anyway, there she was, wearing an off shoulder red dress and stockings, (with the mandatory bit of bosom peeking out and an exposed thigh) resting her bum on a vintage saddle and asking us to “Put some fun between your legs.” 

‘Okay Ma’am, I will give it try’, I said to myself as I was handed a grey and yellow Montra and more people assembled at the store front. This ride had a higher participation compared to the revious few weeks (including many first timers) and some more were to join us from the Rajaram Bridge, forty minutes later.

The first few kilometers slipped by uneventfully. Now and then, I chatted with two other girls from the group. With me being new in the city, most destinations chosen for these trips are unfamiliar to me. It is like having sweets from Bertie Bott’ Every Flavoured Beans- You don’t know what to expect. Luckily, I was in for a super treat. As we rode away from the city, the surroundings metamorphosed into a beautiful landscape with lots of trees and a cool breeze. After a while, a large body of water appeared on my right, which I was later told was the Khadakwasla Dam. Awesome, I thought. 

Unfortunately, so did many others. Because the roads were soon invaded with young couples and college gangs on their motorbikes. But I was too happy to be bothered. When a few old grandpas on cycles crossed my path and waved to me, I waved back, grinning. We were strangers but it felt like we belonged to a tribe. I was riding at a comfortable place and had lost the group after a while. Once or twice, my mind drifted towards my friend who was at present doing a Manali - Leh cycle trip. I hope I can do that someday. The chattering in my head slowly subsided and I continued to pedal.

It was almost 23 when I saw our back up van parked on the side. The driver said we could stop here for breakfast. Khanapur was still some four kms away and a few guys had ventured that way. Since I wasn’t the last and had still had some time on my hands, I decided to go ahead.

The road led to a hamlet of sorts. Buildings were replaced by huts, bikes by bullock carts. I rode for about some two kms with alternate stretches of uphill and downhill. A little ahead I met a guy from our group riding back. The climb ahead is too steep, he declared. So I turned around and followed him back to the breakfast place. We parked our cycles and found a table, waiting for those who had ventured ahead or left behind. Slowly the group reunited and we swapped stories.

This longish break cost me my comfort on the ride back because the sun, in its insatiable enthusiasm climbed higher and shone brighter and brighter. Tree lined paths began to recede like a blurry dream, and was now replaced with traffic congested roads. 10 or so kms passed after which I saw two guys from our group waiting at the signal. They were waiting for the back up van, one of them said. But there were high chances of it being already full, so they might take an auto instead. There were at least 13 more kilometres to go, he informed me, checking his phone. 

Having familiarized myself with the proud species that are the Pune auto rickshaw drivers, the prospect of riding in the heat and traffic seemed nicer than parting with ridiculous amounts of money.  Also, this time I wanted to go beyond my 40 km mark. So I said my ‘no, thanks,’ waved goodbye and rode off. I would have liked to end the post on a happy note, but the next stretch of the ride was miserable! It was like the entire city was out on the streets. Why can’t they just stay home and watch Tv, I cursed but later changed my mind because I had to stop every few minutes and ask for directions back home. 

The first time I asked an auto guy for directions, he looked at me in worry and said, ‘Par woh kafi durr hain! I smugly smiled to convey, ‘Bhaiyya, no big deal.’ but as the day grew hotter and the traffic denser, my face took on a pitiful expression every time someone said more 8 kms to go, more 6 kms to go... The countdown of the last 5 kms was nightmarish. Drained of all the energy, I could barely stay on the saddle without collapsing. As the store came in sight, I could have screamed with joy, only I had no strength left. Glad to get finally rid of the Montra, I sat down to catch my breath.

I wanted someone to pat my back (or lift me in the air and shout slogans). I looked around hopefully but the magenta of my ladybird parked outside that caught me eye only reminded me that I still had to ride back home!

I was both excited and nervous. Will I be able to finish the 70 kms? Will I be able to climb the ghat? I wouldn’t know until I tried and it was still a better prospect than staying in bed scrolling through useless websites, so I decided to give it a shot. Oh no, the store guy who lead the previous ride isn’t here this time, I noticed as I mounted my Scott. But look, there’s a woman in the group today. I will have some company at the back, I thought as the ride began. (She, however, I found out soon, did a damn good job for a first time rider. Not only was she much faster, she got less tired and also encouraged me in the later part of the ride.)

Here’s a confession: I have zero sense of direction and a terrible memory of roads.

I just follow the cyclists ahead of me, so I try not to lose them. I have been using the excuse of being new in the city and it worked twice, but how long I can keep playing it, I do not know.

Anyway, the reason I am bringing this up is because I managed to make a fool of myself pretty early in the ride. The group was pretty fast, at least by my standards, and I had been trying to follow the woman in the red t-shirt. I lost her for a while and when I next spotted red, I followed blindly, taking a turn in the opposite direction, only to be lead to a completely different group of cyclists who were gathered to have a rally for the Nepal earthquakes. They stared at me amused, like they had never seen a more confused being before. One of them suggested I join them instead but I murmured some excuse and left to send an SOS signal to our back up van.

Apparently, the driver had seen me take the wrong turn and tried calling out to me, but I was so focused on following red, that I could see nothing else. 

One of the cyclists from the group volunteered to babysit me, and we resumed cycling.

The next 15-18 kms, I struggled to keep up with him. Each time I thought of slowing down to catch my breath, he would urge me to pedal harder and faster. But his tone was encouraging, not condescending, so I could keep going on. We also chatted about our interests and professions, me being a little more confident of my ‘talking while cycling’ skills this time. After a while, the ghat came into view and I braced myself for the climb. Uphill riding, I realised, is a real bitch. You think you are pedalling furiously, but you are barely moving. 

It wouldn’t be an exaggeration to say that I could have walked faster. Even my shadow, it seemed, longed to desert me and go ahead. After what seemed like an eternity to me, but must have been just a kilometer or so, I swallowed my pride and asked for the back up van. I consoled myself saying, at least you relieved the poor guy of babysitting you. But I still felt stupid.

Till five minutes later, when the lady joined me in the van, after which I got into my cheery self again. We rode in the van for about the next 8-10 kms, till we reached the mouth of the Katraj Tunnel and sat by a small temple, waiting for the braver souls to finish the climb. 

After the group reunited, it was decided not to go all the way to Khed Shivapur, as the day was getting hotter. So we just cycled a few more kms ahead to have breakfast at a popular joint and turn back. We talked about our backgrounds and cycling experiences over poha and chai and started our ride back home.

Downhill was a blurry dream. I found it difficult to believe I could move so fast, as big cars and trucks zoomed past me, for I am the types who would scold auto drivers attempting to fly or hold onto to dear life, muttering silent prayers while on a friend’s bike, too shy to ask him to slow down. I decided not to dwell on it too much and keep pedalling.

Other than that, the ride back was largely uneventful. I rode some 20kms as the sun climbed higher into the sky, after which I spotted some people from the group waiting under a tree and braked abruptly. It was getting too hot, so everyone had decided to get into the back up van for the rest of the way. I had no objections.