Banjaarnama

Unnecessary ramblings of a fledgling cyclist

[banjaarnama]

Improving your cadence. A novel technique.

Dogs are lovable creatures. Most are. The rest are damn good actors.

You timidly enter a street with a few dogs, a little hesitant, a lot nervous. But look, they all seem so docile and indifferent. And they pretend to be that way till you are really really close, after which the son of the bitches morph into 'will bark our heads off and chase you out' monstrous forms of themselves.

This is when your previously uncooperative thighs and knees don their capes and do a grand job of saving your ass and...lah di laah....your cadence* shoots up. Don't worry, they won't chase you till hell. They are limited by their territorial boundaries. (Imagine Harry almost cursed to death by Voldemort before he, along with Hagrid get out of Voldemort's reach and crash into a muddy pit, saved by the protective charms around Tonks house) 

The exercise is just to remind you that your legs are more capable than they let themselves show. Just nudge harder. 

Disclaimer: This technique isn't fool proof. My encounter with the dogs is only two times old and may be I was just lucky. Some day they might outrun you. After all, every dog has his day. 

*cadence is a fancy cycling jargon I learnt from my friends. It simply means the rate of pedalling or the number of revolutions of the crank per minute.

[banjaarnama]

Sept 13, 2015. Cycling in Goa.

The ride started on a wrong foot. Or to be precise, a twisted left ankle.

I was visiting Goa to attend a three week workshop on comic design and I had decided I was not going back without doing some cycling here, whether or not, I found time to do the usual sight seeing. This part of the itinerary was very much set in stone.

I began looking out for options to hire a cycle in Panjim. Some online research and word of mouth recommendation led me to the man, Franky Gracias. He turned out to be a journalist cum adventure junkie cum cyclist who takes tourists on cycle rides.

“You will see the real Goa”, he said over the phone, elaborating on the beautiful routes he plans for people, “You will really enjoy it.” It didn’t take much convincing and I signed up for his 28 km long ‘Islands of Goa’ ride.

Sadly, I got my period a day before the much awaited ride. Now, a lot of sanitary napkin adverts may have empowering slogans like ‘Kadam Badhaye ja’ urging women to play cricket, conquer mountains or give successful presentations in sparkling white pants, but I would rather stay in bed with some soup and a book. All the kadam badhana business can wait. Really.

But, who was going to tell Franky that, so I cooked up some story of a sprained foot to postpone the ride by a few days. He had no problem.

The universe, however, was not too happy with my lying. Because just a day before the newly scheduled ride, I slipped while getting off a bus and actually twisted my left ankle! To make matters worse, it poured that evening. The thunder that followed must have been the universe sniggering at my misery.

The sprain however was not too bad, so I decided to go anyway. And I am glad I did, because the route was indeed beautiful. Stepping off the ferry from Old Goa, we began to ride towards the tranquil and picturesque lanes of the Divar and Charao islands.

A little further into the Goan countryside, we stopped to have some yummy Mushroom Samosas at a local bakery and we also made a quick stop at Franky’ friend- Karen’s place,  a charming young lady who showed me her kitchen garden and let me wander through her old house.

I had a little Ruskin Bond moment when I discovered a tiny little room above the spiral staircase with wooden flooring, a single mattress and two beautiful windows opening into the wilderness. I could have stayed there forever, if I was not pulled out of my day dreaming mode with Franky’s call for resuming the ride. 

The early morning sun on my back, the old Portuguese villas on the sides, an occasional bird (that I could not recognise) crossing my view, the gentle breeze, small water bodies filled with lilies, roads free of traffic! It couldn’t have been better than this. Except that I felt like a total loser.

Having stuffed myself with the awesome Goan food over the past few days with almost no exercise and a now sprained foot, I was a little nervous about my performance. My anxiety was a little too apparent or maybe I gave too many disclaimers at the start, because Franky constantly kept checking on me and making me drink some water and Gatorade throughout the ride. 

It was too much babysitting, or maybe it was just me, but all the attention made me uncomfortable. I have never fared well with uphill parts of the ride, but that day, I couldn’t even try with the fear of embarrassing myself.

Each time he asked me if I was okay, I managed to croak a ‘I am fine’ but all the heavy breathing must have given me away. 

I had to constantly remind myself to stop being so self conscious and enjoy the view and I did manage to do it a couple of times, if only for a few minutes, but I knew I won’t be satisfied, till I visit this place once again, all by myself, and hopefully in better shape.

So long, Goa. We may not see each other for a while but I am definitely coming back for cycling here, if not for anything else. 

[banjaarnama]

Trip to Kudje village & Kusegaon Dam

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. 

But fantasising and putting a plan to action are two different things. And till then, I’ll continue to cycle and enjoy it both as a solo as well as a group activity, I thought as I pedalled on happily for the rest of the uneventful yet pleasant ride.

[banjaarnama]

July 26, 2015. Cymour Sunday Ride to Bopdev Ghat. Total Distance: 36kms.

Sunday morning was full of promise. After two missed weekends, I was eager to get back to cycling. Turned out, my body wasn’t. Being fed a lot of junk over the past couple of days, it would have rather stayed in bed watching American soaps. But I wouldn’t let it have its way, so...

Humpty Dumpty agreed to sit on a saddle. But Humpty Dumpty just couldn’t pedal.  The obstinate muscles and reluctant knees took a lot of coaxing before they grudgingly co-operated. 

The disappointment I had felt when my friend from work had called to say she could not join us for the ride was quickly replaced by relief. After all the bragging I had been doing in office over the past few weeks, I did not want her to see me at my lethargic best. A young boy in his first year of college gave me company as I languorously pedalled along the dull route. I learnt that he was getting back to cycling after a year’s break and today, he was determined to finish the ride. Some of the cycling regulars from the group had promised him a party if he climbed the ghat all the way to the top. I had no such ambitions. When I caught myself huffing and puffing at even basic flyovers, I had come to accept that today was not my day. 

So when we reached what looked like the base of Bopdev Ghat and people were discussing who all are going ahead, I gracefully declined. I sat on the road with my cycle, oscillating between admonishing myself and feeling sorry for myself as others, even some first timers went ahead. The self loathing session continued for a while until a switch flicked on in my head with the realisation that it was still possible to have a good time.

The weather was pleasant and the road ahead looked splendid and inviting, so I walked over to the old uncle from our group who had stayed back too and asked him if he would like to go for a stroll. 

We left our cycles with the backup van and walked towards the ghat. We exchanged stories about how we got interested in cycling, something that has now become a habit with every new cycling acquaintance, my mood steadily rising with each step forward.

We continued walking for a while till we began to see the ones who had gone ahead starting to return and then turned back down towards the breakfast point.

The poha and samosa we had there might have had something. Because after eating them, I began to finally get out of my state of languor.

Or maybe it was just the now good mood I was in, but I felt all sprightly and high powered on the ride back home. All in all, not a bad Sunday morning. What say?

[banjaarnama]

July 5, 2015. Cymour Sunday Ride to Khadaki. Distance:16 kms

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.

So I shall rephrase- Pleasant rides make for rather dull blogposts.

[banjaarnama]

28 June, 2015. Cymour Sunday Ride to Khanapur. Total Distance: 60kms

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!

And that’s how, my dear friends, I finished my first 50 kms!

[banjaarnama]

June 14, 2015. Cymour Sunday Ride to Dive Ghat. Total Distance: 45 kms.

It started out as an ‘everything will go wrong’ kind of a day. The back-up van was not available and I could not have my usual Scott as most of the cycles had been taken away for some major event in some other part of the city and none of the encouraging, familiar faces were to be seen.

I don’t have a good feeling about this, I complained. Should I go back home? Why do you have to be so negative, said my sister who was visiting from Mumbai and was very much looking forward to the ride. So I looked up at the sky with resentment and began to pedal grumpily on a lowly six gear bike sans helmet (they had run out of them as well).

The sky responded with equal distaste- the clouds were a menacing grey and kept threatening to pour down. 

The first few kilometers passed in bearable silence. When my sister excitedly called me to stop and see a really magnificent eagle that she had spotted, I could barely give a shit. And when it started drizzling, the grumpy in my head, who had accidentally fallen to sleep woke up with the start and began shouting- I knew it! I knew it! I knew it!

Don’t get me wrong, I love rains (and birds). But when I am sitting by the window, listening to romantic poetry and drinking hot soup. But. Not. While. Cycling. It is not just the fear of slipping and falling. I have a practical problem here. I wear glasses and unlike cars, they don’t come with wipers. Don’t suggest riding without them, I have a very high number, and am almost blind without them.

The drizzle, however, never turned into a downpour. The clouds just gave us shade from the sun. The ‘lowly’ bike began to feel quite comfortable, the landscape slowly changed to a pleasant scenery and the breeze was lovely. Grumpy started feeling drowsy again and believe it or not, I actually began to enjoy the ride.

After a while, we reached the foot of the hills. It was suggested that beginners could wait there and have breakfast while the rest would go ahead and climb the ghat.

I decided to go. No, not because I have a ‘just do it’ kind of a spirit. To be honest, I am a ‘give up very easily’ sort of a person. 

I decided to go, as much as I could manage, because I did not want to miss the downhill part of the ride. So I pedalled with all my might. The uncle behind me encouraged me to continue. After a while, my back began to hurt and I stopped. After a while, I rode some more. I still wasn’t even halfway to the top, but I decided I had climbed enough and sat down to enjoy the landscape and the few minutes of solitude. My awesome sister, I was happy to hear, had managed to go all the way to the top.

I stayed at my spot till the ones who had gone ahead started coming back and I joined them. The ride down the ghat was super fun and the high spirits it put me in lasted all the way back home.

[banjaarnama]

June 14, 2015. Cymour Sunday Ride To Magarpatta. Total Distance: 16km.

It was a short ride. None of the regular guys had come and for the first time, there were at least 5-6 other girls, including my colleague from work. The roads were wide and empty, the weather beautiful and the pace, compared to the last ride, leisurely.

We stopped at a lovely public park for a while to chat and introduce ourselves. Two among the group were mothers  who enjoyed cycling but could not always find time to join the rides (looking at their fit bodies, I would have never guessed). The guy from the store who had taught me to use gears on my first ride, teased me as now being a pro while I introduced myself. This, of course, is far from the truth and I waved him off saying, don’t embarrass me. But, I won’t lie, it felt good.

I was a little apprehensive because I had missed the rides on the previous two weekends, so this ride was a good warm of sorts. All in all, a pleasant ride.

[banjaarnama]

MAY 17, 2015. CYMOUR SUNDAY RIDE TO KHED SHIVAPUR VIA KATRAJ. 70 KMS.

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.

So, I managed only 40kms out of the 70km ride, but I was happy. I got home and fell into a graceless heap on my bed and passed out for the next few hours.

[banjaarnama]

May 10, 2015. Cymour Sunday Ride to Wagoli Via Lohegaon. 25 Kms.

I had read about a cycle store that organized group rides every weekend. So next Sunday, I landed up at the store at 5:50 in the morning with my Ladybird and was greeted by a bunch of men clad in special cycling attire waiting with their fancy bikes.

It was like comic sans had walked into a room full of important textfaces planning their next typographic expedition.

The ride organizer took one look at me, another look a my maroon cycle and suggested I try their geared bike instead. But I was adamant. My cycle had served me well in the past, and I was going to make the best use of it.

The ride began. As everyone glided past me over the roads, I pedalled on furiously, urging my cycle and my legs to not let me down. 

The shitty pep talk running in my head wore me out more than the pedalling.

Fifteen minutes into the ride, the organiser who had to keep slowing down for me, inquired if I would like to switch to a better bike. The road ahead was not straight and a geared bike would make the ride much easier. This time I sheepishly agreed.

I mounted the hybrid Scott he offered, still a little unsure. He rode next to me, explaining how the gears worked. And I was surprised by how uncomplicated they were! I had done a bit of reading online and had somehow come to the conclusion that the whole gear thing would be as complex and frustrating to me, as was figuring out the right combination of aperture and shutter speed in a manual camera. (both mathematics nor photography are not my cup of tea.) He talked some more. I was miserly with my replies. No, I am not reticent. Quite the opposite. I was just scared that if I started talking, I might just lose focus and bump into something ahead. He rode ahead and I continued riding at a comfortable pace.

And after a while, I really began to enjoy the ride. I stopped bothering about keeping up with others and took in the pleasant scenery. If I was unsure of the directions, I just called up the back up van and asked where the others had turned. The uphill part was a bitch, but thankfully, I managed. I realized I would have never got this far on my Ladybird.

I finished my first 25 km ride. I felt smug.

I was not one of those girls who woke up late, gossiped while sipping their expensive coffees and walked around in malls window shopping. No, I was waaay cooler, I said to myself. And then I spent the rest of the Sunday mindlessly scrolling through an e commerce site, looking at things I didn't want to buy.

[banjaarnama]

HELLO HELLO

Banjaarnaama is going to be my tiny corner on the internet for rambling about my amateur attempts at cycling. Banjaar means wanderer/nomad and nama means chronicles. It is borrowed from the title of Nazeer Akbarabadi's poem which has absolutely nothing to do with cycling. The phrase just caught my fancy, and I am, well, indulging it.

I have been in two minds about this blog. While I have enjoyed cycling over the past couple of weeks and the time spent pedaling furiously makes me 'feel alive and all'’ (cliche of the highest order), it still feels unreal and my enthusiasm is known to have abandoned me without warning for so many other things that had made me come alive in the past :P So on one hand, I am secretly hoping that the act of writing is somehow magically going to transform into an iron will to continue cycling every weekend. On the other hand, I am scared that sooner or later, the temptation to list down all my fears (which I have been presently pushing out of my mind like pending dirty laundry) is going to be too strong and that will put me in some state of total inertia and I will never dare to look at a cycle again.

No, I did not have a rational calculation in my head to arrive at a decision of starting the blog. I am, as always, just procrastinating from other work that needs my attention.

So, here I am, and I really really really hope I stick around long enough :)