#50kms

[sameerketkar]

#strava #stravaride #giant #giantseek3 #50kms #cycleride #alqudra (at Al Qudra 50k Cycling Track) https://www.instagram.com/p/B7spvjZFpCY/?igshid=awy551bxnjjg

[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!