Chasing Pinto

The first day was just beyond our domain, and imagination.

We — Ashish, Abhinav, Purushottam and me — stopped midway to pick up mineral water bottles, bananas and other stuff to set up a feeding joint near Dharmpur to help MTB Himalaya riders during the uphill stage till Gada Kuffar. And, the news came — not like a bolt from the blue. We had an inkling this was about to happen. Our bolt, Luis Leao Pinto, the World No. 9, had reached Gada Kuffar in style, a la Usain Bolt.

The news came when the ride was hardly 3.5 hours old. Not a single rider in the MTB Himalaya, considered one of the tough ones because of the terrain and altitude, has ever achieved to cover 82km in just 3 hours and 20 minutes. Not a mean feat boy! Pinto proved us all wrong... he seemed to be too pricey to the photographers...to fast for rest of the pack!

We sent a press release immediately that turned out front page story in most of the newspapers howling: "Pinto creates new record in the Himalayas". That night, at Gada Kuffar campsite, we found hardly anyone could take a picture of Pinto, the blaze. Thus, began strategy of "Chasing Pinto".

Cut to Day II. 

Ashish, next morning, punched a few kicks at a sleeping bag in which Samir, one of the MTB Himalaya officials, had slipped into the previous night. The order was simple: "Go and get some pictures of Pinto. He has already started the race. To cover 13km uphill till Matiana, he won't take much time." A bleary-eyed Samir took out his trademark black Canon bag and rushed towards the route. Meanwhile, i thought to have some tea and breakfast at Matiana Bazaar as Ashish was yet to finish his bath and Abhinav was making use of the sleeping bag pretty well in 15 degrees Celsius. 

I met Gaurav, one of the photographers, at the same snacks shop where i was looking for a cuppa. After a rebuke from Mohit, the race director, on Day I night, all the six and odd photographers took position at different locations. Gaurav's duty was at Matiana Bazaar. Let me write a transcript of a brief chat with Gaurav at the chai shop.

Wassup?

Good morning. How was the night at the camp?

Cool; a bit cold rather.

So, you are armed with all your zoom and wide lenses?

Yep. Waiting for Pinto. What do you want? Tea or coffee?

A cup of tea will do. But don't miss Pinto today. We don't have a single picture of Pinto. The press guys were asking for it yesterday.

Nope. I just ordered an anda-paratha. Will you have one?

Why not? But keep an eye on the road. Samir had left at least 20 minutes back to capture Pinto in his camera.

Wow! Such a hard-working chap. But don't worry, i'll be the first person to take his snap this morning. 

Have you seen this Hindi daily? Look, how they have displayed our flag-off ceremony from Shimla.

Superb! We should not have missed a picture of Pinto. Sad.

And, the saddest part was just to come even before Gaurav could either finish off his words, forget the anda-paratha. Pinto, in a red jersey, whooshed past us to take the downhill from Matiana to Mahori. Gaurav's camera was still on the table. I was angry. Gaurav speechless. Will another saga of "missing Pinto" start?

In another 10 minutes, Ashish and Abhinav came with the official car. I stepped onto it to reach Manan to set up a feed zone for the riders. This time i told Ashish we should be ready with our DSLRs. Maybe our pictures won't have that "quality", at least we can send Pinto's one or two pictures to the press. Someone from the Mahori point told us Pinto had left the place a few minutes back. We calculated. We had just 15-20 minutes or so. This time, Ashish told me to take the SUV to 500 metres downhill and he would wait with Abhinav, Purushottam, bananas, juice and DSLR. 

On that bright sunny morning, i was waiting with bated breath for Pinto. Our driver, Amit, yelled out: "Bhaiya, woh a raha hai Pinto!" Tetra pack of juice for Pinto in one hand, DSLR in the other. Which one to use? You can take a picture using one hand but cycling shots need two hands. Amit offered help; he would offer water, juice etc to Pinto. Dilemma over. Focus on DSLR. Ah! There goes Pinto.... on an uphill ride. The shot was over. I alerted Ashish over phone. Then onward, we never lost touch with Pinto. One photographer or the other would have tracked him for the next four days. And, Samir was lucky to have chased successfully to Hatu Peak (11000ft) on the fifth day. A pen drive-full Pinto was with us at the end of the race.

P.S. Samir, being a local lad, knew almost every shortcuts of the hills but Pinto did not give him a chance on Day II uphill. He missed Pinto despite being sent to the spot well in advance. 

MTB Foot Soldier

Dattatreya Patil is not just another passionate biker.

In the myth, Dattatreya — the incarnation of Brahma, Vishnu and Maheshwar — left home at a very early age in search of the Absolute — the moksha. In reality, Dattatreya, too, left home to explore the world on two wheels.

Elusive as the mythological god is, Dattatreya — popularly known as Datta Patil in the cycling circuit — pedals all the way every year to MTB Himalaya. And like the sage of Dattatreya Purana, he too is barefooted. Whoever has done mountain biking knows it very well how difficult it is to ride a cycle in the terrain full of gravel and stone, dirt and streams, mud and springs. But Datta Patil is different. He hardly cares for his toes, which may crush against the rocky surface any time on a sharp bend. We have specialised shoes, some are imported, for MTB but Datta Patil has no wish to change his way of biking.

At 12, he learnt how to balance the wonder two-wheeler. Thirty years down the line, the grape farmer from Sangli, some 380km southeast of Mumbai, has ridden thousands of kilometres across the country. Last year, he pedalled all the way from Sangli to Panipat for spreading the message of “Saving the girl child”. From the mighty Himalayas to the rugged Sahyadri — he mustered courage to cover on the two wheels. His daily routine remains a bit odd. Waking up at 2am, he warms up for half an hour before hitting the road with the steel machine. By the time the children — he runs a district-level cycling club in Sangli for years — starts arriving at the break of the day, he puts up at least 100km. And, it’s not the end of his morning ride. With the children, he does another 50km at least! By 8 in the evening, he is ready for bed.

Surprising to many of us, but this routine has yielded him results. He has not taken a single medicine in the last 25 years. His cycling club where he trains children aged over 10 years has been organising trips to various destinations — from Kashmir to Kanyakumari. As he prepares them for cross-country rides free of cost, he seeks sponsor for the trips and if he cannot find one, he tries to pump funds, whatever little he has, himself. Every year, Datta Patil confers a “Swami Vivekananda Young Achiever” award to one of the teenaged cyclists also.

His presence at any event, especially in the MTB Himalaya, draws an enormous amount of media attention. But it’s difficult for anyone to confirm whether he would travel 2,000km — that’s the exact distance from his village to the hub of MTB Himalaya in Shimla — this year also. But we all know he would turn up at the Ridge on September 27. As I was doing a research on Datta Patil for the past few days, I wanted to talk to him. But he is still elusive. And, hardly anyone knows his cellphone number, if he has at all any. I shot off a mail to an id but in a fraction of second I got a failure notice. “Failure” might be a popular phrase for the mailmaniacs but I hope it’s not in his dictionary. He will remain as the barefoot soldier of hundreds of MTB enthusiasts.

MTB Mania

For a biker in one of the most populous and polluted city, cycling is a curse on the road. Finding a way out in the snarls made up of innumerable cars and buses is near impossible a proposition. Riding at a cruise speed of even 20kmph in the potholed roads called highways can best be called a dream. Inhaling carbon monoxide in every nook and cranny of the green-starved city is just a practice for a smoother, and quicker, journey to death. This is Kolkata where cycling is banned on 172 roads – something unimaginable elsewhere in the world.

Something unimaginable to me too who spent his university days in a serene town, literally known as abode of peace — Santiniketan — where cycle is the favourite mode of transport for students and residents. Something unimaginable to someone who enjoys treading along the serpentine forest path in the Himalayas, or the Saranda. Something unimaginable to an over-ambitious youth who wants to cycle around the world.

It’s all about the perfect balance. It’s all about the green machine. It’s all about the free wheels. Wheels that should know no stopping, no count of RPM, no dashboard to indicate whether you are running out of fuel and no tailpipe, no gas, no power steering, no power window, no AC ducts, no cushy seats with head rests... It’s no-nonsense entity. It’s a cycle. A two-wheel wonder. Why shouldn’t one fall in love with it? Why shouldn’t one take it on the roads that vanish in the greeny horizon of the countryside, why shouldn’t one ride it down the rocky mountains, why shouldn’t one just enjoy the breeze gliding it along the virgin beaches where waves splash on its spokes?

The love for cycling turns profound with a ride on MTB — mountain terrain biking. But what does it take to ride an MTB? Questions were aplenty. Someone told me about trek. What is a trek? Trek with a lower "t" or an upper "T"? For years, trek for me was the expeditions i had taken to Sandakphu or Roopkund. Or Kalatop or Gaumukh... or ...or.... 

But some years back, four digits changed my perception. 3700. Just four digits. I didn’t know the strength of the four digits till i hopped on to one. Some months on, i was addicted to it. Addiction, they say, is bad for health. Is it? Not only to my office and back in central Kolkata, even during Durga Puja, the mother of all festivals in this part of the country, i rode it across the length and breadth of the city. Some more weeks, and weekends, followed. I promoted myself to 4300D. For the uninitiated, these are numbers. For the passionate biker, it’s the Arabian horses in the stable, the Jag in the garage, the Dreamliner in the hangar. Wind in the hair maybe a clichéd term, but for us, the MTBians, it’s something we live with every day, every moment in every turn downhill, in every twists of freeriding. Now, it’s time to break free in the Himalayas with MTB Himalaya, Edition 9.