Rider to Randonneur

The start

The day started with a cool breeze across the road. 

We, seven riders — five of us from Kolkata — hit the street in front of My Place hotel, Kondapur, for our first-ever brevet attempt — 200km. We certainly did not know what was waiting for us in the next 16 hours till we came back for the cozy comfort of our room.

Flasher on handle bar, red blinker at the saddle bar, reflective jacket put on, and helmet on top of everyone — the riders looked smart. Smart was the road, too. Smart was the reception at the welcome desk where we had to collect our bib numbers (mine was 107, just 100 more than Bond, James Bond). Our bikes were checked, OK stamp was marked on the most important piece of three-fold paper, brevet card, which came in plastic wrap.

Done. The route briefing was done by Krish Basu, who would later turn out to be a great route support in the fag end of the otherwise unsupported ride. Done was the final briefing by Krish Agrawal — without his word of encouragement the brevet would have been impossible to complete.

We, some 75 in all, were ready for the challenge. 

First few ups and downs

Hyderabad, for me, was completely an unknown biking terrain. I've been to the city when i was an MA student, when it was part of Andhra Pradesh, when Satyam used to rule the IT sector, and, when this new swanky airport was literally a distant dream!

As the peloton tried to negotiate turns and twists in the early morning hours when i was supposed to cuddle up under the blanket (yes, i saw many a motorcyclist with jackets on), i also joined the pack just to keep my pace. Within 20 minutes, we were out of the city, and hit the first hill for a simple gradient. The downhill was nothing much with my Garmin GPS showing a mere 42kmph. 

To reach Shankarpalli town, one has to go past the Icfai Business School and a cool 20km ride on a polished metal road.

The fall

Shankarpalli is a small town. You have to cross the railway tracks to reach the town, which was unfolding on a dry weekend when i was about to reach. I took out the cue sheet while on the pedal to take a look at the map as i thought that i might lose my way in absence of any back-up car and also lose crucial minutes on brevet.

Taking a sip on the go or going through a cue sheet even as pedalling is hardly new to me but that day something got wrong. Maybe high wind speed. Maybe a speeding car passing me. What happened exactly i don't know but all i can felt was the cycle on top of me and i was lying on the tar! 

The fall. Blood. Pain. And, hardly anyone to help me gain enough strength to be up on the saddle. Brevet is like that only.

Got up. Fixed the twisted handle bar. Again, felt the pain of my twisted right wrist. As i write it today, a couple of days after the July 12 ride, i can still feel the pain. But champs are unstoppable. That was my motivation that was soon endorsed by Krish Agarwal at the Shankarpalli market where they stopped to pick up some stuff for the control points. He saw me, blood oozing out from right knee. I assured him and others everything will be alright. It happens. With some Volini spray and band-aid, i took the road towards Nawabpet. 

The horrible headwind

And, thus started the 30 and odd kilometres of headwind. I pedal but can hardly move through the road chiselled out of the rocky Deccan plateau. Some occasional trees, little vegetation on field marked the paved road towards Nawabpet. 

A sweet left turn after around 10 km from Shankarpalli behind a small shop led the peloton to the sleepy hamlet of Nawabpet, which has a police station also! Curious as the people are on the roadside, i tried to dodge past them for a minute's break to buy a bottle of water. And, there came Kinley, chilling cold! I was a bit surprised. The shop-owner even did not charge a rupee extra over the Rs 20 MRP. I promptly poured the first packet of Electral, a popular ORS brand, which kept me going all the way to complete the brevet. By the time i returned to Hyderabad, i finished five packets of Electral!

This route seemed endless as the headwind became quite stronger. It was an unequal fight between wind power and muscle power. Certainly i won! But that cost me huge sacrifice of energy. After around 30 more kilometres, i stopped for the first control point, which came up at a T-junction on SH-4. Picking up some bananas and filling the bottle, i again stepped on to the pedals for the ride towards Vikarabad.

Multiplex surprise

Vikarabad, to me, looked a bigger town in the district of Ranga Reddy. The best part of the ride to Vikarabad was the schoolchildren suddenly popping up on the roadside and eager to touch my gloved left palm! Certainly, it was no Tour de France, and i am no Nibali or Sagan! But their curiosity and inspiration were etched in my mind, rather gloves, as some little fella also wanted to bring me down!

As Krish suggested, we were to find a statue and take a right turn to Ananthagiri hills. But where is the statue? There were at least four of them on the highway. Who to ask? I asked an autorickshaw driver. He said something in Telugu, which i could not make out. But he indicated me that all the cyclists took a particular road after taking right... and, again i was on the right track.

The most fascinating ride in Vikarabad was to find a Cinemax multiplex in the town. While most of the single-screen cinemas in Bengal and Kolkata are incurring losses (so, are some multiplexes), how can Cinemax set up such a theatre there? 

Up and down

The uphill ride to Ananthagiri was simple...with not so high gradient. I zoomed past the temple at the hill top and suddenly came across a signboard: "Please check your break. Sharp downhill" Break? Give me one! Certainly, it epitomises Indian English.

The downhill started soon after... a spiralling path with fresh coat of tar. I don't know how long it took me to reach Kerelli from the signboard but it should not be more than 15 minutes. After crossing Kereli, i stopped at an intersection of four roads. Buying another litre of chilled water wasted some time, yet it helped me reach Kotapally lake after taking a right turn from there. 

Kotapally is obviously a huge lake but some part of the vast waterbody dried up because of poor monsoon in Telangana till second week of July.

By the Kotapally, we were served egg-biryani. Hungry that i always is. I just had it like a glutton! Suddenly, Sumit Kumar told me to finish lunch fast and head towards the third control point. Yes, the lunch point also served as the second control point after 40-km steady ride from the first one. 

The climb

Nobody will forget the Ananthagiri climb on return. One of the fellow riders later said it was simply impossible to climb 3km after lunch! Impossible is something i have hardly cared in my adventure activities — be it trekking at 19000 ft height or cycling in the Himalayas or the Deccan.

I took a look at Ananthagiri from the foothill. Ah! Saw some fellows walking the climb with their cycles. But i was more eager to cycle all the way. Put my bike in the lowest gears, i tried to climb. Met Chirag on way to the temple. Exasperated, i asked one of the road construction workers: "How much have i to climb more?" Reply: "Aur thoda sa (a little bit more)." It seemed to be a never-ending climb to me what they interpreted as "thoda sa"!

Upon reaching the hilltop, i asked myself: "Is it the hell part of the BRM, or the heaven, being on top of everything?" No answer. Just ride on. 

Yes, the ride continued for another 11 km to reach Vikarabad town again.

Third control point

I thought Manneguda is hardly 4 km from Vikarabad. I was wrong. Is the cue sheet also wrong? I pulled out the cue sheet. Jesus! It's another 11 km from the NTR statue. I checked time. It was 2.27pm. And, the control point would be closed by 3.07pm. What else i could do but to just pedal on.

Just about 3 km from Manneguda town, i got a call on my cellphone. I didn't pick it up. Rarely, i take calls while on ride. Later, i found it was one of my fellow BRM riders. Anxious. He called me frantically. When i touched the third control point, even Krish Agrawal was tensed whether i can reach there by 3.07 pm. Yes, i reached. 

Confidence simply built up there. I calculated. My GPS was showing 136 km. So, i have to ride 64 more kilometres. I chalked out one thing. Backed by tailwind, i could easily get 30kmph on my Trek 4300 D. It's difficult though. More simple. 20kmph. It would take three-and-half hours to reach Hyderabad. On road again, after exactly 3-minute break.

Back to Hyderabad

The ride back was quite enjoying, as the third control point was most crucial. After checking-in there, the fourth one was hardly 14 km from the end point. Riding with the help of tailwind, i simply sailed past everything. Yes, there was some climb also but not like the Ananthagiri one. 

I rode past Chevella, where i stopped at a four-point crossing to take a look at the cue sheet. All of a sudden, three/four persons came close to me asking where is the "race" headed to? I tried to explain them it's not a "race" at all but one has to reach a certain point at a certain time. And, they turned apologetic for asking me to wait! "Please go fast... go right now, else you may not reach Hyderabad before 6.30," said one of the elderly persons.

A few kilometers before Moinabad, i spotted a little shop on my left where i refilled my bottle with packaged water. The road condition of SH-4 was beyond my expectation as most of the state highways (SH) in Bengal are appalling. In Kolkata and around, we need MTB tyres but in Hyderabad and beyond, i still rue why i did not have road ones. Again, it was a learining experience.

I would love to spend many a romantic monsoon evening by Osman Sagar at Gandipet. And, as i reached Gandipet, around 5 on a Saturday evening, i could see couples and even families with kids were enjoying the cool breeze. But i had to climb Movie Tower hills to reach its top for the last control point. Upon reaching there, i could spot a car waiting for us with BRM seal, water and some chocolates. I could also spot the skyscrapers on the northern horizon! Yes, I've almost reached the City of Pearl again. 

Last hurdles

Does Hyderabad equal to hurdles? Even the last 14 km of our brevet had two steep climbs, although in the city. I thought the way back would be a better one after the headwind in the morning. Now, in the evening, i had to negotiate climbs of flyovers but also heavy traffic of rush hours. As all fellow professional cyclists do, i also stopped at traffic signals, killing my crcuial time to reach the end point at The Bike Affairs.

Upon arrival, all the other cyclists who had completed before me gave me a thunderous applause. I promptly handed over my BRM card to the official concerned, and got it stamped well within the stipulated time!

In a word, my first brevet was splendid. It encourages me to take the challenge to be a super randonneur one day.

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.