It was on a fine Thursday morning that I made the big
decision. Jp and I were having breakfast at the office cafeteria. One of the
regular office cyclists, Prakash Mahendran, had come over for his breakfast. Jp
went over to have a chat with him. He came back asking if I wanted to join them
for a cycling trip to Nandi Hills.
My brain must have stopped whirring for a moment, for I said
yes. Now, to put things in context, the maximum distance I had cycled was 20
kilometers with a five minute break at the halfway point. Nandi hills and back was a cool
140 kilometers. I must admit that I had doubts whether I would last beyond 20
to 30 kilometers, but decided to give it a shot none the less.
The starting time for the trip was set at 04:30 am on Saturday,
the 10th of May, 2014. I could barely contain my excitement for the
next two days. I had heard fascinating stories of treks, but had always wondered why people
pay to put themselves to hardship. I would finally get an answer of sorts.
The alarm on my mobile phone went off at 04:00 am, as
scheduled. I set about getting ready for the trip. Half an hour later, Jp
arrived and we set off armed with our bikes, three Snickers, a bottle of water
and a few Paracetamol tablets. We met Prakash on the way and set off towards
Nandi Hills. Our plan was to go via Mekhri Circle on to Hebbal, Devanahalli and
somewhere along the Hyderabad highway take the deviation to Nandi Hills.
The weather was forecast to be cloudy and overcast; the perfect
weather for cycling. We quickly pedaled away and soon reached Hebbal, where we
turned on to the airport highway. The highway was miles of uninterrupted bliss,
unlike the energy sapping stop and go city roads. At Hebbal, we met a group of slow
cyclists on their way to Nandi Hills. I made a mental note of how good I was compared
to that bunch. We sped past and they soon became the proverbial speck in our non-existent
rear view mirrors.
The miles went by and we were averaging what felt like a
healthy 25 km/hr. The ride was surprisingly easy on the highway. We reached the
airport toll which is about 40 kilometers away in less than two hours. That did
my confidence a world of good, as it was far beyond anything I had expected to
be able to do. At the toll, we turned on to the Hyderabad highway and continued
pedaling at a brisk pace. Around 15 to 20 kilometers later we exited the
highway and turned North-West towards Nandi Hills road.
We took a quick 5 minute break stretching ourselves, and
with them seasoned cyclists querying how I was holding up. I was just one
Snicker bar and half a bottle of water down at this point and promptly informed them that I was doing great. We set off again at
a brisk pace. Soon after, I started encountering what would eventually turn
out to be the least of my problems. The road to Nandi hills appeared to be
flat, but in fact was a gradual upwards slope, apparently called a “false flat”.
I did not realize this as I pedaled along. As the miles went by, I felt more
and more resistance to pedaling, and felt that there was something wrong with
the bike. I soon fell behind my more experienced and fitter friends. On normal
roads, I would fall behind on positive slopes but catch up with them on
negative slopes. With a continuous positive slope, the gap to my friends only
kept growing. They did do their best to let me catch up though, short off
coming to a complete stop.
After a while, they did stop at a turn to allow me to catch
up. I trundled along willing my body on, unblissfully© (I am filing for a copyright to this word) unaware of where they
were. Soon, the first of the “slow cyclists” that I had zipped past at Hebbal
caught up and passed me; and then the next one and the next one and so on. A
lady in the group too caught and passed me with consummate ease. I was already in the lowest
possible gear ratio; on a false flat! On a different day, a lady cyclist passing
me would have dealt an almighty blow to my ego. Not on that day, though. Moving
along at snail’s pace, I simply accepted that they were better and pedaled on. (I wouldn't have cared the least even if a 5 year old had zipped past.) Five minutes after my friends reached their stopping point, I finally caught up.
I got off the saddle and collapsed into a puddle of molten muscle (and hopefully
burned fat). My friends then warned me off the up-coming climb. I simply
pointed them to my bike's gears. I did not have to explain anything more. An image is worth a thousand words, after all. I did complain about my bike
having a lot of resistance, though. Prakash took my bike out for a spin and
reported that it was doing absolutely fine. With problems being ruled out in
the bike, I knew the source of resistance.
A five minute break later, we set off again to the base of
the hill. Prakash lead the way, while Jp stayed back to give me company. The
road was getting increasingly torturous, and soon we encountered a climb. It
wasn’t exactly a climb, with the distance of the slope being just about 50
meters. The sight of the slope though was enough motivation for me to get off
the bike and push it up the 50 or so meters. Ashamed at giving up so early, I
clambered back on the bike and set off after Jp. I soon caught up with him and slipped into his slip stream. For the rest of the road till the base of the hill,
I marveled at the wonder that aerodynamics is. We stopped at a small hotel at the
base of the hill. The “slow cyclists” had also stopped for a break. A quick breakfast,
and a well deserved 20 minutes of rest later, we refilled our water bottles and
set off again.
The climb had now well and truly begun. About a minute into
the climb, I had what would be the first of several impulses to give up and
wait for my friends to climb the hill and come back. I pedaled for a couple of
minutes and promptly got off the saddle and started pushing the bike up the
hill. I reasoned that I could walk a few minutes and get back on the saddle a
little less tired. And, so I pushed the bike for a good few minutes, until I
encountered some monkeys on the way. I wasn’t exactly in the mood for monkeying
around. So, I got back on my bike and started willing my muscles to keep going.
A few minutes later I thought that I heard my muscles swear. Not
wanting to learn more swear words, I got off the saddle yet again. This pattern
kept repeating until about half way. By then, I was well and truly tired. The
much promised clouds had dissipated, like a cloud in the wind, (Shamelessly plagiarized
with suitable modifications from Morgan Freeman’s dialogue in the Shawshank
Redemption) and the sun was beating down on my ravaged self.
The first of the “slow cyclists” pulled alongside me. He offered
some kind words of encouragement and hope, and prodded me to pedal with him.
Thinking I could tag him, I got on my bike and set off with him. We chatted as
we rode along. Actually, he chatted and I listened. I could either pedal or
talk, but not both. So, I decided to pedal and listen to him. I found out that
he pedaled up here from a few kilometers further than from where I started. Every
time I had an urge to get off the bike and push again, he reminded me that
rolling friction was greater than sliding friction. I mumbled that I wasn’t
sliding, but merely walking. But, he insisted and I tried to stay on with him. He
soon started fading away into the distance. My muscles, not well versed with
physics, finally gave up again. All this must have happened in the space of not
more than a few minutes.
I got off my bike and started pushing it up hill again. A
few minutes later, the lady pulled up alongside me and urged me to get on the
bike. I thanked her for the offer, but politely refused. I had heard of the
saying “Once bitten, twice shy”. But the lady was insistent, quoting Barack Obama’s
2008 campaign slogan of “Yes. We can.” While I am not sure Mr. Obama has lived
up to his promise, I foolishly agreed to get back on the bike. The lady kindly
pedaled along at my pace and even gave me a few tips. She had apparently been
to Nandi Hills a few times before and offered me kind advice on how to tackle
the upcoming climbs and turns. Tailing her, I hit a gear higher than Front-1;
Rear-2 for the first time since the beginning of the climb. I must have been on the saddle for a
kilometer or so, before I gave up again. She willed me on again, but I thanked
her for her kind support and told her that I had reached my limiting point. She
finally gave up on me and continued with her climb.
By now, I could see the summit of the hill. I reasoned (not
sound reasoning, I admit) that I was already more than half way up and had to
get to the summit, even if I had to crawl on all four. I did not even make an attempt to
get back on the saddle now. I slowly trundled up hill thinking of what I could have been doing in the comfort of my house, with breaks in between.
I was now counting the curves on the road and not the kilometer marker stones.
At the final climb, I saw my friends coming back down. They stopped and kindly
agreed to go back up with me. Finally, after an hour of physical and mental torture,
I made the summit. I did not feel triumphant at the summit. Not after
walking along half the way. I did feel good though; that I had made the summit
by foot or by crank. I comforted myself that I had to drag along an extra 20
kilograms of my own weight compared to my friends uphill.
At the summit, Jp explained that the slow cyclists had gone
downhill with the intention of climbing back again. They were apparently
training for a Ladakh cycling trip. I made a mental note not to judge people
based on appearances. A short break later, we sped downhill. Here was where my
extra 20 kilograms would serve me in good stead. The descent was like a reward
for climbing up hill. Not since soaking in the spray from Niagara Falls had I felt
so refreshed in spite of being physically drained. I was the first to reach the
base. The 7 kilometer journey that had taken me an hour to climb took me all of
7 minutes. At the base, we refilled our bottles and set off again. I was now
feeling happy about cycling back. After all, I had the false flat that had
slaughtered me physically and mentally in reverse. As I pedaled along at a good
speed, I began noticing something. Someone had flipped the ramp!! The false
flat seemed to have a positive slope in both directions. That broke me mentally.
I couldn't wait to be home now, and I still had around 50 kilometers to go with
the sun beating down harshly. I tried to come up with innovative solutions to
the world’s hill climb problems as I started falling behind pace again. I was
very close to coming up with a Nobel prize winning solution, when we finally
took another break. I got off my bike and lay down on a stone slab, getting up
only to gulp down two coconuts full of tender coconut juice. I wearily asked
them where the highway was. Prakash pointed at the road that lay straight
ahead. We had finally reached the highway.
We set off again, with Prakash helpfully offering to be my
lead bike. I got into his slipstream thanking an assorted list of
the gods of aerodynamics from Bernoulli to Adrian Newey. Eventually, I built enough of a reserve to get off
the slipstream and pedal at my own pace. That didn’t last too long, though. By
the time we reached the airport toll, I was well and truly tired. My body was
feeling rather hot and I was mentally a complete mess. I told the guys that I
had well and truly reached my breaking point. Prakash came to the rescue again.
While I was sitting in the shade of the fly-over bridge absolutely blank, he
kindly asked a transport bus driver if he would accommodate a cyclist and a
cycle in the bus. The bus driver agreed for a slightly higher fare. And so, my
biking trip ended and I wearily got on the bus with the cycle. The
passengers (every single one of them) were extremely cooperative in spite of
the bike being in the pathway, with some even offering to hold the bike for me.
I sat for the rest of the bus journey thinking about the failed ride and about
what the Tour De’ France riders go through. I had a new found respect for every person from the guy in first place to the
guy in the last place. What I imagined would be a source of pride had turned
out to be a humbling experience. What I thought would be a triumph of the human
spirit, had turned out to be an anti-climax.
Today is the 31st of May 2014, a good three weeks
past my trip to Nandi Hills. I had expected that the gap in time between the
journey and today would have erased the emotional journey that I went through.
I am surprised at how much of it I remember, and how crisply I remember it. The
way I see the physical and mental pain has changed, though. The only thing that
stands between two identical mistakes is time. So, here I am, looking forward to
another trip to Nandi Hills. Hopefully, the lessons I learned will make for a
successful ride to and fro.
A huge thanks to Jp, Prakash, the gentleman from Jp nagar,
the lady cyclist, and the driver, conductor and passengers in the bus in helping
me get back in one piece.
Finally, a special note of thanks to Rahul Menon, who through
his own exploits, inspired me to do this. Cheers Rahul!!!
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