You have probably experienced that feeling when you wake up, take a look at your clock, and realize that you are way behind schedule. The way in which the human body responds to such a stimulus might vary from person to person. In my case, I feel a sort of jolt in the region of my abdomen, my heart pumps at a slightly higher rate, and the thought "Oh my! Is it that time already?!" fills my head.
It was with the above mentioned jolt in the abdomen, raised heart-rate and thought about time that I woke last Saturday at 7.30 a.m. And with good reason too. I had agreed with Amarnath to go on a cycling trip to IISc, and from there to Marathahalli. The time of 7.30 meant that I was late (in spite of Amar's repeated instruction to not be late). The fact that there were 11 missed calls on my mobile from Amar during the time I was asleep did nothing whatsoever to calm me.
After a hurried and meagre breakfast, a quick change of clothes, and a phone-call to Amar telling him that I would be at Silk Board within half an hour or so, I set off on my cycle.
I covered the 12 km to Silk Board more or less within the time I had specified, but there was no sign of Amar. In all probability, he underestimated the efficacy of my cycle, or my prowess on the saddle, or both. In any case, I had to wait for a whole ten minutes before he came zipping along on his cycle.
I think a word about Amarnath is called for. When not on his cycle, this chap has all the air of sensibility in the world that you could wish for. Not a shred of anything comical about him. But when his feet are on the pedals, his hands are on the handle, and his bottom is on the saddle, Amar casts aside his cloak of sensibility, and becomes a blot on the landscape by donning a black T-shirt, shorts, a bicycle helmet, a pair of sun-glasses, and a smug look.
Both of us spent some time commenting on the other's attire. While I found his shorts and sun-glasses odd, he thought my pants and somewhat formal-looking shirt unsuitable (only too true, I am afraid). Then we finally took off. Our destination, IISc, was about 15 km away.
There is no denying it - a BTwin Rockrider 5.0 bicycle is a far cry from a Trek 7100. Even allowing for the considerable difference in Amar's and my strength and stamina, the efficiency of his Trek over my Rockrider was evident from the start. There were several factors for this. First and foremost, mine is a mountain bike, and that means my tires are smaller, while Amar's is a hybrid bike that comes with comparatively larger tires (larger in terms of radius). Besides, maintenance will also have some say.
Many were the instances when Amar would advance way ahead of me, in spite of the fact that while he was pedaling at a comfortable pace, I was giving it my all in top gear, and then he would wait by the side of the road for me to catch up. During the few instances when the road was somewhat empty, we cycled side by side, keeping up a conversation, Amar talking comfortably, while I was talking in gasps in a somewhat wheezy voice from the effort of keeping up with him.
It is no surprise that our conversation almost always revolved around cycling. Amar happened to mention about the existence of several cycling enthusiasts in IISc. "At IISc there are those who go on 600 km trips. 600 km! Imagine that! They are determined folks. Sometimes their tire might get punctured while they are in the middle of a very remote area, with no hope of a cycle shop for miles around, and they forge on ahead with the flat tire". Such were his words.
About 10 minutes and a couple of kilometers after these words were uttered, Amar's front tire got punctured. I wondered for a moment whether Amar would pick a leaf from the tough and determined IISc cyclists, and continue pedaling. Nothing of the sort. He promptly got off his cycle, and together we began the 3 or 4 km stretch during which we pulled our cycles along in search of a cycle shop. For once, I was able to cope with his pace. We passed a golf course, the Raj Bhavan, and several other structures that had nothing to do with rectifying a punctured tire. Periodically we asked passers-by if there was a cycle shop nearby. Some shook their heads, while the others assured us that there was one on the way ahead, just a short distance away. The way we were led on, it was something like forcing a donkey to move ahead by dangling a carrot in front of its eyes.
Finally we arrived at a cycle shop. But the person at the shop seemed to be unwilling to repair the puncture, or ignorant of the art of tire puncture repair. Whatever the case, the message was clear - we couldn't hop onto our saddles and ride away just yet. We dragged on with our cycles by our sides, and finally found a shop manned by a person skilled and willing to fix the damn puncture on Amar's tire. A work of about 20 minutes, and then we resumed pedaling, till we reached IISc.
After a brief rest at the room of Arjun and KVG, we had lunch, and set about exploring the IISc campus. Cycling in IISc is an ecstatic experience. The trees there provide for beautiful scenery and shade. The frequency of motor vehicles that roar by you, shunting you to the side of the road, is very low. And as for the condition of the roads in IISc, while all the roads that are really used are smooth, there are also the relatively untrodden paths that are not tarred, that consist of loose stones and mud, which lead into areas that might be considered a few steps short of being a forest. Trees simply grow wildly there. And this was the kind of road that I loved. I finally got a break from the smooth, relatively uneventful ride so far on even roads (uneventful, if you don't count the tire puncture). Riding on the path into the forest was fun. The feel of the handles vibrating under my grip, and the whole cycle shaking, the fact that I had to expend more energy on this uneven track, but the exhilaration easily making up for it, the atmosphere of the place ... and to cap it all, there was the satisfaction that on this rocky terrain, Amar was handicapped on his hybrid bike. Hybrid tires are thinner, and hence more prone to being punctured (Amar said something about thinner tires being associated with higher pressure, and hence this tendency for punctures ... anyway, the point is, Amar was handicapped). It was with extreme care that Amar followed me, with the result that he fell behind, and I had to wait for him for quite some time to catch up. But once we got back onto tarred road domain, Amar promptly reasserted the superiority of his Trek by determinedly staying ahead of me for some distance, ignoring my pleas to him to slow down.
Then we set off for Marathahalli, where dwell seven of the Guha Boys: Dash, G-Man, Jayalal, Kurian, Muru, Ropo and Shakku. This was a ride of about 25 km. On the way we stopped a couple of times to drink water and stay hydrated, and at one point we had to cut across a railway line and hoist our cycles over a low fence by the above-mentioned railway line so as to get back on the road. We covered the distance of 25 km in good time.
Thus, we finally arrived at the abode of our friends in Marathahalli at about 4.30 p.m. Amar left within a couple of hours, for he wanted to avoid being on the road on his cycle after it became really dark. I chose to spend the night at Marathahalli.
By the time I tied up my shoe lace and got on my cycle to embark on the return journey, it was about 5.00 p.m. Sunday. This stretch of about 25 km from Marathahalli to my abode in Electronic City felt lonely, in spite of the fact that cars, trucks and motor-cycles were buzzing by. True that while cycling with a friend, the chances to have a conversation are few. There is usually too much traffic on the road. And if you are on a slow mountain bike and your friend is on a fast hybrid bike, your friend is bound to be ahead most of the time. And when you cycle with a friend, his problems become your problems too. For instance, the case of Amar's tire puncture forced me to pull my cycle along as well, even though my tires were in good condition. But when all is said and done, there is no denying that going together is better than going alone. True that even a lone cycle ride is not without its rewards. The sensation of the wind in your hair ... the feel of a swift and effortless downhill drive (although a slow and painful uphill climb is also part of the package) ... the satisfaction of having covered a considerable distance on a cycle, with just human muscular power and enthusiasm as fuel ... but the fact remains - avoid loner mode on a cycle if you can.
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