“What good is the warmth of summer, without the cold of winter to give it sweetness? So said John Steinbeck. True! Only a month ago, I took part in a 200 km cycling event and failed incredibly—I was forced to quit before I could finish the ride. This time I succeeded incredibly—I was able to chase the same target well in time! Behind every success story is an embarrassing first effort, a stumble, a setback: my story is no exception.
At the crack of dawn, on a Monday morning, I pedalled my way to arrive at the Nagpur airport square—the destination point. A couple of young volunteers—all accomplished cyclists—wildly cheered me as soon as they saw me through the corner of their eyes. This was the moment I was dreaming night after night. I screamed in delight and my face, dripping with sweat, shone with a huge triumphant grin. I wanted to take the helmet off my head and lift the cycle up to celebrate the achievement. I couldn’t, for I had been cycling almost incessantly for almost 10 hours and had no energy left to pose for the picture. The checkpoint persons shook my hands and dated, timed, signed and stamped my brevet card. As I tried to come to terms with the enormity of the occasion, I suddenly realized that it was only a month ago that I had participated in this event with a “Did Not Finish” Tag. The thrill of victory finally erased the dark images of the defeat.
Soon after my last brevet, I wrote a blog on my first failure—an incredibly cathartic experience for me. For, no matter how hard one tries to brush aside the failure, it is difficult to wipe the recurring thoughts off the memory cells. A few days following the event, I decided to start afresh. I began to train myself—physically and mentally—and did a couple of 50 km+ rides with my son and a bunch of medical students in Sevagram. My confidence and self-esteem restored, I was all set to pick up the gauntlet.
So, when the Nagpur Randonneurs announced an all-night 200-km brevet on 11 September, I seized the opportunity. I was now strong enough not to be deterred by such challenges as strong headwinds, rains, dark nights or flat tires.
On a dining table, I casually told the family that I shall try my luck at the all-night 200 km brevet.
“Agree that it is an all-night 200 km ride on a busy national highway. Agree that I will be riding with cyclists who are half my age. But my heart says that I will be able to do it. Let me try,” I argued with the family. “Take some time. Make haste slowly. Wait for the November brevet. Sign up for the day time event—you might find a night ride too difficult to handle” they tried their best to put brakes on my ambitious plan.
Not that I was supremely confident. Like a strong headwind on a steep hill, self-doubts— fueled by catastrophic negative thoughts—began to loom large. What, if I got weary and nodded off on the road? How would I handle blinding vehicle lights on the highway? And if I got a flat—this was my worst fear—how would I fix it in the dimly lit roads? Was I biting off more than I could chew?
“When you doubt your power,” Honore de Balzac had once aptly warned, “you give power to your doubt.” A few days later, I tried to convince them during a post-dinner dining table discussion. “You all know that by now I’d cycled enough to be physically fit for the event. I can sense the worst scenario you are worried about— fatigue, flat or a fall. There is just a small chance that I will have to face any of the three. This time, I have a clear riding plan and I know how to execute it. I am sure this time I will make it. And don’t worry, I won’t push myself hard during the 200-km segment. I would sign off as soon as I feel that the target is not worth chasing.”
Bhavana, Ashwini, and Shaily could sense how desperately I wanted to take the ride. They found it hard to balance their concerns with my aspirations. Finally, they gave up and nodded approval. The registration for the event, organised by Nagpur Randonneurs, was to close a couple of hours later: I electronically signed up for the 200 km brevet event.
The brevet day
Dr. Nikita Bhugra (a resident doctor in Anaesthesiology), Sumedh Manikpure and Alfred D’Souza (MGIMS students) had also signed up for the event. We have had several practice sessions before the event and had briefly discussed how to time the event—strategies that eventually stood us in good stead. On Sunday evening, we packed our cycles in a car and went together from Sevagram to Nagpur. We assembled at the Zero mile—the starting point of the event. Among others, we spotted Dr. Abhay Kelkar (a 1986 batch MGIMS alumnus) and his wife who were also trying their hand. We were well received by a bunch of volunteers who explained to us the rules, checked our bikes, gave us front and rear rider numbers that we were to display prominently on our bikes, and got our signatures on the “waiver of liability” document. We received our brevet cards and were told that we must stop at each checkpoint to have our brevet card stamped and we should not forget to sign the organizer’s control sheet. We also received a small kit that contained a painkiller, and a few packets of electral. As the clock struck five, Aditi Hardikar, wife of Nagpur municipal commissioner—herself an active cyclist—flagged off the brevet. Twenty-two cyclists were to test their mental strength, endurance skills and luck for the event.
The riders departed as a group. On the Variety square, barely a few hundred metres from the starting point, I found a large number of vehicles lined up— bumper to bumper— at a red light. As one who is not used to negotiating the vehicle through heavy traffic, I found it a bit unnerving to get the bicycle through the chaotic vehicles, many of whom refused to follow the traffic signals. Soon, I was riding on the National highway 6- the road that passes through Surat to Kolkata. It provided 100 km of uninterrupted tarmac for the event. I would be riding on this road all through the night.
Thirty minutes of riding and I suddenly remembered that I had forgotten to record my ride on Strava—a smartphone app that logs cycling activity—an error that would have left no trace on my ride on the world wide web. After all, if it was not on Strava, it did not happen! I made my bike come to a screeching halt, got off the bike, frantically pulled out my cell phone from the rear pocket, fired Strava on my phone and navigated to the record screen. The timer started and Strava began to talk with my phone- using a GPS to track my ride.
The four lane road was smooth and offered enough space for the cyclists to ride. Although the traffic was predictably heavy—it was a Sunday evening—we found it easy enough to ride. Sure enough the road was not so great to wax poetic.
Sumedh had a flat at the 38 km milestone. We all stopped and tried our best to fix the flat but couldn’t. Fortunately, a support vehicle was passing nearby. Wilfred accompanied Sumedh to go to a cycle puncture repair shop and got the wheel moving again, quickly. Sumedh was lucky that he did not lose much time. We had decided to maintain a speed of 20 km an hour— a plan that helped us reach each checkpoint well in time. The volunteers at the checkpoints cheered us, welcomed us with warmth and love, offered us bananas, khichdi and water and gently encouraged us to keep going.
Five km before we reached Talegaon, the second checkpoint, we found a steep slope, and our cycle was almost gliding on the road. The wind began to rush through the helmet, caressing the cheeks, gently wiping off the beads of sweats that had pooled up below the bandana. The five km long downhill slope generated very high speed. We avoided the temptation of going down the hill as fast as we could.
The first 100 km of the ride over, we began to feel elated. Everything was going according to the plan. We were tempted to relax as we lay on the lawns of the small garden. We also met a couple of 400 km riders, some of whom had quit the brevet following a bad knee that they had developed during the ride. We were enticed by the thought of resting on the lawn. By hindsight, the lure of lying on the lush green lawn could have turned into a fatal attraction, and we were happy that we could avoid falling into the novice trap.
As soon as we left Talegaon, a long steep hill awaited us. Because climbing a hill is as much a mental battle as a physical one, I had studied the hill well in advance and knew its length, gradient, max gradient, and likely time needed to conquer the hill. It looked pretty intimidating. As I approached the climb, I dropped down a few gears, directed all my energy to my legs, consciously stayed light on the pedals and kept my legs moving rhythmically to maintain a steady cadence. The key was to remain as calm as I could- constantly giving positive signals to the mind that even this hill would pass. I began to think light thoughts–clouds, birds, stars, moons, and angels. The muscle between our ears holds just as much, if not more, power over how well we’re going to turn our pedals.
The legs began to ache, veins started popping up our foreheads, I began to breathe faster and harder, the heart began to pound at 170 beats per minute, but I kept going. The top finally arrived. I heaved a huge sigh of relief. The worst was over!
Alfred and Sumedh used their lung and leg power to stay ahead of me. Nitika was a few km behind. I did a solo ride on the next 35 km of the segment. It was past midnight. Never before in my life had I spent two hours on the saddle, all alone, on a national highway. I embraced the darkness. I began to realize that there is something liberating about heading out under cover of darkness with only the moon and the buzz of tyres on the tarmac for the company. I started enjoying the fresh air. I began to savour those moments of solitude and freedom. I indulged myself in non-sense soliloquy. My fatigue had considerably eased and I was beginning to enjoy the ride, as my eyes caught the third checkpoint—Kathiawad Dhaba, 60 kms from Nagpur on NH 6.
I spent 30 minutes at the checkpoint. I had earned the luxury of relaxing. I sprinkled cold water on my face to wash off any trace of sleep, drank coffee —caffeine gives the brain a jolt and helps exercise feel easier—ate some bananas, chatted with volunteers and co-riders and took off for the final segment. It was 2 am. With 60 km to go, and time on my side, I chose to take a more leisurely pace and decided to enjoy the scenery on the dimly lit route.
It took me three hours to reach the destination. The sky was a bit overcast, and the wet streets indicated that it had recently rained in Nagpur. There was a hint of a cool breeze in the still night air. As the cool breeze touched my cheeks and caressed my neck, a sense of serene satisfaction began to surround the body. As I drew closer and closer to the target, I felt no longer fearful or anxious.
Now I was in Western Nagpur, and slowly but steadily began pedalling. I crossed several well-known squares before reaching Variety square. A U-turn from the square made me land on Wardha Road. Now the destination was just five kms away. I knew that it was the right time to up the ante. I started pedalling vigorously and in no time reached the final checkpoint.
I was a randonneur!