Distance Covered, Destination Unreached
I wake up at 3 AM — an hour later than planned. Groggy and unwilling, the anxiety that keeps me restless all night has now traded places with sleep, which stubbornly refuses to let me go. I pull myself up, get ready as quickly as I can, and step out into a world still cloaked in darkness.
My heart pounds with a strange mix of excitement and nerves as I start pedaling into the unknown, embarking on my first-ever 100 km ride — from Mumbai to Lonavala. This isn’t just a ride; it feels like a trial of my resolve, a solo mission to conquer my fears and push past my limits.
With hardly anyone on the road at this hour, the soft rustling of leaves fills the air, carried by the gentle morning wind that brushes against me. Even the dogs are asleep, undisturbed by the occasional distant rumble of lorries rolling far away on the city expressway.
As I approach the expressway, the scene changes. Massive vehicles dominate the nearly empty stretch, zooming past at Schumacher-like speeds. Every now and then, a blaring horn jolts me, as if warning the tiny, harmless cyclist to stay clear, though I’m already hugging the edge of the road like my life depends on it!
I pull out a sandwich from the red tote bag (read: Jugaad) hanging on my handlebar. Skipping breakfast to save time seemed smart earlier, but hunger strikes sooner than expected. Thankfully, a thoughtful friend and his wife had packed sandwiches, bread with jam, and lemonade for the ride. Their excitement matches mine, and their support feels priceless.
As I munch on the sandwich, my mind drifts back to the weeks leading up to this moment. Beyond daily practice rides of 15–20 km, I had pushed myself on a few longer ones, usually starting at dusk and wrapping up just before midnight. Those night rides have a charm of their own. As the kilometers stretch on and the fatigue quietly creeps in, the cooler night air feels like a comforting embrace, offering just the relief I needed to keep going.
With a steep mountain awaiting me on this route, I had trained diligently, grinding through the steep loops of Yeoor Hills in Thane. I still remember my first attempt — elation washed over me as I managed to conquer the climb, only to watch others effortlessly breeze past, knocking out multiple loops like it was a warm-up. That fleeting thrill of achievement quickly gave way to the humbling reality of my inexperience.
Now, to my satisfaction, I can tackle those loops with ease too. It’s fascinating how, with passion, practice, and patience, the seemingly extraordinary becomes a part of your normal — so subtly, you barely even notice the transformation.
I pedal onward, leaving behind the familiar city roads, where every turn tempts me to check the map. But I’ve turned off navigation to save my phone’s battery, trusting the milestone markers to guide me. A hand torch — secured to my handlebar with a trusty silicon strap — becomes my makeshift guide, its beam sweeping across marker boards to keep me on track.
I had bought a set of bike lights, head, and tail, only to realize their brightness fell short of the task. Choosing the right luminance is clearly an art I learnt. One thing is certain — good lights are not just a convenience; they’re essential!
As morning breaks, so do the street dogs, emerging from their slumber to bark and chase after me — sometimes solo, other times in packs — adding an unexpected, certainly unwanted, dash of thrill to the ride. My plan is to cover roughly 70 km and reach Khopoli, the foothill of the ghat, by sunrise. The idea is to conquer the famous climb in the golden glow of morning light.
I’m running a bit behind schedule, but it doesn’t bother me too much. As long as I can tackle the mountain in the cool morning air, I know I’ll be fine.
Upon reaching Khopoli, the irresistible aroma of freshly cooked food pulls me into a roadside stall for a quick local breakfast. Fueled up, I begin the climb up the ghat, and Strava lights up with the segment screen, comparing my performance to other riders. “Woah, I’m doing so much better!” The excitement sends a surge of energy through me, and I push harder to maintain my position.
As the elevation rises, so does my determination — and, unfortunately, my heart rate. It wasn’t long before my pounding heart overtook both my enthusiasm and my pace. What started as a confident climb quickly morphs into gasps for air. My chest feels like a drumroll gone wrong, and I realize I’ve pushed too hard, too soon. This isn’t a race; it’s a test of endurance — a realization that comes a little too late.
I slow down drastically, focusing on my breathing, but it doesn’t help much. Exhausted, I pull over to the side of the road and slump down, my bike lying beside me like a loyal companion. A few minutes pass before I muster the energy to reach for the chocolates and lemonade tucked in my bag. The instant sugar rush works wonders, recharging me quicker than I expected.
With renewed strength, I get back on the saddle and continue the climb — this time, slow and steady, letting the road teach me patience.
Once at the top, the rolling roads feel like wings beneath my wheels, letting me glide effortlessly. In no time, I reach Lonavala, relishing the rush of accomplishment — until Strava delivers a blow. I still have 10 kilometers to hit the coveted 100.
The mental setback hits harder than the climb, but there’s no time to dwell. Fueled by sheer determination, I press on, reigniting my spirit with the thought: not now, not after coming this far. Each pedal stroke carries the weight of exhaustion, but also the fire of resolve. The finish line may not be visible yet, but it’s closer with every turn of the wheel.
Suddenly, a truck zooms past, way too close for comfort, forcing me off balance onto the rough, unsealed shoulder. Pain shoots through my leg as a sharp cramp seizes my calf. For a moment, it feels like the ride might end here.
But the urge to finish strong keeps me going. I push through with one leg, each pedal stroke a battle of grit against pain. Slowly, the cramp eases, and as I glance at Strava, the magic number flashes — 100 km! Relief washes over me, mingled with pride. I did it. I really did it.
Just when it seems the journey is over, I continued pedaling on. The 100 km milestone is behind me, but my wheels keep turning, driven by a a deeper mission and why not? Even after 100 km I’m feeling perfectly okay, no sign of exhaustion. With a heart full of excitement, I set my sights on Pune, determined to surprise someone special.
Adrenaline surges through me as I breeze over another hill, but the sun, now scorching, starts draining my energy. Yet, it’s my determination, passion, and love that drive me forward. The road, relentless in its challenges, tests me with every twist and turn, but I push on, knowing this final leg will be worth every ounce of effort.
As the day drags on under the relentless blaze of the sun, every slight incline feels like scaling a towering peak. To make matters worse, the cramps returned, gripping me with unforgiving intensity. I slow to a crawl, desperate for relief, and gulp down the last of my lemonade in one swig. But this time, it offers no solace.
One grueling elevation steals my determination, the next snatches my passion, and soon, even the love that fueled this ride feels distant. I stop, utterly spent, the weight of my ambition pressing down like the midday heat. Minutes stretch into what feels like eternity, but my courage refuses to rally, leaving me stranded in exhaustion and doubt.
Defeated and drained, I crossed the road and slumped onto the dusty roadside, hoping for a ride back to Lonavala. A kind lorry driver stopped, letting me hoist my bike aboard, and carried me to the nearest bus stand. From there, I caught a bus back home, the hum of the engine mirroring the mixed emotions swirling within me — relief, disappointment, and the nagging sense of an unfinished chapter.
Afterthought:
The ride was a milestone — a turning point that nudged me toward many longer rides armed with just a pair of water bottles and an undying spirit of adventure. Though I went on to conquer greater distances, this day holds a special place in my heart — a bittersweet reminder of my first 100 km, laced with an inexplicable feeling of incompletion, as if a piece of the story still awaits its perfect ending.
If my ride took your heart along or brought back your own memories, give it a clap below and share your story in comment!
