Monsoon Magic

The drumming of the rain on the eaves of the elegant plantation house set in the deep recesses of Kalasa simply would not stop. It almost felt like the saying, “when it rains, it pours” had been coined right here. I looked over to my right catching the eye of the hotel staff in the foyer. “When do you think this rain will let up? I asked. “Two or three days even ma’am,” came the nonchalant reply. 

I was on the exciting 200+km Monsoon Magic ride organized by Cadence 90 a group of very talented and experienced cyclists. The route on the Hassan – Mangalore highway through the Kottigehara and part of the Charmadi Ghats (ghats are mountain passes) and finally looping back to Chikmangalur was simply the most exhilarating thing I have done this year, till now. 

“But you know, though I can ride well, I have never really done a long cycling trip anywhere much less in the ghats,” I protested when my friend Manjunath broached the subject to me a couple of weeks ago. “You can do it,” he said with an air of finality. I am always stumped by someone else’s assumption of my capability. I opened my mouth to protest, but he had sped away on his Cannondale. We were riding together from Bengaluru to Kolar and back, with a team of cycling enthusiasts on a ‘practice’ ride. 

I registered for the Monsoon Magic ride, not knowing what to expect much less any of the team members. A last minute WhatsApp message gave me the route and elevation map and a list of things I would require, to participate. Parking my car in the garage that Friday evening after work, I was suddenly gripped with an uneasy feeling of how unprepared I was to take up this long ride. But it was too late. Picking up my bag that I had packed the night before, I set off to the venue where a bus would take us to the start point of the race. My cycle borrowed from a dear friend, Aakriti had apparently already got there the previous day. 

Preparing for the Amsterdam full Marathon, I decided I would benefit from some cross training. The inclement weather in Bengaluru did not lend itself to swimming so I decided to focus on cycling instead.  The ride commenced at the customary 5:15 a.m. and the nip in the air removed the last vestiges of sleep from our eyes.  “Coffee and breakfast in the next 40km,” shouted the captain and we set off. In the first few kilometers the group more or less arranged itself in the formation it would ride for the rest of the route. With everyone focused on their PBs (Personal Bests), I found myself riding alone somewhere in the middle of the pack about 10 kilometers behind the lead cyclists and about 18-20kms ahead of the laggards who were riding just ahead of the sweep truck. 

Drunk on green! Well, that’s what I was. Now Karnataka is a beautiful state, but this part of the state is a favorite. The green vistas on this route stretch as far as the eye can see. Large coffee plantations, with pepper vines growing on the support trees that dot these estates quite liberally, are a treat to the eyes.  The narrow roads snaking through the terrain at impossible elevations added to the degree of difficulty on the stretch. When the elevation maps were first shared with us, I confess they looked a bit like the ECG of a highly excitable person in the throes of an apoplectic fit. High rises and steep falls with little room to coast and recover. “See, a cyclist must keep pedaling because if you stop, you will cramp up,” one kindly soul tried to reassure me when I pointed out the terrain during a break for lunch.  When we started out after lunch, it was time for all the rain proof wear we were carrying. The rain came down in torrents and what started then, did not end even after we had concluded the ride the next afternoon. 

The crickets continued their relentless buzz, sending wave after wave of ‘electricity’ humming through the forests. Cascades of water, from waterfalls created by the rain, complimented this beautifully and I was one with nature. The stress, noise and grime of everyday life seemed to fade away and I was transported into another world. The exertion and aching muscles did not seem to matter. I was floating. As I looked around, the trees were whispering to each other in the vast forests that skirted the road. I found myself talking. Talking to the trees.  I stared at them closely and I swear they had eyes. All seeing eyes that were acknowledging everything happening around them. Eyes that over the years had witnessed the relentless decimation of forest cover at the hands of man. They seemed to be saying, “now here’s something sensible man is doing for a change,” and I felt myself in the presence of something larger than life itself.  

I rode in a trance. I cannot recall how I found the energy to go on through the pounding rain. When we stopped for the night all wet and cold, I just climbed into my sleeping bag and fell into a deep slumber. The next morning we set out at first light through heavy rain. The captain’s briefing was ominous. “if you thought day 1 was challenging, I would like to set the expectation that you haven’t seen ‘challenging’ yet.” I remember him standing at the first steep slope just 2 kms from the start point with the friendly advice, “Get off the saddle dammit and pump hard, or the gravity will get you!” 

In the 80 odd kilometers the next day we caught sight of the splendid Bhadra River in full flow, red with soil. Landslides, flooded causeways and bridges with a ghost of a railing to mark them became common sights. I briefly thought what might happen if I got swept off one of the narrow bridges and gave up the thought as soon as it occurred. I was not sure whether to focus on the water or the steep climb ahead. Cryptic cue sheets, reading keep right at 72km or don’t take the left at 132 were crisp to a fault. I tried memorizing them, quite unsuccessfully, as the rain made it impossible to take out your phone.  That’s when intuition comes to your rescue. I think. Sorry, I prayed.  In the days that followed my return to Bangalore, there were news articles in the local press about wild elephants that were creating havoc in the same stretch of forest that we had navigated and around the same time.   A threat I was completely oblivious to. 

“Now comes the toughest part, the last 10 km to the destination is an impossible climb, so don’t slack off,” ordered the captain, “the sweep will start at 12 noon.”  The worst thing to happen in an event is to get ‘swept’. Imagine after all the sweat and toil, the ignominy of completing  the race in a sweep truck because you were simply too slow to finish. I pushed myself harder and I am glad I did. The welcoming sign of habitation, smoke rising out of a chimney in a little resort tucked away in a corner of a large estate beckoned to me. I climbed the rather steep slope right to the dining table in the sit out in front of the resort and sat down to a simple vegetarian meal that was really food for the Gods, feeling exhilarated, tired and very wet. My mind was made up, I was in love with cycling.  I just received news that the Tour of Karnataka, a 500 km ride,  has been finalized for the first week of December.   All I can say is ‘Radonneuring here I come!’