Day Three: Green hills and Gatorade

When we left our homestay outside Madikeri, the sun was hardly strong enough to combat the cold and the valleys were foaming with mist, looking for all the world like God's pensieve – it was the time of morning that encouraged fanciful thoughts (another such time is when the night is no-city-within-a-hundred-miles dark and you are sitting at the edge of the light from the bonfire, especially if you have family members who are addicted to NGC programmes about marauding man-eaters).

Down to Gunikopal must have been a joy for the riders, dodgy roads notwithstanding. The scenery was stunning throughout, the route winding through coffee estates or forest, mostly, but the road was very bad in many places, so many riders spent a lot of time riding in the back of the Tempo. Overall it was a strange riding day.

Wynad has its own share of coffee estates and some of the roads looked so much like the ones we just covered in Coorg, that it felt like we were standing still. But the crossing into Kerala is not an imperceptible one, it's a whacking great checkpoint that we nearly drove through due to not paying any attention to the policemen. It was that sort of day.

We were not rewarded by the sight of elephants or bison or deer on the forest road. We heard a lot of birds and giant bamboos that knock in the wind, sounding eerily like a spa soundtrack. I regaled my companions with my theory that the Magic Beanstalk was based on this bamboo, since I've literally seen how fast they grow. There're several outside my window at home and they grow perceptibly, significantly taller each day. I'm not sure they believed me.

Anyway my Malayalam came in handy at the checkpoint and quite often in our subsequent quest for Sultan Bathery. This is familiar country in more ways than one. It's many years since I've driven to Kerala, but I know this route well. I know the colours – white jasmine, pink hibiscus and orange exora. I know the smells – crushed leaves and coconut. I know the dangers – I could write a long and colourful dissertation on Kerala's highways, but that's already been written several times, and continues to improved upon every time an out-of-state license plate escapes a deadly bus or truck by half a millimetre.

We stopped for a bite at Kattikulam, about 50 km from the destination, where our arrival, sojourn and departure were watched with avid interest by almost every local available. We either happened to hit upon the only dubious Kerala Paratha maker in Kerala or my memory of this meal on the road has been rendered rosy by nostalgia. I strongly feel it's the former.

Avinash was the Puncture Guy today (at least, among the ones on our watch). He seemed mighty cheerful about it, waving us onward the second time we saw him. There was a surprise break for watermelons courtesy of Dr. Arora and Mrs Katiyar who seemed to have an entire orchard of them in the car!

PS: Apologies for not replying to comments - it’s all I can do to hold a signal long enough to post. I have managed to read one or two. Anand, you can get a few details on Prashanth’s blog (URL alongside) and there should be something on the TFN website by now. You can also follow all our Twitter posts simply by searching under "tfn08".

Day Three: Until next year, Ullas!

I sadly record the withdrawal of Ullas from the Tour. He had a bad fall today. Nobody is quite clear about how it happened, not even the eye-witnesses. One moment he was upright, the next he was not. We came round the corner minutes later to find him being given First Aid in a luggage truck that happened to be handy, in shock, face bruised, wrist possibly broken and a tooth lost. The doctor and the ambulance were on their way. We left soon after they arrived and met him again this evening, looking much better but with his diagnosis of broken wrist confirmed. He is a game and enduring rider, keeping up with the built-for-speed road bikes on his not-quite-so mountain bike. I will miss the cheerful smile as we crawl past him every 20km or so, his answer to our "All well?" almost always an enthusiastic thumbs-up. He feels it very keenly that "this is the end of the Tour for me".

PS: The picture alongside is Ullas resting against a support vehicle outside the restaurant, just about 20 minutes before his fall.

Day two: Accidental angels

On either side are high eucalyptus, thick-trunked forest plants, unknown (to me) trees with heavy foliage and thickets of something tall and thorny. Blue lantana covers the ground. The air is the refrigerated smell of leaves breathing. The forests gratified us with a sign saying "beware of wild elephants", though the animals themselves did not grace us with a visit. (I did hear a very Malayali panchavadyam from a passing Aiyappa temple, which usually augurs well for the sight of at least a domestic elephant but nothing. In the little towns and on the hillsides, houses have gardens and the gardens have plants that overflow onto the road, into the forests almost (some of them were almost exclusively giant poinsettia, one of them included a calf browsing among the potted plants.)

The roads sweep over and around gently rolling hills. It was a beautiful day to be out cycling in Coorg, no matter what your riding nirvana.

For some, it's about the road, what kind it is, what challenges it offers, how far it goes. For others, it's about the scenery the road passes through. To a few, it's about themselves and their bicycles, about pushing and pushing hard. From the mood after the ride, it seemed as if they all got what they wanted today.

We set out from Mysore at seven. Since Prerna, Ram's wife, was following the Tour in her car by herself, Tejesh, Prashanth and I (the three communicators) joined her. But suddenly we were loaded up with Aquafina, Gatorade, glucose and cake-like things, just in case we were called upon to assist and succour. That turned out to be often. We went ahead and stopped at a "good spot" to photograph the riders, and this made us the support car by default for the faster riders in front. It felt good to have an active role in the Tour, to be in the right place, at the right time when someone needed something.

As the second day of the Tour ends, everyone is getting into their stride. Many of us are learning as we go along, this being the first of its kind being attempted here. The enormity of the enterprise is only beginning to show now, and therefore, the courage and breadth of the minds that conceived, and are executing, it.

Day Two: Slideshow

Iggy had no punctures today (he had three yesterday).
Seema was back in the saddle with the best of them in spite of what should have been a traumatising accident just 37 km outside of Bangalore.
Dr. Renu Arora has patched up a surprising number of people already, as well as riding 200km herself.
Little Ria Arora's quiet time with her Gameboy while waiting for her mother to arrive was hijacked by an enthusiastic discussion on the testing of games. The lucky kid gets to ride in the ambulance.
Gatorade is the most requested drink from the support cars.
Samim was the first to finish (by several hours), again.
Raj Nair and Dipankar came a close second, again (Raj feels that he should probably go slower because everyone else seems to turn up with an interesting story while all he does is finish early).
Joshine was the first woman to finish, again. We passed her on the final climb into Mercara, our car straining a little with the load, and she was not even out of breath when she said "See you on top".
Neither was Ravi, who we'd passed half a km earlier, riding as easily as if it was a flat track.
We were nearly killed by two buses (not at the same time) on the sharp, blind corners that are a specialty of this part of the hills.
Pradeep in the role of chief organiser is working on being in seven places at once – with some success.
The Homestay that we're spending the night at on the Calpa Vruksha estate is a peaceful clearing with a stream running through it, surrounded by forest (the silence is annointed by the complete absence of ringtones – there is no signal whatsoever).
Nilgiris' food for today was idli-vada for breakfast and biryani for lunch. Both were excellent – it's some of the best frozen food I've eaten and I am the undisputed connoisseur of those.
Cycling is a great sport – it allows you to eat indiscriminate quantities of the good stuff, and several times a day if you wish.

Day One: Bangalore - Mysore

It's been the strangest day, as most days are that start at 3:30 am. Looking back, a lot of the morning is a bit out of focus and badly framed. I seem to remember my Dad telling me that the person flagging off the Tour is the Additional Director General of Police. "Additional" doesn't sound right and I'm too peaceful here under the big trees of the Windflower Resort to ask keen-eyed questions. His speech was short and pithy. I'm glad my parents came to see the flagging off of TFN even though they only returned from their Christmas party after one. I missed the magnificent sight of fifty-five cyclists sailing out of the gate together because I was worried about the confusion about my own transport, but I remember that many of Bangalore's cyclists enthusiastically escorted the official TFN riders for a while. But even that early, traffic separated and strung out the riders into a long, sparsely beaded chain. But we regrouped at Bangalore University and set out again in two batches; the Road Bikes were separated from the MTBs. This, I conclude, is because the Road Bikes are astoundingly fast.

I ended up in Vivek's personal support car, essentially shadowing him, and at one point he was doing 55km/h on a fairly flat road. I'm glad I was there. I saw the first leg of the Tour from the intense perspective of what it was like for one person. In the process I also gathered what it means to be a support vehicle for endurance riding. Water, juice, water, water, glucose, water, water, salted water, water, water, bananas, more diluted juice, water, water, energy bar, water. And one formal snack stop (where I think I was one of the first at the trough). The final climb, up Chamundi Hill (I want to say 1000 meters, but I could be wrong), was clearly as much a matter of mental endurance as physical.

The hardest part of my day was being cooped up in a car when others were out there riding in the open air. Following the nimble Road Bikes has the same hypnotic quality as watching dragonflies. Even during the struggle over the hill. On the occasional stops to render assistance and succour, the air was so refreshing outside, even in the surprisingly hot winter sun.

Fast facts: Mysore is elegant, serene and green. Mandya is still full of sugarcane fields. Chamundi Hill is full of pilgrims in dangerously driven taxis. According to Vaz's high-tech meter, he burnt 7641 calories today. The highways are as infested with lunatics as ever in motorised vehicles – one of them mangled Seema's Specialized; the only reason she's alive and riding tomorrow is her helmet.

I wish, I wish, I wish I was riding.

The tour, now open

As an ex-inmate of an ad agency I've always seen press conferences from a strange angle - an uncomfortable one, the sort that gives you a pain in the neck and offers a rather jaundiced view of the proceedings. This is the first time I've been on the side that was making the news, experiencing the pride and glory.

Watching the TFN conference, I had the feeling I remember from my time spent backstage – watching the house fill up on opening night, there was always a specific moment for me that was the point of no return, when I knew the show must go on now, regardless. At that point, the crazy adrenaline spurts calmed to one focused flow and training took over. I wonder if the organisers and the cyclists of TFN felt that way today.

For me there were a lot of new images, words, concepts. The enthusiam in Iggy and Vasu when they insisted on introducing me to a Colnago before I'd been there two minutes. Vaz who drove down from Chennai but will ride back in the new year on his new Trek. Arun saying that we've all driven through the Nilgiris but on this trip we get to touch it, smell it, savour it. The fact that 3500 litres of Aquafina will go with us. The real emotion in Ravi's voice when he said that part of the ride would be a category-three climb, a type that features in the great Tour (at Cote de Chatillon-sur-Cluses, to be exact). The very cool Manipal ambulance stealing the show. The flavour of Nilgiris' flaky pastry that is really the taste of waiting with friends for a movie at Rex on Brigade road. Through it all, the silent, purposeful cameras of Hrish and Moti.

Pradeep handing around Christmas cake. Diksha, taking the time to ride at least a part of the tour in spite of having exams. The general sense of camaraderie and effervescence. Learning that Venky, who I will inadequately describe as a professional cyclist, has lent no less than five high-end bicycles to the tour. The reporter from the Times asking how many present cycle to work every day and almost all hands in the air. The surreal backdrop of the Cake Show, which should really be called the Sugar Show; the more fantastic creations are made of little else.

Mostly, it's an uneditable slideshow in my head, but what stands out sharp and shining in the afternoon sun are the machines. Today there were two Meridas, two Specialized, two Colnagos and one Trek. Bicycles of all descriptions, that bear as much relation to the ones we rode to school on as my little hatchback does to a McClaren Road Car. They are all fascinating, they are fluid, they are beautiful. But with a silent apology to the trusty BSA SLR that I lived on for 10 years, I gave my heart to the Colnago. It is, unsurprisingly, Italian.

Are we there yet?

Between the decision to do something and the doing of it is a wasteland of time and space. But, as my cool countdown clock says, there're still five days before the Tour kicks off. I'm too restless to form words so I will leave this post to Freddie...

Bicycle Race, Queen, Album: Jazz, 1978
Apparently (found out just now) they launched the song with a bicycle race between 65 naked girls. No, it's not that sort of video.

Sigh

Why would an introvert who's also shy go out of her way to travel for seven days with a group of strangers guaranteed to make her feel even more out of place than usual?

As TFN approaches, I can hear the familiar whoosh of the excitement being overtaken by fear. What will I talk about? What if nobody wants to talk to me? Should I go up and talk to them? How? What if I look foolish? (God, what if I am foolish?) What if I get forgotten at a rest stop and they have to come back for me? Oh the horror of that.

It hasn't even begun yet, and I'm already comforting myself with the thought that it has to end sometime, it will pass.

On the other hand, some important person said something to the effect that if you're not a little bit scared all the time you're not really living. Actually, I may have read it on the back of a beer can. But still. It's something.

I seek stuff like this out all the time and then go through intense anticipatory suffering. Standing on the edge, paralysed by the fear of falling, all those questions used to end very often in "What if I just don't go?"

But cowardice is not an option anymore, having grown up and all that. At least I can separate imaginary dangers from real ones now (most of the time). And anyway, my best shell is a highly sociable one - it prevents any beautiful friendships from forming because it works by converting people into an audience, but it certainly keeps me from turning around and making straight for the burrow. The problem is I have no way of controlling which shell will be used when.

I just had a truly happy thought - after two days, they won't be strangers, though of course they may still be scary. That should pass too in another day or two. That's an interesting, mature view - I may really have grown.

Or maybe not. Also as usual, I may be scared but I'm not sorry.

You ride, I write

10 days from the start of TFN, a large number of people, largely unknown to each other, are working towards the same goal. As Radio Indigo sets up its mobile communications and Flaunge, their cameras, an ambulance crew at Manipal's department of sports medicine prepares for a seven-day vigil on the move. On one side of town, Wildcraft assembles a phenomenal amount of gear. On the other, the Diet Pepsi brand team puts together their own. Nilgiris nutritionists put finishing touches to the menus designed for endurance cycling, while Nilgiris bakers bring to fruition the piece de resistance of the 34th Annual Cake Show - and 10 days from now, a tour that hopes to become one of Bangalore's annual legends will set out from an event that is already one.

In the centre of this web, where everything begins and ends, 40 cyclists are training hard. Across the city, the country, bicycles are being tweaked, limits tested, briefings begun, equipment and fitness checked and re-checked. There are literally mountains ahead.

I write. It's what I'm here for, to tell the story that those who are too close to it cannot see. For someone who's spent all her adult life in the communications industry, this is a new and fascinating branch. And since my recent years have been given to the bureaucratic side, it's exciting to be in the "field" again. So while I test my datacard, re-examine my camera-to-laptop connectivity, readjust my battery settings, what I do most of all is train. Study the subject, feel it. Gain different perspectives on it. Find out what others have said about it (after all, you don't want to repeat what's already been said). I listen to conversations on Bikezone, at parties and around watercoolers, and suddenly, I'm interested in Rajesh's gear upgrade and curious about why one would choose not to ride one's Colnago. These are not things I would have cared about before, or indeed known. But I'm working, and I've always needed to know more than I need to know!

We're a large group, but perhaps we're not all here by accident. All of us seem to share one quality - a driving need to do what we do, well.

Incidentally, in the course of my research, I was interested as always by the almost infinite number of ways in which one subject could be treated. These are just three examples among the many I came across.

THE ART OF CYCLING


PASSION


CYCLISTS' SPECIAL PARTS 1 & 2

Dubai feeling the heat

"Last week the owner of a Mediterranean-style villa on one of the Palm Jumeirah's beachy fronds facing the Atlantis dropped his asking price from $4.9 million to $3.6 million and then $3.13 million, and offered to throw in his Bentley as well. "Our client has his money stuck in the markets and he desperately needed it to run his business," says real estate agent Anthony Jerish. "Still, nobody bought it. Maybe we will sell the Bentley separately. I don't know." No, this isn't the old Dubai at all." Says an article in Newsweek.

Discount sale plus free car with purchase. You sell your Bentley for some cash to tide you over. You have a Bentley in the first place. It still sounds very much like Dubai to me.

The article is very interesting and seems to spell doom, but what came through, rather surprisingly, was that Dubai's party was not over, just that the club may be closing for maintenance.

And Dubai needs to weather this, for all our sakes. The city is about naive pleasure-seeking, unashamed self-indulgence, over-the-top grasshopper-style living. It is the world's most fantastic Disneyland and if we come to the stage when the playgrounds need to be dismantled and sold for scrap, there will be no hope left.

We need the Fashion Weeks, where flocks of people spends days agonising over whether winter is about frill or flounce. The magazines that have nothing more portentous to tell you than that the season's hottest colour is one that makes you look like a corpse left in water. Impractical shoes, unattainable cars, unnecessary embellishments - these are very important; little reassuring pockets of positivity and optimism, as uplifting as any "inspirational quote".

That single-minded joy in creature comforts and shallow unconcern for the rest of it is an affirmation of the human spirit. It's one of the qualities that's got us this far. Dubai is the poster child of this. It must continue to party.