1000 km Father–Son Cycling Pilgrimage: Ashtavinayak Yatra – Day 4: Journey Continued

After three fulfilling days of riding through the sacred circuit of Maharashtra’s Ashtavinayak, Day 4 began with a renewed sense of calm and purpose. We had spent the previous night resting at the peaceful temple campus of Ranjangaon a much-needed pause that allowed both body and mind to recover. As the first rays of sunlight touched the temple spire and the gentle sound of bells echoed in the morning air, we prepared for another soulful stretch of our pilgrimage.

Morning Light and New Energy

Our destination for the day was Siddhatek.
Since it wasn’t very far from Ranjangaon, we thought of why not try to reach Moregaon too, the fifth shrine in the circuit?
We started a bit later than usual… but without any rush. This journey was never about chasing kilometers.
It was about embracing experiences, meeting people, and soaking in the rhythm of rural Maharashtra.

For the first few kilometers, we rode along the busy highway.
The morning bustle around Ranjangaon was already alive, tractors, bullock carts, buses weaving through the chaos of movement and sound.
Farmers in white kurta-paijamas huddled over cups of tea, discussing crop prices at the local market.
It was India at its most vibrant.

Soon, we turned off the highway toward Karde on the Ashtavinayak Road… and the world changed instantly.
The traffic disappeared.
In its place.. endless green fields, soft winds brushing our faces, and the simple joy of pedaling freely.
The road was smooth, the air fresh, and before we even realized, we had covered nearly twenty miles reaching the crossroads toward the Chinchwad–Siddhatek highway.

As we entered the next bustling town, we decided to ride through first and eat later.
Curious eyes followed us everywhere.
Our small bike nameplates reading Ashtavinayak Cycle Yatra drew smiles, blessings… and conversations.

At one point, Shriram, who was riding behind me, got surrounded by a group of excited college students wanting photos and selfies.
He had his little celebrity moment right there on the roadside!
I was a kilometer ahead, waiting… until he caught up, laughing and sharing the story.

That incident reminded us of something essential that is communication and coordination.
From then on, we made sure the lead cyclist always glanced back every kilometer or so to check in.
Just like in life, journeys thrive on connection and care.

A Glass of Free Lemon Water, Abhi’s Gesture of Cyclist’s Brotherhood

A few kilometers later, a signboard caught our eye: Abhi’s Kitchen — with a bicycle cleverly carved into the word “Food.”
We couldn’t resist.

The owner, Abhi — a young MBA graduate and fellow cyclist — welcomed us warmly.
He served us a delicious South Indian breakfast and, with a smile, offered lemon water for free.
“It’s my tradition,” he said, “to offer every cyclist a glass of lemon water. I know how much it helps on long rides.”
Such simple kindness — it made our morning brighter.
We clicked pictures, shared stories, and admired his spirit of cyclist’s brotherhood.

Supporting Cycling Community Everywhere

Refreshed, we continued on the beautifully maintained road toward Daund — a lively town that felt like a blend of cultures and stories.
There, a gentleman on a scooter struck up a conversation with Shriram mid-ride.
Moments later, he waved us toward his shop, introducing us to his friend — another passionate cyclist, Mr. Anna Jagtap.

They showed us their high-end bikes, one of which — the Triban RC100 — instantly found a place on Shriram’s wish list.
Anna shared valuable advice: padded cycling shorts for comfort, and regular hydration — water, juice, even tea — to sustain energy.
We were amazed to hear how they often covered up to 250 kilometers in a single day!

Over steaming cups of tea, they shared lessons on endurance, health, and road discipline.
Before we left, they gifted us water bottles and insisted we call anytime if we needed help.
Their generosity reminded us again — the cycling community truly is one big family.

Innocent Children are true reflection of GOD

A few miles later, we were joined by a small group of schoolchildren on bicycles.
It was their holiday, and their eyes sparkled with curiosity.
One boy, Krishna, rode close and invited us home for tea or lunch, saying,
“Please come back here on your return journey!”

His innocent warmth touched us deeply.
Those children — unfiltered by the digital world — reminded us of the beauty of pure, simple human connection.

Holy River Bhima, at the Feet of Lord Siddhivinayak

By afternoon, the majestic River Bhima appeared on the horizon — calm, wide, and divine.
The sight of it filled us with awe.
Shriram stopped, taking photos with our bikes beside the water — a moment of perfect peace.

Siddhatek, our fourth shrine, stood gracefully on the riverbank.
The temple area was alive — filled with chants, devotees, and the fragrance of incense.
Despite the crowd, we managed a serene darshan of Lord Siddhivinayak.
The temple trustees noticed our cycling gear and warmly invited us for Prasad — a simple yet divine meal.

I’d promised Shriram earlier not to eat too much before long rides, but… well, some promises are hard to keep!
He smiled knowingly as I enjoyed the food a little too much.

During lunch, we met Bapu Kulthete and his family from Saswad, also on pilgrimage with their two young sons.
They were inspired by our cycling journey and said they hoped to motivate their children to try something similar.
That exchange — so spontaneous, so heartfelt — felt like another blessing.

Outside the temple, the rhythmic chak-chak-chak of sugarcane machines filled the air.
We sipped fresh sugarcane juice — nature’s sweet dessert after a divine meal.

Sometimes, You have to Slow Down or Take U’ Turn And It’s OK!

As we left Siddhatek toward Moregaon, the sky began to shift.
The wind grew stronger, pushing against us.
Soon, dark clouds gathered, and rain poured down with full force.

We usually loved cycling in the rain — laughing like kids — but this was different.
Visibility dropped to near zero.
We rushed into a roadside government office for shelter.
The kind staff welcomed us in.
We sat on the green synthetic carpet, legs stretched, watching the rain swallow the road.
For almost an hour, time stood still.

When the downpour eased, we resumed… only to realize five kilometers later — Shriram had left his helmet behind!
Without hesitation, he turned back.
A reminder — safety is never optional.

By the time he returned, dusk had settled.
We knew we couldn’t reach Moregaon that night.
With no hotels nearby, we kept searching until we reached a small village called Wireless Phata, on the Daund–Patas road.

Wireless Phata, A Darshan of Humanity

There stood a humble temple glowing under the soft light of evening diyas.
The villagers, seeing two drenched cyclists, welcomed us like family.
They were celebrating the final night of their ten-day Ganesh festival — and insisted we stay for dinner.

Their hospitality was beyond words.
Men cooked together, youth served food, women sang devotional songs.
It was a living picture of harmony and gratitude.

Over dinner, we learned these families had once been displaced during the British era — yet, their spirit remained unbroken.
We shared stories; Shriram played the Mridangam during bhajans, and I sang a simple hymn — an offering from my heart.
The courtyard echoed with music, laughter, and prayer.
It felt like the soul of India itself was singing.

By midnight, the village grew quiet.
Though many invited us to sleep in their homes, we politely declined — wanting to leave early.
We tied our bikes to a temple pillar and lay down on the cool floor.
The soft hum of crickets and the faint fragrance of incense filled the night.

As I closed my eyes, one thought echoed in my mind:
Every destination is sacred…
but it’s the people along the way who make the journey divine.

Because the real pilgrimage isn’t measured by miles —
but by the smiles, the questions, and the stories you collect along the road.