1000 KM Father–Son Cycling Pilgrimage (Ashtavinayak Yatra) – Day 5: Journey Continued
The soft chill of dawn wrapped around us as we quietly packed our bikes at Wireless Phata.
The little village still slept peacefully after the night’s joyful festivities.
We wanted to leave early before anyone could wake up and lovingly insist on serving us tea… that would, no doubt, turn into breakfast… and delay our start.
So, with hearts full of gratitude for their warmth, we slipped away into the misty morning.
The road stretched ahead like a blank page… waiting for the next chapter of our story.
A Morning Goodbye
Our plan for the day was simple yet sacred, first, to visit Lord Shri Moreshwar at Moregaon, and then onward to Jejuri, the holy abode of Lord Khandoba, our family deity.
Though Jejuri isn’t officially part of the Ashtavinayak circuit, for us, it was a natural inclusion… a call of faith, of heritage, and of home.
Sunrise over the Fields
As we reached Patas, dawn began to unfold in shades of gold and rose.
Shopkeepers yawned awake, sweeping doorsteps, lighting their first incense sticks of the day.
The world was just beginning to stir.
Finding a cup of tea that early was no easy task but persistence has its rewards.
Just beyond the highway crossing, we found a small tea stall.
The man served steaming cups of jaggery-sweetened chai.. earthy, rich, and comforting.
With the first sip, warmth spread through us… the kind of warmth that comes not just from tea, but from the feeling of being exactly where you’re meant to be.
We paired it with a few snacks, knowing that once we turned off into the rural route, food stalls would vanish.
As we left the highway behind, the hum of engines faded, replaced by birdsong… and the whisper of the wind through the fields.
The sun rose higher, painting the sky amber.
Fields of sunflowers flanked both sides of the road, their golden faces swaying gently, as if smiling at the travelers passing by.
For a moment, it felt as though nature herself had lined up to bless our way forward.
Through the Forest of Silence
Soon, farmlands gave way to the cool shade of a reserved forest.
Signboards warned of leopards, deer… even the occasional tiger.
But we felt no fear. Only a quiet calm.
Years of cycling through nature had taught us one truth that wild animals rarely harm unless provoked.
They protect. They defend. But they don’t attack without reason.
In many ways, they mirror the discipline of life itself.
We pedaled close together, the crunch of gravel beneath our wheels blending into the forest’s soft rhythm.
Sunlight filtered through the canopy in golden rays, birds called from hidden branches, and the earthy scent of the forest filled our lungs.
It wasn’t just a ride… it was meditation in motion.
As we emerged, flocks of baya birds fluttered above, circling their hanging nests.. delicate miracles swaying in the morning light.
We slowed down to watch them, smiling in silence.
Moments like these didn’t just mark distance but they deepened connection.
To nature. To the journey. To each other.
The Divine Pause at Moregaon
By noon, we reached the sacred entrance of Lord Moreshwar’s temple.
A large tree shaded the gateway, its broad arms offering the perfect place to rest.
The air was thick with incense, the sound of bells drifting softly from within.
Our darshan of Lord Moreshwar was peaceful, simple, complete.
The temple trustee, noticing our cycling gear, smiled and insisted we stay for prasad.
We gratefully accepted.
The meal was humble.. rice, dal, vegetables.. yet it felt divine.
Every bite carried love, and with it, strength for the road ahead.
Before leaving, the manager, Mr. Rajendra Jagtap, said with a knowing grin,
“Your bicycles will love the road to Jejuri.”
His words felt like both blessing and promise.
We bowed, thanked him, and set out once again toward Jejuri.
Onward to Jejuri
The road from Moregaon to Jejuri was a cyclist’s dream.. smooth, scenic, and peaceful.
The breeze was gentle, almost like a companion pushing us forward.
The rhythm of our wheels became our background music.
Shriram, still a little tired from the previous night’s bhajans and late sleep, hoped we’d find an early stop at Jejuri.
And I knew, what he needed most wasn’t luxury or comfort, just a night of deep rest.
As the golden hill of Jejuri appeared on the horizon.. the fort temple glowing under the sun.. something stirred within us.
A blend of reverence… and homecoming.
On the roadside, a heartwarming sight stopped us.. a tiny baby girl, barely two months old, smiling from her grandfather’s arms.
That innocent smile… it melted away all fatigue.
Her grandmother, who ran a small eatery nearby, offered us snacks and kindly guided us toward a decent lodge for the night.
Once again, it was the kindness of strangers that carried our journey forward.
Golden Hill of Faith
Jejuri greeted us with its unmistakable energy.. alive, radiant, deeply spiritual.
While I secured our bicycles, Shriram went searching for accommodation.
He returned, triumphant “Clean room. Good price. Negotiated.”
I smiled. His enthusiasm was its own kind of reward.
After a quick wash and some laundry, we felt refreshed and ready to climb the sacred hill of Lord Khandoba.
The ascent to the temple was both physical and spiritual.
The air vibrated with drumbeats, chants, and the echoing cry, “Yelkot Yelkot Jai Malhar!”
The town glowed in shades of turmeric, Jejuri’s signature golden dust of faith.
It clung to everything.. the steps, the idols, the air itself.
Shriram couldn’t resist sharing the moment.
He called home from the temple stairs, laughing and waving, showing the view to family eagerly watching from miles away.
That nightly call had become our quiet tradition, a thread of connection that tied us to our loved ones while we roamed free.
The Feast of Contentment
By the time we descended, night had fallen and Jejuri had transformed into a carnival of lights.
It was the final night of Ganesh Chaturthi, and the air pulsed with celebration.
Fireworks cracked above, people danced, music filled every street.
Our hunger soon joined the celebration, reminding us that even devotion needs dinner!
But every restaurant we found was closed, owners lost in festivity.
After several tries, we finally found one small eatery still open at the main crossroad.
The owner smiled, saying, “You’re just in time. Food for the gods is still being served.”
We laughed, grateful beyond words.
As we ate, visarjan songs played outside, devotees bidding farewell to Lord Ganesha with tears and joy.
Shriram took a long breath, leaned back, and said, “Best dinner of the trip.”
I silently agreed.
Perhaps it wasn’t just the food but it was the journey to find it, the patience, the gratitude, that made it taste so divine.
Closing Reflections
Back in our lodge, we stretched out on clean mattresses, letting tired muscles finally rest.
Our clothes hung by the window, our bikes leaned against the wall.. faithful companions sleeping beside us.
Outside, the night still hummed with faint echoes of devotional songs.
As I closed my eyes, I thought about what Shriram had said over dinner:
“Maybe people were happier when there were fewer choices.”
He was right.
In this world overflowing with options, we often forget the joy of simplicity..
A cup of tea after a long ride,
A kind stranger’s guidance,
A clean bed after a day of dust and devotion.
That night, we understood something profound..
The true measure of a journey isn’t how far you go…
but how deeply each mile changes you.