1000 KM Father–Son Cycling Pilgrimage: Ashtavinayak Yatra – Day 6 | Journey Continued
Morning Departure from Jejuri
The night at Jejuri pulsed with the rhythm of drums, music, and chants, a final farewell to Lord Ganesha after ten divine days. Yet, despite the echoing celebration, both of us slept deeply and peacefully. Perhaps it was the pure exhaustion of the road, or maybe, as I often say, true tiredness is nature’s best lullaby. Physical effort grants the kind of rest no luxury mattress can ever promise.
At dawn, we woke with renewed spirit. The festive scent of turmeric still hung in the air as we packed our bags, checked our bikes, and rolled out of Jejuri. The cool breeze kissed our faces, carrying whispers of devotion from the distant hills.
Ahead of us lay Theur, the abode of Lord Chintamani, the remover of worries.. before we would cross the bustling city of Pune by evening.
The sky stretched like an artist’s palette, soft greys, bright whites, a gentle blush of blue. We rolled downhill, gliding smoothly for a few glorious minutes before the inevitable climb began again.
And just like life, cycling teaches you rhythm, every descent is followed by an ascent. Every moment of ease prepares you for the next challenge. We paused for a sip of lemon water, nature’s perfect energy drink.. before pedaling onward through the morning calm.
Spiritual Stop at Theur
As we neared Theur, the scent of wet earth and blooming fields filled the air. Theur, once built and loved by the Peshwas, stood before us.. peaceful, ancient, and welcoming.
We parked our bikes near the temple gate, where a kind security guard urged us to hurry.. “The Prasad will be over soon,” he said. We smiled. Lord Ganesha never lets his devotees go hungry.
Under a shaded wooden pavilion, volunteers served steaming food with warmth and joy. They looked at our dusty cycling gear and insisted we take second helpings. Their kindness fed more than our bodies, it nourished our spirits.
Inside the temple, carved sagwan wood and the sound of old bells filled the air with history. One of those bells, they said, was a gift from the Peshwas themselves. And again, we found the portrait of Jagadguru Shri Morya Gosavi Maharaj, the visionary who had first given form to this sacred Ashtavinayak pilgrimage.
Before leaving, we met the temple manager, Mr. Bodre, a soft-spoken man with an eye for travelers’ needs. Over a cup of tea, he suggested an alternate route through Pimpri–Chinchwad to avoid Pune’s heavy traffic. His advice, as we would soon discover, was a blessing in disguise.
Rain and Rush of Pune
As we left Theur behind, the peaceful countryside slowly gave way to the chaos of the city. The quiet hum of crickets was replaced by honking cars, flashing billboards, and restless energy.
And then, the skies opened.
Rain came down in torrents, heavy and unrelenting. But instead of seeking shelter, we embraced it. Two riders, soaked to the bone, laughing in the downpour, rolling through half-empty streets as the city ducked for cover.
The rain became our companion, washing away fatigue and turning each puddle into a playful challenge. Yet as the kilometers passed, the exhaustion of navigating chaos crept in. Maps struggled to make sense of narrow lanes and flyovers. Both of us began to long for the peace of open fields again.
And somewhere between the splashing tires and city noise, a quiet thought arose, Have we really progressed with our cities, or just complicated our simplicity? Why do people work so hard in these concrete jungles only to crave escape into nature on weekends? The question stayed with us as we pedaled through the drizzle.
Cyclists Along the Way
Just as we were maneuvering through the crowded roads, a friendly motorist waved and pulled over. “Hey, cyclists!” he called. His name was Mr. Gajanan Khaire, a fellow cycling enthusiast. His excitement was infectious as he offered us tea and breakfast. We politely declined, determined to cross the city before dark.
When we mentioned the pain from long hours of riding, he immediately recommended a friend at the Decathlon store nearby who could help. “He’ll take care of you,” he said.
And he was right. The moment we reached the store, we were greeted by a smiling man who introduced himself as Mr. Bipin Undhre, a seasoned cyclist who had already clocked over sixty-five thousand kilometers on his bike! His goal, he told us, was seventy-five thousand by year’s end. I laughed and challenged him to aim for one lakh. He grinned, “Challenge accepted.”
Bipin helped us pick the perfect padded shorts, a small change that brought us immense relief. After six long days of riding, that comfort felt like a miracle.
Meanwhile, Shriram’s eyes sparkled as he admired the sleek Triban RC100, a model he had been eyeing since Daund.
“I’ll own it one day, Baba,” he said, his voice full of quiet determination.
I smiled. “And you will,” I replied. Some dreams don’t need encouragement but just acknowledgment.
With renewed comfort and lighter hearts, we pedaled out of the store, grateful for the unspoken brotherhood among cyclists everywhere.
The Metro Miracle
By late evening, the rain returned, heavier this time. We stopped under a flyover to plan our next move when a young man approached us.. cheerful, curious, and helpful.
“Are you on the Ashtavinayak Yatra?” he asked, pointing at the nameplate on our bikes. We nodded.
He smiled. “Then take the Pune Metro! You can carry your bicycles inside, it’s allowed. You’ll cross the city in minutes.”
It sounded unbelievable but true. Just ahead stood Ramwadi Metro Station. We rolled our bikes in, purchased tickets, and for the first time in six days, our bicycles became passengers.
As the elevator doors closed, a few onlookers stared curiously. Some even mistook us for railway workers in bright red jackets. Inside the air-conditioned metro, we laughed quietly, watching the flooded streets glide by below.
It felt divine, a moment of rest gifted by the universe itself. Our fellow commuters asked about our journey, inspired by the sight of two drenched riders with bikes in tow. That young man.. our spontaneous guide.. truly felt like an angel sent for that exact moment.
Night at the Guest House
We alighted at Pune Station, the city lights glowing like scattered jewels. Traveling further to Lonavala at night didn’t feel wise. So, I phone called my elder brother, a judicial magistrate who had once served in Pune for guidance. On his advice, we headed to a nearby Government Guest House.
The night-duty manager greeted us kindly and offered a simple dormitory room. No frills. No fancy decor. Just a clean space and to us, it felt like luxury.
We parked our bikes safely inside, washed off the day’s grime, and made our way to the canteen, still open and bustling. Dinner was warm, humble, and comforting. As we ate, the rhythmic sound of rain on the tin roof became our music.
Lying on our beds later, we looked at our faithful bicycles resting quietly by the wall, still wet but gleaming with pride.
Shriram turned to me and whispered, “Our bikes must be happy today.”
I smiled. “Yes,” I said softly. “For once, they got to rest while we did the riding.”
Reflections on the Road
Every day of this pilgrimage was teaching us something new.. patience, humility, surrender. The forest and the city, the climb and the glide, the effort and the ease, all part of the same divine rhythm.
As we drifted to sleep, ready to catch the local train to Lonavala at dawn, I realized something quietly profound.
This journey was never just about reaching temples or ticking off miles.
It was about transforming within.. one pedal, one prayer, one realization at a time.