1000 km Father–Son Cycling Pilgrimage: Ashtavinayak Yatra – Day 1: Journey Begins

“Every great journey begins with a single step… or in our case, with a single pedal stroke.”

We woke up even before the alarm rang. In truth, I don’t think I really slept that night. As I shared in Day 0, our minds were already on the road. The cycles, fully loaded, seemed to be waiting like eager companions — their shiny frames almost glowing with excitement, as if they too knew what lay ahead.

It was still dark outside. Inside the house, the atmosphere was tender, almost ceremonial. My wife and daughter stirred early to prepare food for our long day — a gesture so deeply rooted in family care that it slowed us down in the best possible way. No rush, no haste — only gratitude. That breakfast was not just fuel, but a blessing wrapped in love.

By the time we wheeled our bicycles onto the street, dawn had broken. Shriram, full of youthful energy, clicked a few photos before we rolled out. Together, we chanted “Ganpati Bappa Morya!” and with that, our pilgrimage truly began.

Leaving the City Behind

The roads were quiet as we left Nashik before traffic could crowd the streets. Soon we found ourselves on the Nashik–Pune highway, skirting past the Samruddhi Expressway and climbing our first ghat. Looking back from the top, the city lay far behind — a proud moment, a reminder that this was no longer a dream, but a living adventure.

At the summit, the landscape opened into a flatter stretch, where we came across a small Siddhivinayak temple. It was humbling to see how travelers, whether on foot, bike, or vehicle, paused there, bowing their heads before Lord Ganesha. The discipline of faith was palpable — a reminder that belief travels with us wherever we go.

Soon after, our stomachs called for a halt. We found a family-owned restaurant where we enjoyed misal-pav and chai. Alongside, we opened the breakfast lovingly packed by my wife. That meal gave us not just strength, but comfort — a taste of home on the road.

Into the Villages

Leaving the highway, we pedaled onto rural roads. Morning in a village has its own symphony: smoke rising from kitchens, cattle heading to fields, children in uniforms reciting prayers in schoolyards, women filling pots at the taps, farmers setting off to tend their crops. Fields glistened golden, touched by the September sun.

At one school of village Gonde — a branch of Maratha Vidya Prasarak Samaj — we were drawn in almost magnetically. The teachers, open-minded and gracious, paid no heed to our sporty attire. Instead, they welcomed us warmly and eagerly invited us to engage with the students. As destiny would have it, they were celebrating Teachers’ Day in advance. The timing could not have been more perfect.

I spoke about the power of education, the importance of teachers, and the gift of curiosity. Shriram added his youthful perspective. The children, full of questions, lit up with energy. Before leaving, the school felicitated us. We politely declined the gifts, except for one — a book by Swami Vivekananda. That felt like the right companion for our journey.

Lessons from the Road

As we cycled on, villagers greeted us with curiosity and warmth. Some asked about our pilgrimage, others offered tea or lunch. Their encouragement reminded us of a simple truth: people everywhere are eager to connect, to give, to share.

As we cycled further into the countryside, the road itself became a storyteller. Suddenly, the air was filled with the sound of laughter — bright, unrestrained, unmistakably that of children. We followed it like a trail of joy and soon found ourselves at a small government primary school of Bhojapur, Sonewadi.

It was their lunch break, and the children had just finished eating, now running and playing in the ground. The moment they spotted us, bicycles loaded with gear, their game froze. One by one, they gathered around, their eyes wide with curiosity. Within minutes, we were surrounded — a circle of shining, innocent faces.

Their teachers soon walked over, and what began as polite inquiries turned into a lively, engaging conversation. Shriram and I invited the students to ask us anything that came to their minds. What followed was a delightful barrage of questions — about bicycles, about journeys, about technology, even about rocketry! Their imagination knew no bounds, and their curiosity was as fresh as the afternoon breeze.

We stood there for nearly half an hour, answering their questions, laughing with them, and soaking in their unfiltered wonder. That simple, unplanned interaction became one of the most energizing moments of the day — a reminder that children, with their curiosity, are the purest form of explorers.

By afternoon, the sun grew harsh, but clouds offered intermittent relief. At one point, we rode alongside the backwaters of a dam. The sight was breathtaking — birds chirping, grasses swaying, trees dancing in the breeze. Water is life, and in that moment it also felt like wisdom: rivers travel long distances to finally rest in still waters, just as we too are travelers in search of our destination.

We halted at a roadside temple for lunch and rest. Under the shade of a tree, with our bicycles leaning close by, we stretched out on the earth. One and a half hours of rest later, we were ready to continue.

A Home for the Night

We hadn’t planned where to stay that night, but experience had taught us not to overdo Day 1. Pushing too hard early could exhaust us for the days ahead. As evening approached, we arrived at Agastya Rishi Ashram, at Akole located on Pravara River, where the resident students and teachers welcomed us like family.

It was here that Shriram’s love for music came alive. He played the pakhawaj (mridangam) during the evening bhajan. The students instantly accepted him as an elder brother, crowding around with questions and laughter. Their discipline was inspiring: serving food to each other, eating silently, praying before and after meals, cleaning their own plates.

We offered the book of Vivekananda to one of the teachers — a kind woman who cared deeply for her students. That felt like the right place for it.

Our bicycles rested safely for the night, while we lay on simple mattresses in the temple hall, surrounded by a few devotees, some buzzing insects, and the gentle sounds of the village night. Exhausted but fulfilled, we talked about the day, replayed the memories, and planned for an early morning ride.

At 4 AM the alarm was set. By 5 AM, our bicycles would once again kiss the road. Day 1 had ended not just as a physical ride, but as a day of family, faith, community, and countless lessons.