Pedaling Through Life: A Father–Son Ashtavinayak Cycling Pilgrimage by Sunil Khandbahale - HTML preview

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 in 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 pedaled 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 in 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 the Pravara River. 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, 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 a.m., the alarm was set. By 5 a.m., 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.

As we drifted to sleep, I thought of these words: "We travel not to escape life, but so that life does not escape us."

And thus, our true pilgrimage had begun.

Day 2: Journey

Continued

Dawn broke gently at the Agasti Rishi Ashram. Before the alarm could ring, I was already awake, stretching on the floor mattress, the soft sound of the Pravara River flowing in the distance. Bells from the temple chimed, the fragrance of oil lamps and incense lingered in the air, and chants of devotees carried a divine calmness. By the time Shriram rose, I had already finished my routines, and together we went for a morning darshan of Agasti Rishi and Lord Ram.

Stepping out of the ashram, we were greeted by the first golden light of the day, cool air brushing our faces, and birds announcing a new beginning. By 5:30 a.m., after securing our luggage on the bicycles, we rolled out into the semi-dark village roads.

Life Awakens in Akole

Crossing Akole village was a lesson in simplicity. Elders were already out on morning walks, women prepared for the day ahead, while children still dozed in their beds. Choosing the rough road over the smoother highway, we passed by farmlands, cowsheds, and quiet homesteads. In lonely stretches, only the barking of dogs reminded us that we were strangers on their watch.

Ahead lay the ghat section and forest area we had been warned about the previous evening. The hills glowed as the rising sun touched them, shades of green and gold shifting like moving brushstrokes, with clouds painting the sky behind. The forest was alive.. peacocks called out, almost as if they were announcing our arrival in their territory.

The uphill climb tested our stamina. Sometimes we pedaled, other times we pushed our cycles on foot. Just when the silence of the forest seemed overwhelming, a group of young men and women jogged downhill, all preparing for defense entrance physical tests. Healthy, energetic, and determined, they paused to greet us with admiration, calling us sportsmen for taking on such a journey.

Inspiration on Two Wheels

By mid-morning, hunger and thirst had set in. There were no restaurants in sight, so we managed with biscuits, energy bars, and juice. After miles of effort, we came across a small vegetarian eatery named Garawa, started by a local couple. It felt like an oasis. We ordered a simple but hot and delicious lunch, grateful for food made with love.

While finishing our meal, we met a man who became the day’s greatest inspiration. A 75-year-old villager on a simple non-geared bicycle, carrying farm produce. He told us he cycled every day from his village to Akole and back, never needing a doctor or medicines in his life. His only secret: regular cycling. Listening to him filled Shriram with awe, and both of us with fresh energy. Hats off to him! A proof that fitness and freedom don’t always need modern gyms or gadgets.

Young Curiosity and Dreams

Later, we arrived at Sahyadri School in Brahmanwada, just in time for their sports break. Hundreds of children surrounded us in excitement, soon joined by their teachers. Within minutes, the open ground turned into an impromptu assembly. The students sat in neat rows under the blazing sun, their eyes shining with curiosity.

After I spoke about our journey, the students bombarded Shriram with questions about cycling, travel, even space and rockets! The discipline and enthusiasm were striking. I noticed that girls formed more than 60% of the group, and many openly shared their dreams of becoming doctors, teachers, or cracking UPSC and MPSC exams. Their confidence was refreshing.

The teachers welcomed us warmly, with open-mindedness that ignored our sweaty sports attire. The principal, a woman with a caring and compassionate presence, offered us shawls and coconuts as tokens of respect. We humbly declined the gifts, not wanting to burden our bicycles with extra weight, but carried the blessing in our hearts.

Generosity on the Road

Cycling further, we experienced the boundless generosity of strangers. At a bhel stall in Junnar, a kind farmer insisted on paying for our snacks, calling it an honor to serve pilgrims of Lord Ganesha. The shopkeeper too added extra items free of cost, his smile as generous as his heart.

Elsewhere, a motorcyclist stopped us on an uphill road, insisting he contribute money or via PhonePe to our yatra. “On my travels,” he said, “strangers helped me with food and shelter.

Today, it’s my turn.” We requested he send only ₹1 or ₹11 so that we could offer flowers to Lord Ganesha in his name. He

promised ₹101. It wasn’t the amount, but the act that mattered. Kindness, after all, is only real when practiced.

Darshan at Lenyadri – The First Ganpati

By evening, the sky darkened with heavy clouds as we approached Lenyadri, the first of the eight Ashtavinayak temples. The temple is nestled in caves high on a hill, and its gates close by 7 p.m. Just as we arrived, rain poured heavily. We sat on a bench, drenched yet mesmerized by the sight.. the caves glowing with lights against the rain-draped mountains, framed by the five elements: sky, air, water, earth, and fire.

That, I felt, was our true darshan of Lord Ganesh. Without even climbing, He revealed Himself in the grandeur of nature. All fatigue suddenly disappeared; faith filled the void.

Night at Sant Muktabai Temple

Determined to reach Ozar Ganpati the same night, we rode on with a small torch fixed to our cycles. But midway, the torch battery died. Darkness engulfed us. With no streetlights and tales of leopards in the area, continuing was unsafe. We dismounted and walked.

A few kilometers later, we found shelter in a roadside temple dedicated to Sant Muktabai, sister of Sant Dnyaneshwar. The temple was simple, clean, and secure. As we settled in, the owner arrived, offering us food and an invitation to his home. We politely declined, grateful already for the shelter. His words still echo: “Temples are built for travelers like you. You never know in what form God may come.”

That night, as rain poured outside and we lay on the cool temple floor, I whispered to Shriram: “Sometimes, God closes one door only to open another.” The drained torchlight was not misfortune but divine timing, guiding us into Muktabai’s care.

And so Day 2 ended with lessons in resilience, humility, generosity, and faith. The pilgrimage was not just about reaching temples. It was about the journey itself, about the people we met, the kindness we received, and the spiritual truths that unfolded with every pedal stroke.