Cycle India 2012

Saturday 5 January

Cycle time! The order was to meet in reception for a 5.45am departure because we had a long day and wanted to avoid cycling in the middle of the day if possible. Time keeping was improving – we left at 6.45.

We took our bus to the outskirts of Rajahmundry (stopping to fit in a visit to a British built bridge that had apparently opened up the region many years previously) where we were reintroduced to our bikes which had magically been transported there for the official start of the ride.

Indians are so proud of their nation that, if you get more than five of them together at any one time, they want to sing their National anthem. They duly performed it and also offered some unopposed mild mocking in our direction, suggesting that we might want to mumble our own “like our footballers”!

The UK crowd had been joined by two from America plus a number from India, taking our cycling contingent to around thirty. The group was a real mix of doctors, nurses, teachers, doctors, electricians, double glaziers, printers, doctors, an Indian monk, an insurance claims consultant, and others.

It was also a mixture of all shapes, sizes and ages, although the majority were over 40 and some were a lot nearer 60.

HEAL had initially planned the whole trip with an ‘adventure tour’ company, but took on more and more arrangements themselves as matters progressed to get better value, with HEAL eventually arranging everything but the flights. The decision to take things on themselves was inspired, making the trip a unique and utterly authentic experience for all those taking part.

HEAL was very heavily assisted by a number of staff from the Nagarjuna Hospital, a leading hospital in the region. These people made most of the arrangements in India and were incredible hosts to us. They arranged the route, lead us round it and marshalled it, arranged accommodation and transport, and all of the logistics of always getting us, food, and drink in the right place at (roughly) the right time.

The start of the ride, along a busy road not dissimilar to the M25, wasn’t the most pleasant part of the trip, but we soon dropped down off this road and out into the countryside.

We made a stop and breakfast appeared from nowhere. After that, stops were made about every 15 kilometres, where a van would throw open its rear door and treat us to ice cold water, bunches of short stumpy bananas (Indian bananas – bite size heaven!), oranges and coconuts freshly cut from the tree, plus energy drinks.

I’d only ever drunk two cans of the stuff before and had thought it to be sugary muck, but I’m now hooked – two cans of it in the afternoon and you’re racing along.

As we cycled along, the extent of our entourage slowly became apparent. There was our coach (American style yellow school bus), the lorry carrying our luggage, the bikes when necessary, and kitchen equipment, a fully stocked and staffed ambulance, the refreshments van, another couple of support vehicles for ferrying marshals and the sick around in, motorbikes to help keep us in order, plus the odd cycle mechanic and masseur.

It was odd when it started to dawn on us that the man leading us along, doubling up as a bike mechanic, and generally skivvying for us was a neuro-surgeon, and that the man pointing directions to us when we were lost in a town was the leading gastro-enterologist in the region.

Once off the main road, the scenery was incredible.

The landscape was mostly flat first of all and the narrow roads that we were travelling along had paddy fields of vivid greens on either side for as far as the eye could see, broken up only by lines of coconut trees. Every so often, we would ride through settlements of mud huts strung out along the road. People, especially children, would come to the roadside to wave and cheer. They were probably stunned more than anything by the site of, first of all, a couple of white faces going through their village on bicycles, followed by another thirty or so.

Roads would often run alongside small rivers and this brought the sight of women washing their clothes in the water and bashing them dry on rocks, and men washing their cows and bullocks in the river.

In larger settlements, the first few cyclists going through would be greeted by a few confused people but word would quickly spread and, by the time the last few people passed through, the entire village would be out on the street cheering and waving, with the kids eager for ‘high-fives’.

Our lunch break was by a fish farm, where we could take in the scenery without having to cycle at the same time.

I can’t remember who were our hosts, but they were extremely hospitable, as ever.

We were treated to a cock fighting display, which I think made most of the UK contingent uncomfortable, especially when they attached blades to the feet of the cocks to make it a fight to the death.

We finished the day by hitting the coast for the first time at Perupalem Beach, where we stayed in church buildings in the grounds of the Bishop’s house. The adrenalin of the finish of the first day was overwhelming – cue more garlands (and cold beer!), plus a paddle in the Bay of Bengal.

The accommodation was a very long room, divided into boy and girl’s dormitories by a makeshift curtain. It could have been a very basic forerunner to the Big Brother format! Ablutions were in brick built rows of cubicles with non-flushing loos and a bucket of hot water boiled over an open fire.

Our hospital hosts had arranged a bit of a beach party, with a temporary stage that they were always keen to grab the centre of for a spot of song and dance. We joined in as best we could with poor versions of Grease Lightning and other showstoppers.

More food was served, then bed and lots of snoring.