Tirunenveli to Kanyakumari (84 km)

I apologize, the blogging and forward progress has been way-laid by slow internet and sunny beaches. 

There's a certain attraction about being the only westerners in a town.  People are instantly curious, overly friendly and, in this case, candid to a fault.  Now, it crossed my mind once or twice that cycling 2100+ km around South India might just help in shedding that unwanted 'middle' that many women receive as an unexpected 40th birthday gift.  How misconceived could I have been?  An Indian man set me straight. 

It was February 3rd and the rising temperatures precipitated a 'pre-breakfast' departure from Tirunenveli.  Heading straight south on the road to Kanyakumari, the 4-laning project had not quite progressed; albeit flat, the road was consistently pot-holed or patched making for a leg-shattering ride.  After 3 hours I entered a non-descript, unmarked town where I tucked into a hole in the stall kind of place for a hard earned lunch.  It's one of those places where the 'kitchen' is on the street, Chipati Man hovered over a hot skillet and pile of dough with a few wooden benches in a small garage just adjacent.   It's usually frequented by men, occassionally Indian women, never a blonde in her bike shorts.  I sat with a smartly dressed stranger where a mystery of mouth watering curries and dosas quickly presented themselves on a banana leaf before my eyes.  After complimenting me on my newly acquired Indian skill of shoveling curries in my mouth with one hand, Stranger asked me the usual curious questions about my journey and general health.  He asked if I was eating Indian food to fuel my ride.  'Of course,' I replied still licking my fingers trying my darndest to look refined.  Stranger then bluntly told me that if I continue devouring curries that I'd be as big as him.    Baaam, with that one simple sentence Stranger burst my bubble. 

It's true though.  I spent the rest of the ride discreetly surveying the men and women of India who all seemed to be carrying a load of curries around their middle.  This is true despite the troublesome placement of public street scales next to every Sweets Shop in a town.

Being incredibly resilient to bursted bubbles, I spun off from Stranger and Chipati Man feeling justifiably invigorated by the spicey Indian fuel. I spent a sweaty afternoon pleasantly dumbstruck dead center in the 'First Private Largest Windmill Farm' in India.  Occassionally, I've been known for impetuous decisions, but normally I would not select a windmill farm for a cycling route.  There's too many odds against you; namely strong winds.  But, in one of the rarest cycling moments in history, I was blessed with incredibly strong tailwinds and an ever so slight descent all the way into Kanyakumari, otherwise known as 'Land's End'.  The road even smoothed out in patches and I couldn't resist dropping into the aero position, resting my elbows on my mountain bike bars and my hands gently gripping my duck-taped handlebar bag.  It was a cyclists' dream.

I liked Kanyakumari a good deal more than I expected to.  It has several claims to fame including the spot where the Hindu goddess Devi conquered all demons, the place where Swami Somethingorother meditated in 1892 and also the memorial site for an important Indian poet.  I just liked it because it's the spot where the Bay of Bengal, Indian Ocean and Arabian Sea all converge. 

Marcus and I took shelter in a newly refurbished Guest House with sunrise views over Land's End and just a stone's throw from the hotel where I discovered Canada hiding out.  We all spent a balmy evening in a dark basement over a few Kingfisher beers where we learned about Marcus' inadvertent right turn earlier in the day (adding 20 kays to the ride)!  Dinner tonight was compliments of Canada.  Cheers!

Ride Strong! 

 

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