Day 102: First Steps into Rajasthan – Cold Mornings, Curious Children, and a Scenic Border Highway
Day 102 began in Chandangadh with the kind of hospitality that makes the road feel like home. The hotel owner, sensing how cold the night had been, arranged hot water for my bath so I could start the day fresh in the desert chill. After a simple breakfast and a quick group photo with my hosts, I clipped on my helmet, checked my bags, and rolled out towards the next unknown destination.
Not long after, near Mavsari village, the road pulled me into an unexpected scene. A group of locals had gathered for the opening ceremony of a new Chamunda Clinic. It was run by a homeopathic doctor, and this was its very first day. The funny part, which people themselves casually mentioned, was that he was a quack – prescribing allopathic medicines without any formal degree. That mix of faith, jugaad, and survival is something that repeats across rural India: people make do with what is available, even if it is far from ideal.
Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Ut elit tellus, luctus nec ullamcorper mattis, pulvinar dapibus leo.
Around noon, I turned onto the newly built Bakasar–Mavasari highway, a smooth stretch developed under the Border Roads Organisation’s Project Chetak, 45 BRTF and 96 RCC. This 32.49 km road upgrade now connects Mavasari to Bakasar near the Rajasthan–Gujarat border, improving access across Barmer, Jalor, and Banaskantha districts. For me, it felt like a grand welcome into a new chapter: I was crossing into Rajasthan for the first time in my life. The tarmac was clean, the landscape wide and dry, and the sky impossibly large—perfect riding conditions, except for one thing: I was starving.
Near Bawarwala village in Barmer district, I finally stopped for snacks at a tiny roadside shop. A five-rupee snack never tasted so good, so I bought two. The shop was run by a family whose two children had dropped out of school to work there. They were full of energy and curiosity, eyes sparkling as they looked at my fully loaded touring cycle. It felt like they were seeing a traveler like me for the first time. They asked about my journey, laughed shyly, and then one of them asked if he could wear my helmet and hear music from it. I use a Sena R1 Evo smart helmet, so when I played a song, their faces lit up with pure joy. For a few minutes, the dusty roadside shop turned into a small festival of smiles and laughter.
Further along the road, near evening time, I met another group of children who had just finished their classes and were walking home in their school uniforms, books in hand. Their interest in my cycle setup, bags, and gear reminded me again why I am riding: to support education and to keep more children in school instead of sending them early into work. Their simple questions—“Kitna door jaoge?”, “Yeh cycle kitne ki hai?”—carried a mix of wonder and innocence that made the miles feel lighter.
Later, I stopped for a proper meal at a small restaurant. As often happens in remote stretches, I became the entertainment for the hour. People walked in, stared, and without even asking sometimes, tried on my cooling glasses, inspected my things, and played with my gear. It was slightly intrusive, but also a reminder of how rare it is for a loaded touring cyclist to cross their village. After finishing my food and gently reclaiming my sunglasses, I headed towards Gagariya.
By the time I reached near Gagariya, I had covered around 64 km for the day, my legs tired but my heart full. I found a petrol pump, and next to it a small hotel–restaurant. The owner welcomed me with a hot cup of chai, the perfect end to a long, cold, and eventful day. I arranged my sleeping setup nearby and slipped into a deep, peaceful sleep, with trucks humming in the distance and the desert night stretching endlessly above me.
Day 102 gave me my first taste of Rajasthan: cold mornings, kind strangers, a controversial clinic, highway engineers shaping remote borders, and children who paused my ride with their curiosity. Each kilometer is no longer just distance—it is a thread in a much larger story connecting education, livelihood, and the simple human urge to connect.
“On Konkan ride, a 2TB SSD carrying my Sri Lanka and touring footage was lost. Those memories were meant to live inside this film. If you’d like to help replace the drive and keep this documentary on track, there are two ways to support. Subscribe monthly to get early edits, behind‑the‑scenes notes, and GPX route packs. Or make a one‑time contribution to replace the SSD and backup media. Every bit helps, and every supporter will be credited in the film’s thank‑you roll.”