Day 104 – Gravel Roads, Desert Kindness, and a Night Among Sand Dunes
Day 104 started exactly where the previous one ended: at the small restaurant where I had dinner and slept inside for the night. With the first light, I packed my bags, tightened the straps on Bhairava’s trolley, and rolled out towards Chohtan, a town that sits beautifully beside low mountains and works as a main market hub for surrounding villages in Barmer district. From a distance, Chohtan looked like it was leaning against the hills, a desert settlement balanced between rock and sand.
As I rode through, one thing caught my eye immediately: sewage and drainage water flowing through a small open canal that cut across the state highway. It was a strange mix of planning and neglect—yes, there was a channel for the water, but it ran right through the main road, forcing vehicles and people to live with it daily. Leaving Chohtan, I aimed for the famous Kiradu temples near Barmer, a complex of 11th–12th century ruins dedicated mainly to Shiva and Vishnu, but I made a mistake with the route and ended up on a 14 km gravel road instead of proper tarmac. With a road bike and a loaded trolley, every stone felt like a personal test.
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By around 1:30 PM, I was exhausted and still had not eaten breakfast. The gravel had shaken both body and mind, but the landscape around Kiradu was beautiful—raw desert, rocky outcrops, and wide skies. I paused under a tree, launched my drone, and captured some sweeping shots of the terrain, trying to turn hardship into art. As I stood in the shade, thirsty and hungry, a man appeared. His name was Babu Bhai.
At first, Babu Bhai thought I was a local and did not pay much attention, but when I gently asked for water and he noticed my cycle and trolley, he realized I was a long-distance traveler. He took my bottles, went away, and returned not just with them filled, but also carrying fresh wheat rotis. In Rajasthan, appearances often mislead—people may look simple or “poor” because of their traditional dress, but their dignity and generosity are immense. The men’s clothing here is mostly cotton with natural colours and dyes, deeply rooted in their culture, unlike the synthetic, plastic-based fabrics that dominate modern wardrobes. I noticed heavy earrings in his ears, easily 20 grams in total, shining against his sun-browned skin. I felt an immense gratitude for him in that moment; those rotis were a blessing exactly when I needed them.
After eating and resting a bit, I moved on and by late afternoon reached near Jakhron Ka Tala, a small village in Ramsar tehsil of Barmer. There I stopped to cook for Bhairava, preparing rice and eggs so he could recover from the long, hot day. As the sun began to sink, painting the Thar Desert in golden tones, a new idea took hold—why not camp overnight on the sand dunes? I asked a local if I could leave my cycle and Bhairava’s trolley at his house and walk to the dunes for camping. He refused, but not for the reason I expected. “No, no,” he said, “you are a guest. You must come to my home and stay.”
So instead of a lonely camp on the dunes, I ended up in his village home, welcomed like a distant relative. In the evening, he took me along to a nearby local marriage function. There I watched how food was prepared in huge vessels over open fires, how women and men moved in rhythm to traditional Rajasthani songs, and how the entire community gathered to celebrate. The dance, the colours, the smell of ghee and spices, and the laughter flowing through the cold desert air made it feel like I had cycled straight into a festival.
That night, I slept in his home, safe and content. Day 104 had started with a cold restaurant floor and a wrong gravel turn, but it ended with homemade hospitality, cultural immersion, and another reminder that the desert is never truly empty—its people fill it with heart.
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