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Saturday, January 4th – Sangrur to Barwala, 15,879 km
Since leaving Amritsar, we have been jogging south and south-east in the general direction of New Delhi, the capital of India. Today we are heading almost due south towards the town of Barwala, and we are leaving the state of Punjab and entering the state of Haryana. Haryana is the same size as Punjab. New Delhi is immediately on the far side of it.
I keep expecting the topography or architecture to change as the days pass but so far that hasn't happened. It is still green and as flat as a pancake. Without any notable change I begin to feel I am on a never-ending loop of scenery, as though I am riding in a great circle.
Most of our route today, except for the last 20 km, follows small side roads that jog around or through settlements. South of Sangrur, we pass through the bigger towns of Chhajli and Lehragaga, but we don't stop until the village of Tohana to have our lunch around 1 pm.
At lunch we talk over something we have been noticing happen over and over again. It usually happens right after leaving a town. We will be riding along at a steady controlled pace that we have set for the day and a man will come riding up beside us on his bicycle, very non-nonchalantly, and continue past us. As soon as he passes us he pulls over. Sometimes this is as little as two metres in front of us and twice now Frank or I have crashed into the person who does this because he literally takes us out by slowing down and pulling aver at the same time.
The rider never tries to interact with us, like ask us for anything, and there is never a particular place or objective for pulling over. What Frank and I have concluded is that they only want to prove they can pass us, that they are better than us. It is extremely annoying and potentially dangerous. We have started calling them “human flies”. For fun, we have tried accelerating and not letting them pass us, which leads them farther and farther from their town and eventually exhausts them, but it exhausts us too, with our heavier loads. The other option is to slow down instantly so that they can pass quickly and get it over with. Either way, we are on the constant lookout for them as this happens almost everytime we pass through the town. If I am at the rear I shout “Fly alert!” ahead to Frank to warn him, and visa versa if I am in the lead.
Coming into Barwala, which is a village at best, we stop at a store to buy drinks. The owner chats us up and another resident of the town, a friend of the owner, overhears us. His name is Amit. He implores us to pitch our tent in the courtyard of his home and to be his guests for dinner with his wife and family. Frank is as zealous as I am at chatting up friendly locals so we accept his offer. His home is nearby as there isn’t much to this town. Within minutes we have pitched our tent and changed into our street clothes.
Dinner is subsee and a goat stew with rice, a simple but elegant meal, and we chat with the owner about his life and our lives back in our home countries. I feel like I am talking about a former life that scarcely makes sense anymore. For some reason, I feel shy in another family’s home outside of a short visit. I am aware that I do not fit in and fear that I might be imposing. I am not sure what this is about. I was not shy when I was in Europe. Perhaps the perceived differences in our class and culture make me uneasy.
PHOTO 1: in Tohana
PHOTO 2: temple in Moonak Mandi
PHOTO 3: Amit's wife preparing our dinner in Barwala
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