Some rides are planned weeks in advance. Today’s wasn’t one of them and also was back to back with the one to DD Hills.

We woke up with the simple urge to step out, breathe a little differently, and let the road decide the pace. Over a cup of tea and a quick search for nearby places, we stumbled upon Kailasagiri hill—close enough to be easy, distant enough to feel like an escape. That was reason enough.

The ride took us about two hours, but it never felt like time was passing. We avoided highways and chose village roads instead—narrow stretches cutting through farms, quiet lanes where the world seems to move slower. Green fields rolled past us, punctuated by the occasional herd, curious children waving, and that earthy smell you only get once you leave the city behind.

Riding with my wife always changes the texture of the journey. The throttle feels gentler, the pauses feel intentional. There’s comfort in knowing you’re sharing the same wind, the same view, the same silence. No rush. No checklist. Just movement.

As we got closer to Kailasagiri, the road began to lose its manners. Paved surfaces gave way to dust, stones, and uneven trails. We ended up doing a bit of off-roading towards the end—nothing dramatic, just enough to remind us that the best parts of a journey often begin where the map fades. Standing on the pegs, navigating rocks and loose soil, we laughed more than we worried.

At the top, Kailasagiri offered exactly what we didn’t know we were looking for: space. Space to look around. Space to breathe. Space to simply be present.

We strolled around a lake nearby, soaking in the silence and grand presence of hills.

On the ride back, I realized this wasn’t really about the hill. Or the distance. Or even the bike. It was about choosing to go, choosing the longer route, and choosing each other in the middle of a seemingly chaotic routine.

Some journeys don’t change your location as much as they reset something inside you. Today’s ride did exactly that.