Biking Tales: Chapter 5 – The Ride to Siliguri via Muzaffarpur (Day 4 & 5)

Day 4 – The Plan and Reality: Ghazipur to Muzaffarpur

Waking up in Ghazipur, I was greeted by the comforting aroma of a complimentary breakfast buffet. The Grand Palace had set the bar high with its warmth and hospitality, and as I dug into my meal, I felt the growing anticipation for the next leg of my journey. Siliguri was still days away, but the goal for today was Vaishali, and eventually Kishanganj.

Checking my email, I smiled at the thoughtful touch—my hotel had sent me a detailed guided map for the ride ahead. With that extra assurance, I packed my gear, secured the luggage, and set out, following the route toward Patna instead of Vaishali. The State Highway unfolded before me, leading into the busy National Highway. With each mile, the urban sprawl of Patna crept closer, a reminder that state capitals always bring a unique kind of energy.

But first, there was the inevitable battle with the luggage again. Just a little while into the highway, I had to pull over and re-tie my bags. And like magic, an entire brigade of men appeared, helping me secure the load with the expertise of seasoned pros. The warmth and willingness of strangers—it never gets old.

As dusk approached, I began searching for a spot to rest, assuming I was near Patna. But in reality, I had reached Muzaffarpur, a place that looked busier than I had anticipated. The first place I checked into, in an attempt to save a few bucks, turned out to be one of those shady lodges where everything screams, "Get out!" So, I did—quickly. The hunt continued, and after a few kilometers, I stumbled upon Athithi, a modest hotel perched near the highway, just far enough to avoid the nighttime traffic noise.

It wasn’t the Grand Palace of Ghazipur, but it had its charm. After settling in, I devoured a plate of aloo parathas—food that felt like a comforting hug after the day’s ride. And of course, my day wasn’t complete without my ritual coffee. In a cozy, decent-looking room, with the basic necessities at hand, I finally let myself unwind. The exhaustion of the day slipped away as I drifted into a deep sleep, excited for the road ahead. Tomorrow, Siliguri awaited.

Day 5 – The Ride to Siliguri: Twists, Turns, and Wrong Roads

The next morning, I was ready to roll. After all, Siliguri, a city that had once been my home for a year, was now in my sights. But first, I had to get through Patna. The city bustled as expected, but the journey wasn't without its hurdles. Remember that injury from Day 1? Well, it needed attention again, and just before reaching Patna, I stopped at a nursing home for a quick dressing. Big mistake. The guy almost scammed me, charging triple the usual fee for a simple bandage job. Typical, right? They see a biker and think it's open season on overcharging. I had to pay!

With the city of Patna behind me, I began reading the signposts—Siliguri getting closer with every passing kilometer. The excitement was building. At one point, I asked for directions and learned of a shortcut that could save me about 30 kilometers. Naturally, I took the detour. What followed was a painful, frustrating stretch of road under construction that seemed to last forever. Dusty, congested, and slow-moving—I couldn’t have been more eager to get off that road.

Just as I thought things couldn’t get worse, the detour threw me onto a narrow, remote path that connected back to the highway. The setting sun cast long shadows, and a sense of unease crept in. Alone, on a deserted stretch with nothing but the fading light and the hum of my bike, it felt like a scene from a thriller. And to top it off? My GoPro battery died. No spare battery, no footage—just me and the road. Perfect, right? I powered through, mentally cursing every bump and twist, but I made it.

The Moment of Relief – Reaching West Bengal

It was pretty late when I finally spotted the West Bengal Police barricade. I can’t put into words the relief that washed over me. After hours of riding and feeling so far from anything familiar, seeing the sign that I had crossed into Bengal—it felt like coming home. I pulled over, grabbed a cup of tea from a roadside stall, and sat in quiet reflection. It was around 8:30 PM, the streets were dimly lit, but none of that mattered anymore. I had crossed into West Bengal. I was so close.

But of course, the ride wasn’t over yet. Siliguri was still about 30 kilometers away, and the last leg proved just as challenging. They were reconstructing the bridge that linked Siliguri and Bagdogra, which would’ve been my straight shot into the city. Instead, I took a wrong turn and ended up passing through military bases, adding extra kilometers to an already exhausting day. By the time I rolled into Siliguri, it was nearly 11 PM.

Arrival in Siliguri – Exhaustion Meets Relief

Finally, I was in Siliguri, the city I had once called home. Exhausted beyond belief, I could barely remember the details of those final moments. All I knew was that I needed a bed. I tried my luck at Lemon Tree, but the place was fully booked. Disappointed but undeterred, I found another hotel nearby, checked in, and stripped off my grimy riding gear.

As I unpacked, I made a discovery—my iPhone camera was flickering. All those vibrations, the rough roads—it had taken its toll on the sensors. I managed to snap a decent photo anyway, as a reminder of the day. A quick warm shower later, I was ready for a late dinner. Gratefully, the kitchen was still open, and I ate in peaceful silence, savoring every bite.

And just like that, the day ended. I collapsed into bed, knowing that I was finally in the city where so many memories had been made. Tomorrow could wait. For now, I slept, content, in the place I called home.