The morning of Monday, July 11, 2022, greeted me with a restless spark, the kind that whispers of adventure and begs you to chase it. As I sipped my coffee, gazing out at the overcast sky, a phrase danced in my mind: “Aaj Kuch Toofani Karte Hain!”—Let’s do something wild today! The air was thick with the promise of monsoon rains, and the world outside seemed to hum with possibility. My wife, Tania, stirred beside me, her eyes still heavy with sleep but bright with the quiet excitement that always preceded our adventures. We’d been married for just a couple of months, and I wanted to surprise her with something spontaneous, something that would etch itself into our shared story.

Tania loves bike rides—long, winding ones that carry us far from the noise of the city and into the embrace of nature. She’d been dropping hints about a trip, and today felt like the perfect day to make it happen. I grabbed my phone and started scrolling, searching for a destination that wasn’t too far but promised something new. That’s when I stumbled across Bagda Valley Viewpoint, a hidden gem tucked about 50 kilometres from our home in Ranchi, just beyond the familiar curves of Patratu Valley. It wasn’t splashed across tourist brochures or crowded with weekenders yet—just a quiet spot recently discovered by a handful of bike enthusiasts. The blogs I found described it as a slice of paradise nestled in the Chotanagpur plateau, cradled by lush green hills and dense forests teeming with rare birds and butterflies. The route, they said, wound through tribal villages and patchwork farms, offering a glimpse into a world untouched by the rush of modernity. It sounded like exactly what we needed.

“Tania,” I called out, barely containing my excitement, “get ready. We’re going on a ride!” Her eyes lit up, and without a single question, she was already pulling on her jacket and lacing up her boots. By 2:00 P.M., we were ready. I punched the coordinates for Bagda Valley Viewpoint into the GPS, strapped on our helmets, and revved up the bike. The clouds hung low, heavy with the scent of rain, as we set off, the roar of the engine mingling with the thrill pulsing through my veins.

Our journey began on the familiar ring road, the city fading behind us as we turned toward Patratu Ghati. If you’ve never ridden through Patratu Ghati, let me paint you a picture: it’s a marvel of engineering, a serpentine stretch of road carved into the mountains, with bends so sharp they demand every ounce of your focus. Each curve feels like a dance, the bike leaning into the turns as the world blurs past in a symphony of green and grey. The ghati is alive—its forests dense, its air cool and crisp, its vistas breathtaking. Tania clung to me, her laughter ringing out as we navigated the downhill twists, the wind whipping through us. Patratu Valley unfolded before us, its beauty amplified by the monsoon’s touch. The hills were cloaked in a vibrant green, and the clouds draped themselves over the peaks like a soft, silver veil.

We’d been to Patratu Valley before, its dam and reservoir a favorite spot for lazy afternoons. But today, we weren’t stopping there. Instead, we veered off toward the village side, following a lesser-known path that promised to lead us to Bagda. The road grew narrower, the asphalt giving way to patches of gravel and dirt. Tribal hamlets dotted the landscape, their mud-walled homes adorned with simple, colourful designs. Fields of rice and maize swayed in the breeze, tended by farmers who waved as we passed. It felt like we were riding through a postcard, each mile pulling us deeper into a world that felt both ancient and alive.

After about 30 minutes, we reached a junction where the real adventure began. The GPS pointed us toward a rugged trail that barely qualified as a road—a 5-kilometre stretch of uneven dirt and loose stones that looked like it was made for two-wheelers with a death wish. I glanced at Tania, who grinned and gave me a nod. “Let’s do this,” she said, her voice brimming with mischief. I hadn’t done off-road riding in years, and this trail was about to test every skill I had. The bike jolted beneath us as we tackled the steep incline, tires skidding on loose gravel, engine growling with effort. There were moments when I wondered if we’d make it, when the path seemed to vanish into a tangle of roots and rocks. But Tania’s steady presence behind me, her occasional gasps and giggles, kept me focused. This was our adventure, and we were in it together.

The climb was gruelling, but when we finally crested the hill, the world opened up before us. Bagda Valley Viewpoint wasn’t grand or polished—it was raw, unspoiled, a small, flat hilltop table surrounded by a sea of green. A handful of other adventurers were scattered about, their bikes parked haphazardly as they soaked in the view. The valley stretched out below, its hills rolling gently into the distance, kissed by wisps of mist. Birds called from the treetops, their songs weaving through the rustle of leaves. Butterflies—vivid bursts of colour—flitted through the air, unbothered by our presence. It was the kind of place that made you feel small in the best way, like you were part of something vast and timeless.

Tania hopped off the bike, her face glowing with joy. “This is incredible,” she whispered, her eyes tracing the horizon. I watched her, my heart swelling. This moment—her happiness, the quiet beauty of the valley, the shared thrill of the journey—was worth every bump and bruise from the ride up. We wandered the hilltop, snapping photos and breathing in the cool, clean air. The viewpoint felt like a secret we’d been let in on, a place that hadn’t yet been claimed by crowds or commercialised with ticket booths and snack stalls. I could imagine it one day becoming a picnic spot, with benches and trails, but for now, it was ours.

We lingered for about 30 minutes, savouring the serenity. Then, as if on cue, the sky began to sprinkle, soft droplets pattering against our jackets. It was time to go. The ride back was just as enchanting, the trail revealing new perspectives of the valley with every turn. We passed paths that branched off toward caves and rock formations, tempting us with the promise of future explorations. But the drizzle was turning into a steadier rain, and we knew better than to tempt fate on those slick trails.

As we rejoined the smoother roads of Patratu Ghati, I felt a quiet contentment settle over me. Bagda Valley had been more than a destination—it was a reminder of why we chase these moments. It was the antidote to the grind of city life, a place where the world slowed down and let you breathe. Tania leaned against me, her arms wrapped around my waist, and I knew she felt it too. We were already talking about our next trip, about the caves we’d explore and the trails we’d conquer.

Bagda Valley Viewpoint isn’t just a place on a map—it’s a feeling, a call to adventure that lingers long after the engine cools. For anyone craving a break from the chaos, a chance to reconnect with nature and with each other, it’s waiting. And as for us? We’re already dreaming of the next time we’ll hear that call and answer it with a rev of the engine and a heart full of toofani spirit.