It had been a long time—too long—since we, a group of old college friends, had hit the road together.
The calendar showed a free weekend on the horizon. I locked in my car reservation without a second thought. The core crew was ready: me, Mohit, Shikhar, and Pranika. A road trip was brewing.
We reached out to Shikhar’s flatmates—also part of our college gang—but they were already tied up with their own weekend plans. No hard feelings. This trip was happening either way.
We knew we were heading somewhere into the Western Ghats. Lush hills, winding roads, monsoon clouds. But exactly where? That was still a mystery.
It was already Wednesday. The plan: leave early Saturday morning. Destination? Unknown. But the decision to go? Locked in. Jana pakka hai.
Chikmagalur came up first—it always does. But I’d been there too many times to feel excited. I pitched Sakleshpur, but it felt like a sleepy town with not much to offer. Shivmogga came to mind too, but the distance felt like a dealbreaker.
So we played a game of Airbnb roulette.
No good options in Sakleshpur. Nothing exciting in Shivmogga. Chikmagalur it was. We booked a stay right in the heart of the town. Cozy, central, convenient.
With stay and ride sorted, all that remained was the journey.
We decided to leave before the city woke up—to escape the clutches of Bangalore traffic and embrace the serenity of the BLR–Mangalore highway, still quiet in the early light.
Friday night, I packed my bags.
By 4 AM Saturday, alarms rang and the city was still asleep as we stirred to life. Mohit and I, living in the same society, loaded our bags into the car in the stillness of dawn. Then we drove across quiet streets to pick up Shikhar and Pranika. I let mohit drive, as the roads will be empty and he it still getting used to driving.
Ten minutes at their place—bags in, sleepy smiles exchanged—and just like that, at 5:30 AM, the engine roared to life.
Our journey had begun.
we put on some good music, vibing, enjoying the road, and the early morning breeze. The highway was ours, the world still waking up.
I took everyone to my favourite breakfast spot, Hotel Dhruvtare. it was around 150 km from Bangalore, and we reached there by 7:30 AM. We ordered a feast: idli, vada, dosa, and filter coffee. The food was as good as ever, and we savored every bite(service was bit slow coz we sat on the wrong side).
After that we clicked a good group photo, and then we were back on the road.
While driving, i saw a pretty lake so i thought of stopping there, anyways jaldi pahunch ke bhi koi fayda nahi tha. We stopped at a small lake Gavenahalli lake (https://maps.app.goo.gl/Ty2RkRkfbTcir4De8)
After spending some time at the lake—breathing in the fresh breeze and taking in the serene views—we hit the road again. It was 10 AM.
Our next stop was the famous Belur Temple, about 45 kilometers away. The drive was smooth, and we reached the temple by 10:30 AM.
We spent around half an hour there, wandering through its intricately carved stone structures and soaking in the centuries of history etched into every pillar. The temple grounds were calm, with just a handful of other visitors, adding to its peaceful aura. We snapped a few photos, took in the beauty one last time, and made our way back to the car, ready for the next leg of the journey.
While checking the map, I spotted a nearby dam, and we decided to make a quick detour. That’s how we ended up at Yagachi Dam, near Belur.
Thanks to the heavy rains, the water level was high, and the dam was overflowing. A steady stream of water cascaded down a 200-meter-long spillway, creating a surreal, almost still-looking flow. All the gates were partially open, revealing the full 32-meter width of the spillway, with about a foot of water gliding smoothly over it.
The entire area was wrapped in lush greenery, with the misty outline of the Western Ghats standing tall in the background. It was quiet, dramatic, and beautiful all at once. We took our time—clicked a bunch of photos, soaked in the view, and just stood there, watching nature do its thing.
Eventually, we got back on the road and cruised toward Chikmagalur. By 12:30 PM, we had reached the town. The drive was effortless, with light rain making the Western Ghats look even more magical.
Our Airbnb, Atheria Hospitality, turned out to be a cozy little spot—clean, welcoming, and most importantly, with enough parking space for 5–6 cars. That was a win in itself. We unloaded our bags, took a quick break to freshen up, and then set out to explore Chikmagalur.
Our first stop was Shri Deviramma Temple, a small yet beautiful temple tucked right in the heart of the town. It was quiet, with just a few locals around, which made the visit feel calm and personal. We spent some time there, taking in the peaceful atmosphere and snapping plenty of photos—the mountain behind the temple was a stunning sight, almost completely wrapped in clouds.
A light drizzle began as we stood there, adding a gentle, misty charm to the entire scene. It felt like the weather itself was setting the mood for us.
Next, we made our way to Kallathigiri Falls. There’s a temple near the falls too, but we were more drawn to the waterfall itself. The drive there was stunning—lush greenery all around, the winding roads of the Western Ghats, and a steady drizzle that made everything look like a painting in motion.
We reached the falls around 5 PM. The water flowed down in powerful sheets, mist rising with every crash. We spent some time there, clicking photos, taking it all in, and letting the sound of the falls drown out the world for a while.
Afterwards, hunger started to kick in. We began heading back toward town, looking for a quick bite. That’s when we spotted a tiny roadside stall selling bhutta (roasted corn). It was raining hard, but something about that little stall called to us.
We stopped. Ordered bhutta. And it turned out to be absolutely perfect—charred just right, smeared with butter, lime, salt, and masala. We stood there under the makeshift tin roof, holding steaming hot corn in our hands as rain poured down around us.
It was such a simple moment, but unforgettable. With the cold wind, the warmth of the roasted corn, and the smell of rain on earth—it felt straight out of a movie. The kind of moment you don’t plan, but end up remembering forever.
We reached back to town by around 7 PM. Pranika wasn’t feeling too well, so we decided it was best to return to the Airbnb and rest for a bit. On the way, I knew a small lake nearby and thought of squeezing in one last spot before calling it a day. But as luck would have it, the entry gate had closed at 6 PM. So, we made a quick U-turn and headed straight back to the stay. Despite the change in plans, it didn’t matter much—the day had been well spent. From serene temples to roaring waterfalls, scenic drives to hot bhutta in the rain—it was everything a monsoon road trip in the Western Ghats should be.
We woke up to a cold, cloudy morning—air crisp, fresh, and carrying that post-rain scent. There were no fixed plans for the day, just a shared desire to explore more of Chikmagalur’s magic. A light drizzle had already begun; the kind that makes you want to sip chai and take a long drive.
Our plan was to visit Mullyanagiri Peak, the highest peak in Karnataka. We knew it would be a long drive, but it felt like a must-do.
By 9 AM, we were all up, dressed, and ready. We grabbed breakfast on the way and started our journey. The drive was scenic, as expected, with mist rolling across the winding roads. We reached the base of the peak around 11 AM.
But from there, things got a little crazy.
Traffic was a mess. The roads were jammed with cars, and the entire mountain was wrapped in thick clouds. Visibility dropped to just a few feet. After crawling up the slow-moving road, we finally reached the top parking area—only to find out that the final stretch of road to the peak was closed for the weekend.
Local Bolero drivers were offering rides for ₹300 to take visitors the last 3 km to the top. We initially declined and climbed a nearby hilltop instead, just to explore. It was super windy—like, hold-your-ground-or-fly-away kind of windy. Clouds swirled all around us, and we couldn’t see more than a few meters ahead. Still, there was something oddly beautiful about it. The mountain may have hidden its views, but it gave us a mood that was cinematic.
We clicked a few photos, mostly just fog and wind-whipped hair, then decided to take the Bolero ride after all. It was supposed to be a 3 km trip, but the driver dropped us after 2 km because the road ahead was under construction. So, we walked the last kilometer ourselves.
And oh boy—that walk.
The wind was insane. It wasn’t just cold—it was forceful. Gusts hit us like walls, and since we were all wearing raincoats, it felt like parachutes trying to fly off. We had to lean forward and brace ourselves with every step.
Then came the final stretch: the trek to the peak.
The path was steep, rocky, and slippery due to the rain. We took it slow and steady. The wind kept slamming into us, making even short strides feel like a workout. But the determination was real—ab yaha tak aaye hain toh peak toh dekhna padega.
After a wild, almost life-threatening 30-minute climb, we finally made it to the top.
The view? Still completely hidden behind clouds. But the feeling? Unreal.
Standing at the highest point in Karnataka, drenched in cold rain, with wind howling around us and zero visibility—it was surreal. We had to widen our stance just to stay upright. There was a small temple at the top, quiet and timeless, offering a peaceful contrast to the chaos of the weather. We spent some time there, taking it all in.
The descent began soon after. It was still windy and slippery, but easier than the climb. By the time we reached the Bolero pickup point, we were soaked to the bone and completely exhausted—but also buzzing from the experience.
We walked another kilometer back to the parking area, got into the car, and thankfully, we had packed spare clothes. One by one, we changed in the car itself—finally warm, dry, and proud. We had braved the storm and stood atop Karnataka.
Back at the car, we finally felt the comfort of dry clothes clinging to our skin—a quiet luxury after hours of cold rain and howling winds. Our limbs were sore, our bodies drained, and our stomachs loudly reminding us it was past lunchtime.
I eased the car into gear and began the descent from Mullayanagiri. The narrow roads were slick, and the fog wrapped itself around the hills like a thick white curtain. Visibility was near zero—just the faint glow of our headlights carving a path forward through the clouds. It felt like we were floating through the sky.
Eventually, we made it down safely, hearts still racing a little. We passed through Chikmagalur town once more, but time was ticking and hunger was building, so we skipped stopping there. We figured we’d grab food somewhere along the highway instead.
Roughly 100 kilometers later, we pulled over at a roadside dhaba that looked promising from the outside—warm lighting, rustic charm, and glowing online reviews. Hopes were high.
But reality had other plans.
The service was painfully slow, and the food… completely underwhelming. Bland, lukewarm, and definitely not worth the wait. We sat around, trying to salvage the moment with forced laughter and sarcasm. And to top it all off—they didn’t even serve tea. A roadside dhaba with no tea. It felt borderline criminal.
Turns out, the place had great reviews—for breakfast. Not lunch. Timing really is everything.
We paid the bill, slightly disappointed, and got back on the road. But the trip wasn’t done yet—not just yet.
Somewhere along the way, in the quiet village of Halebeedu, we made a stop. I had been here before, but I wanted my friends to see it—the Ancient Sri 1008 Bhagawan Shantinatha Digambara Jaina Basadi. It’s not a place that screams for attention. No crowds, no noise. Just timeless stonework, silence, and history carved into every inch of the temple.
We wandered around slowly, taking in the stunning detail of the carvings. It was peaceful. Still. A perfect pause before the end of our journey. Cameras clicked, but it was the quiet that we’ll remember.
As the sun dipped behind the hills, we began our final stretch home.
Shikhar and I took turns behind the wheel, gliding through smooth roads under a soft, golden sky. The monsoon mist had faded, and the weather was perfect—cool and calm, as if the trip itself was easing us back into reality.
By 8 PM, the lights of Bangalore greeted us.
Tired? Yes. Soaked in memories? Absolutely.
It was more than just a trip. It was a story—a road soaked in rain, laughter, clouds, and quiet places that left a mark on us all.
