Tetulia to Teknaf: A Fixed-Gear Odyssey

The wind in Tetulia carried a whisper of adventure. Standing at Bangladesh’s northernmost point, I straddled my fixed-gear bike—a steel-framed beast with a 48:17t gear ratio, unforgiving yet loyal. No coasting, no shifting—just pure, relentless momentum. The goal was simple: ride the full length of Bangladesh, from Tetulia to Teknaf, powered by nothing but my legs and will.

As I clipped in and took my first pedal stroke, I felt a rush of emotions. Was this madness? 1,000 kilometers, countless bumps, endless headwinds—all without a freewheel. But as the morning mist wrapped around me, I knew one thing: this journey wasn’t just about reaching Teknaf, it was about finding out what I was truly made of.

Day 1: The Northern Edge

Tetulia, the northernmost point of Bangladesh, was shrouded in mist when I clipped into my pedals at dawn. My Fixed Gear Time Trial Bike—geared at 48/17t—stood defiant against the long road ahead. With a single push, I was off, my cadence steady, my breath syncing with the rhythm of my wheels. The first stretch was a gentle awakening—rolling roads, tea gardens lining my path, and the crisp morning air filling my lungs.

Day 2-4: The Madhupur Forest & The Flats of the Heartland

By the time I crossed into Bogura, the ride became a test of patience. Fixed gear cycling demanded constant motion—no coasting, no shifting. The Madhupur Forest loomed ahead, its canopy providing respite from the midday sun. Here, the road undulated, forcing me to grind uphill and spin wildly downhill, my legs never resting.

The flatlands of central Bangladesh stretched endlessly. Fields of golden rice swayed under the afternoon sun. Trucks rumbled past, their horns blaring. My legs ached, but there was something meditative about the constant effort—a dialogue between man, machine, and motion.

Day 5-7: The Mighty Padma & Southern Winds

The Padma River, wide and relentless, marked a new phase of the journey. The ferry ride was a brief moment of stillness before I plunged into the humid expanse of Barisal. Here, the roads were smoother, but the wind was unforgiving. A fixed-gear bike does not forgive exhaustion; it demands discipline. I tucked low, my forearms pressed against my aero bars, slicing through the resistance like a blade.

By the time I reached Khulna, my legs burned with the effort of pushing through the constant headwinds. Every kilometer was a battle, but each pedal stroke was a victory.

Day 8-10: Into the Coastal Chaos

The closer I got to Cox’s Bazar, the more chaotic the roads became. Chattogram welcomed me with a mix of bustling traffic and breathtaking coastal views. Hills began to rise again, each climb an unforgiving challenge. My 48/17t gear ratio left no room for hesitation—I either powered through or stopped. Stopping was not an option.

The final stretch along Marine Drive was surreal. The Bay of Bengal stretched endlessly to my right, the salty breeze mingling with my sweat.

Final Thoughts: Teknaf & Beyond

Reaching Teknaf felt like touching the edge of the world. The journey, over 1,000 kilometers, had stripped away everything but the essence of movement. On a geared bike, the terrain dictates the ride. On a fixed gear, you become one with it. There is no escape—only adaptation, perseverance, and the rhythm of the road.

As I unclipped and set my bike down, I knew this was not an ending. It was a reminder that the ride never truly stops. The road, like life, is infinite. And I would keep pedaling.

Riding Tetulia to Teknaf on a fixed gear wasn’t just a test of endurance—it was a lesson in patience, resilience, and absolute presence. On a geared bike, I could have coasted, shifted, or taken it easy. But on a fixie? Every inch of Bangladesh was felt through my legs, every challenge faced head-on.

Would I do it again? Maybe. Would I ever forget this ride? Never.

What’s Next?

Maybe an Everesting attempt on a fixed gear? Maybe a Bangladesh Fixed Gear Criterium Challenge? Who knows. The road is open, and the wheels never stop turning.