Legless Goats

I am returned to India after a week in Khatmandhu. The return leg Delhi was far less arduous than the outward trip with 30 hours of non stop traveling featuring two bus rides and two train journeys bringing me back to Delhi in good time for a couple of beers in the Gem bar.

Managed a day in full day in Delhi then back on the overnight train with bike, spare parts and rucksack full of clothes in readiness for the next 10 weeks of riding in Uttaranchal and the Pindari Glacier tours. Had the misfortune to be in the same compartment as middle aged Indian women who took umbrage at the amount of space my luggage took up. Started shouting as soon a she boarded the train prodding me with her finger ‘police case, police case” as she dragged my bags from under the seat to position her things. Other passengers ignored her and I duly refused to acknowledge her and stared into the distance withdrawing into oneself as the Indians do if something happens that they can’t make any sense of. Realising my vanishing act and refusal to be provoked she soon calmed down and the train plodded serenely on into the night the 270km to the foothills of the Himalaya.

Completed a full week of re recciing and looking at some new trails all seems to be as good if not better than I remember except the weather which has produced hailstones, icy winds and lightening storms that make afternoon riding a bit risky and I am not even back up to the Glacier yet. Locals reckon the storms are uncommon and expect things to improve this week.

5 days now and no beer or alcohol of any kind. I am a living experiment. All expected so made up for it before reaching the village of Khausani famed for being Gandhi’s favourite Himalayan retreat. All that’s good for the Gandhi is not necessarily good for the Goose as they say as he appears to have left a legacy of abstinence behind him so will have to suffer through with the Himalayan views and amazing singletrack for a while instead.

Just finished another short ride through the forests and spotted a left front leg amputee goat which got me thinking jokingly if it had had its leg chopped off to be eaten. My theory seemed to backed up though as three other goats limped through the forest all with the same leg missing. I sat down for a bit hoping for a full flock of legless goats only to see a limping shepherd, himself with a mangled front leg. I questioned him on his policy regarding mutilating goats but he just pointed to the next village grinning madly as a smell worse than that of three legged goats he was escorting escaped from his jacket. I made my excuses and left. Not sure about mutton curry tonight. 3 legs bad 2 legs worse.

Khatmandhu The Hard Way with a bike in a bag and without oxygen.

Hilary, Meschner, Tenzing and Braithwaite probably started the trek like I, here in the Gem bar, New Delhi with a couple of beers, 2 rucksacks and a massive big bag with a bicycle in it. But I did it the hard way.

Doing it the hard way meant eschewing modern mountaineering theory and starting the ascent on the Indian holiday of Holi or the festival of colours with its ancient antecedents. In modern days antecedents have been forgotten and it is a free for all for paint bombers, “eve teasers” and those with a cause against foreign tourists. The rooftops of the narrow streets of PaharGanj make excellent spots for sniper attack of water and paint bombers. For me the best strategy to avoid coming under fire was to lurk under the shelter of the stalls and wait for older women shopping their way down the bazaar whom I could use a human shield to make my way bit by bit to the railway station.

14 hours overnight on second-class sleeper train and I am at Gorakhpur base camp with a chance to acclimatize and stock up on last minute advice and opinion. 15 minutes later I am out. The talk in the camp was that the route ahead was almost impassable and this was the last chance to board the jeep. I wolfed down some energy rich chapattis and potato curry and departed in poor spirits to Camp 2 at Sunauli. Holi festival was still in full flow and revelers high on arrack and bhang were blocking the roads ahead armed with spray paints and sticks. For Hilary it wasn’t thus. But we forged forward into the abyss.

After crossing borders by foot carting the bikes and bags I arrived in Nepal. Here Hilary, Meschner et al would have caught a cab all the way to the top for me no such luxuries existed. Agitating Tribals had blocked the main road ascent over the Sunauli Col and I was forced to attempt the more circuitous and dangerous route via the infamous Pokhara ridge an extra 8 hours and 170km of traveling. Companions were thin on the ground for such a treacherous route but I managed to find a seat on the bus next to man from Blackpool called Dave who had been stained red in the holi revelery. As temperatures plummeted to about 15C outside frozen limbs became a major concern and Dave had to avail a blanket from the surly Sherpas who worked on the bus.

8 hours later we arrive in the dark and inhospitable place that is Pokhara main bus stand here things get worse the oxygen bottles have disappeared and I have lost my wallet. I am livid 3000Rs down and I haven’t had a beer for 3 days. Manage to secure camp on a precipitous ledge ermm lodge and bunker down for the night, change more cash and get a couple of beers but no Kendal mint cake.

The following days conditions look good for the last 6 hour ascent to Khatmandu. 200 km to go and a weather window has appeared it is time to set off with haste. 7 hours later I am annoyed this bus is ludicrously slow it stops innumerable times for no reason apparent. 9 hours in and I am in the death zone with Khatmandhu clearly in view but the bus is stuck in appalling traffic will I ever make it? So many have perished here. The last yards take an eternity; breathing is almost impossible, given the smog. One big final push and we are there the exhilaration is beyond description I am on the roof of the of the world…… errmm bus and that’s that but no, the driver is demanding 200 rupees for extra luggage, no one could survive this; Khatmandhu the hard way.

Rickshaw Safari

6 days ago I was in Munnar enjoying an evening beer in the company of my last guests of the year in Kerala. Now I am 3400Km further North on the outskirts of Delhi as the Rajdhani Express speeds and rattles along the last 50km or so to India’s capital.

Things have moved on at an alarming rate, alarmingly slow in most cases as the 1st trip of the journey was to evacuate all the bikes and kit from Munnar to Kuttikanam. The planned jeep did not arrive. Lucash the junior logistics manager appeared on time in Munnar on time in a Rickshaw already laden with a Toddy (local palm alcohol) fuelled Mr Devas who had decided to join in the 280km Rickshaw joyride. Three bikes, 3 bags and three men were compressed into the tiny conveyance and off we shook on our 5 and half hour journey of misery that would have taken 4 hours in a jeep. Devas soon fell asleep and occasionally was thrust out of the squeeze in the back and cannonball like would thud into Lucash the driver waking up Devas and Lucash at the same time.

In Kuttikanam beers and a lady awaited. The lady was there but sadly the beers that where left from the previous trip had been guzzled down by the greedy staff who one assumes never expected to see me again. 2 beers of the original 9 were eventually tracked down to a hot house round the back saved by some miracle of mismanagement The boiled beer was stuck in the freezer by the helpful staff. An hour later 2 frozen beers were ready to be defrosted before being ready to drink another hour later.

The lady Kim is probably the strongest female cyclist I have ever met and was touring South India at a ridiculous pace; 160km plus days. Managed to cling on to her back wheel for a days mountain biking that finished at lunchtime as we completed my challenging loop in record time.

The next day was spent packing and repacking everything for the train journey to Delhi. 3 cycles and about 40 kg of stuff were to be taken down by jeep (Rickshaws were vetoed) the 220km to Trivandrum. Enough time was left to fix up a bike each for the trainees Sinoj and Chippy to keep up their mountain bike progress this summer. I expect to require more cycle mules next year to airlift spare parts into Kuttikanam

Had a bottle of Brandy night with Lucash and Devas where Devas unaccountably changed his drinking strategies urging moderation in measures and long pauses up to minutes long before quadruple instead of octuple measures where guzzled down.

Jeep drive was pleasant enough and effectively incident free. There was space, comfort and safe driving in abundance. At one stage I almost relaxed and fell asleep. 24 hours in Trivandrum was enough to meet up with some friends, acquaintances and debtors and book the cycles on the train. Managed to retrieve 15000Rs rupees which was good news the other 20000Rs is promised later so happy with that on the other hand it appears that, next year, I am now committed to helping two “small business” businesses, as they are called here.

On the 40-hour train journey I fell asleep.