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.