Horseman

I am back in Delhi. It is 42C outside in the bazaar and I am in my hotel room sweating away, lolling about on the bed trying to shake myself out of a mini illness, my bones are aching and I have a temperature which is understandable. A few glasses of curd and the butteriest of all lentil curries and I am improving a bit so will venture out in while.
Returned here yesterday after a 14 day tour with Pat and Ash from Australia joining me and Rakesh the Nepalli guide. Ran all the lower level trails and then rode back up to the glacier sadly loosing one of our number on the way; Ash; who came off on the last corner of a 1000 metre super tech descent and earned himself a 3 inch gash underneath his right knee which required 10 stitches a few days rest and most impressively of all a chance to ride himself out of the valley on an ageing horse back to the trail head. A French skier rode the bike out of the glacial valley while Ash negotiated the 22 km trail like a veteran horseman on the rocky and times terrifyingly steep path. Even the horse balked a bit at some sections but was forced on by a big stick wielded by the local pony boy.
24 bottles of superstrong beer had been donkeyed in for the 6 days we would spend on the trails leading to the glacier plus one bottle of wine. Takers for the superstrong tipple were small with Pat an almost tee-totaller, Rakesh refused to drink with his new policy of not drinking at altitude, while Ash managed to end up on antibiotics before we could reach the first beer drop. As for me two bottles of superstrong beer each night rendered me almost senseless which isn’t much fun when all around are slurping sugary tea. Eventually locals from the goat-herder to the donkey wallah helped out and enthusiastically joined me in the cause to finish of the two crates of ale and I am indebted to them for that.

Austrian Soloist

The next day the Austrian announces that there too many tourists in the village and intends to embark solo on a camping expedition shunning all forms of human contact on the way reckoning he will be gone for a week. Isolation is liberation is his motto. So armed with an ounce of weed a borrowed tent, musty sleeping bag and thoughts of great climbers in his in his head off he plods.
For me it was another two days in the saddle 1st back up to the Pindari Glacier to check the snow levels on the trails and then head up to the higher and more difficult Kaphne Glacier just under 4000m. Pindari trails were brilliant kilometer after kilometer of singletrack with the odd section of snow and ice blocking the path in the river beds and on the sections not exposed to the sun. I abandoned the bike at the 2km post when the snow got too much and headed up to the Babajii Temple or Business Baba as he is called in some parts for his alleged interest in making a rupee or two out of the odd passing foreign tourist. I snacked on dry chappatis before heading back down the 12km trail to Dwali riding the last 10km leaving a muddy tyre track trail behind me.
At the small trekking hut of Dwali the Austrian reappeared looking confused and miserable ignoring me and the local porters he shuffling off further up the track. For me a nights rest in Dwali and a extra helping off rice and daal I was ready for Kaphne. I left the bike fearing that the near 1500 meter ascent and descent would be too technical. I walked and jogged the 28km trail instead. Nearing the glacier at the top the snow became too deep with the trail disappearing as I nervously resorted to jumping from rock to rock until fear got the better of me and I became more aware of the deepness of the snow. Return time. The path as a descent looked incredible so I vowed to return with the group in a weeks time when the snow would hopefully melt away.
I returned back to Khatti that evening shocked to see the Austrian red nosed, wrapped up in blankets and sipping a hot lemon and even more shockingly open to human contact. How did the camping trip go I asked “I get cold, fever, I did not camp, I stay in trekking hut”. Locals gather round including Prakash the man who lent the tent “Why you take this tent then?” His humiliation is complete. I am happy.

Bank Manager

I am back from the Glacier, bearded, dishevelled and hungry, sat in a restaurant in Almora demolishing a pile of chapattis as the staff look on inquisitively.
A week ago I was lined up outside an A.T.M machine in Bageshwar impatient to depart. That morning's attempt to obtain an Allen key had already set me behind. The small boy at the hardware shop could not understand my request so I asked to see the shops manager, “bank manager?’ asked the boy helpfully. I departed.
A massive crowd had now formed at the A.T.M machine with new A.T.M cards in fancy plastic sheaves in abundance proudly being examined and waved. It appeared that the cards had been issued that morning and all were eager to test them out. Women, as is the way here, formed a separate queue and the men fast tracked them into the front where all seemed equally clueless on how to use the machine. The booth became increasingly crowded with women and helpful men stood around the screen all keen to see how the machine worked. Buttons were pressed, sometimes the right ones, and every 5 minutes or so money was dispensed and yet more women lined up to get to the front. More men came from the street to help things along and even more thronged the periphery to catch a glimpse of the action. I abandoned and decided to budget tightly for the next week or so.
The ride to Loharkhat was pleasant a gentle ride along the river for 40km before the trail climbed in earnest on a steep jeep track to first of the trekking huts. I had carried far too much gear with plastic bags of clothes lashed to the outside of my camel back along with a pair of running shoes giving me the look of a cycling bag man.
I spent the night at the trekking hut in the kitchen shack with a fellow Indian trekker cum journalist who was trekking to one of the most remote polling stations in the country; near the Sunderjunga glacier; in anticipation of the forthcoming general election. The locals smoked hashish and babbled on into the cold night air with many offensive remarks made about the Israeli and Bengali trekkers who would come later on in the season. I objected, I have a soft spot for the little Bengalis.
The next day was a big climb out, 3 hours and a near 1000 m height gain, sections were rideable but on the whole it was one long carry as I ambled up alongside Himar the journalist and his genial guide who appeared keen to lay his hands on the bike and bags and carry them up himself. On the descent the guide got his wish and a I handed him the plastic bag full of clothes to drop off at the next village he appeared a bit surprised with my tactics wondering alloud why I had carried them all the way up.
One 8 km descent followed rockier than I remember and a more unrelenting. Made good time on a traverse to the village of Khatti and was spotted by the swirl of tiny arms and legs that were the village kids who mobbed me and the cycle on arrival. Met up with Himar and the guide and a extremely pleasant German man, and a not so pleasant Austrian man who looked miffed at the attention the cycling had created. "So you’re the crazy man who carries his cycle uh?" Examining the bike he examined it carefully “very basic, you like riding that for me nothing’. Furious. But revenge was to come soon.