Monday, June 8, 2009

Marks and Spencers


I take a day off for organization purposes and to shake of the Godfather effect. I crave news so find a T.V and settle down to Al Jazeera; its good. I want more news so trek the 5km shortcut to Joshimath for a paper, catch up with some computer work and to try to locate my missing mobile phone. It disappeared the day before in a rasto-roko (road block) a group of aggrieved women had blocked the road in protest and in the confusion and the wandering about to find out why the phone must have fallen out of my pocket. I ring my number in hope rather then expectation. A man answers the phone in a mixture of Hindi and English he had found it in a jeep he says and had tried ringing numbers to trace me and my friends. He lives in a village miles away from any road he says, he is a shepherd (of sorts) well owns animals but shepherd sounds better. He arranged to bring the phone to the districts biggest town the following day and drop it off at a hotel This is good news. I trek back up to Auli, this is tough I need a beer. The barman looks annoyed. There are no other customers. There is a big clock ticking…………

I am out above the ski resort the trails are brilliant but its high above 3000 meters and there are no villages up here. The landscape has a more rolling moorland feel to it so its gentler riding, but the big snow capped peaks are visible in all directions. The trail climbs and climbs and rounds the low level mountain then where it changes dramatically the trail hugs the mountainside in a tiny sliver with a huge vertical drop on one side. I continue gingerly to a mini landslip which without the bike would be negotiable. I am twitchy I head back with the view of the Kwari Pass and the days planned destination Tapowan 20km down the valley below me arrgh.
I return the ride back is brilliant the singletrack climb reversed. I head for the bar. I am welcomed the baman appears happy he speaks enthusiastically. A T.V is on the bar. Cricket is tuned in more guests arrive for a drink. Brilliant.

I am now on the train to Delhi I am in luxury class 3.AC. The man opposite me stares at me indifferently, chomping on a samosa , spilling pastry flakes on to the seat. The last week has been a retreat from the mountains from base camp (cycle) to base camp picking up all my supply stores on the way. I have got incredible amounts of good riding for next year and loads of more trails half explored that look promising. The Colonel has stored my cycles and spares so no more struggling with massive bags and bikes in the 43C heat of Delhi. For that I can not thank him enough. Tommorrow I fly back. I am looking forward to it. Late September I am back here again. 4 months in the U.K should be enough time to refresh, pile on the pounds on real English, get me mother off to Marks and Sparks again and think of something interesting to type in the next blog. See you then. Mike

Godfather

Awake 4.30 a.m full of enthusiasm for a days road riding, no getting lost on the agenda. Take on copious amounts of tea, which is a precursor to any good days riding in India. I discard clothes in a gung ho fashion to ease the weight in the plastic bag Sportswear t-shirts bought my mother form Marks and Spencer’s in 1998 appear to have a shelf life about 3000 hand washes and innumerable batterings from Indian Dhobi Wallahs. They will be happy never to see the filthy rag again.
The road to Joshimath is the main pilgrimage route to the ancient temples of Badrinath one of the four holiest points in all of India for the Hindu’s. Whilst for the Sikhs the 4000-meter plus high lake of Hem Khund Sahib is the pilgrims aim. Whilst many drive the pilgrimage trails many still walk for hundreds of miles and more. Most of these pilgrims are Sadhus, those who renounced materialism and roam about from temple to temple. These Sadhus all adopt a particular look; bearded, straggly, half crazed and boggle eyed and mostly travel alone so its good company to be alone in. They appear happy to see a sweating cyclist struggling up the climbs and cheer or raise their tridents in appreciation. No questions of are you alone from these men its obvious and part of the journey so to speak. I feel quite proud to be cycling past them and acknowledge their efforts with the odd pulled wheelie and a few rounds of tea for all the chaii shops.
Big climb up to Auli another 800-meter height gain. But something is driving me on. Another worldly force. A feeling so strong I can not account for it. I fly up the hill exhilarated, reborn, an epiphonous moment you ask? Errm not quite. I had read the previous night in a guidebook that the Ski resort of Auli “had a well stocked bar”. The only one for hundreds of kilometers and I am beer less for almost a month now.
The bar is portakabin. There is a big clock ticking loudly. There are no other customers. The barman looks annoyed to be doing his job if only every 20 minutes to pass me a beer. 4 Godfather super strongs and I am out of it.

Extra Sugar


It’s morning. I have slept well the buffalo’s have to started to mooch about below in the barn and I am groggy but awake. There is scrambling on the steps outside a tiny hand is visible at the door a child enters the room shortly followed by a bigger child, then a youth enters followed by another youth and a couple of adults. They arrange themselves on the bed opposite and observe curiously. What am I supposed to do? Thinking of no other options I mumble a few good mornings then rouse myself from bed much to the delight of the crowd, pull on a few clothes, grunt a bit to further the crowds enjoyment and head out the door for a slash. I am followed out, flippin eck surely I can do this unobserved.
Breakfast is consumed outdoors, black tea, chapattis and some spinach, its good. I offer Mr Singh some money for the night and food, he declines sheepishly but then reluctantly takes it, my next cup of tea has milk in it and extra helpings of sugar it is handed over with a beaming smile.
The forest trail works this time it is simply brilliant 8km of singletrack through thick forest, birds coloured more brightly than I could imagine; red, blue, yellow whistle through the trees as if putting on a show. The trail traverses trough the trees then swooshes down to a water mill with a busy old lady milling chapatti flour. I am in Sootol.
Sootol has a fly blown wild west fell to it, all the men and women appear to absent apart from a couple of shop owners. Its Lawa season so many have headed high onto the meadows to search for the mummified caterpillar that’s worth £4000 a kilo and shipped over to Chinese as an aphrodisiac. For me the town is memorable for the horde of kids following me around armed with pots, pans and empty buckets and sticks to beat the makeshift drums with. Noise follows me everywhere. I depart the town the kids give chase, spewing over the front wheel clinging to the bike his is dangerous and incredibly noisy.
The rest of the trail is cracking its all narrow track running along a ledge with a big drop on one side, its edgy stuff, landslides here and there force me off the bike as do a 40 minute carry and a freak rainstorm. I ride and ride singletrack turns to wide track then a jeep trail then its tarmac and the small town of Ghat. A bit of an eyesore after all the pristine forest. I ride on to the town of Chamoli and treat myself to an overpriced room with hot water and a T.V.

Monday, June 1, 2009

Are You Alone?


Misery replaced by serenity as next day’s descent through thick forest is excellent, wide track but steady gradient and a good 15 km downhill. Return to the miserable town of Dewal scene of a horrors last year when caught up in rainstorm and forced to spend the night. Pedal through frantically then I am climbing for three hours and over 1500 meters in height on a jeep track with the odd bit off broken road up to Loharkhat.
Everyone appears drunk and mills around the few shops in the centre of the village asking me if I am alone. Which is a reasonable enough question but begins to infuriate after the 25th asking especially when it seems to stop all conversation with the questioner either overcome by intense empathy for my fate or complete incomprehension that someone could travel alone. After a bit even the happiest moods can soon be brought to an abrupt end when you are constantly reminded that you are alone a fate worse than death in Indian eyes. They are never alone. Return to room to be alone and sulk.
Early start the next day and I am soon in Wan at the foot of the 700 m climb up the Khukina Khal the first 70% is not rideable so throw the bike over the shoulders and start to climb its steep and tough but becomes increasingly scenic near the top with views over the valley which are cast into shadow by enormous birds that could be vultures or Eagles, some mad lass reckoned they were Griffins. I have been here for nine months and senses are wavering a bit must disagree with her on this point.
Descend steeply on a rocky trail to the village of Kunol and time for tea and tiffin (not griffin) and try to get more information on the forests ahead. Three times I have been here before and headed off to the next village of Sootol and come back near to tears after roaming round the labyrinth trails in the forests for hours on end looking at the bear pawings on the trees wondering if it is all worth it. This time I get assurances about the trail and the bears and its explained simply I can not go wrong.
I head off into the forest ‘alone” and make good round on what appear to be well worn tracks. Trails split, must be this one and then that one, maybe I could scramble up here for a look that trails looks good….. I am lost, nothing can lead me out of the forest, I pedal along nervously I catch a branch, the plastic bag full of clothes gets dislodged and rolls down a steep landslip, I am edgy and distressed scrambling down the slip for the plastic bag, is this how it all ends??? Fucking ridiculous. Recover bag and fortuitously spot some more tyre tracks can’t be many Mountain bikers out here so must be mine. I follow the tracks the forest becomes less dense a wide path becomes visible I follow that up and I return after an hour or so’s frantic riding back to Kanol. Locals welcome me back with tea, revised directions and offers of a room for the night it is only 2.p.m. I take it.
I stay in the house of Mr Pushkar Singh. The room is simple with a planked makeshift bed and a goatskin blanket to keep me warm. Underneath me is a stable and I can see the buffalos and cows through gaps in the boards contentedly chomping on straw. The reassuring smell of cow shit sends me to sleep that night.