I am back in Delhi and ready for a short mid season break back in the U.K. The last 24 hours have been a whirlwind so I will finish the blog for a bit with a day in the life of a Indian Mountain Bike guide aged 37 and a bit.
05.30 a.m wake up to the sound of the temple bells in a very cold lakeside room in the hill station of Naini Tal. Feel a bit groggy after 4 bottles of beer last night. Last days ride today so pull out the last remnants of my festering, crumbling patched up cycle clothes. Carry the patched up, crumbling Specialized Enduro down the steep steps and I am on the bike creaking up the 40-minute 400-meter climb to Snow View.
08.30 I am at Snow view a bit breathless as its 2300m up here. Slurp down three cups of tea and a packet of milk cream biscuits. The bike looks quite good in the crisp; cool morning light leaned up against a wall. A few craggy faced locals gather round the bike squatted down on their haunches, smoking, looking wiser than time itself. “motorbike” ventures one. I drop down the seat hurtle down the top of the track before slamming on the brakes as first a donkey mooches across the trail followed by a non-plussed horseman waving a big stick either in anger or showing me the way.
09.00 I am at the bottom of the trail it is brilliant. Its wide, fast with loads of rock features to launch off all through thick forest. The trail now traverses above a side valley; narrow singletrack with a huge exposed drop one the right hand side; incredible; its 2km of this then the trail drops down trough the villages crosses a stream innumerable times and then it’s a superfast trail with loads of rocks. About 9 km of pure downhill and traversing.
10.30 I am back I NainiTal after a 1-hour road ride back. Gobble down super oily allu parothas the breakfast of champions. Head back to the hotel for an hour or so on the rooftop packing up and wading trough a black bag of broken bike parts, god alone knows why these have been brought the 3500km from Kerala, on trains, on my back, up hotel stairs, where is all the good stuff?? Massive shopping list on my return.
14.00 Invited round to Pankaj’s house for lunch. Pankaj a genial, enthusiastic if at times slightly manic young man feeds me from his mothers kitchen for a non stop eating fest, chicken piece upon chicken piece, rice upon rice, daal poured upon daal. I am full so now its time to start eating proper more dishes come out I fear this could be my last meal.
16.00 After dragging my puffed up stomach back up the super steep climb towards Nainital’s Zoo I make a quick visit to the legendary colonel’s house where I spent a month or so last year. He is in good form, the whiff of rum exudes form every pore. An “artist” is here. He also appears to enjoy a tipple he cuts an incongruous figure for an artist, the lenses are so thick on his glasses that they sit half an inch in front of his nose. The work done so far doesn’t look promising the word Brahmap u t r a h suggests the rum has taken effect. His next project looks ambitious. A full wall has been given over to the artist with the intention to paint a full panorama of the Himalaya copied from a photograph. The colonel is mirthful. I head back down the stairs from his terrace and spot two full size female mannequins one in Indian dress and one in foreign garb on the balcony above. What the ?? They are here to welcome people says the colonel.
20.40 I am on the train. Should be in Delhi at 04.00. I am 2nd class sleeper back to my natural home in economy class, it becomes cold as the train rattles along the 240km to Delhi.
04.30 I am in Old Delhi station its is still dark. The platforms are awash with a sea of blanketed; snoring bodies there are 1000’s sleeping here. Out in the streets it could be any time at night, its incredibly busy, chaii stalls are in full flow, rice is being served, rotis are being slapped onto to the side of the glowing Tandoor. I decide to take a short walk on the way back to my hotel through the flower market which is just opening up, buyers huddled up in the morning chill, gather round the flowers, as porters carry bundles on their heads to the waiting cycle rickshaws. I clamber on to back of an empty cycle rickshaw and ask the rider to take me back to Paharganj and my hotel. He waves his hand as I ask him the price, not a good sign. 20 minutes later I am here. I get down into the increasingly busy street and offer the puller 40Rs, a generous sum. He looks aghast and wrestles by rucksack back off me feigning to throw the money away, this I take to be a good sign, he has not thrown himself at my feet or looked likely to block the road by lying across it I rescue my rucksack and dart into the crowd its 05.30.
