"Fuk-ya" It's too cold to crap!

Wake at the second cock crow which is usually after the third jingling of donkey bells and head off on the trail to Pindari Glacier. Catch sight of Mr Prakesh a few kilometers along the trails heading in my direction which is worrying as I am banking on him and his donkey caravan for supplies and accommodation. He assures me he will make it come rain, sun or snow.
The trail follows the river on a high ridge before plunging down to the ice blue glacial chilled waters revealing further glimpses of the snow capped Himalayas further up the valley. The trail is 4 hours of singletrack, climbing up to 2800 meters to the few crumbling buildings that make up the village of Dwali. I tuck into the ubiquitous trekkers meal of double Maggi noodles topped up with daal and prepare myself for the thinning air and the 15km climb to the glacier.
The trail winds its way up on a thin ledge crossing snow and ice channels, km after km go by and I began to tire and I am in serious need of instant energy. I arrive at the last trekkers supply hut, Phurkiya pronounced "Fuk-ya", half starved and delirious. Disastrously all the biscuits have been gobbled up by a previous group of student trekkers, and with time estimates to knock up a rice and veg meal given in days rather than hours it seems wise to plod on to the glacier rather than wait around.
After Phukiya the trails gradient becomes less severe but more beautiful as it enters an ampitheatre of Himalayan peaks. Snow begins to fall from the sky and the air bcomes decidedly cold as I plod on half cycling, half pushing for the last 3 hours to reach the 'bugyal' or meadow at 3700 meters just below the glacier that will make up our camping ground tonight. I wrap myself up in all the clothes I have and watch the skies clear to reveal truly breathtaking views of the mountains.
Donkeys, trekkers and porters arrive just a I am beginning to turn to ice, tea is rustled up beans and biscuits shuvvelled down whilst the camp is made up by the porters. The porterage team is truly remarkable. For 4 middle aged; and very pleasant; Latvians, a team, worthy of an Everest expedition has been assembled. It comprises of 4 donkeys, 2 guides, 2 chefs, 4 donkey handlers, 4 porters cum tent erectors and a pigeon toed man with tattered leather shoes and a knee length grey jacket who appears to have come from another age whose sole responsibility is to carry the trekkers umbrellas.
The night spent in the tent is horrific, blanket supplies are literally thin on the ground and I am perished as I try to sleep foetus fashion and pray for the sun to rise early, shivering and tired I drift off into oxygen depleted delirium before a few stomach rumbles wake me up and a desperate feeling that the bowels must be evacuated. Its too cold to crap. I stay in the tent miserable.
Morning comes and brings massive relief behind a near by rock. A few of the Latvians are keen on trekking up to the glacier so I join them and the man carrying the umbrellas in an attempt to defrost. Poor vision and snow make the glacier difficult to determine amongst the swirl of white so we head back down and I press on back down the valley on the bike along what must be another piece of the worlds best singletrack for 23 km all the way back to Khatti.