Last Post

Last post till October as I am on the flight home this Tuesday which will draw a conclusion to another brilliant 8 months in India. Summer should witness mountains of cheese, gallons of ale and piles of pies and pastries devoured in the name of healthy eating so look forward to that.
Very busy last week riding, walking and running the trails every day with one day seeing me walk 20km jog 10km, cycle off road for 20km and cycle on road for 60km which put me in serious difficulties for the next couple of days, difficulties manifesting themselves in an unprecedented bout of 24 hour grumpiness that saw me curse monkeys, complain to hotel staff about filthy pillow cases and blank all questions on my marital status which seems to preoccupy every Indians thoughts.
Left the mountains these past three days and travelled through the town of Rishikesh sprawled out along the Ganges River and famed for its East meets West moment when the Beatles signed up for a yoga retreat at the fabled Sri Mahareshi yogi Ashram back in the 60’s. For me it will be remembered for the Hotel Inderlok.
On the second morning I determined to get a decrease in my room rate by explaining that I was inspecting hotels on behalf of a travel company (which is basically true). The hotel receptionist seemed impressed by my credentials and explained that the price of the room could be discounted and suggested a price higher than that paid for the 1st night. Outraged I asked him how this could be.
‘Today high season sir, yesterday low season’, further heated negotiations followed and I managed to get the room heavily discounted to its original price again.
The following morning on my way back into the hotel after breakfast I asked for the key that I had left with the receptionist. “Today checkout ?” he asked passing me the key.

“No tomorrow check out.” I replied

“No sir today checkout, hotel full, wedding party” seizing the key back out of my hand

“Give me the key”

“Today checkout” he replied defiantly

“Give me the key!” I shouted lunging at him trying to wrestle the key out of his hand, an act that seemed to raise the hotel manager from his slumber in the back office who barked some orders at the receptionist who politely handed me the key back and explained that indeed there was room in the hotel tonight and would I need a taxi for the following morning.
With that Fawlty Towers-esque moment decribed I bid you all a fond Namaskaram and look forward to seeing you all soon.

The Hooded Claw

I have just returned from another weeks high altitude trail research and have had my post trip feast spoilt by the merciless monkeys who have taken advantage of a momentary security lapse. The evil “bandas” have munched through my mango, papaya and pomegranate supplies and strewn the plastic bag and inedible bits all over the balcony. Fuming.
Decided to do the last trail research all on foot; which was probably wise; as it took me over 4200 meters altitude on snow bound trails to the mysterious frozen lake of Roop Kund. The shallow ‘Tal’ (lake) is famed for the visible skeletal remains that it contains a result of a doomed pilgrimage over 800 years ago. Unfortunately snow and ice stopped us from reaching the lake, which would have required ice axes, crampons and considerably better trekking gear than my shorts and fell running shoes. Nights were interesting with the only accommodation available in teashops sprawled out on a wooden bench, which served as the counter during the day, wrapped up in blankets. The real bed was shared by the two shop owners who braved the freezing temperatures sharing one blanket sleeping head to toe Laurel and Hardy style with constant arguments over who had most of the blanket.
All the mountainous areas are in a feverish state at present as a gold rush of sorts is in progress coming in the form of a fungus called “Larawa”. Porters, trekking guides and daily laborers have made their way to near 4000 meters altitude in search of their fortune.
It appears birds drop the fungal spores out the sky and if they land right they grow underneath the surface as caterpillar sized black and yellow growths with the top barely visible above the surface as a matchstick sized white stalk. It is these white stalks that the pickers are looking for usually sprawled out on the grass as if sleeping on their stomachs.
The “Larawa” is big money with a kilogram worth 5 lakh rupees which is about £6000, with an individual piece bringing in between 70 and 250 rupees, which is more than a days, wage for most. A picker can expect to collect around 250 a week, which is a massive sum in India. The demand for the “Larawa” is driven by the Chinese, who use it as a boost for sexual power. (The author in a trial ate 3 kilograms of the stuff and is at present still unable to pull his shorts off (and get rid of the host of debt collecting mountain men camped outside the door) NONSENSE)
Fortunes are made at a cost however, temperatures are freezing, rain and snow are common with the pickers usually dressed only woolens and hole ridden leather shoes with makeshift camps of bamboo and plastic sheeting the only protection from the elements. Accidents are common with deaths not unheard of as pickers venture to more remote spots in search of the fungus only to find themselves caught in the snow or lost in the thick mist. With the season lasting only two months these are risks that for many that are worth taking.
Almost forgot. I met a reincarnation of the Hooded Claw (without claw). Genius of a man dressed only in black robes and a black turban which times he dropped down for effect to make his hood and cover a massive scar that ran down his forehead into his left eyebrow giving him a distinctly sinister look. Couldn’t believe it when he approached me introducing himself as Mark from Cambridge with a flourish of his robes. Claims to have been in India for the past 11 years, which is possibly true. I reckon he could have been an actor at some stage and got lost in one of his roles.
Back out in the mountains again tomorrow in an effort to link up all the trails that I have found another week on the bike should be enough then get ready to go back home for the summer for pies, pasties, ale and cheese.

"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.

The blankets, the beans and the donkey.

I am back in Bageshwar stuffing down juicy mangoes after a visit to the barber shop for a much needed shave after 7 days of mountain biking bliss on the trails to Pindari Glacier.
Cycled the first 40 kilometers through a scenic valley to the tiny settlement of Song which is the trailhead for the trek. After Song a 5 km steep climb to Loharkhet brought me to my first nights halt which was spent in a British built bungalow. The British in Imperial days were keen trekking enthusiasts and cut paths, logged trees, shot tigers and leopards, brutally suppressed the locals and built bungalows wherever they went to make it easier for the next time they came. The caretaker of the bungalow knocked together a simple meal of rice and lentils as he explained that other cyclists had made it this far last year before abandoning their mountain bikes and doing the rest by foot. The night was very cool compared to the heat on the plains and I was glad to have a nicely burnt brick red shoulders and back; a result of a couple of hours topless cycle repairing on the Bageshwar hotel roof top; to keep me nice and warm through the night.
The following day saw me pushing and carrying by cycle up a steepish and very rocky trail for 3 hours which gave me an understanding of why the other cyclists had abandoned their bikes. The trail crawled up over a 1000 meters from Loharkhet to the near 3000 meter Dwarki pass which is the main access route for the donkey caravans in and out of the valleys and can be blocked for weeks in winter. Men died on the pass last year in an attempt to trek over to Song to fetch supplies but where caught in a blizzard and perished.
The descent down to Khati was astonishing, a winding singletrack rocky trail through thick forests down to the river where the trail traversed the valley side for about 5 km before arriving at the medieval looking village of Khatti and presenting me with my first clear sight of the snow capped Himalayas and a greeting party of a hundred or so excited villagers who had seen the first ever cycle to visit the valley.
Tomorrow promises to be brilliant the local trekking expert Mr Prakash is taking a group of Latvians to the Pindari Glacier and is planning to camp just below the Glacier itself he has room on one of his donkeys for a few blankets, a spare tent and a few tins of beans for breakfast. The plan is for me to cycle the 23km and 1500 metre ascent and meet them at "Zero Point" at 3700 meters above sea level tomorrow.

Come back for more tomorrow for part 2.

Will the misadventurist make it?
Will the donkey eat all the beans?
How many blankets do you need to keep warm at 3800 meters?

Nostrils

Dear me. Been stuck on the crap top in me tiny cell of a room sweating and slaving away on the computer these last few days typing up all the new details for this years Mountain Bike Kerala goes Himalayan tours which should be superb. It will be pleasant to get back on the bike this afternoon and head off towards the fabled Pindari Glacier on the mountain bike, reckon it could take a week if I can bike all the trecking trails so could be the last entry for some time.
The expedition party has fallen to pieces, bars, homesickness and a social boycott has accounted for them all so its only me now which is much more easy to manage. Nani Tal was superb, and a week there and in the old cultural capital of Uttaranchal; Almora; has thrown up three brilliant days of mountain biking so thrilled with that.
Have now moved on to Bhageshwar a crumbling temple town on the confluence of two amazingly clear rivers. Bhageshwar is the staging post for the next round of exploration and the town is pleasant enough and hosts enough barber shops to shave all the male inhabitants of the entire subcontinent so if I get chance will go on a barber shop crawl this morning to test a few out.
Testing times in the jeep over here yesterday completely packed with people with one elderly fellow seemingly taking a keen interest in my right knee for the whole trip duration tickling it and putting his hand on it, (this has happened before last year) but with the added twist that he kept picking his nose in between bouts of knee worship and seemed unabashed about sticking his nostril contaminated fingers back onto my seriously unhappy knee.

Exhumed corpse

We have shifted sides from Darjeeling and the North East and are now in the Western Himalaya in the former British Hill Station of Nani Tal a pleasant escape from the searing summer heat 40c plus temperatures on the plains and at this stage appears to have endless trails to have a go at.
A local guide pamphlet describes Nani Tal as a place with “A number of good eating houses and no prohibition but creating a nuisance in public is discouraged by police” bars close here at a ludicrous 8.p.m so you have to get the beers down early if you want to create a fracas, looking at the local taxi drivers staggering around trying to find their vehicles at closing time this seems to be the case.
Our research team has now expanded and has the feel of an ill-fated expedition party. In present company we have myself, the surly contrarian Nepali Rakesh who now takes issue with every utterance I make even the early morning casual remark “good morning’ is debated. Mike “70 pint a week” from Sheffield who is coping admirably well with the early bar closures; and Mr S a tragic-comedy figure from Manchester who at times has the look of a chain smoking exhumed corpse. He appears to be coping less than well with early bar closures, Indian food, Indian style room service and dehydration. We had to pick him up off the streets of Delhi a few days ago as he collapsed after lighting up a cigarette in the 40C heat after a heavy nights drinking before, tried to force some fizzy pop mixed with salt down his neck to revive him, which is decidedly difficult when you have a Nepali arguing over which brand of Cola revives people best.
All went well on the Darjeeling section with all routes lined up and ready to go this October the riding is the best I have ever done anywhere so far with some massive descents which go on for more than 20km of singletrack at times absolutely brilliant. Exhausting work at times, I have been up on the ridge before its still tough cycling at 3600 meters. On a few occasions I had to descend from 3500 m down to 2000 m , drop the bike and then hike back up again to the ridge to check out the routes in reverse and for other starting points for the descents, well worth it though and I must have done more than 8500 meters of climbing by bike and by foot in a week.

Ludicrous Scenes

Khatmandu. At last I have managed to secure another Indian visa, which is in itself an event. The Indian embassy staff have a reputation for surliness but given the ludicrous scenes that play out inside and outside the embassy gates it is quite understandable. The closest way to describe it would be like lining up outside Headingley for a Saturday test match complete with innumerable exhibitionists in fancy dress but with everyone taking it seriously. This week featured a red Indian, a man in a mask, people dressed as Hari Krishna’s; probably Hari Krishna’s; men and women topped in ludicrous hats and innumerable professional traveler types strutting round like peacocks in their multi coloured garb. Cricket balls are replaced with juggling balls and cans of ale for bongs and spliffs; (probably both at Headingley]; half an hour of this could be entertaining but there is a limit to the number of times you can be struck by an errant juggling ball before being seized by the urge to kick it onto the nearest roof.

Elections are coming to soon to Nepal which is marked by the previously insurgent Maoists joining the political mainstream and participating in the elections, despite having innumerable weapons and armed cadres they have proclaimed their commitment to democracy and vowed to honour the result whatever the outcome. However all groups are viewing the elections and build up as a means to securing their own objectives and myriad different groups have appeared all equally militant, ready to strike, block roads or march on political opponents with sticks and beat a few people to death.

I have now left Nepal and returned to Darjeeling just before the elections start. With the only way out by air or along the vulnerable, frequently blocked Terrai road that runs along the border with India. (Our bus was stopped by three hours until a police escort arrived to prevent us from coming under attack). I am happy to be back in India and ready to get back on the bike tomorrow and head back to the Singalila ridge under the shadow of the worlds third highest mountain Kanchenjunga. Yaks freezing temperatures and a two day climb to start thing off are all promised.