Legless Goats

I am returned to India after a week in Khatmandhu. The return leg Delhi was far less arduous than the outward trip with 30 hours of non stop traveling featuring two bus rides and two train journeys bringing me back to Delhi in good time for a couple of beers in the Gem bar.

Managed a day in full day in Delhi then back on the overnight train with bike, spare parts and rucksack full of clothes in readiness for the next 10 weeks of riding in Uttaranchal and the Pindari Glacier tours. Had the misfortune to be in the same compartment as middle aged Indian women who took umbrage at the amount of space my luggage took up. Started shouting as soon a she boarded the train prodding me with her finger ‘police case, police case” as she dragged my bags from under the seat to position her things. Other passengers ignored her and I duly refused to acknowledge her and stared into the distance withdrawing into oneself as the Indians do if something happens that they can’t make any sense of. Realising my vanishing act and refusal to be provoked she soon calmed down and the train plodded serenely on into the night the 270km to the foothills of the Himalaya.

Completed a full week of re recciing and looking at some new trails all seems to be as good if not better than I remember except the weather which has produced hailstones, icy winds and lightening storms that make afternoon riding a bit risky and I am not even back up to the Glacier yet. Locals reckon the storms are uncommon and expect things to improve this week.

5 days now and no beer or alcohol of any kind. I am a living experiment. All expected so made up for it before reaching the village of Khausani famed for being Gandhi’s favourite Himalayan retreat. All that’s good for the Gandhi is not necessarily good for the Goose as they say as he appears to have left a legacy of abstinence behind him so will have to suffer through with the Himalayan views and amazing singletrack for a while instead.

Just finished another short ride through the forests and spotted a left front leg amputee goat which got me thinking jokingly if it had had its leg chopped off to be eaten. My theory seemed to backed up though as three other goats limped through the forest all with the same leg missing. I sat down for a bit hoping for a full flock of legless goats only to see a limping shepherd, himself with a mangled front leg. I questioned him on his policy regarding mutilating goats but he just pointed to the next village grinning madly as a smell worse than that of three legged goats he was escorting escaped from his jacket. I made my excuses and left. Not sure about mutton curry tonight. 3 legs bad 2 legs worse.

Khatmandhu The Hard Way with a bike in a bag and without oxygen.

Hilary, Meschner, Tenzing and Braithwaite probably started the trek like I, here in the Gem bar, New Delhi with a couple of beers, 2 rucksacks and a massive big bag with a bicycle in it. But I did it the hard way.

Doing it the hard way meant eschewing modern mountaineering theory and starting the ascent on the Indian holiday of Holi or the festival of colours with its ancient antecedents. In modern days antecedents have been forgotten and it is a free for all for paint bombers, “eve teasers” and those with a cause against foreign tourists. The rooftops of the narrow streets of PaharGanj make excellent spots for sniper attack of water and paint bombers. For me the best strategy to avoid coming under fire was to lurk under the shelter of the stalls and wait for older women shopping their way down the bazaar whom I could use a human shield to make my way bit by bit to the railway station.

14 hours overnight on second-class sleeper train and I am at Gorakhpur base camp with a chance to acclimatize and stock up on last minute advice and opinion. 15 minutes later I am out. The talk in the camp was that the route ahead was almost impassable and this was the last chance to board the jeep. I wolfed down some energy rich chapattis and potato curry and departed in poor spirits to Camp 2 at Sunauli. Holi festival was still in full flow and revelers high on arrack and bhang were blocking the roads ahead armed with spray paints and sticks. For Hilary it wasn’t thus. But we forged forward into the abyss.

After crossing borders by foot carting the bikes and bags I arrived in Nepal. Here Hilary, Meschner et al would have caught a cab all the way to the top for me no such luxuries existed. Agitating Tribals had blocked the main road ascent over the Sunauli Col and I was forced to attempt the more circuitous and dangerous route via the infamous Pokhara ridge an extra 8 hours and 170km of traveling. Companions were thin on the ground for such a treacherous route but I managed to find a seat on the bus next to man from Blackpool called Dave who had been stained red in the holi revelery. As temperatures plummeted to about 15C outside frozen limbs became a major concern and Dave had to avail a blanket from the surly Sherpas who worked on the bus.

8 hours later we arrive in the dark and inhospitable place that is Pokhara main bus stand here things get worse the oxygen bottles have disappeared and I have lost my wallet. I am livid 3000Rs down and I haven’t had a beer for 3 days. Manage to secure camp on a precipitous ledge ermm lodge and bunker down for the night, change more cash and get a couple of beers but no Kendal mint cake.

The following days conditions look good for the last 6 hour ascent to Khatmandu. 200 km to go and a weather window has appeared it is time to set off with haste. 7 hours later I am annoyed this bus is ludicrously slow it stops innumerable times for no reason apparent. 9 hours in and I am in the death zone with Khatmandhu clearly in view but the bus is stuck in appalling traffic will I ever make it? So many have perished here. The last yards take an eternity; breathing is almost impossible, given the smog. One big final push and we are there the exhilaration is beyond description I am on the roof of the of the world…… errmm bus and that’s that but no, the driver is demanding 200 rupees for extra luggage, no one could survive this; Khatmandhu the hard way.

Rickshaw Safari

6 days ago I was in Munnar enjoying an evening beer in the company of my last guests of the year in Kerala. Now I am 3400Km further North on the outskirts of Delhi as the Rajdhani Express speeds and rattles along the last 50km or so to India’s capital.

Things have moved on at an alarming rate, alarmingly slow in most cases as the 1st trip of the journey was to evacuate all the bikes and kit from Munnar to Kuttikanam. The planned jeep did not arrive. Lucash the junior logistics manager appeared on time in Munnar on time in a Rickshaw already laden with a Toddy (local palm alcohol) fuelled Mr Devas who had decided to join in the 280km Rickshaw joyride. Three bikes, 3 bags and three men were compressed into the tiny conveyance and off we shook on our 5 and half hour journey of misery that would have taken 4 hours in a jeep. Devas soon fell asleep and occasionally was thrust out of the squeeze in the back and cannonball like would thud into Lucash the driver waking up Devas and Lucash at the same time.

In Kuttikanam beers and a lady awaited. The lady was there but sadly the beers that where left from the previous trip had been guzzled down by the greedy staff who one assumes never expected to see me again. 2 beers of the original 9 were eventually tracked down to a hot house round the back saved by some miracle of mismanagement The boiled beer was stuck in the freezer by the helpful staff. An hour later 2 frozen beers were ready to be defrosted before being ready to drink another hour later.

The lady Kim is probably the strongest female cyclist I have ever met and was touring South India at a ridiculous pace; 160km plus days. Managed to cling on to her back wheel for a days mountain biking that finished at lunchtime as we completed my challenging loop in record time.

The next day was spent packing and repacking everything for the train journey to Delhi. 3 cycles and about 40 kg of stuff were to be taken down by jeep (Rickshaws were vetoed) the 220km to Trivandrum. Enough time was left to fix up a bike each for the trainees Sinoj and Chippy to keep up their mountain bike progress this summer. I expect to require more cycle mules next year to airlift spare parts into Kuttikanam

Had a bottle of Brandy night with Lucash and Devas where Devas unaccountably changed his drinking strategies urging moderation in measures and long pauses up to minutes long before quadruple instead of octuple measures where guzzled down.

Jeep drive was pleasant enough and effectively incident free. There was space, comfort and safe driving in abundance. At one stage I almost relaxed and fell asleep. 24 hours in Trivandrum was enough to meet up with some friends, acquaintances and debtors and book the cycles on the train. Managed to retrieve 15000Rs rupees which was good news the other 20000Rs is promised later so happy with that on the other hand it appears that, next year, I am now committed to helping two “small business” businesses, as they are called here.

On the 40-hour train journey I fell asleep.

Tamil Tapas

Munnar.

The coast to coast is over and I am back in Munnar recovering from yesterdays epic ride from Thenni on the Tamil plains back up to Munnar climbing over 2000 meters and cycling 90 k in the process. Massively boosted on the early bit of the climb with 4 extraordinarily beautiful French women pulled alongside in car to cheer me on and do a few “Allez” which caused an upsurge in speed that Lance Armstrong would have been proud of. Didn’t last long though as a whiff off me 800km unwashed shorts and a shirt stained with enough salt to kill off the worlds entire population of slugs became evident and the car sped on with only visions of a black haired beauty attempting to pass me a bottle of mineral water seared into my mind to spur me on for the next 6 hours riding.
The cycle touring was good pedaling through villages apparently untouched by time with strikingly blue kingfishers perched on poles in the endless sea of paddy fields a never ending sight As the legs tired though it was thoughts of that evenings hotel and a few glasses of ale that drove me on. Invariably though days dreaming of some semi luxury hotel to stay in were spoilt by hoteliers claims that they were “houseful” a term delivered with invariable smugness and contemptuousness it was if I was a like beggar being driven from the door. So it was night after night in grim, tomb like misery cells with sandbag pillows and incongruous numbers of light switches that serve no purpose.
The bars in Tamil Nadu though were always open and a bit more well lit then their Keralan counterparts. Beer here is expensive around 115rs a beer but you do get complimentary snacks served out of little bowls a veritable Tamil Tapas if you like. Carrots were sliced, eggs were cut, peanuts, cashews, bits of crackly shit, which tasted like wood, even mini bits of chicken in one place all complimentary with beer. Once you’ve eaten it the waiter waddles round and fills up your little bowls, as a compulsive grazer this was terrible news for me as found myself stuffing pounds of carrots and a years quota of eggs and even bits of wooden tasting shit down on most nights.

Valentines Day Massakka (with thanks to Yasser Arrafatt)

A warm welcome to you all. Events have unfolded at an alarming pace this last week as I have completed the Eastern half of the coast to coast road tour recci and am now in former French colonial territory of Pondicherry nursing myself back to health on some tax free ale. Managed about 600 km in 6 days. Satisfied with the cycling though bit of a shock to be in the saddle for hours on end day on the road.

All started in Munnar with a few more beers in the ice bar where I met up with a lovely lass from Cornwall seemed to get carried away a bit with the company and felt a bit tanked up after 4 Kingfisher escorted the young lady back to a Rickshaw and give her a friendly peck on the cheek for her troubles. A potentially fatal mistake!!! Let me explain.

In this the Age of the Kali Yuga strange forces are at work with the strangest of the malign forces coming in the guise of the Hindu Taliban read on

"Mangalore: Moral policing reared its head again, this time in BJP-ruled Karnataka where members of a right-wing Hindu group assaulted girls in a Mangalore pub, accusing them of behaving in an “obscene manner”. Eyewitnesses said the girls were chased and thrashed by activists of the Sri Ram Sena as they tried to flee from the pub on the busy Balmatta Road in the heart of Mangalore. There were also allegations that some of the girls were molested."

As a follow on to the attacks the groups leaders condemned the Westernisation of Indian culture in particular the rising popularity of Valentines day celebrations. (Given my desultory Valentines day card receivership figures I am all for this) the groups leaders including the absurdly named Mr Pumpwell aim to bring an end to the obscenity by forcibly marrying couples seen cavorting in public on the spot with the aid of a Hindu priest Which brings things back round to me. I could be looking at life on a farm in Lands End with a lovely Cornwallian lass now if I had been spotted.

So the rule here in India now is if you fancy married life just throw yourself on top of any decent unsuspecting lass you fancy in public and hope that Mr Pumpwell and the Priests are looking on at the same time. If they are not you could face a 10 stretch in the Pondicherry state penitentiary. Life's a gamble.

* Massacres aren,t particularly funny but if you have ever heard the word coming out of Yasser Arrafatts mouth you might cahnge your mind.

Liquor Rations

Kuttikanam is a strange place these days from years of familiarity as a quite retreat and village idyll it has turned into a cosmopolitan drop in place for the rich and famous. First up this week the sighting in Devas restaurant of a number of 7 feet tall Nigerians stood dangerously close to the fan asking the diminutive Devas for parothas and egg curry. Investigations revealed that they were students representing a college side from Madras in a basketball competition held at Kuttikanam's Marina College. A cash prize was up for grabs and looking at the rest of the teams competing, all comprised of average sized and average ability local Keralan basketball players it looked like the Nigerian students/mercenaries had this one in the hoop as they say.
In February Kuttikanam hosts the kuttikanam open tennis tournament with a field of over 50 expected to battle it out on the dirt court at Misery Mountains Luxury Plantation Resort. All sounds good but they have booked all the rooms up for that weekend leaving me and my next group looking for somewhere else to stay; this led me to my third discovery. All the other hotels in Kuttikanam are booked up for a month as Malaylee (Keralan) film stars and crew descend on the area to make a couple of films. Disaster.
On a less parochial note there is outrage in the Indian Armed Forces this week as liquor rations have been reduced in a cost cutting measure. Higher ranked army personnel have seen their monthly free quota of bottles of liquor (750ml) reduced from 14 to 12, how will they cope? Jawans or squaddies have suffered even more, now having to survive on a miserly 6 bottles of Rum/ Whiskey etc per month. Good news for Colonels, Admirals and the like though as they can continue to avail unlimited supplies of grog from the military supply store so hopefully military capability won,t be disturbed too much.

Wheel Barrow

Time is running away with us, the pound is worth less than an egg curry and appam, Rakesh has gone back to Khatmandu for a month for RandR and I am here back in Kuttikanam riding myself into the ground as the trainees excel at a phenomenal rate.
A year of my time is worth a day in the lives of mountain bike trainees of Sinoj and Chippy. One day they can hardly get their front wheels off the ground the next they are launching off things and doing front wheel wheelies on the lawns of Misery Mountains Plantation Luxury Resort. Very happy.
Pound is in free fall over here, a wheel barrow of the stuff won’t pay for the bus fare to Ellaparra so its fiscal cut backs and the first thing to go is a room with a T.V, beers are being brought in from outside, nights in the Ice Bar in Munnar look like they will be a thing of the past and I am left to squeeze the bottom of a cut price Indian-made bleaching toothpaste in my bathroom without a shower and ponder upon what the future holds.
360rs up in cards against 70-pint a week Sheffield Mike so thats millions of pounds now.