A Wheelie Good Trip

Nearly six months on from packing my bike up in Ahmedebad, India and saying my goodbyes to Tom and Nye I reckon I’ve had a sufficient amount of time to reflect on the trip and pen a few notes about what impact spending six months cycling from Europe to Asia had on me.

Firstly, it is with great sadness that we learned of the death of Pete and Mary – a British couple cycling around the world. They were tragically hit by a truck in Thailand – the details can be found on http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/worldnews/asia/thailand/9874682/British-couple-killed-in-crash-on-world-cycling-tour.html
We met them in Kyrgyzstan and cycled with them for a few days before meeting up again in the capital where we swapped stories, relaxed and enjoyed each other’s company. I got an e-mail from Nye just after we found out and he replied saying ‘On a journey filled with rather odd people they really stood out as a great, fun, youthful couple who I would have liked to see again’. I think that pretty much sums up how I feel too and it is truly a great loss – as a couple they were full of life and adventure and both had such great, warm personalities. Our thoughts go out to their family and friends and I’m really grateful we got to meet and share the road with them. Their website is over at www.twoonfourwheels.com and is a really interesting read.

We, luckily, managed to arrive back on British soil unscathed and I spent an indulgent couple of weeks back home with an increased appreciation for the little comforts in life. After the trip I didn’t want see a bike for a long time but now I’m starting to daydream about future trips and different ways to explore the world.

I came across a quote from Mark Twain that ‘travel is fatal to prejudice, bigotry and narrow-mindedness’. It’s a beautiful statement and for me, being able to see the transition of culture, language and religion from place to place was definitely humbling. The beauty of travelling by bicycle is that you are forced to meet characters from all walks of life in places that many tourists don’t tend to flock to. Saying that, there were a few occasions when I did raise an eyebrow and think ‘hang on, something’s amiss here’. On reflection the journey made me more aware about how privileged I am and how lucky I was to have the opportunity to spend six months pedalling around.
Our overall experience of every region was totally positive and I don’t remember ever feeling remotely threatened. The generosity that we received in every country we visited was beyond our wildest dreams; from free lunches in Germany to places to stay in Nepal, I’m very glad that we were able to witness first-hand the best in people from all over the world. Sure, there were a few jobsworths as well but too few to name. The overwhelming majority of people we met along the route were extremely friendly, interested and accommodating.

It’s tricky to pick out ‘favourites’ but the three places that I feel deserve a mention are Turkey, Kyrgyzstan and Northern India.
Turkey is huge and we spent about three weeks making our way from West to East. Istanbul is immense and the Black Sea coast offers a real variety for cyclists – but it was the people that made the biggest impression on us. The Turks proved to be probably the most hospitable lot we came across.
Kyrgyszstan was a total surprise – I’d never heard of the country before we started planning the route. The roads were smooth and ran through untouched green valleys and over epic red rock mountains. We caught a glimpse of the nomadic lifestyle of some of the population still living in yurts and tackled some high mountain passes. Maybe it seemed so astounding compared to Uzbekistan where we had just spent a challenging three weeks making our way through.
And the Indian Himalayas just blew me away. Snow-capped peaks littered the horizon and the truckstops that provided accommodation and dahl along the route to Leh were full of charm. The Buddhist temples and prayer flags marking the summits together with the natural beauty make it really stand out and I’d definitely like to return.

All three of us acted like stroppy children at different points along the way but I think that’s perfectly normal when you spend every minute in close proximity to two others who are as equally as smelly, dehydrated and drained. We developed little routines and systems and for the most part got along brilliantly – pushing good miles whilst seeing the world and having a laugh at the same time. If I were to do it all again I wouldn’t change an awful lot (apart from maybe getting to Thailand). Cheers Nye and Tom – you were absolutely fantastic buddies to have on the road.

In his previous post, Tom did a good job thanking most of the people who helped us along the way but there is one more person I’d like to thank. It was mega-tough living without my girlfriend while I spent six months growing a beard and getting into sweat-stained lycra each morning, relying on dodgy internet connections to keep in touch. But now that it’s over and we’re back together, I’m glad I pushed off from London last May as I always knew we’d be fine. She’s an absolute saint for waiting for me and I’m very lucky – Thank you!!

A slideshow/video is up on http://www.thepedalcollective.com/video/cycling-to-thailand-nearly Which provides a glimpse of what living in a tent and riding a bike through twenty three countries was like. Enjoy!

I’ve also compiled some of my favourite photos from the trip below in chronological order. They are not necessarily the most artistic or most beautifully framed but they bring back fond memories:

‘Little Landmarks’
This is the border in the Alps between Austria and Italy. It was at quite a modest height compared to some mountains we would later tackle but it was a good confidence boost to ride up and over some mountains in the Alps with fully laden bikes.

‘Tom’s had enough’
This was taken outside a supermarket in Bulgaria after riding for twenty eight days without a day off. I don’t think Tom was particularly struggling on this day but this opportunistic shot still sums up the cumulative tiredness of those initial long days on the bikes.

‘Time trialling in Turkey’
On a newly built road running along Turkey’s Northern coast. The sun was out, the road was flat as a pancake and we hammered it for days until we arrived at the border with Georgia.

‘Tent Life’
Taken in Georgia, this simple photo reminds me of the routine of the trip and the different habits we each picked up along the way to adjust to living in close quarters for months on end.

‘Serious Nye’
Just a good shot of Nye in a beat up old vest, on a clear road in beautiful countryside cruising down the road to the Georgia/Azerbaijan border.

‘Nonchalance’
The mother of all storms is raging outside and the tent is very close to be swept away down the valley where we pitched. The answer, stick out an arm and hope for the best.

‘Can we stop yet?’
Tom eyeing up a campspot in Azerbaijan. Normally as soon as we were approaching our daily target, Tom would start looking for potential places to sleep – most of his suggestions didn’t involve more than a 15 metre detour from the side of the road.

‘Happy Birthday’
My 25^th birthday and we’re sleeping rough on a shift pattern in a restaurant garden by the port in Baku. Mosquitos bit both my eyes in the night and there were ants in my sandwich when I awoke. Nye looks particularly chuffed.

‘Who Said Romance was Dead?’
Taking the cargo ferry across the Caspian Sea from Azerbaijan to Kazakhstan. We could write a book about that journey alone but this is weird moment of intimacy to the backdrop of the setting sun between Tom and Robinson Crusoe, I mean Nye. I don’t think either will be happy I’ve uploaded this.

‘Camels… and man’
Our first night in the Kazakh desert and we bag this sweet photo of Nye approaching some camels as the sun goes down. Ker-ching.

‘Sh*t Roads’
The desert roads aren’t really roads. Here, Tom emerges from a cloud of dust and sand on his way to our sixty mile per day desert target.

‘It’s Behind You’
Tom, in Kazakhstan, getting the miles in before the heat of the day. A nap is scheduled for 12pm so we don’t melt.

‘Water please… and a haircut’
Inhaling sand all day makes you a little parched. Truck stops were about 50km apart and our only chance to refill water bottles in the desert.

‘Underfed in Uzbekistan’
An attempt to rehydrate in Uzbekistan. Our diet mainly consisted of Coca-Cola and very random cuts of unidentifiable meat at this point.

‘Probably another UNESCO World Heritage Site’
Tom riding past an old fort (which we slept in the previous night) on the way to Khiva, Uzbekistan. In Central Asia there is an abundance of old monuments and architecture telling the stories of the regions past.

‘The Greatest Photo Ever Taken’
This is clearly my favourite photo of the trip. Two Uzbek locals join us for a chat although there was no common language. One is so excited he produces a fish for the photo while the other uses it as an opportunity to get close to Nye.

‘Uzbekistan Truck Stop’
A nice picture showing how friendly and snap-happy the Uzbek people are.

‘…Yurt’
A Yurt at the side of the road in Uzbekistan where we had breakfast. A generous local gave us a free watermelon to share.

‘Alone in Kyrgyzstan’
In the Kyrgyz mountains. Nye has the whole road to himself as he ascends in one of the most beautiful places we visited.

‘Camping at 3000m’
Here is an aerial shot of our camp in Kyrgyzstan. We are with fellow cyclists Pete, Mary, Ramon and Hanne who we met on the road that morning. We were high up and it was bitingly cold when the sun went down. Nye bought some fermented Mare’s milk from a local which tasted like old milk mixed with vinegar and parmesan.

‘Very Childish Behaviour’
On the descent out of the mountains to the Kyrgyz capital, Bishkek, Nye’s shorts slip off and Tom reacts as expected – with disgust and fury.

‘Getting High’
Up at 5600m altitude on the acclaimed ‘highest motorable road in the world’ in Leh, Northern India.

‘A Tribute’
As mentioned above, two friends who we met on the road, Pete and Mary, where killed whilst cycling in Thailand. We hope that road users everywhere heed this message and look out for each other. RIP Mary & Pete.

Tom

I’m back in England now so it’s probably time to write some kind of ‘conclusion’. Of course it may not be the end of the blog as Nye is still riding in Burma – so I hope to hear about that later. But for me the adventure is over.

I knew it was coming but it was still a shock to be confronted with a temperature of -2 when I landed in the early morning darkness at Heathrow in my sandals. Thinking positively, I am enjoying having easy access to pizza, chocolate hobnobs and clean toilets.

I don’t have a great deal more to say except thank you to everyone who has been reading this and especially those who have offered support and encouragement with their comments. I know we weren’t very good at replying but it was really appreciated. Thanks also to everyone who donated to Dek Dee – of course if you haven’t then it’s never too late! Sorry we didn’t cycle to Thailand but that doesn’t make the charity any less worthwhile.

The help we had along the journey was incredible. Before the trip I would read stories about travellers being offered free meals and places to stay by strangers and I was always doubtful that this was something that could ever actually happen to me. Thankfully I was proved wrong many times over, starting with lunch with Sue and Bob in Colmar and continuing all the way to Nepal. There are far too many people to thank them all individually (and a great many who will never see this blog) but I’ll just mention a few who were especially amazing in their hospitality: Sally and Clive for letting us stay at their place in Bulgaria; Sam and Greg in Istanbul and Nina and her mum in Tashkent. It made such a huge difference having friendly and generous people to make us feel welcome and give us a break – without all of you it would have been a struggle rather than a pleasure.

Finally thanks to Nick and Nye! There aren’t many people who I could spend every waking hour with for months but somehow it seemed to work for us. I had wanted to do something like this for years but would never have got round to doing it on my own. I know we didn’t get to Thailand but I was genuinely quite surprised to get beyond Germany, given that I never rode more than 50 miles in a day before we started. Let’s do it again sometime eh?

We do of course have many more photos than have been on the blog so maybe we’ll get round to putting them all in one place at some point. There are also a few poor quality video clips but I have yet to work out how to edit them as the video is in a strange format. To start with here is a clip from only our third day in France. The date and time is totally wrong (I hadn’t set up the camera properly); it’s from around 7am on the 18^th May:

Tom here. Nick and I wrote out blogs a week or so ago but for various reasons haven’t got round to putting them up. So this is already a couple of weeks out of date (in fact Nick is already back in England!) but here we go:

We spent a day relaxing in Pokhara before heading off for a four day trek. A lot of people go on two or three week treks around this area but we didn’t have enough time so we went for a short route to Poon Hill, a point at around 3000m which offers good views of the 7000m+ peaks nearby.

We were both a little unsure about how much we’d enjoy trekking – the idea of spending all day walking was new and strange after so long on the bikes. As it turned out it was good fun, if a bit less adventurous than I imagined. Of course, these areas are so popular now that the main trekking routes are very well established so you rarely go more than an hour without coming across a ‘teahouse’ for refreshment or a bed. On our second day we reached Poon Hill at lunch time and had it pretty much to ourselves. We cooked up some pasta and sat sunbathing and admiring the views for most of the afternoon.

The plan was to camp up here so we could watch the sunset in the evening and then roll out of bed for the sunrise in the morning. We ran out of water and after a failed search for nearby streams I had to go back down the hill to the nearest village to fill our bottles. I got back up just in time to join the crowds for sunset.

Once darkness fell and the crowds departed the temperature dropped fast and it was suddenly very cold. We set up the tent and got the stove out to make dinner. It didn’t work. After many attempts we couldn’t get enough of a flame to cook anything, so packed up and went back down the hill to find a guesthouse.

The next day we set ourselves a longer distance to cover having found the route up the hill surprisingly quick and easy. It was a fun day and the route took us slightly more off the beaten track, often taking us directly through local people’s gardens. Frequently we would’ve have gone the wrong way if it wasn’t for the friendly interventions of the locals. I found this quite impressive as I’m sure in England many homeowners would be furious if a public footpath went through their land, particularly if it was regularly used by hordes of foreign tourists.

The next morning we found that the long steep descents had taken their toll on our legs and it was a struggle to walk from our room to the breakfast table. We still had to go downhill for the rest of the day so when we eventually reached Pokhara we were quite exhausted and celebrated by drinking beer with some Germans.

Luckily we had scheduled a day of rest but even after that our legs were still aching when we got back on the bikes, heading for Varanasi where we were going to meet Nye. From Pokhara to the border with India we must have descended nearly 1000m but somehow it felt like we were going uphill a lot and it took two hard days of around 130km. On the third day we crossed into India and the border town of Raxaul. This was a horribly dusty and congested place, constantly gridlocked with trucks and buses, as well as the usual bikes, motorbikes and cows everywhere. We’ve got quite used to difficult traffic conditions over the trip but this was one of the worst and progress was slow as we crawled through the gaps.

I found myself a little squeezed for space as I tried to slip past a lorry to my right, with a motorbike trying to do the same to my left. I was almost in front of the lorry when it started to ease forward and brushed into my rear pannier. This was just enough to make me lose my balance and as I fell to my left my focus was on trying to avoid knocking the motorbike over in the process. My bike went the other way and before I could react the wheel of the lorry was slowly but surely crunching directly over the front wheel. And so quite abruptly my cycling was over.

Nick was ahead of me so I awkwardly wheeled the bike onwards down the road, holding the front end up with the comically bent and cracked wheel, and being mobbed by curious locals. Eventually with no sign of Nick and my incredibly slow progress I gave into their suggestions and stopped at a roadside mechanic despite knowing it was a waste of time. Luckily a few minutes later Nick turned up looking rather worried having been told by a local that I had been in an accident.

We looked at the bike, told the mechanics to stop trying and agreed that I’d have to get the train the rest of the way to Varanasi. I climbed into a taxi to the train station and we went our separate ways.

NICK

After bidding goodbye to Tom and helping him put his mangled bike into the back of a jeep, the chap that had brought me the news of the accident then insisted on guiding me around this godforsaken border town. Despite having no English, he was charming and helpful and from the back of his motorbike I was taken to his favourite lunch spot, his shop and the school where his son attended. We waited for some time for the school lunch break at which point I was mobbed by overenthusiastic students, none of whom believed I had cycled from England. They were more interested in finding out about the birds and the bees.

After my brief stint as a sex education teacher I made my excuses and was on the road again but behind schedule if I was still to meet Tom and Nye in Varanasi on the 8^th. The road leading out of the town was suffocating – the dust, people and heat made it hard to make any decent progress and eventually I left the main road and enjoyed some relative peace on some smaller country lanes. This part of India appeared outrageously poor and a sweaty white man on an orange bike certainly got people’s attention. Tom had taken the tent with him on our departure so I was reliant on finding a hotel to spend the night but hadn’t seen any all day – I was assured by the locals that the villagers would accept me but on my own I felt a little exposed. I bought a handful of vegetable pakoras and a bottle of coke and began to search for somewhere hidden to bed down in my sleeping bag when a chap cycled alongside me (this happens a lot – young men tear past us on their rickety old bikes looking for a race, or approval, or both) and informed me there was a motel only 2km away. I found it easily enough, paid 300 rupees for a room and promptly fell asleep.

The next day was tough and however I dress it up, not much fun. I rode over 220km into the wind and had to ride for four hours in darkness on dirt roads before I found a hotel. It meant I was back on track to make Varanasi on time but it was a stressful day. If I stopped to drink, rest, piss, buy food or check the map I was immediately swarmed by onlookers. I deliberately stopped in places out of sight but within a minute or so I would be surrounded by men who seemingly appeared from the undergrowth, gawping. I felt bad being so abrupt with some of them but when there is no common language it is difficult to hold a conversation and sometimes intimidating when you are outnumbered by twenty-to-one. With one eye on recouping the lost miles from the day before I kept interaction to a minimum. My mood on the bike is quite prone to change and when the wind is in my face and the road is barely a road I am normally quietly unimpressed. So, I kept cycling, all the while jealous that Tom had gottenout of riding this stretch because he threw himself under a truck.

The next day I was in a more reflective mood and I enjoyed the final 80km into Varanasi – the final 80km of pedalling of the trip (for me). I was exhausted from the previous day’s efforts but despite the bags under my eyes and the dust in my beard I soaked in my surroundings, enjoyed the sights and sounds of crazy India and didn’t use my middle finger half as much as usual to make my feelings known to the incessantly awful drivers.
As I entered Varanasi, a city who everyone we had met who had visited had used just one word to describe – ‘mental’, I put to practice everything I’d learnt in India about the total disregard for road safety rules to zigzag my way through the congested traffic to our hotel to meet up with the lads. Unfortunately, they weren’t at the hotel and had taken the key to our room so the owner let me nap in another room for a while – not quite the grand end of the cycling celebration and ceremony I had visualised in my head when we were pounding the miles in Europe, surviving the deserts of Central Asia or dragging the bike up the Himalaya but I was nonetheless, content.

The last five days of cycling from Pokhara to Varanasi were unquestionably hard work and with hindsight a fitting end to the trip for me. By the time I rolled up alongside the Hotel Maruti, in one of India’s most holy cities, I was just glad that I didn’t have to ride my bike the next day.

Here is what I have been up to since I left Nick and Tom:

Manali to Shimla was a fantastic cycle over two days with dreamlike tropical scenery, beautiful butterfly’s and packs of angry monkeys. The second day was a 100 mile uphill race against time in which I only managed to stop to eat once (a packet of peanuts) in 8 hours. Shimla itself is the old British summer time capital of India – as Delhi was too hot for much of the year the (British) government of India would evacuate complete with paper work and all their staff to this tiny hill station and rule 1/5^th of the world’s population (at the time it include Burma, Bangladesh and Pakistan) for 7-8 months of the year. A fashion developed for building here in a mock Tudor style and the result is a little corner of England on the Indian sub-continent. I took a beautiful train journey through the Himalayan foothills to get back to Delhi from here.

Delhi itself was a disaster in a way. I developed a cough coming over the Himalayan deserts with Nick, probably as a result of inhaling so much dust. The day after I arrived in Delhi the cough progressed into a fever, a very sore throat and vomiting, turning my first week into a write off. The week before I left Delhi I picked up some bad food poisoning which progressed into a fever and lots more vomiting turning my fourth week into a write off. So I was fit and healthy for just the two middle weeks.

I can say the time I was able to attend the shelter was very challenging but undoubtedly inspirational. I had not expected it to be easy but I was taken aback by the challenges facing these children. It was sad to see so many (even the youngest ones) had self-harmed or had been suicidal. Much of the time I felt like I was the one learning – not the kids – and this is very rarely comfortable given the reality of daily life here. But whilst there were many problems for the children still to face they were full of life and enthusiasm, and the shelter takes advantage that enthusiasm by providing a stable platform for the children to grow and follow their own passions. The Salaam Baalak Trust has a huge task on its hands but it is great to see a genuine difference being made. Anyone interested in seeing a little more should watch the famous film “Salaam Bombay!”

Thankfully I was fit and healthy on a few weekends and took the time to visit some of the nearby sights (nearby meaning within a 12 hour train journey) – here is a run down of each:

Jaipur – Rajasthan

The pink city – so named because in 1876 the Maharaja had it painted pink (the colour of hospitality) in honour of the visiting Edward, Prince of Wales. It is now a legal requirement that the buildings in the old city maintain this colour. There were lots of attractions in Jaipur, the amber fort, the lion palace, the royal Albert hall and a temple over run with monkeys (from which I paid a 10 year old boy to protect me) but being a lover of all things science I will focus on my favourite – “Jantar Mantar”. Completed in 1734, these are a series of fixed and focused scientific apparatus for measuring time, predicting eclipses, tracking stars’ location as the earth orbits around the sun, ascertaining the declinations of planets, and determining the celestial altitudes and related ephemerides. Built by the astronomy mad Maharaja Jai sing II (there are 4 similar but smaller sites in northern India also commissioned by him) the huge, solid geometry is great fun to walk around and very photogenic. The largest sundial in the world takes pride of place – at 27m tall it is accurate to 2 seconds! They are truly impressive instruments and must have added appeal for boys who are into their stars, including myself!

Amritsar – Punjab

There are two great reasons to visit this town on the border with Pakistan – the first is the Golden temple – the holiest pilgrimage site in the world for Sikhs. The second is a very peculiar border ceremony which takes place every evening before the gates are closed.

The stunning Golden temple, connected to land by a single bridge, sits on an artificial pond which is in turn surrounded by a beautiful marble complex. To go inside the complex shoes must be removed and the head covered.

There was a very strong community atmosphere here; all visitors were getting involved in cleaning the temple, or cooking/cleaning in the kitchens which provide free food for 80,000 visitors a day! Prayers are played live over a speaker system from inside the temple and echo around the complex. I came here twice to admire the temple in different lights but only went inside once. It was a two hour queue (the best queuing I have seen in India yet – which to be fair isn’t very hard). I am still none the wiser on the Sikh religion. But it felt great to be there regardless.

If you dont remove your shoes this man is authorised to cut your feet off

Anyone who has ever seen Michael Palins Himalayas may remember the bizarre and over the top ceremony which takes place every evening on the Indian Pakistan border. Crowds of spectators open the events by waving flags, dancing and shouting patriotically (on the Pakistan side everything I am about to describe is mirrored but there were less spectators – perhaps because it was Friday, the Muslim holy day). After a while the spectators are encourage to their seats and some uncommonly tall Indian soldiers wearing tan uniforms and large red head dresses (black uniform with green head dresses on the Pakistan side) began marching in a manner which made monty pythons ministry of silly walks look tame. It is so over the top you really do wonder how it has survived in its current form. The soldiers themselves are visibly running on testosterone and adrenaline – it seems to be an important and very macho ceremony for them. After 20 minutes the Indian and Pakistani flags are brought down in a manner which looks as if they are crossing each other from the spectator’s angle, and are then folded and promptly marched back to their respective barracks. The commanding officers from each side then meet either side of the white line which marks the border and partake in the most aggressive handshake I have ever seen. They then turn and hurriedly march away from each other and the gates of each country are very suddenly slammed shut leaving you wondering what on earth just went on.

Khajuraho – Madhya Pradesh

Often referred to as the karma sutra temples, these medieval constructions probably suffer fewer tourists than they gain from the focus on its erotic sculptures and I basically had the place to myself.

I will not for a second pretend that statues of orgy’s, women performing oral sex or men getting intimate with horses weren’t fun to look at; but the temples are for more than just a novelty act. Set in lovely green gardens, each one (there are 11 in total) has more detail than you would have imagined possible (850 statues on the biggest one), so much so that at times you really don’t know where to look as you are overwhelmed with choice. Although taking time to focus on the individual sculptures, which are rich with well-preserved fine details, is definitely worth it. Khajuraho is relatively remote and peaceful by Indian standards – no one is quite sure why they were built in the middle of nowhere but their remoteness has saved them from destruction by Muslim invaders, thankfully, as I think the temples here may be my favourite buildings yet.

Agra – Uttar Pradesh

I was not expecting much from the Taj Mahal. It had a lot to live up to given the hype that surrounds it and the fact it is so close to Delhi (Agra is actually the former capital) only led me to believe it had earned that hype by virtue of its accessibility rather than being more impressive than some more remote sites. Well I am happy to admit I was wrong – It is very impressive and touching as well. Its huge size does not come across very well in pictures but I am sure those who have been up close will testify to its magnificent presence. The fine marble inlay work is also stunning to admire up close. You are probably already aware of the history behind this building, of the death of Emperor Shah Jahan’s 3^rd wife and his subsequent 35 years of mourning (until his death) during which he built this monument to her. This story genuinely added to the already serene atmosphere for me and I am extremely glad I decided to stop by.

What I would like to mention here is an enjoyable quirk of the trip – In Uzbekistan we admired the architecture in Samarkand and Bukhara of Timor the great and his predecessors.  Now in India we are admiring the practically identical Mughal architecture of Timor’s close descendants, which have come to be synonymous with India. It was nice to look at the Taj – the most photographed building in the world, and feel the connection with where we had been cycling not long ago in a country many won’t be able to point to on a map. It really made me feel like it was worth travelling at the slower pace of a bicycle.

Now I have met up with Nick and Tom again for a farewell in Varanasi – one of the holiest places in the world for about a billion people – death here is supposed to liberate one from the cycle of life death and reincarnation. We have sat and watched bodies being cremated in the open and their ashes swept into the river whilst just meters away others wash their clothes, their cattle or themselves in the same water – taken a sunrise boat trip to see the morning ritual for many of “cleansing” in the holy Ganges (I use quotation marks because 1.8 billion litres of raw human sewage is discharged into the Ganges daily) – visited the sight of the Buddha’s first sermon in 528BC and enjoyed dropping floating candles into the river whilst watching the flaming evening praises offered to the river goddess Ga ga.

In a few days I am off to Burma where I will be getting back on the bike to explore as much as I can off the very recently off limits country. Apparently Obama will be there as well so I might meet up to offer my perspective on how to encourage reforms in the country and then maybe I will beat him in a game of basketball.

We left Rishikesh heading for Nepal and Pokhara. After a relaxed first day we reached our target town of Nagina and asked around for a hotel, but the locals told us there were none. We pushed on but it was getting dark so we had to settle for a slightly dodgy camping spot in the middle of a sugar cane field.

Two more days took us to the Nepali border and Mahendrenagar. We got a hotel room for about £2 although it was probably the worst of the trip; the number was appropriate:

To make matters worse I spent much of the night in the toilet after a suspicious dinner of chicken with rice crispies.  It was a slightly traumatic start to our time in Nepal so we were slow getting started the next day, but once we got going it was nice riding. The busy and stressful roads of India were soon a distant memory.

Nepal is of course extremely mountainous but our route initially was very flat as we went across the southern part of the country. We covered about 100km and then started looking for somewhere to camp, keen to avoid another Room 101. As we eyed up potential camp spots we were approached by a local who invited us into his family’s home. We gratefully accepted the invitation and were warmly welcomed by a confusing array of family members (I think some of them were just neighbours).

Dinner was an interesting experience as we were sat down on the floor at the centre of the living room. There was a power cut so the room was dim except for a single light aimed at us, with the rest of the family sitting around watching as we struggled through vast quantities of rice and vegetables. It was delicious but an odd experience. Later the two of us were invited to share our host’s bed. You can judge for yourself how comfortable I was with this arrangement:

Once the others had gone to sleep I sneaked out and slept on the floor. I awoke to the sound of him repeatedly asking Nick why I was on the floor. It was 6am and he had already been up for half an hour doing his morning exercise. We were taken on a brief tour of the neighbourhood which was nice.

We got a lot of curious but friendly looks. As we tentatively said hello to some locals our host flatly explained “They don’t understand English because they are uneducated.”

We were given another enormous meal for breakfast and then went on our way. The family gave us a handmade bowl as a parting gift:

We wanted to reciprocate after the hospitality we’d been shown but we carry so little that the only gifts we could come up with were a one pound coin and a cycling shirt, which was a bit embarrassing.

We only had a short ride as we had decided to make a stop at Bardia National Park. We knew nothing about Bardia except that it happened to be on our route, but decided to take a day off from cycling to go on a “jungle walk”.

We were warned that there’s no guarantee of seeing anything interesting, which made it all the more exciting when we saw a tiger, and later two rhinos. Unfortunately we didn’t manage to get any pictures, so you’ll just have to believe us.

The next day was the concluding day of the Hindu festival called “dosai” (no idea how to correctly spell it). This presented a bit of a problem for us as it meant all the restaurants were closed so we couldn’t find any lunch. Eventually we stopped at a small shop hoping to at least pick up some biscuits. Our expectations were exceeded as the family who ran the shop gave us some lunch and got us involved in the festivities by giving us the ‘tikka’ mark on our heads.

Like the Turks, the Nepali people clearly aren’t familiar with the phrase “there’s no such thing as a free lunch”.

As we got nearer to Pokhara we headed into the mountains which were hard work but a welcome change and the scenery gradually got more and more spectacular.

Pokhara is described by Wikitravel as “the most beautiful place in the world” which may be a bit much, but it’s not bad.

We’ve got a bit behind again so we’ll post again later today to get up to date.

TOM

I’d just like to add one detail to Nick’s previous post. We probably would have reached Mcleod Ganj in time to see the Dalai Lama, but while he was teaching we spent the morning having breakfast in bed and watching Killer Elite starring Jason Statham. At the time it was enjoyable but in hindsight probably a bad decision.

Moving on, as Nick explained, I got a bit lost on my first day cycling alone. This never happened while we were cycling together so I guess all that time Nick and Nye used to spend looking at maps was quite important. In my defence, I did ask a local if I was heading in the right direction for Chandigarh, and he confidently confirmed that I was, so I’m not sure what happened there.

I’ve been slightly surprised by how difficult communication can be in India. I was under the impression that most Indian people speak English because it serves as the common language between the many regional languages, but it seems that’s not really true. Outside of tourist areas most people I’ve encountered on the road don’t speak much if any. And for some reason I seem to find body language particularly hard to read as well, most notably the strange head shake/wobble that a lot of people do. Frequently I’ll try to communicate something basic (generally a request for food or coke) and have no idea from their response whether they’re indicating yes or no, or if they just didn’t understand.

Anyway at the end of the first day I had cycled about 70km and ended up about 30km further away from my destination.

On the plus side I was out of the mountains so the next day progress was fast. The highlight was coming across a McDonalds for lunch. It’s funny how cycling warps your normal tastes – I would almost never have McDonalds at home (I prefer Burger King) but here it was just what I needed.

That night I found a dingy hotel in Hoshiarpur and was asleep by 10pm, planning to start early the next day. I was woken around midnight by a doorbell sound. I was quite confused and it took me a while to respond as I couldn’t figure out why anyone was ringing my doorbell or how I even had one – for a moment I thought I was back in England and one of my housemates must be drunkenly locked out. Eventually I opened my door to find the hotel manager there. He explained that the padlock that had been given to me for my room was in fact the padlock that he uses for the main door to the hotel, and he needed it to lock up for the night.

The next morning I was up and ready at 7.30. Unfortunately the exit was still locked with the padlock I had handed over a few hours earlier, and there didn’t seem to be anyone around. I had a lie down for an hour or so until I saw a member of staff in the corridor. “Can I have breakfast?” I asked. He looked confused. I poked my head into the ‘restaurant’ area and saw a couple of other staff members still asleep on the floor there, so decided not to bother.

The day was another flat and hot one, quite straightforward and I reached Chandigarh by evening. The main draw of Chandigarh for me was that it has a branch of HSBC, so I was able to get some money out.  I also visited the Nek Chand Rock Garden which was fun although my photos are not great:

It might not look like much in my photos but the story behind the garden is quite interesting. Nek Chand started making these sculptures and developing this garden in private – in fact illegally on city owned land. He somehow managed to keep at it for years and when it was eventually discovered luckily the city officials were smart enough to realise it was an asset rather than a crime, so they gave him a budget and staff to help continue and expand it.

The next day I continued and much to my surprise rode about 100 miles, leaving only another half day’s ride to Rishikesh where I met Nick. This town was made famous in the West when the Beatles spent a couple of months there meditating and apparently writing a lot of The White Album. These days it’s a very popular tourist spot, with lots of opportunity for yoga but more importantly plenty of coffee shops.

We spent a few days relaxing there including a slightly more successful attempt at going rafting. Our ‘instructors’ were about 15 years old and their only instruction was to shout “FORWARD!” repeatedly, but we did get to spend a couple of hours on the raft this time including some moderately exciting rapids. Good fun and it made me think that travelling down a river would be a good future adventure (any suggestions welcome).

With the new found flexibility and endless possibilities that NOT cycling to Thailand brings also comes confusion. After months of chasing miles, hitting targets and always with one eye on the overall distance covered I now feel like an animal who has just been let out of captivity into the wild.

Riding in the Indian mountains was tough but there are very few places I’d rather be. I still feel there is plenty of cycling left in me and so the latest plan is to ride into Nepal and to Kathmandu! Our new route should total approximately 1750km. Tom is ready to have a crack at the mountains too but Nye had already arranged to make his way back to the capital in order to dedicate his time to help the street children of Delhi.

So… Tom and I said our goodbyes to Nye in the foyer of the Valley View hotel in Manali. He is to volunteer for a month with the Salaam Balak Trust for which I have nothing but respect and admiration. We will all meet again in November for a final hoorah but it means that the descent into Manali after five days flogging ourselves in the Himalayas was to be the last few kilometres we covered side by side on bicycles. It was emotional bidding farewell to him (as emotional as it gets between three dudes) as we’d been living in an insanely close proximity for nearly five months and have shared so many experiences and visited places to which there is a good chance we may never return. Good luck brother.

Tom and I set off the following day amidst the brilliant green Himalayan foothills. The road ran alongside a river with steep rock-faces to either side towards the town of Mandi. We stayed the night at a homestay on the river and our host took us rafting on the ‘rapids’ – this involved us and a few Indian children paddling uncoordinatedly up and down a (quite calm) 200m stretch of water. Nonetheless, it was a beautiful setting and we had some delicious food afterwards. Before hitting the road the next day we were encouraged to negotiate the rapids once more and were charged with finding the owner’s son a job in England.

Nye, who cycled this route to get back to Delhi, told us to watch out for monkeys and sure enough we stumbled across about 20 of them on the roadside, watching the Indian trucks roar past.

Later that day, we got caught short in the hills and found a hotel only after the sun had set. The hotel was completely empty and rundown but the owner sensed we didn’t have many options so priced his tired room accordingly. Too tired to find a camp spot we submitted.

Tom had only use of two gears but if anything this made him cycle faster so I was in no rush to set about repairing them. Weirdly, I suffered the same problem about 40km short of Dharamshala but opted to drag the bike up the hills and fix both bikes when we were settled at the end of the day. The gear cables on both bikes had become frayed and jammed in the shifters – strange forces were at work.

A 10km climb the next day took us to McLeod Ganj, where the Tibetan government in exile is located and where many Tibetans settled who fled their country after the Chinese invaded (or liberated? Probably not).

Here we spent a few days learning about the Chinese occupation in Tibet, drinking coffee and searching for enlightenment. The Dalai Lama was in town when we arrived but the news that we were arriving obviously didn’t reach him in time. We did get to see the largest cow on the planet, however.

The town is now very tourist-centred but still retains a strong Tibetan feel. The buddhist monk count was through the roof, understandably. In nearby Tashi Jong there was a smaller Tibetan refugee community with a spectacular monastery commanding centre stage in the hills.

At this point Tom and I temporarily split up – he nursing an illness and considering his options for the next month and I on the search for an old Tibetan contact of my mum’s (who I found!).

We agreed to meet in Rishikesh in about a week and so in the meantime I headed towards Shimla, the summer capital of the Raj. With a renewed eagerness to camp again I found a secluded beach on a river and whittled away a few hours playing in the water.

Just as I was about to pitch up I was beckoned by a man on an overlooking cliff for some tea. One thing led to another and despite him not speaking a word of English I spent the night in his stone-walled hut. We ate Dahl and rice together and talked at length, only in different languages.

The next day I received a text from Tom :
“is pathankot the right direction? I seem to be heading that way.”
As you can probably guess, it is not the right way. It is in completely the wrong direction. You’ll be glad to know he’s back on course now.

After some unreasonably steep hills I arrived in Shimla, capital of Himachal Pradesh and spent the day wandering around this old British hill station. There are monkeys everywhere, swinging acrobatically on the telephone cables overhead and menacingly eyeing up passers by. They’ve lost any fear they once had of humans and a poor schoolgirl had her lunch snatched from her in the middle of the street. Next, they came for me. When visiting the temple to Hindu monkey god, Hanuman, a little bugger ripped my sunglasses from the top of my head! I stood helpless whilst an Indian gent coaxed the monkey with food which thankfully made the aggressor lose interest in my Oakleys.

The monkeys do add to the charm and the views are cracking but I now must push on towards Rishikesh where unless he’s enlisted the services of Dr. Michele Ferrari, I might be waiting for Tom for some time…