That's it

That is indeed it. Today we leave Chandigarh and most of us head for London via Delhi.

In my time on the roads of India I have managed to avoid being added to the adornment on any of the large trucks, avoided being shunted by a bus, van or car, and avoided that bird-like freedom of riding over the edge of a sheer cliff.

I did manage to soar through the air for a slightly shorter flight, and have an extensive set of bruises and a limp to show for it - I'm sure they will go with time - and yes, with the swelling (at least on one side), "my bum looks big in this".

But I also managed to have the experience of my life in the process. There's nothing quite like being up in the mountains. Although there are mountains elsewhere in the world, parts of the Himalayas have been settled sufficiently that there is a network of roads providing access of sorts to places the like of which you couldn't normally reach. Tension between neighbouring countries also contributes as each side makes sure they have sufficient access to their border areas. That's not to say the Himalayas are highly populated, for they are not, they are large enough for you to find huge areas of isolation and solitude. I think for this reason they are unique and offer an blend of access and remoteness ideal for adventure trips such as ours.

The India factor is also a draw, the hotpot of cultures and people, the great food, the varied scenery, and its easy going nature in itself make the place a great destination even if you are not seeking thrills.

But for me, it's the mountains (and the bikes I suppose) that were the star of the show and I don't think they have seen the last of me.

What I haven't written much about is how our group gelled. It did. We came from all walks of life doing different jobs, coming from different places. We looked after each other on the road and in the hotel. We had a few characters - you know who you are - quiet types (me perhaps?) But we all got on and enjoyed each other's company.

I hope you've enjoyed reading about this trip, your comments as always mean a lot to me. I don't plan anymore posts, but you never know!

Dominic

Thursday - Himalayan Queen

Although our adventure has finished, we are travelling back to Chandigarh with an adventurous nature. The HQ is a narrow gauge railway that would make the health and safety brigade faint. The railway itself seems sound, if a little rickety, but with wide open windows and doorways you can hang off to your heart's content.

However I wouldn't advise this, as the many tunnels would squeegee you from the train in an instant, leaving only your reservation. But it's only your common sense that tells you it's a bad idea - have we lost this common sense where we live, does someone need to tell us it's dangerous?

The train travels at no more than 35kph and stops frequently. Mostly this is at stations for ten minutes at a time to let the train travelling in the other direction pass by. As a single track this is the only way a bi-directional service can be run. The stops are a good opportunity to replenish supplies and you'll find a range of food stuffs for sale at the bigger (a relative term) stations. You can buy some of these without leaving the train as they are offered by the vendors walking up and down outside the windows.

The stops are also useful for relieving yourself - although the on-train facilities are similar, the bouncing carriage makes it fraught with difficulty. Before the train leaves each stop the driver blows the horn. This creates a rush of last minute transactions before people jump back on board. At one station I had to jump on to the moving train after a toilet stop - but it was hardly a challenge at those speeds.

As we descend the mountains it becomes decidedly warmer and stickier inside the carriage despite all the openings being agape. The whole journey takes about six hours and the last few in the heat at lower altitudes become a little uncomfortable, with only a brief respite when it rains.

Still this is a very special train journey with UNESCO recognition, and if it hadn't been for our days above the clouds I would be glued to the scenery outside. As it is, sitting on the step in the carriage doorway was a nice way to spend some of the journey, but staying aware of the scenery proximity is essential or parts of you will be squeegeed.

Party night

youtube has lots of useful stuff. Plenty of rubbish too, but I managed to find video instructions on how to tie a dhoti. So starting with a double sheet I followed the step by step guide aiming to achieve the Gandhi look. All went well until I reached the final step. Whatever I did, I could not get the final fold of cloth up between my legs and tucked into the waist band; either it was the thickness of the material (I had to fold the sheet twice to start) or something I didn't understand. Probably both, so I improvised.

The result was almost there, and good enough for a costume (sorry Billy!) party. I draped a shawl over my shoulders, shaved my beard to an Indian style moustache and wore my old fashioned thin framed specs. Although not especially associated with Gandhi I wrapped a pillowcase (certainly not Gandhi!) around my head in a headband style that I'd seen some of the locals wear. To complete the look I carried an umbrella. Well almost complete, my personal finishing touch and a tribute to our event were my multicoloured enduro bike boots! The effect was, let's say, eye-catching! The outfit was well received but I don't think it will catch on in the fashion houses of Milan; it certainly drew some strange looks from the hotel staff. (a picture will be posted when I get one)

The evening proceeded with a few final wrap up words from the team before dinner. Billy, as she did most mornings, inspired us with a few choice words about the culture we had been living for the past week or so and quoted a particularly colourful passage about the Enfield from the book Shantaram (I must read this).

The Enfield is as much as part of India as anything is these days and it's character is for sure Indian. Some of us may have questioned the use of what is considered a classic bike in the UK, but after riding them for 1800kms we now understand why.

Just before dinner we sing a song composed by some members of the group. As you can imagine the lyrics are rugby club colourful and I'm honoured to have a few verses dedicated to me flying through the air "like a mong". I certainly felt like a bit of a mong sitting there throughout the evening and was slightly relieved at the end, as a wad of quad thickness bed sheet was becoming rather uncomfortable wedged into my bum.

We're leaving the hotel at 9am in the morning, but that won't stop some of our live wires staying up until the early hours. We are to travel to Chandigarh via the Himalayan Queen, a narrow gauge railway that threads it's way spectacularly though 102 tunnels dug into the mountains leading up to Simla.

Wednesday - back to Simla

Although it did rain during the night, it had virtually stopped by the time we left Narkanda. With only 60km or so we could have a leisurely departure at 10am rather than the 7am we had the previous day. Incidentally, the reason we left so early some mornings was to ensure we arrived at our destination in daylight. Being on Indian roads at night is very risky as you're liable to be mugged by trucks and cars driving without headlights.

So we left Narkanda and the weather only improved. With one chai stop we were back in Simla, horns blaring and engines reving, by 1pm for a big group hug in the Radisson car park.

Today I took it very easy, perhaps it was because it was the last day and I didn't want it to end, or maybe it was finally being presented with the repair bill for my bike the previous evening. Anyhow, I had lost my riding mojo and didn't enjoy the last short ride back as I should. The inter-urban roads are not so enjoyable anyway, the real fun was up above the clouds; we rode there, we fell off there, we stalled there, we crashed there, we thumped there, we got wet there and we lost our biking hearts there. The experience will never be forgotten.

It was certainly an adventure, not a tour, or a holiday. And yet for the team this is their job they do it several times a year and in other exciting places; somehow that must make the "adventure" tag redundant for them and it becomes an everyday event. This detracts slightly from my adreneline hit, but not much. Each person's experiences are unique and what is boring and mundane for one person might be exciting and unique for another. I'll stick to this being "my adventure" and look forward to the next!

The umbrella man

Certainly where I live, if you break an umbrella you throw it away. This is typical of our throw away society. You see the casually discarded umbrellas in litter bins (or not) particularly after a heavy storm, especially if it has been windy.

Well not here in India, in most towns you'll find an umbrella repair man on a street corner, ready to bring your shelter from the rain back to life. Typically he'll sit on the ground and have a sheet of assorted bits; springs, plastic bobbins, screws, rods, and wire. With deft use of a few simple tools he works his magic.

People drop off the broken umbrellas and return after a while to collect the repaired item. If you're lucky the colours of the parts will match. As I sit here typing, I can see a bright pink handle being attached to a blue canopy. I'm sure it will still keep the rain off and now with added.... um, colour!

Incidentally broken things are repaired more often here and you'll find repair shops for just about anything. I quite like that. I've always been a tinkerer myself, driving my wife nuts fixing things (junk?) I find. But sometimes these things are actually useful. Not always, but sometimes. Actually I have been known to fix umbrellas myself, so know that I'll always have a skill to fall back on, and India's not such a bad place to work.

Tuesday - Manali to Narkanda

It rained last night; all night. It rained this morning; all morning. It rained this afternoon; all afternoon. In fact it hasn't stopped raining. It's still raining now. The forecast for tomorrow is, you guessed it, rain! It's not torrential monsoon rain, just steady persistent drizzle, heavier at times. We are lucky, last year they had four consecutive days of this. Not nice.

As a consequence we are, except for a fortunate few, soaked to the skin after riding the longest day in the saddle: 210km. Even Alex said this was one of the worst days of riding in bad weather and it included the most challenging uphill section we've encountered, the Jelori Pass.

The approach to Jelori Pass road was through the Beas (Be-as) river valley, yet another valley type different from what we've seen so far, with paddy fields along some sections. Where the road came down to river level you could feel the cool air from the icy water and a mist hung over it. The water was flowing fast with the rain and it was easy to imagine how damaging the river could be. The road itself was mostly tarmac allowing a good pace; cows, buses, dogs and trucks permitting. I followed Alex, the convoy leader, for a good portion. It's always good following Alex as he sets a good pace and knows the roads, although I thought we stopped too often today, when I just wanted to push on. I know some others thought the same too.

The tarmac section also included a long unlit tunnel. This was probably the most dangerous road we've ridden on as the Enfield lights are not brilliant and oncoming traffic often has faulty headlights. Also, you have cars behind wanting to overtake in the dark feature-less tunnel. It was a relief to exit.

As it rained so much there had been quite a few landslides on the roads we used and we had to wait for them to be cleared and get through the bottleneck of traffic. Those cleared patches became offroad sections to enjoy again.

The climb up to the Jelori pass was winding and steep on gravel, mud, and broken tarmac. I love these roads! Mostly first gear and lots of throttle. The bikes could not cope with a couple of the larger lads who came up in one of the support vehicles. We are enveloped in mist for most of the ride and at the top. Shame, as the views are probably good. We stop for lunch/chai there, where there is another temple and a couple of dhaba shacks; little more than a shed with a stove but very welcome. Two of the support crew slip off their sandals to offer prayers at the temple, which was nice to see.

After descending on similar but not so steep roads on the other side of the pass, the last few tens of klicks were on major roads which meant over taking trucks and buses on the twisty tarmac. Great fun.

Despite the weather today was another blast and we rolled into the hotel and collapsed into the welcome arms of pakoras and hot tea. Later a hot shower and dinner around the covered campfire. Doc will play the guitar and we'll hear a few songs not fit for family audiences. After surviving the roads of India we're all big boys and girls now.

Tomorrow is the last day and we roll into Simla. Experience says the last day is when most incidents happen as we get de-mob happy. So we'll have to take extra care.

Monday - Manali

We're only here for one day, but that's a day longer than anywhere else we've been except Simla; it's a rest day, a day to chill and recover from the last 1500+ km before our final two days of riding. It also gives the team a chance to tot up the damage to the bikes over that distance. Although we're insured third party, we rode the Enfields on the understanding that we would pay for any damage we caused or major repairs that are needed. It's only fair that the bikes are presented to their next riders in the same condition that we ourselves received them. Some of us have had fairly major prangs, but the resilience of these bikes is amazing, with seemingly little more than a hammer, or handy roadside rock in some cases, they can be made roadworthy. Never-the-less we are expecting appropriate repair bills. As I said, it's only fair; fortunately parts and labour for Enfields are dirt cheap in comparison to your typical Japanese or European powered two wheeler.

Manali is known to some as the Goa of the North. Well I've never been to Goa so can't compare the two. But from what I've seen of Manali and heard about Goa I can understand the origin of the moniker. The old town is very laid back and has attracted a cornucopia of hippy types and for some strange reason a significant proportion are Israeli. Just why this area (we saw many on the road too) has attracted this particular nationality is puzzling. Perhaps it's grown as a destination like Spain did for the British in the 70's.

You can find houses like those seen in Nako in the old town, ie stone/wood construction with overhanging upper floors and integrated cow storage! That style seems popular in the less touched areas we've been to, but where economics allows, more western (and boring) straight walls are becoming dominant.

Lower down the valley is the "new" town. More commercial, it's like most bustling towns in India, full of sights and smells - some good, some bad - thriving enterprise, wonderful fresh cooked food, vegetable stalls full of colour, as are the clothes shops. Mixed into this fabric is the ever present decay of a country without universal waste disposal, although Manali is better than some I've seen - no, smelled! The altitude helps in that regard, as it's cooler at 2000m than say in a big city at lower altitude.

I've been giving some thought on what to wear for the final night party. The theme as I mentioned is "Indian" and who better than Gandhi himself to inspire me. So, I'm planning to make good use of the sheets at the Radisson and will need to learn how to tie a Dhoti before then. Others are buying off the peg or tailored outfits here, which is fair enough, but I don't wear shalwar kameez often enough back home to warrant having yet another one hanging unused in my closet.

Manali is also a base for many adventure types exploring Northern India. Surprise, surprise, Enfields are the chosen mount for those opting for two wheels, and these can be bought or hired at many places in Manali. Of course what you can't buy here is Alex, Steve, Colin, Doc Rob, Doc, Sarah, Billy, Nargis, Sam, Kamal, Lovely, the mechanics and anyone else in the Enduro team I've missed. Without these guys you're on your own. To some that is part of the adventure and I agree, but I came for the riding and the scenery, not to be stuck at the side of the road with a broken down bike. You get what you pay for.

Despite this I saw many guys negotiating prices and jumping on an Enfield to try it out. I felt a great temptation to shout out advice like: stay off the front brake or twist the throttle gently! But I didn't; two weeks in the saddle does not an Enfield instructor make.

I pity those brave souls that after a short test ride then decide on a merry jaunt to the Rotang Pass - that would certainly be character building, or in the worst case, character breaking. I'm sure many do it successfully, but having done it myself, I would not recommend it to anyone new to the Enfield or even Indian roads.

Today, I'm walking easily and feeling good, but the abrasion clots are beginning to itch. As the prayer flags were obviously not working I've taken them off the bike. Instead I've had a sign made which I will fit above the number plate: "keep your distance - I fall off suddenly" complete with a picture of a motorcycle and rider, with yellow helmet of course. No elephants!

Sunday - Jispa to the Rotang Pass

Getting up this morning was tough. The night was tough too. Every movement agony. My fault (not only for the crash) as I didn't take any painkillers before bed. This morning feels worse than yesterday. I hobble to breakfast and by the time we leave I still feel awful.

Once on the road I loosen up, but hang at the back with the convoy sweepers. Then suddenly my bike starts barking very loudly. It's as if a valve suddenly opens and lets more power out. Sweeper Steve overtakes and indicates to pull in; my exhaust has fallen off! One of the mechanics has retrieved the waylayed muffler and they proceed to re-attach it.

Now way behind the group I push on so as not to fall too far behind. The Enfield is responding well and I get into a good rhythm; I meet the others at the petrol station without too much delay.

Refueling, the attendant overfills the tank and even with the cap on petrol leaks from the opening. The mechanics also need to adjust the front brakes and decide it's easier the remove the front wheel which contains the drum brake. To do this they drain the tank a little so more petrol doesn't seep out of the tank when they lift the front wheel off. They use an empty water bottle to drain off about half a litre of fuel, and then wedge this into the gap between the cylinder and the airbox. It's quite a handy storage spot as even over bumpy ground the container remains put and is far enough from the cylinder that there is no danger of melting!

The road to the Rotang Pass is mud city, and it's a real struggle to get though it. In places it's a foot deep and the front wheel is all over the place as usual. Despite this I manage to get though it. Once again we have to wait while an earth mover clears the road in front of us. We often have to stop to let a convoy of lorries through otherwise there's not enough space for them to pass us safely.

At Rotang Pass itself there's a mish-mash of dhabas and donkey rides with a few souvenir shacks. As it's only 50km or so from Manali, it's a popular get away for Manalians. As passes go, this one didn't seem special. Although, it was cloudy, so we didn't see what is supposed to be a great view. It must take them hours to climb the hill in cars.

One of our party, Ted, arrives at the top caked in mud having fallen over on the way up. This guy is a real inspiration; he's 82 and had the guts to come on an adventure like this. He's coped well too, except for a day off when we went to 4900m.

The mud is just as thick as the other side of the pass, maybe worse. And to top it all the fog was thick like a steam bath. There were queues of cars and trucks going up and down the single lane road and you can imagine the chaos, even with a policeman trying to control it. As bikers we could squeeze past the queues but we did have to wait when the police let a never ending convoy of trucks, cars, motorbikes and even two scooters past a particularly narrow and muddy section (how the heck those small wheeled scooters made it through that morass I'll never know, but we gave them a clap).

We're heading back into civilisation now. Manali is a popular tourist destination - the Goa of the North - so I'll be able to post those messages that have been pending since Wednesday.

The challenging muddy terrain over, some of us get a little complacent and there are at least two tumbles on the way down. Nothing serious, but annoying for those involved. Contact with a car bumper results in an exchange of Rs250 (about four pounds). The driver was trying it on, and we were not convinced those scratches were because of the collision!

We arrive in Manali, and it is indeed full of tourists and hippies on the trail. Plenty of Enfields loaded up for touring too. Manali seems to be a popular base for their adventures. We're here for two days and tomorrow is a rest day, so no riding. Tomorrow night is also party night and we have to wear Indian attire (not Red Indian), so I'll have to pick up something in town tomorrow.

Pictures: the river view is at Jispa, and Ted caked in mud is obvious. Sorry no view at Rotang, which is a shame.

Saturday - is this the end of the trip?

After a night sleeping on my right side I wake before the alarm. Moving during the night was painful at times, but I test my limbs like an engineer would check his machine before using it for the first time in a while. Everything seems OK. I get out of bed gingerly and stand. Seems good so far. I walk to bathroom - hey, this is good! - and then go outside to see the Himalayas that are awaiting my inspection. They pass with flying colours; the blue sky and hint of sun on the mountain tops looks good.

I shower and head for breakfast noticeably limping, but moving; and moving much better than I expected. In fact I feel mobile. Actually, before breakfast I jump on my bike to see how it feels. It feels good! I simulate a few bumps and riding on the pegs and I'm happy. The bike is not so happy, it's a bit battered from its prang but surprisingly still runs. The seat is off angle and the clock's broken, a few dents here and there (and another clutch lever!) and it's good to go - and so am I! The doc is amazed at my recovery and gives me the all clear. Later he puts this down to appropriate treatment given early. I must say I was amazed too.

So it's off to the Baralachla at 4900m. I just gotta go higher. And what a ride; again! While the roads yesterday were quite stoney at times, almost like riding along a dried-up river bed in a flat valley, today's are sweeping bends and a mix of good tarmac and dirt, interspersed with a few river crossings for good measure. The crossings prove to be an interesting picture opportunity while we wait for people to stall or better still fall in. At up to a foot deep (another useful imperial measure) or more they are not easy to negotiate.

The bends are great fun and this could match some of the best roads in the Alps if the surfaces were more consistent. Exiting a hairpin in the wrong gear would see you being left for dust by a fellow rider hot on your tail. If you were good, you might take him at the next one by perhaps taking a tighter line (beeping as you go), or perhaps he'd miss a gear too. It may sound like we were racing, but we were not, just taking the opportunities when they arose and being mindful of the occasional oncoming trucks (whose drivers would pull over slightly to let you pass - thankyou with a wave always goes down well too)

Baralachla is at 4900m as my GPS receiver confirms. Again I decide to climb and make it to 4945m before Alex's famous whistle is blown to round up the troops before we set off again. I accomplish another first, a pee at 4920m. One learns to find good spots for such activities - especially difficult in the treeless mountains - and as no one else climbed with me it was a good spot. The snow is now yellow at 4920m.

We head back down to where we started, snacking for lunch at a Dhaba (roadside cafes, which sometimes also double as cheap hotels if you don't mind sharing with ten others in on tent) at over 4000m before aiming for our hotel in Jispa. It's a good opportunity to chill by the river (Bhaga?) outside our hotel. I paddle in the freezing cold water.

Today was my best riding ever. Yesterday was until those damn elephants jumped on me again. Tomorrow on to Manali - ooh, ooh, ooh, ohhh! -and network coverage to post all these messages. Let's hope no more elephants!

Friday - Kaza to Keylong

After leaving Kaza, we head for Kunzum La (La meaning pass) at 4525m altitude. There is another monastery there and it is customary to circle it in a clockwise direction and we do so on the bikes. While we wait for the tail of the group to catch up, I decide to climb to what I think is the top of the hill and start out at a steady pace. It's hard but doable. The last 50m proves to be extremely challenging with loose rocks and I have to stop for breath several times before reaching the point I thought was the top, only to find it goes higher. Content with my climb in the time we have, I head back down. But before doing so I build a small cairn and measure the altitude; it's 4700m. Getting back down is relatively easy.

We depart and continue on to Keylong. This is about as remote as we've been and we see little traffic. There are a few tourist cars and the odd bus, but that's about it. The road again is challenging, and about as rough as we've had, with many river crossings and rocks and gravel instead of tarmac. But this is not offroad, this is a recognised transit route through the valley.

Shortly after overtaking one of the support vehicles in our convoy I hit a bank of rocks on a corner and go over the handle bars landing heavily on my backside. I lie on the ground as help comes at me from all directions. My backpack is removed as the medics switch to emergency mode. I'm dazed and they say stay down, but I can feel my legs, toes and no tingling: I am determined to get up! First I sit up, then slowly stand, then wobble, but I'm up! I stagger to the ambulance bending over a few times to catch my breath - we're still above 3000m. I feel weak and giddy, but make it to the ambulance to lie down. The paramedic and doc give me the once, then the twice over, and as a precaution I'm confined to the ambulance for the rest of the day with a badly bruised bum! It's really frustrating as the journey in the bouncing ambulance is agony, which means the roads outside would be awesome on a bike! The docs talk about a possible X-ray when we reach Keylong and give me a powerful cocktail of painkillers and even a mild tranquilliser. I doze for most of the journey, but still manage to hang on for dear life in my stupor as the ambulance bumps and crashes over the rugged terrain. My bum is killing me.

All kinds of thoughts pass though my mind, but mostly about how stupid and idiotic I feel. Is this the end of my trip, it's been wonderful so far and I don't want it to end. When we get to the hotel in Keylong I feel awful, struggle to even walk, and suspect this may be the end of my trip.......

Thursday - Nako to Kaza

It just keeps on getting better. What a road. Hairpin after hairpin downhill a drop of almost 800m. My front brake lever was almost to the bar by the time I'm at the bottom. We gather at the crossroads and a helpful road sign says one direction goes to Kaza, the other a place called Dead End; so we head towards Kaza.

After the tight hairpins the valley opens and looks similar to the landscape described by Mr Piercy in our 4th year Geography class at school, ie a U-shaped glacial valley, or is it? Closer inspection does not show other features like horizontal scrapes in the rock. Higher up the sides of the valley you can see what looks like water erosion marks from when the river ran at a higher level. This must be more like the Grand Canyon, ie the river did most of the work.

We stop briefly at Tabo where there is an ancient monastery. Apparently the Dalai Lama plans to retire here one day. It's more of a food refuelling stop than a sight-see, and there's not really an opportunity to have a good look round. There's supposed to be a very important "Gompa" here, one of the most important for Tibetan Buddists. I do have time to pick up a few prayer flags to adorn my bike. These flags are seen everywhere in this predominantly Buddhist region of India.

We visit the Dhankar monastery perched up on a hill overlooking where the Spiti river is joined by another. We stop and climb the last 50m or so (vertical) by foot. I'm still in my biker gear and it is really hard work. When I get to the top my GPS receiver reckons I'm at 3900m. I've definitely never been that high and the thin air explains my difficulty. The spectacular views are definitely worth the climb. There's a small village set on top of the hill here and looking at the location and what's around it (rocks, lots of 'e.m), it's hard to imagine how people live. Life must be really tough, especially in the winter when this place is blanketed in metres of snow and the roads are shut. Somehow people do survive, eking out a living with the limited resources they have. Even shit (cow dung) has value, as they use it to line walls for insulation and for fuel when dried (you see piles of turds dotted around drying like this). One imagines that the spectacle of the views might become mundane to the locals - do they tire of such beauty and does it become like an inner city vista appears to us?

The climb to reach Dhankar is another amazing road, yet more hairpins, but these are extra challenging because of the loose dirt on the corners. On the way up an elephant jumps out and places a large rock just in front of my wheel as I'm exiting a corner. Normally I can avoid or bump over these, but my prayer flags have obviously taken the day off, and I go down and manage to snap the clutch lever in the process. A mechanic further back in the convoy soon reaches me in a short while and changes the lever in about 5minutes flat. Amazing! That's one of the key advantages of the Enduro event over other similar trips I've heard about - the backup support is superb. Incidentally the same elephant that got me jumped out twice on another rider on the way down. I think Colin one of the route marshals, managed to run over it to make sure it couldn't do it again!

Kaza is another small town with a few shops, but it's bigger than Tabo. I manage to call home from a local PCO (no connectable GSM coverage since before Nako) and get my hair cut for 20 Rupees - that's about 30cents! We are spread out at a number of hotels in Kaza and will have an early start tomorrow. 5:30! Ouch again.

Since there's been no network coverage in last few days, these posts will be slightly out of date. Today is Thursday - I think?

Wednesday evening: Nako

Nako is such a special place it deserves it's own posting.

Surrounded by snow capped peaks, it's a very picturesque and peaceful place (apart from some very loud cows), and sits below a small monastery (It's typical for a monastery to have a small settlement supporting it). The village livestock is kept in close proximity to the family homes, either inside walled enclosures next to the garden or in rooms below the main house; this area is blanketed in snow in the winter, so the warmth of the animals is a bonus. The dung from the animals is also spread on walls for insulation and/or dried in patties for fuel.

Kids with distinctly Tibetan looking features play games running through the narrow passage ways between houses or dry stone walls. They ask us to take their photos and pose eagerly in front of the camera. Thousands of prayer flags flutter loudly in the breeze and close-up are the dominant sound. Prayer wheels, the other essential feature of a Buddhist village are also found in abundance as are inscriptions carved into fragments of rock. At one place in the village these are piled up many layers thick.

Nako has a serene almost untouched feeling about it and unlike most other places we visited there is virtually no litter. The owner of the campsite we stayed at actively promotes this in the village and he works closely with the youth association to achieve this. It works.

A sacred lake sits on the edge of the village and no swimming is allowed, but in any case the heavy green algae colouring doesn't exactly induce the urge to dive in.

It's obvious that wood is a valued commodity as it's stockpiled by every house. Wood is a more effective fuel than dung but relatively scarce in the almost desert like environment in this valley; the trees in the village are probably off-limits as a fuel source. Cuttings from thorn bushes are used on walls around vegetable plots like barbed wire; it's not obvious that this is crime prevention, probably more to stop animals getting in - even the cows are surprisingly nimble.

This was the first place where I challenged myself to a climb at altitudes above 3000m and the breathless lowlander visited the collection of cairns and flags guarding the settlement. This was also a good place to see the village in perspective; it's very tightly packed as if development outside is forbidden. Could it also be an attempt to keep heat in the village during the hard winters?

One nod to modernity are the electricity pylons and the ubiquitous satellite dishes. Seemingly wherever you go in India you will not find one without the other. But this was also the first place we visited with no mobile network coverage - perhaps that's another reason why it was so peaceful!

Wednesday - NH22

We stop for chai at Spello on national highway 22. NH22 winds it's way along the side of the Sutlej River and after following it for many kms over the last few days, it's like an old friend. The section just before Spello is an amazing stretch of pristine tarmac, wide and black, with long straights on which to stretch the legs of the Enfield in 4th gear (top).

The trouble is, out of the blue the tarmac stops suddenly to be replaced by patches of bumpy gravel or sand with no warning, and often hidden by a brow in the road. At this point you rise to stand on the pegs to help the suspension cope with the extreme wheel movement- in effect your arms and legs become part of the suspension. Sometimes this is required only for a few metres, at other times much longer.

The main reason this happens is landslides. However good the road, it is at the mercy of the ground beneath. Running next to NH22 is one of nature's most powerful earth movers: a snow fed river, and it is this that frequently undermines the foundations of the road resulting in whole sections of road disappearing into the abyss below. The other reason is rockfall from above. The friable rocks are riddled with cracks and when water penetrates and freezes huge chunks can be dislodged, which often triggers other rocks and dirt to fall at the same time. In fact, while riding I had small rocks fall where I was riding. Luckily only a small fragment hit my leg.

The road engineers repair the damage as soon as they can, but these are never as good as the original road and often temporary repairs, using rocks and gravel to infill, become semi-permanent. Such is the nature of roads in the Himalayas and adds to the challenge of riding there.

Posting on the fly

Blogging while riding a motorbike in the Himalayas is quite a challenge. I have a memory like a sieve; I see a nice view or something interesting on route and I think "must write about that". When we stop, my mind goes blank and I struggle to recall what it was I wanted to write about. At some random moment (usually on the bike!) I remember again.

The roads are fantastic; winding and challenging; different terrain; smiling, inquisitive and responsive faces; head shaking scenery. It's all too much to take in - the mind simply cannot process it all.

The consequence is that there's so much good stuff I simply can't describe it all. As I said earlier - you have to experience it first hand.

We've stopped now after a huge traffic jam involving massive army lorries passing just inches from your shoulder (metric can't compete for phrasiology - is there such a word?) They centimetered by (see what I mean, inched works so much better) squeezing through a tiny gap lined on one side by fragile bikers and the other by the edge of the road. The diesel fumes alone could kill you as the trucks spew out massive clouds of the black stuff engines reving whilst the clutch takes the strain. One false move by the truck driver and we're toast. Fortunately, they are accomplished drivers.

Kinner Villa Hotel

I wake early to check out the view from the terrace. Below in the valley we can hear holy music being played from the temple, with a very low background hum even further in the distance - perhaps from the river. It's a very soothing start to the day.

The cloud is sitting atop the peaks above us, hiding the very top of the mountains and we're told the view on a clear day is breathtaking. As the sun is obscured, the light is flat as are the colours. Despite this it's a fantastic place to be. I try to take a photo, but the camera just can't capture the majesty of the scenery, it has to be experienced.

The night before we we're told the sky would be clear at 5am and we should wake early. One brave soul did so and reported that the view was the same as it is now. I feel so much better. However, apparently we missed the serenity of that moment - buy we've only his word for that.

We're off to the remote Spiti valley today, Alex says the next three days are at another level of spectacle. I can't wait.

Inner Line Permit

Just after 2:30pm we arrive en masse to the Kinnaur administrative office at Rekong Peo. We are planning to visit the Inner Line area, which is a restricted zone, and we will need special permits before we can go there. Having filled in the forms and provided photocopies of our passport we wait in turn to be called for a desk lamp in the face grilling from the local intelligence officer. Zen you will be lined up and shot! The truth is not so glamorous; the details on our forms are read by a man, then transcribed by a lady typing with two fingers, after which are our pictures are taken (reminds me of life back home). The office contains a parked motorcycle (Pulsar 180 DTSi for reference); obviously the preferred choice for pursuit of dacoits escaping the long slow arm of the law

Next we have to queue again to see the Assistant Commissioner for Kinnaur, Sri Rajiv Kumar, who checks the details again. His office does not contain a motorcycle, just piles of important looking papers, so I'm not so impressed, but he is a jolly decent fellow. With that we are free to proceed.

The whole process take 3hrs or more and we are bored stiff. This has to be revenge for years of colonial rule!

At least it's a good chance to share little details of our trip with friends, like: "are you sleeping OK" or, "had the shits yet? Oh yes, time flies when you're having fun. Well at least I can catch up with my Blog. Oh, and in case you're interested in the last question, Alex told us a very useful tip "it's a brave man that farts in India". Says it all really.

Chitkul

Our first challenge for today was riding up the hill we descended yesterday. It's about a 100m vertical climb on a dirt track and it requires judicious use of the clutch on the tight corners. Another challenge to relish. The rear tyre of the Enfield grips well, and its single cylinder 350cc pulls strongly once you get the throttle at the sweet spot giving maximum power at given revs - too much and the engine sputters in complaint, too little and the engine slows, as it should - once you have achieved this mechanical nirvana the engine pulls very well and the bike makes the climb easily.

We're heading for Chitkul further up the Sutlej valley. The roads, dramatic as ever, are carved into the sheer cliff faces - and without any barriers, death lurks at every corner if you are stupid. We wind our way along the roads with the line of bikers stretching as we go, and peel off individually to take pictures when the opportunity arises (many!). The valley floor flattens out below us and it seems to be rising to meet us as we are mostly riding with no incline. The character of the road also changes and instead of clinging to the rock face the road layout is now dictated by fallen boulders the size of houses - I wonder how many motorcycles are squashed underneath? Surprisingly the tarmac here is pristine.

Further on the road can't decide whether it is a road or a river and turning a corner into a large stream is very strange at first; but there is no choice, that's where the road takes you. Riding over the slippery rocks is especially difficult and many of us falter - but not me for once -). The downside is that I get to discover that my super tough boots are not waterproof. (Note to other self: spend more on your kit in future you cheapskate).

We pass many army looking facilities and cross a few girder bridges with slippery sheet metal surfaces, which need care to avoid an embarrassing off. Villages are interspersed seemingly every few kms and the road is broken as is the norm for this type of highway.

Reaching Chitkul, I don't realise we are as high as we are; it's located at 3400m and I've not been that high before. My nose should be bleeding and I should be gasping for air, but everything is fine and I don't feel any ill-effects. However I didn't do any physical exertion, which is the real test.

The Chitkul I saw was like a frontier town; there wasn't much to see but the spectacular mountains. A few hotels are dotted amongst the local houses, which are themselves of great interest. One of our party noted that they may not have windows, but at least they have satellite TV and it's true dish antennas are scattered everywhere even on what look like the most rundown houses. Shiny corrugated steel is the most popular roofing material giving the town/village a strange pristine top, decayed bottom look. From where we parked we could see a hill temple in the distance; true to type, it went up!

The local kids are fair skinned and some fair haired, reminding me of other communities with similar characteristics; something to do with the altitude or the water I wonder? Or, is it the genetic legacy of that Alexander chap?

Running water

Our tents may have running water, but I neglected to say it was cold water. I just had a shower and the screams could be heard around the valley.

The view above the Sutlej

It's a long way down, but at least there are safety rails here unlike some parts of the road where sheer drops are marked with small white rocks. At one point I looked down while leaning over in a corner only to see just such a sheer drop just to the right, almost underneath me.

Near the top of this pass on the side of the valley there is a small temple. Passing traffic stops to be blessed, even army trucks. The priest lives in a tiny house embedded in the rock face and he places an orange dot on many of the riders before we move on.

Rebuilt Enfield

The mechanics were up until 3am rebuilding this bike, which yesterday went 40m down a 45degree slope. The rider (awarded today's "Skidmark of the day") was lucky to escape unscathed.

Sarahan Temple

A picture that should have been attached to the Sarahan post.

The summary so far, three days in.

Numerous bruises and blisters, a badly sprained ankle, a broken rib, a rider arrested, a bike over the edge and bad dose of foul smelling fungus; apart from that everything is running smoothly!

Not as bad as it sounds, the rider got lost and went through a pedestrian zone, the broken rib is soldering on, the bruising will go down and the recovered bike is back on the road. As for fungus the bogey man - I'm sure his mother still loves him.

Tonight we are 'camping', although the tents have electricity, running water and even toilets! Later we will sing rousing songs around the campfire and compare our scars. I've heard the songs are very colourful.

Riding Offroad

The key, I'm told, to riding off-road is to keep the handle bars loose. That is, do not hold them with a death grip and rigid arms. That's more or less true for road riding too. The difference is that your front tyre will definitely slip at some point on the sand, gravel, mud or whatever. And when it happens for the first time it's scary. The theory is fine, but the moment you feel a slide, your body goes into panic mode and exactly the opposite of the good advice happens - and you can do nothing about it. If you're lucky you'll stay upright, if you're unlucky you'll have pulled the front brake too and then you're not just off-road, but off-bike! I know from experience, that warrants a big fat ouch!

Once you learn to stay off the front brake, the next step is to keep the bars loose. Not as easy as it sounds, but it comes eventually. Someone advised me that standing on the pegs (foot rests) would help, as would weighting them in the intended direction. I know from my Enfield taster day that standing on the pegs is great for going over the bumps and it seems to help keep the bars loose too as your arms are stretched and in the same axis as the steering. So today I was riding much better than I have been, yet still managed a brief front brake moment, but fortunately survived intact.

Coming into the camp this afternoon, we had to descent a very loose dirt track with very tight turns. We took it in turns to go down in first gear, leaning heavily on the rear brake. The turns were challengiing but enjoyable. Tomorrow we go up!

Sarahan Temple

Before setting off today we visited the Sarahan temple that was located by our hotel. In fact, the hotel itself did not have space for the organisers, so they had stayed in the temple hostel (there's an interesting story attached to their stay, but that won't make it to print I'm afraid).

We were allowed inside the inner temple after security checks. The Foreigners. lined up to be frisked while the locals passed by. When it was my turn the security guard waved me on with a "local heh", I refrained from shaking my head in agreement.. With roots in the subcontinent and a year round suntan, it is easy to see why he thought that.

Like all hill temples the one at Sarahan is built skywards, and you climb many floors to reach the inner sanctum at the centre of the top floor, where the local worshippers offer their prayers in candle light with the aroma of incense hanging thick in the air. The structure is composed of thick wooden beams, in-filled with cut stone. The guide said no sand or cement had been used and the temple had withstood earthquakes without damage; outside in the courtyard some of the walls were vertically displaced, suggesting this might be true. The many low beams and dim lighting also meant some of us left minus a few brain cells - and therefore even keener to ride the roads of India!

In another part of the courtyard stood a small building that supposedly contained an escape tunnel for the temple VIPs leading to the valley floor. We were told it was 7km long, but even though it was an endless dark looking in, that was hard to believe.

Sorry no pictures of the view from our hotel balcony as we were shrouded in cloud this morning. But trust me, it was nice.

Higher up the Sutlej valley

After leaving Sarahan, and a needed fuel stop (causing chaos as usual), we head higher into the valley of the mighty Sutlej, but first we have to traverse the valley floor for a bit. The heat is intense and I have removed my outer jacket so now just have my armour. It's a good move, but even then, every time I stop for a photo and restart I can feel the fresh sweat on my brow in the breeze.

As we progress deeper the roads become more cut into the mountain, until we reach this spot where it's as if some giant wood worker has cut the rock with a very large router. Of course the 'wood worker' is the sweat and toil of the Indian road builders. They have a never ending job apparent from the many dents in the safety barriers (where they exist) from falling rocks; we should not stay too long.

The rocks above the roads have numerous cracks and look as if they might tumble down at any moment. In places the roads have simply disappeared after a rock fall and these become challenging off road sections.

Now on to the campsite in the Baspa valley, which feeds into the Sutlej.

A vegetable stall in Simla

He must have strong arms.

Sunday, so it must be......

Sarahan. Tonight we stay in a hotel perched on the side of a hill with spectacular views over the valley. Today was a long day, and all that waving has exhausted me. 170km doesn't sound like much, but 60 of those were off-road on little more than a bumpy and muddy (grrrr!!) dirt roads. One of the guys has a cracked rib that he got from falling when a bus appeared from nowhere.

I managed to avoid my first oncoming bus overtaking another bus on a blind corner this afternoon; I was kind of expecting it. When there's a particularly narrow or dangerous looking stretch of road that's when you're most likely to see the phenomenon. Understand this reverse logic and you're half way to becoming an old hand on Indian roads. The other half will probably take a lifetime.

I'm learning to stay off the front brake and rely on the retardation from the surprisingly grippy rear end. The rear tyres are knobbly unlike those at the front, which explains why they grip (a relative term) in the mud unlike the front end.
.
Although physically and mentally drained from today, I was sad that it ended so soon; I could have gone on for another 2hrs or more. Probably best that I didn't though.

After dinner and outside I can hear hammering. Remember the bike that went over the edge? Apparently the mechanics will rebuild it overnight and then they'll ride with us. Amazing! What hard working chaps they are. But for me it's bed, and I feel slightly guilty.

Apologies for the grammar

Blogging from the raod is not ideal and although my BlackBerry is a wonderful tool I would not be without, I sometimes make errors in my grammer or speellng that are not always easy to spot. So, I'm trying, but usually only discover the mistakes after posting. Maybe I should run a larger font?

Waving

Travelling by train as a kid with my Mum and Grandmother, Nan they would encourage me to wave at the people watching the train go by. The same when we travelled by boat, or coach. The experience did not extend to travel by motorbike or even car, as we didn't have one and my family were never keen on motorbikes (but Nan was a cool mother and rode a tandem!).

The waving habit died when I became a 'cool' teenager and waving was beneath me. Well today, I must have waved at a thousand people. Kids, men, women even cows. Nan would be proud of me.

The power of a wave should not be underestimated. It smooths the path in front as you, a potential threat, approach. Although bikes are very common in India, you still detect a slight apprehension as you ride through semi-remote villages. That apprehension disappears in an instant with a friendly wave. The effect on kids is even more dramatic as their faces light up with beaming smiles. And most people wave back, the kids manically. It's certainly not regarded with disdain as it would be in most of the developed world. It works too for lorry drivers you've just overtaken, who respond with a beep or a musical cacophony of horns produced by their highly 'tuned' engineering (and artistic) master pieces.

So the next time you drive/ride through Peckham: wave. No, may be not!

Comments

Thanks for all of you who are sending me comments. I get an email letting me know and I'm very pleased a few of you are enjoying tale of daring do. I can't respond easily using my BlackBerry, but do read each one eagerly. Keep it up!

The men who would be king

If you've ever seen the film "The Man Who Would Be King" (based on a story by Kipling) you might remember a character called Daniel Drabot a Scotsman who fell in love with India and knows it from top to bottom. Together he and Peachy and their side kick "Billy Fish" set out to rule the area known as Kafiristan. It's a great film and I highly recommend it.

Anyway, our team leader Alex of who I wrote about in an earlier posting, is a larger than life character who also came to India several years ago (on the same Enduro trip as this) and fell in love with the country. He's now the Enduro manager for the whole of India and with several Indian expeditions every year he's based in Goa from where he travels the country from north to south. Alex starts our day with details of the ride and what we expect to see on route. He does it with such passion, you can see he loves what he does and the country he works in. .

For Peachy we have Steve, also recruited via an Enduro Himalaya event, who accompanies many of the Enduro rides in other parts of the world. And for Billy we have Colin, although I bet Billy could not conceive of riding an Enfield as skillfully as our Colin, who zips up and down the procession of riders at such a pace that no one can keep up with him.

Between them, and the rest of the team of mechanics, medics and other support staff, they rule this part of Himachal Pradesh; well certainly the roads we're on.

Sutlej River

This river ends up in Pakistan. We view it from 'viewpoint' about 1600m up. The sun is bright and I'm sweating profusely stopping to take pictures I strip down to base layers to cool off. But it doesn't work and the only breeze of worth is that on the road. . Then we drop via a winding road to the valley floor.

The guys and gals swap war stories as we collect at a cold drinks store. Never has a cold drink been so welcome. Ok, there was that time on a school trip to Wales when I was about ten - on a hot train David Yan had the only can of fizzy drink in the carriage, the teacher suggested it would be good to share, and credit to him he did. It's even hotter on the valley floor.

There have been a few offs, but nothing as dramatic as earlier. The roads down were mostly good and once in to the swing of things a good pace can be made.

A big off!

Don't panic, not me. One of the guys misjudges a muddy corner and over the edge he goes. Luckily it wasn't fast so he was able to get off before the bike went over the edge. The bike however was not so lucky and ended up 40m down the slope. Now how to recover it?

The rescue squad is summoned but we await the essential rope. When it arrives we all pull with the mechanics getting the rough end by having to keep the bike upright. 10m up and the rope snaps calling for a re-evaluation of the technique. No snatching at the rope next time.

Again we pull and a bright spark says double the rope by passing the loose end back down. Once this is done we pull with gusto! The bike duly rescued and we assess the damage. It'll probably start, but most of the bits are shagged for sure.

We leave the bike to the mechanics and set off again, heading for a viewpoint of the mighty river Sutlej.

No network coverage here so posting will have to wait.

At last a picture of me

Somewhere north of Narkanda. Mud! I hate it! Even when I'm taking it easy, I find the front wheel sliding. Most alarming! And that's keeping well clear of the front brake and going in a straight line.

Haven't seen any tigers except this one. Note the special sliding tyres.

Random rock picture

A protruding rock on route

Off road

Going off road for the first time the roads remind me of Avenue du Marechal, Brussels. The bikes cope very well; maybe I should buy an Enfield? Broken tarmac gives way to dirt and intermittent mud and gravel. Not so bad at a constant slow pace, but the front tyre in particular does not like mud and offers scant grip. Don't try to steer and stay off the front brake are the key points...... Of course I know that now! Going into a muddy corner slightly hot, I panic, grab the front brake and try to steer. Oops! My first off.

The bike folds under and I land on my hip. The bike is relatively unscathed with a twisted throttle, but my hip hurts. The one piece of armour missing is a hip protector and I'm bruised. Not to worry it's all sitting down on the way back.

I hear others have come off in similar fashion and I'm fortunate to escape the "skidmark of the day" yellow t-shirt the following morning. I didn't even come second! What a relief. Ibuprofen and Tiger balm administered, a quick walk up hill into town, dinner and bed. 6am start!!!! :-(

And they're off!

The day begins with a safety briefing on what to expect when riding in India, and how to use the most essential part of the motorbike, the horn; without which the bike is unroadworthy. In fact it's the first thing to check when the ignition is switched on, if that doesn't work don't attempt to start the bike. No lights, no problem; tyres bald, no problem; only one brake, no problem; no horn? Unthinkable! It's the only place I've seen adverts for cars or motorbikes where the horn is actually listed as a selling point.

We're informed about the 'rules' of the road. My Pa always says: might is right, and this is the key principle on the roads. If a bus is overtaking a car (perhaps whilst it is itself overtaking a bicycle) going uphill on your side of the road it is up to you to get out of the way. If fact don't even think about trying to play chicken with a bus - unless you figure on contributing to its garish colour scheme - chickens get cooked and along with your goose, so will you be. After a while you learn what to expect. Indicators are optional and only waste electricity, the same for headlights.

As to the rules, road customs might be a better description. Beeping is de rigeur when overtaking a vehicle or wayward pedestrians. Approaching a blind bend, it makes sense too. You'd better learn to use it and instinctively. In the UK for sure we are often too polite to use the horn thinking it is rude and only resorting to it almost as an insult. In India, and most of the developing world probably, the horn is an essential driving aid, almost a courtesy to those you 'use it against'. I can imagine some people getting upset that you did not use it and pedestrians perhaps being offended as nobody gives a toot about them?

We must buddy up and ride together in case the group gets stretched out. Don't go mad and be careful. There are mechanics and medics interspersed throughout the group too, just in case. Today is about familiarisation with our trusty steeds who will be our companions for the next two weeks and 2000kms in the mountains. Mine is number 28 and I think I'll name it - Sebastian Vettel is inspiration and "Kate's dirty grandad" comes to mind; the bikes are old and they will certainly get dirty!

The mountain spirits are duly blessed in a ceremony performed by a local priest. It takes a while and everyone lines up for a personal blessing complete with red dot - me thinks it's too much like a sniper's laser sight, (maybe a bus drivers?) and I am one of the few to leave without the target mark.

Engines started, first gear engaged (upwards and on the wrong side to normal bikes) and then we're off playing follow my leader (incidentally who's a great character but more of him another time.). The first few 100 metres or so are where you're likely to stall or hit the brake only to find you're changing up a gear. It sinks in eventually but I find myself doing just that. And it's a pain to start when you stall - no fancy electric start, it's all manual and done with a potentially shin cracking kick. One soon learns to keep the revs up.

The traffic is chaotic as can be expected and after a few kms dodging cars and buses we stop for petrol and mayhem ensues as we block the garage with a throng of bikes. We're all sweating heavily by now - it's not particularly hot, just hot work riding. We are unique creatures on the road, fully armoured and over dressed and quite a sight and sound in convoy.

After filling up we head out of Simla on less busy roads and we soon find our rhythm with the gears and brakes. Then we turn off the wide tarmac and join a single track road that soon turns into a dirt track threading its way around the mountain side.

Almost in Simla

Welcome to those readers who may just have joined me. I'm currently on a roller coaster white knuckle ride through the mountains en route to Simla (also written as Shimla and pronounced like that). Almost there and only a few near misses. We all have complete faith in our driver. Gulp!

En route to Simla

It's a four hour plus drive to Simla and the road winds its way up the steep hills that are cloaked in cloud in places. Hard rain at times too. Until you experience overtaking a slower vehicle on a blind bend with a killer drop on one side you don't really appreciate karma. "If it's my time to die, then so be it." Trouble is, I don't particularly want my time to be the same as yours.

We stop for a break and tea at a hillside hotel. Rooms have views over the valley and monkeys roam freely amongst the tables and chairs in the gardens. The tea is weak and milky, but it's hot and welcome. The traffic trundles by below us.

I'm getting a feel for our group; they've come from all over the UK and beyond. One guy is from Washington DC, another from one of the 'stans; Ireland, Romania, I've even heard there's a guy from Brussels of all places. Well it takes all sorts.

I'm on the swings, but I'd better move - a monkey above me is pulling at fruit from the tree by the swing and I'm in danger of becoming collateral damage.

Arrival in Chandigarh

If anything it's hotter here, and the walk from the plane to the terminal is an ordeal, as is the walk on to the awaiting vans for the transfer to Simla.

The roads are as I remember in Bangalore, noisy, chaotic and clogged. I reach for the non existent seat belt after a few blocks, but settle for the handle above the door; it's better than nothing. The congestion eases up away from the centre, but not the chaos. There are labourers on the roads working in the heat; it must be unbearable. The speed picks up as we leave town, and my grip is adjusted as the white knuckle ride really gets going.

I'm beginning to look for picture opportunities now, but with the speed and bumps it's difficult to get a good shot. And now with cows wandering about it's worse.

One of the cars in our convoy has hit something. We stop and get out of the car for the first real picture opportunity since arriving. But the heat forces me back into the car sooner than I expected. I think I'll wait.

We have attracted a crowd and there's a really unpleasant guy trying to get money by holding up a crying girl. I think she's crying because she doesn't want to be there. If he's not careful he will get thumped by one of us! One of the guys gives a few coins for a photo op, but still they persist on clamouring around the car. It's not nice. The organisers did warn us about this.

Fortunately the accident was minor and about £50 from the other driver covered the damage. Nothing a hammer and some correction paste won't fix. And now we cross the border into Himachal Pradesh and the start of the Himalayas! .

It's Delhi hot!

The first thing that strikes you on arrival in Delhi is the heat. Exiting the terminal building for the transfer is like looking into a just boiled kettle. It's not so much the heat, but the humidity, clinging to you like a child with a temperature. You turn back for the air conditioning, but it's too late, you are swept along in a sea of people.

Spice things up Pa says: I had a curry on the plane, but it was a bit mild, so I guess that doesn't count. Non eventful flight. Jet Airways, an Indian carrier, is up there with the best, and certainly a step up (or two) from Air India. Now to Chandigargh via layers of Indian form filling and bureaucracy no doubt - just like Brussels then!

Have met a few of the other bikers, but none so that I tag along with anyone in particular. It's weird, there's about 25 of us dispersed around the internal flight terminal at Delhi. It's like a spy movie where we mingle, suspect some, but don't know for sure who the good guys are. But in some cases, the uniform of helmet or warm jacket are a bit of a give away in 30 degree heat! The age old biker nod follows.

Ice and yogurt with my lunch (more spice?) look tempting but there lies a direct path to the latrine for the next few days: do not pass Go, do not collect £200.

I just dropped my BlackBerry without realising. Fortunately someone pointed it out. If I loose communication suddenly you'll know it's because I've been an idiot - must take more care!

Chandigarh awaits. Phew! There's that humidity again on the way to the plane.....

To the airport

En route, the tube takes me past a park where I grew up. I climbed that tree, swung on those swings, hung around there. I went to scouts there too (partly to blame for my wanderlust now I guess). Pity Tony Dollar, the scout leader, what did the poor guy do to deserve "us lot". Nothing much has changed in the park since I left #* years ago, except the swings are health and safety spec. In my day (old geezer) you'd be lucky to leave the playground with all your fingers! Anyone remember the "witches hat"? Lethal. Taught the survivors to be careful though.

At the airport I'll be meeting the people I'll be travelling with for the next two weeks. I've never met them before. According to the blurb, I'll be sharing a room with one or two of them, maybe even the same bed in emergencies. Jeez, I hope he doesn't smell too bad! If whoever you are ends up reading this, it's probably too late to warn you that my mum called me "legs eleven" in bed; no doubt you experienced it first hand. Maybe the floor is a better option......

The journey commences

The W bus arrives at the stop as if at my command - that hasn't happened before. Smooth journey to Gare du Midi, plenty of time to get those last minute ID photos (needed for a transit pass in India apparently). Luckily Keren has. a 5euro note for the photo booth, no wait, she has two just as the machine rejects the first note - I can't handle this much excitement!

Now the journey proper - the Eurostar to London, where I'm meeting mummy dear and #1 for an impromptu lunch before the big off. Delays, delays, delays. First trespassers on the line, now apparently signalling problems ahead.. 50minutes late already; this is my longest Eurostar journey yet and I'm still in the tunnel.

Still need to get water purifying tablets; please remind me before I leave. Boots I imagine will stock those. And a few ziplock bags for those bigger items I need to keep dry, like my camera. An elastic band stretched around the lens should do the trick, although a UV filter added as a cap would improve that further - trust me, I forgot.

So I hope you're not too bored yet. Better posts to come no doubt. Stay tuned!

All packed

Ok, not so exciting, but none the less a milestone. 25kg, so just inside the weight limit. Now to get it to London Heathrow via Eurostar!

The route

I'll be travelling with about 30 others, fully supported with mechanics, medics, etc, so the only major risk is my attitude, oh and the weather, the roads, gravity, momentum and cows perhaps? Anyway, hopefully the link below points to a map showing the waypoints on our route:


Or if that didn't work maybe this will:
http://maps.google.co.uk/maps/ms?source=s_q&hl=en&geocode=&ie=UTF8&msa=0&msid=100317982377632246266.000482baf7952d35dd738&ll=31.395847,77.563477&spn=3.450704,7.009277&z=8
(You might need to cut and paste - bear with me I'm new at this)

And here's the actual itinerary:

Testing 123

So here it is, my first mobile blog. And this is a random picture of me waving the flag at the ITU. Last suit before the storm.