Rod Stewart's Maggie May. Winner! Last song and we're off again.
We turn off the main highway, but then stop, regroup and head back the way we came. I remind you, this is a 'recce'. We cross the main highway and head north, this time assured we're on track, by Gerard's lady talking in his ear, and my prehistoric BlackBerry running Google Maps over a data connection (bless you, little BlackBerry 9720; you may be old, but you still get things done quietly and efficiently).
We start climbing away from the plains, eventually finding ourselves in another valley following a river. Crossing a bridge and at the next junction we are faced with a left or right decision. Google Maps and Gerard's lady both say turn right, 42km to go. While the maps suggests the alternative, to turn left, takes a longer 68km on twisty roads over the mountain, which I suspect may be more tricky. We turn left.
Immediately we're climbing, only this time steeper and with more turns. But the tarmac is good and so the going is swift. Gerard says his lady keeps telling him he's "going in the wrong direction". With the sharp upward zig-zagging she often confuses which part of the road we're on. But we know where we're going, gravity is our compass. We continue climbing, through the trees and at one point I stop to operate the motorcycle steering/throttle/brake control unit's liquid by-product release valve. Most of the riders pass me.
Back on the road, suitably relieved, I catch up with the others, who one by one stop to operate their own valves. I find myself behind Alex and Vidhya again who as always impress me with the smooth flowing lines through the bends and occasional muddy/rocky patch; riding two-up, uphill, doesn't seem to slow Alex. We're now starting to reach the few low clouds hugging the mountain contours and I stop to take a few pictures.
Shortly afterwards, we stop for chai. We've reached over 2000m on our steep climb, but it's been wonderful riding; we could almost be in the Alps. As usual we attract local eyes and the audience includes many cute kids. And as usual these attract the attention of our camera lenses. Many photos ensue, fueled by the exchange of lollies and bouncing rubber balls - sadly, behaviour that in the developed world, although totally innocent, would attract the attention of child protection agencies. Things are less intense here, or maybe it's just that we're in the full gaze of so many others. Community protection at it's best.
Before setting off again, we put on our wet weather gear again as it's started drizzling. Whenever we do this, suddenly I'm with a whole bunch of new riders as their colour schemes are completely different and so the visual familiarity I've build up over the last few weeks is useless.
We keep climbing, reaching 2500m, and at the top of the mountain pass, there's a small village of shops and services. And now it's down and the road doesn't seem so well made on this side, there's gravel on the corners so I'm taking it easy. At some point I'm aware of a faster rider behind me; I'm guessing it's Chris Goonan, the Aussie. He's a great rider and faster than I, but he's patient and doesn't overtake.
The rain gets heavier as we near the bottom and those cheap waterproofs I bought in Pokara (because I'd mistakenly thought I'd lost my Gore-tex liner), turn out to me made of paper. The rain is seeping into my trousers and I feel its cold fingers working their way into my intimate areas; cold fingers there are never welcome. I'm soaked again. Oh well, we're nearly at our destination.
On the flat and only a few clicks to go. The rain makes visibility difficult and at one narrow point an oncoming lorry swerves to avoid a concrete block and forces me off the road. Normally, I'm used to that, moving onto the gravel area next to the tarmac. Only this time there is no gravel area next to the tarmac, only narrow strip bordering a drop into the a field below. I breath in, mentally compress the handlebars, and just squeeze through. Jeez, that was close. Chris sees the show and the concrete block that I missed.
The last few km to the hotel are up a recently made rocky road. Although moderately flat, the rocks are jagged, bumpy and wet, it's a real challenge. And then the last stretch is muddy. So we're all very relieved to finish the day.
The hotel, the Adhyay Retreat is a lovely looking building set overlooking neat fields. However, to reach it from where we've parked the bikes, we have to cross a temporary bridge made with two RSJs covered in bags of concrete.... right.... bodes well.
Inside, the unfinished theme continues and only a few of us get rooms, and only a few of those have en-suite toilets. The rest have tents! Pitched in the central lobby area!... Mark claims a tent, much to the worry of Mick with whom he normally shares a room; he knows that once the chainsaw gets going, nobody is going to sleep!
A party atmosphere ensues with drinks and laughter flowing freely (one exception is a very grumpy complaint about warm beer by someone who shall remain nameless). That continues after dinner with very much a house party atmosphere. We're the only guests and we make the place our own. Alex's amazing Bose docking station booms out the tunes with people taking it in turns to feed their playlists into it. The party spills outside as a campfire is lit and we sit around and chat late into the night as the flames send fiery embers skywards.
We're not starting until 10am tomorrow, so we can have a relaxed morning. It's the last day of riding tomorrow, and we only have about 65km of tarmac to bash before reaching Kathmandu.
.....the chainsaw strikes at about 2am. It reverberates throughout the hotel......
Sent from my trusty rusty BlackBerry
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