We've been in country for a few days now and our guts are adjusting to the environment. Some have been more unlucky than others. Danny, Hugo, Graham, Alan and Gerard have their innards playing games. In 2010, Alex gave us that indispensable advice: "it's a brave man that farts in India". The same applies for Nepal. Essential checks in the morning now include toilet roll.
Before we ride off, the briefing starts with the well honed tradition of "... of the day" T-shirts. "Dick", "Spirit" and "Skidmark". Aussie Alan, who got lost yesterday, is given the Spirit award, while Dick of the Day goes to Iain Crockart for failing to direct the convey at a junction. Matt is our very first Skidmark for allowing his bike to fall over at a stop. The guys have to wear their respective t-shirts all-day while riding.
Today we're off to Chitwan in the lower valleys. It's going to be even hotter than yesterday so, we're wearing the minimum. As we're on bikes that still means thick boots, armoured trousers, upper body armour (armour means some kind of dense foam padding or plastic panels), gloves and helmet. The normal abrasion-protection over-jacket is dispensed with, it's just too hot, and we are not going that fast on the small roads. Despite our minimal attire, flip flops and face masks are de rigueur for the locals. We feel overdressed.
A couple of clicks out, Jamie 'may have' had a spill. Front brake, sharp sandy corner; bent peg and damaged pride. Our first proper tumble; won't be the first. Later the same happens to me - fortunately nobody saw, shhhh.
Heading west towards Kathmandu and we hang a left onto the ring road before reaching it. The traffic is insane and we fight our way through the cars, trucks, lorries, and their thick exhaust soot, squeezing though gaps and making our own with the horn, or detouring to the inside when safe and quicker; only the bikes and scooters keep up. I can feel the acrid soot and dust burning my throat. I have sympathy with the occasional policeman I see stranded on traffic islands trying helpless to direct the never ending waterfall of vehicles armed only with a whistle and once-white gloves.
Leaving the ring, we aim for Chandragiri and very soon get lost U-turning several times until Alex finds the right road; GPS apparently is for wimps. Gerard doesn't agree and promptly sets his up for our intended destination and Alex ends up following his directions for the rest of the day. And we still get lost; because as Gerard's phone battery runs down the satnav lady stops talking to him.
Before before we get to that point we negotiate an amazing set of roads. Up and down we go on narrow unmade roads winding through the greenery and along the sides of the hills with the odd perilous drop to widen our eyes. We're now dodging rocks rather than cars, but the potholes are just as lethal. Steady progress is the name of the game, this is not a race, and the Enfields are in their element put-put-putting their pilots along with their long-stoke engines happily pulling in second and even third gear up hill.
We can see the hillsides are cultivated by terraced fields and people are out in the heat cutting the crops or ploughing the fields. A few ladies scamper across the roads as we approach, and they're carrying loads of green foliage on their backs using their heads to support the weight. Tough work.
The sky darkens as we get back to the plains and are now on tarmac again and running besides what will be a wide river in full flow in a few weeks, or maybe sooner. The lightning begins and dramatically cuts the sky in two followed by the cooling first drops that feel good as we move. But as the drops become more regular we stop to don our wet weather gear.
The deluge soon hits and we're battling squally winds and heavy rain as the storm erupts. Some kids heading home from school, battle with umbrellas and rush to seek shelter; others are resigned to their fate and prepare for a right soaking. The rain is cooling after the heat, but on the bike can soon cool you too much as the airflow makes the term "wind chill" a reality. Even with our 'waterproof' gear most of us are properly soaked within the hour, I can feel my waterproof boots are working well though... as they slowly fill with water that has soaked through my Gore-tex trousers sans Gore-tex liner. Nice.
The deluge continues for another hour or so, but we're too wet to notice. Our vision is impaired, but we just wipe the drops from our visor every few seconds. The rain has brought down leaves and blossoms from the trees making the roads potentially more slippery so extra care is needed. We travel with our lights on so that we can be seen more clearly, but this seems to upset the locals as they flash their headlights as we pass. Using lights in Nepal, as in India, seems to be frowned upon, day or night.
We make several U-turns again as we miss the turning from the main road to our hotel, splashing through deep puddles as we use the side of the road to manoeuvre. Finally finding the correct route courtesy of Gerard's free Navigator software (and offline maps for Android only, sorry Apple fanboys) we stream into the Chitran National Park. Tigers and Elephants be here, but we only see a few elephants - ridden by mahouts for the tourists, but real elephants at least. We miss the brass elephant marker and only find a rhinoceros statue instead. Retracing our mechanical steps we find the inanimate elephant and reach our hotel, the Green Mansions Hotel, like something from "Out of Africa", only this is in Nepal.
Phew, ten hours on the road, but we've arrived! And it's stopped raining.
A bit shell shocked, tired and wet, we're none the less all thoroughly thrilled by our day. 210km, not the planned 170; this is a reconnaissance after all. Showered, dried off and relaxed, the conversation during wind down drinks turns to bowel health. Given the problems this morning, polite conversation now amounts to, "How are you, have you had a shit?" Charming. It's been that kind of day.
Sent from my trusty rusty BlackBerry
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