Himalayas 10 - The big day

The big day.

Last time it took them 17 hours. Landslides and river crossings and deep river crossings, mud and rain, sun and storms, it all awaited us.

As did our bikes, maintained and cleaned and reset. And on parade, military fashion.

So we set off at 7 am, with a packed breakfast of boiled eggs and bananas. I tried to eat a lot, but boiled eggs and bananas are hard to shovel down. I was not expecting to make it on a bike to the end of the day. We had a long way to go and it would be tiring. Still the hydration pack was filled with 3 litres of water and hydration salts, those yummy minerals and vitamins and stuff that had kept altitude sickness at bay. We were some 3,650 metres up, that's 2 1/4 miles up in old money.
It was a simple enough start with tarmac roads for the first 30 km. Then we started up into the high country.

And the tough bit came. Pitted roads with landslide repairs.

Ruts and bumps, loose stone and gravel. But the scenery was somewhere between a western and a moonscape.
No houses, no grazing herds, an almost barren landscape with scraggly bits of green and the ever present rocks, patiently waiting for the winter snow. The snow would freeze water in small cracks, making them bigger and the rocks would move a mini millimetre. And continue their steady stately progression down the mountainside.

For the moment they were mostly resting under a summer sky.

Michael buddied up for the day, which was a massive boost to my confidence, and Abhi kept us moving, steady onward. 

Patiently stopping when we did to take a stream of photos.

And remarkably we sometimes found other riders who had stopped to load up on memories.

Like Andy.

 And Paul.

Then onwards and upwards, climbing that stairway.

And we came across everyone, but only because Alex had a flat tyre.
This was a chance for the team van to catch up.
We would have to wait for Ashraf the mechanic to work his magic. How he would repair the tyre in this remote spot, with no habitation in sight and any tyre repair shop some days closer to sea level. So we took a rest in a quiet, sunny, upland spot and enjoyed a spot of sunshine.

 It seemed strangely like an Alpine meadow, minus most of the green, but there was enough grass for a few hardy cows.

So we chilled with a smoke and a chat and a bit of ribbing for Alex about his riding style. Being too aggressive for the terrain, Alex? Too much breakfast Alex? No 'pot/kettle' syndrome from us of course.

Asfraf arrived, Lovely and Doc went for a quick sunbathe, out of the van, into the fresh air. Ashraf changed the wheel and put the flat in the back of the van so he could repair it while they drove along.
So up we mounted and off we set.

I was ready for a chai stop every thirty minutes, but in the end made it to the main stop with the group.

And after that quick elevenses break we started with the water crossings.
They proved a surmountable challenge because for some reason I had faith in the bike and enough faith in my sense of balance. Just following Alex's simple instructions - put it in first and just putter on through. When instructions are that simple even I can follow them, sometimes.

Michael had started the day with a pepped up positive attitude. So there was lots of friendly encouragement for all. That was a big help.

He also knew how much I dreaded the day and that I felt it was highly likely I would not finish it.

But we pottered on and went from one collection point and chai stop to another and had a rallying stop at a pilgrimage site between Kaza and Keylong.

I managed to putter in, last again, not full of energy, but pottering along, trying not to hold everyone up too much. And joined the others who were wandering around enjoying the views.

Kunzum La.
Another stunning place.
You can understand why it was a pilgrimage site.

Much like lay lines in the UK, there are places here where the force is strong.
And this was one. It was not at the top of a mountain, but it had a good feeling.

There was still snow, the prayer flags fluttered, ever beating hummingbird wings. And our contribution was..... selfies.

From there we descended and had a big lunch of noodle soup in a roadside shack which had a tarpaulin roof flapping in the ever present prayer laden wind.

Michael wants to franchise the business. The Himalayan Bikers Cafe.

There's basic seating that doubles as bedding for travellers trapped at night.
I reminded me of a terrible night from the army days, in a shepherds refuge in the Brecon Beacons where we tried to seal the drystone walls with plastic sheeting, and failed. When its snowing inside you know its going to be cold. I wouldn't fancy a night up here in the snow, but a lot better inside than out.

Here, today in the Himalayas, the sun shone outside. We felt like warriors, Nomadic Knights on a mission and it was tough.

Well for me anyway. The others seemed to be having a great time.
Somehow the tarpaulin filtered the sunlight into a dim battle line yellow and with our bikers gear we looked a lot more like troops than we should.

And as we paused in the quest we relished the fire, the dimmed light and hot noodle soup. All topped off with lashings of Dairy Milk. Andy generously treated us all to lunch and life felt good.

We seemed to be making good time. Alex was quietly anxious after the exhausting experience of a couple of weeks before. If those had been the conditions then doubtless Ashraf would be riding my bike in. But so far so good and after lunch we loaded up and set off again.

Part of the joy of the day was stopping simply because we could. For some reason Michael and I were not completely at the back and were admiring the strange localised biosystems. 

When we saw a pool it was unusual, especially since lots of animal tracks led down to it. So we stopped, because we could, and enjoyed a smoke on a rock. Which is the real explanation for this basking merman photo!

Then we took photos of the views up the valley and off we set again.  

The longest day was drawing on and it was time for the hard part. More aggressive roads with death on the left.

More water crossings.

Somewhere in the early afternoon we came across a tailback of traffic. Learning from Abhi that you keep pushing forward, we jostled our way to the front and went for it.

Micheal had his GoPro GoProing. So somewhere a video of this may surface.
A couple of guys were standing hauling people and machines out of the water. We waded in, Michael was in front and we were both on the downhill side, left hand rut. These guys suggested we try the right hand track.

Well, dear reader, in a water crossing the trucks and buses have compacted the landslide stones into ruts. Changing ruts means crossing the loose stuff, which is under a foot of water so is hard to see.
As we now know from our experience of the day before, the rocks and stones would slide away. So Michael was left with no secure base, he couldn't hold his bike up and gracefully toppled sideways. We await the film documentary evidence.

But the 'helpful' guys, laughing away, helped lift his bike. Michael was laughing and gave a victory hands in the air 'Y' (as in M.C.A.), got back on and cheerfully finished the crossing.
I had started changing tracks when the guys made the suggestion, but luckily remembered the words of the great Paul Smith "wunce yu maike yu choice yu hafta stick wi'it".

So I wrenched my badly balanced and recalcitrant bike back onto the left hand track and made it through.

And from there we tiredly descended to the valley. The check point to exit this restricted area was guarded by a piece of string hauled up and down by an unseen hand in a wooden pillbox. We pushed our way, Abhi style, to the front of the queue and Alex arranged the string to be lowered for us.
So we parked up while waiting for the team in the van and the relevant papers.

That is one thing on the trip we have not had to worry about, but which must take organisation, negotiating skills and presumably additional fees. We did not have to produce our passports or queue in front of a harried official at any stage. Nomadic Knights we may be, but not valiant without our organisers.

Gathered at this rope barrier were groups of tourists, Austrians, Delhi bikers, Israelis begging spare fuel. The wealthier end of the flotsam and jetsam of international travel were all there, passing the time. Talking to strangers, trying not to talk to strangers or, as we did, sitting down for a chai.

After the paperwork, or peoplework, had been completed we were ready to set off again. Alex said the road was mainly tarmacked but beware of culverts and people ambling into the street. He set off and, as usual, Paul followed immediately.

I abandoned my buddy Michael and set off after them, doing quite well keeping within a few minutes of their streaking pace. Expecting Michael to catch up at any moment.
This was for me glorious riding. Smooth roads, but remaining ready at any moment for danger and difficulty. So I had to bike the road I could see, which meant slowing down with any rise where the road ahead was not visible since a culvert or sandy rocky patch would be lying in wait for the unwary.

Ever aware.

I was racing along and the others did not overtake. It was great fun for me. Of course a few kilometres from our destination I was tired and hoping the race would end. No such luck.

Eventually Alex and Paul were waiting at a petrol station. Everyone arrived within a minute or so and we refuelled.

This fun fuelling process involves lining the bikes up and filling one after the other, keeping the tab open so there is only one bulk payment for the whole group.

After the thrills of the early part of the stage, followed by the fear of going too fast, I kept to the back, not needing any more adrenaline in the system.

So we arrived. Into Keylong, and followed our leader slowly down a side street into a small parking lot.

And celebrated. The longest day. No spills. Finished by late afternoon. Safely.
I was too tired to appreciate that we had done the longest day. And not even in the longest time.
We done good. We drunk beer.