Himalayas 11 - A big rest before another big day

So the longest day was successfully navigated. It felt good, no falls, lots of photos and that happy tiredness from honest toil.

Michael and I chose the closest room to where we were all sitting over a beer, which seemed smart as it involved very little energy to get there, but was a mistake on two counts. The first and most obvious was the smelly bathroom. And it was smelly even before we got there. But that was just mould and damp and fustiness. The creatures living under the sink seemed to enjoy it, however there was hot water and room to move around in the shower. So we could not only apply soap and shampoo to the bits we could reach, we could do so without the danger of bathroom fittings ending up in unwanted places. That can happen to us big fellas when we bend down to degunk between the toes.
Of course having completed the ablutions we find we've been locked in by our 'mates'. Though that was a minor inconvenience since the window opened onto the balcony.

Dressing for dinner was certainly not up to some Victorian, Downton Abbey image. Sandals and t-shirts being the order of the day. Dinner was served, no buffet stuff here, at a table we seemed to steadily steal from a civilised party. A couple of us sat down and then by some osmotic process the group steadily arrived, grabbed nearby tables and chairs and the group congregated, or congealed more likely. Well the other party had to spread over different tables. But the food was very good and very welcome.

After dinner I checked with Doc whether I could take sleeping tablets with all the other stuff and the altitude. He gave the OK. At the same time he checked the rash. I'd got bitten by some insect in Delhi and there was an auto immune overreaction. So what started as some small bites progressed into a dinner plate sized red patch that itched like crazy. I didn't scratch it, but it was impossible not to rub the affected area every so often, which of course made it worse.

Luckily my travelling biker drug kit included Hydrocortisone, which seemed to be the best treatment. Maybe the insect reaction was building on something else as I had a huge reaction to a sting just before leaving for India. That could have been a wasp sting, but it ended up as a big red patch on my forearm, about the size of a mug.

But it was another stay at altitude, we were still above 3,000 metres, so the whisky was barely touched and we dropped into a heavy sleep pretty quickly. Well I did, Michael started reading and jammed in his gel earplugs to give himself half a chance of peace.
Given Docs treatment and knowing that I could take a sleeping tablet if I needed too meant I slept better, so there was no need. Must be Docs placebo. Just the belief that it can do good means it does good.
One challenge with the tablet is that they knock you out for about four hours. Since I normally have to get up at six means the decision to take one should be made before 2 am. So if I wake at 3 fighting the monsters of the night, it is normally a bad night.
But this was not one of those and the next day started fresh, and early. Too early for breakfast but I managed to scrounge some tea before the buffet was set up.

From Keylong the day was due to be a relatively simple jaunt of some 130 km via the highest pass in this part of the Himalayas. A mere 4,950 metres. Some 16,500 feet, over 3 miles high. Where jets fly in some parts of the world, but not here.
The saddling up procedure was slightly complicated by eight bikes being jammed into a two car garage. But we started them up and inhaled the fumes. Got some fresh air while they warmed up, then went back to saddle up.
And an orderly procession made its way out of the small hotel parking lot and through the town.
The start of the ride was mostly tarmac, with the occasional repaired stretch of shaley, rocky, wet stuff to keep us on our toes. There were also more lorries and a lot of these were petrol tankers. A constant convoy still taking fuel up to the forward army bases closer to the Chinese border. These guys had a job to do and they were not forgiving on the roads. The roads were far closer to the aggressive bustle of South India than the peaceful 'live and let live' of the Himalayas.  But somewhere half an hour past my chai time we stopped. And there is the mountain steadily making its way towards the sea.

Sometimes in leaps and bounds, sometimes as a trickle.

A while later Alex and Paul had disappeared into the distance as proper bikers do and for some reason I was at the front of the middle group trying to keep up the pace.

A lorry was grinding its way uphill and would not slow down for us to overtake so I followed Abis advice and pushed as soon as I saw a space. The bikes were not so responsive at high altitude but there was enough room, just. I made it past the churning lorry with a couple of metres to spare but hit some bigger rocks in the road quite hard. Luckily I stayed on but the bike took a knock. We could relax a bit after that and I pottered at a gentle pace till the others found a way past the grumpy monster.
I was happily enjoying waving at other bikers coming the other way, downhill. One of them made a wavy sign so I guessed that meant there was a water crossing ahead. And a couple of km further on, so there was.

It was on a bend, definitely over a foot deep and an oncoming car was stuck in the main part. To our left, hugging the rockface and under an overhang, was a narrow path but a bike was coming slowly down this. Following Abhis advice I pushed on, going right of the car. The road was the river and occasionally that was sliding off into a waterfall on the right.

This was the deepest we'd been and the stones bounced around under the bike. I stayed where the compacted stuff should be and pushed on through. But as I got to the car the woman passenger opened the door. So I had to stop. I was furious but was not going to let that stop me. I revved the engine and she awoke from her self-centred daydream and closed the car door. It took a fair amount of revving and rocking the bike to and fro to get going again. But going again we did and got through to applause from Alex and the film crew of Vidyha and Paul.
That was incredibly satisfying feeling. Paul was filming and loved it. 'Rode it like a boss' he said. I'm still beaming at the compliment!
The others had the option of the high dry road as the oncoming bike had cleared the way. Everyone got through, which was a big achievement, and we all got congratulated by Alex before we moved off. Well they all did, my bike didn't start. The glory was soon forgotten. Abhi eventually did the bike whisperer on it, so off we chugged a couple of minutes behind the others.

The next couple of water crossings seemed a breeze, but were still to the top of my biker boots. Michael went first and filmed me on one, so I had to show off and put the boots out to make them look like water skis, getting very wet boots in the process. But they, and me, and the bike were wet already.
Then we cranked and sped and grinded our way up to the highest pass.
Above 4000 metres I got a bit light headed and was very aware of the possibility of altitude sickness. So I let a couple of people through and slowed down, then eventually stopped and put on another layer of clothing, a windbreaker, ate some biscuits, took a painkiller, drank the rehydration salts mix from the backpack and set off again.

I know I was getting slower towards the top because I was losing focus. It was like driving at 2 am, even without drinking, you're not completely there. On a bike in India that can easily be fatal. But with Abhi close by we made it, 4950 metres. Three miles high.

I sank forward with tiredness, then leant back for some deep breaths before getting off the bike to take the obligatory photo.

Then it was time to make another prima donna spectacle by draining the boots, wringing out the socks and drying my feet on my ever-present, bright yellow, miracle material, traveller towel.

Putting the damp socks back on was not as terrible as it could be and it was certainly better than sitting around in sloshy boots.

I planted some prayer flags that we'd got at the previous chai stop. Not too high up the hill as I didn't have the energy, but they would flap their blessings to world for a while.

And we celebrated with photos:

We snacked and drank and turned around for the return journey. Well most of us did. Later we found that Andy had waited while his bike was repaired and concentrated so much on that he didn't notice we had turned around. So he set off the way he was facing. Abhi caught him up quite quickly and signalled. But Andy misinterpreted Abhi's twirling of the hand above the head, not as a signal to turn around, but as a 'whoopee ride'em cowboy' gesture and sped up, ready for his Dr. Strangelove moment. Once Abhi finally got that sorted with lots of horn tooting and alternative hand signals, they both turned around and we saw them some time later.

The ride back down seemed a lot easier over the rough bits, a lot easier on the tarmac and blissful as we re-encountered oxygen flavoured air.

The water crossings even seemed easier, but we were not fighting gravity as well as boulders and there was no crowd.

There were still wet boots though. Michael hung back and we took it easy, cruising at the back. It was really good being able to share the experience. And the views.

Back down to a mere 3,200 metres, or 10,500 feet we stayed at Jispa, on the banks of the Bhaga river.
We set out wet stuff, like boots, to dry in the sun as we lounged around in plastic chairs around the remains of a campfire. Alex made sure we were staying in the older block which was close to the restaurant.
And after a chai and a lounge we wandered up a steel staircase to our rooms, with a fine view over the site, the river and the valley from the connecting balcony and had a beer.

Some time later another group of bikers came in. Also on Bullets. They did the same lounging around thing in the late afternoon sun, on the same chairs we had just vacated. And from the sounds that drifted up our balcony they were French. Regular melting pot up here in the Himalayas.
We were not certain whether to be friendly or pull the biker gang image and muscle up, but they had ladies in their group, which made us a bit jealous and a bit interested and a it bawdy, as expected.
It turned out they were with a company called Vintage Rides based in Manali. I got to practise my French with their guide, who had a big moustache to go with the brown second world war paintwork of their Bullets.

Andy, Martin and I went for a stroll, which felt like far more of an adventure than it probably was. Daring to go beyond the campsite, climb a wall and find a path through the marshy pastures by the river.
We came across some seemingly wild dogs and stoned cows and got to the wide, flat river to skim stones, take photos and look for a heart shaped stone that Andy could take back to his wife.

It was fun being off the beaten path. Wandering around looking at different stuff.

We got back to a good buffet supper and beers on the veranda three floors up.
Watching the rival bikers and planning for Manali, the hippy town, our next stop.
And quietly behind the scenes a little competition was going on...