Adventures in The Lost World 6 - Nagaland

As usual Paul and I woke with the dawn, this time with the muezzin's call to prayer. After a couple of cups of tea we guessed the restaurant would be open and wandered down. The sign said closed but we went in anyway. The spicy food on offer was good. Paul opted for toast, but the toaster wouldn't work until the waiter fiddled with two bare wires at his feet, sticking them at a secret special angle into the socket.

We were all well practised so getting ready for the ride didn't take long. It was a hot day, even by 9 am. 

I had not worn a bandage to support my wrist the night before, but it was a little more painful in the morning so it went back on again. Doc worked his magic.

Alex jokingly accused me of abusing the Indian medical system, a foreigner coming to the country to take advantage of the medical care, terrible behaviour.

It felt hotter as we left town because the traffic was especially manic. Head on suicide attempts were expected, as were the pedestrians, cyclists and cars coming from the left hand side without looking, but it was relentless. It took about an hour to clear town. The main road, although fairly well tarmaced had lunatics at higher speed doing all sorts.

I was kind of keeping up and followed Lewis past a big truck. The oncoming lane was completely clear and the road in good condition so I overtook, at about 80kph. The lorry pulled further and further right as I tried accelerating past. I ended up with a strip a couple of feet wide at the very right hand side of the road, contemplating an emergency escape route through the sand and the trees to my right. That would definitely have been painful.

I squeezed past and the road was open, but it was unnerving and I was careful as we crossed the Brahmaputra again. It seemed even bigger than the first time. There was little traffic on the bridge and the going was quick, 5km of river just took some time.

The traffic did not get much better after the bridge. A tower incongruously dumped on the landscape turned out to be a brick factory. Some guys were laying out grey blocks to dry, surrounded by hundreds of thousands of bricks. I had gone past too fast in constant traffic to stop for a photo, but I thought if there are more, and this being India there probably would be, then I could stop. There were more, about 10 km further on, lots of them, but not always near the road. I was at the back of the group, with Abhi close by. The traffic was thinning out. When my lane was completely clear and only a few cars on the other side I glanced to check if the photo would be good, OK but not perfect, looking up again, my lane was filled by a police car, siren blaring. About 30 metres away, coming straight at me. There was no road left for me, so I pulled to the gravel at the edge and slowed. And stopped.

Abhi pulled up, glad I was still alive. He said the police car was crazy.  I took a couple of photos and breathed very deeply. You have to be ready for crazy.

Here's a photo Paul took, mine are still on the camera SIM card...

So we set off again, and although we were behind the group I did not rush, at first. Then we got stuck in traffic and however much I tried to catch up there was always something.

In one settlement there was a gap in the stream of on-coming vehicles, so I tried overtaking a minivan. He sped up as a bus coming the other way overtook a tuc tuc.

I had to brake hard and swerve behind the minivan, making it by centimetres rather than metres. The bus had no mercy.

So it was back to a very sensible pace and yoga breathing while the adrenaline worked its way through the system. We caught up with the group only a few minutes later. Time for chai.

Chai and the chance to hang around in the hot sun, waiting for the van to catch up. Some guys pulled up fascinated by the bikes. Hiamalaya bikes are new and rarely seen in India, we have not seen any others so far. Speaking a language none of us could understand one of them started talking and looking around the bikes. He seemed drunk or wired a little differently and yabbered on making motions about wanting to hear the engine. As he went to turn the key, Alex walked over with an angry face and firmly said no, in English, putting his hand on the key. Don't touch the bike. The guy kept yabbering but went back to the minivan and they drove off.

The roads got worse. The potholes got bigger and had to be avoided. Sand built up and I had to ride over it straight and upright. So progress was slower as you had to be aware of the need to swerve if the road deteriorated. Which is fine if the road surface is flat, but when it's uneven you cannot always see very far. 

In addition it's not just the potholes on your side of the road, when it gets narrow the traffic on the other side will swerve to avoid them. And if a driver has not been paying attention the swerves can be sudden and straight at you.

Even more fun is an on coming car overtaking, but the slower vehicle then swerving to avoid a pothole, so you are left with either braking, hard, or the side of the road.

So I was checking for two escape routes when there was on coming traffic.

We were in more open countryside and although I was looking for photo shots, few appeared. I was at the front of the group so was happy to stop. Nothing romantic, nothing we haven't seen before, or the shot was too big for my little camera. Then on a hunch I checked the front pouch and there was no camera. I'd check the bike panniers at the next chai stop. I did, no camera. Bugger. Oh well that's a shame. I told Michael and Will, who rightly called me an idiot.

Doc came up and handed me back the camera. Winding me up wasn't going to work. Will had seen it fall and had stopped to pick it up. Battered, but working. That was really good news. Big smiles.

We had samosas in a little hut and Alex and Vidhya found the old guy whose photo is in our ride booklet. Photos and smiles all round.

The road pulled us onwards and deteriorated. More potholes, more sand and luckily less traffic.

But fairly soon was the border. This was a relatively simple checkpoint with no control of our papers. Which was a bit surprising. We were entering Nagaland.

The road was fun and we pulled in to Dimapur fairly early. Almost every hotel we stayed at seemed to be down some back street or other. Alex promised we always stayed in the best hotel in town, it's just the town may not be the best! 
But it was a little oasis, with lots of space for the bikes. 

The hotel looked pretty good, compared to what we were expecting. There were ceiling fans and wifi. Good sized rooms with a table and chairs as well as twin beds.

Paul got a brew going and had a shower, conscientiously avoiding the electrical outlet in the shower.

 Having survived that I had a go and failed to accidentally electrocute myself, so there was a chance to write a bit more blog.

Paul and Lewis ventured in to town to get beers and we convened in a strangely decorated room, with multiple geometric shapes in dark wood and odd mementoes, from a plastic water buffalo head on the wall to religious statues on shelves. It seemed a film set supposed to represent a colonial gentlemens club, designed by a dopehead, influenced by cheap sitcoms, who had never ventured beyond the Hollywood Hills.

There were lots of mosquitoes and our cigar smoke wasn't enough to get rid of them, so when we heard the distant but familiar fizz of an insect meeting its maker via an electric tennis racquet, Vidhya purloined it from reception and set about zapping. This evolved into a combination of Indian dance / Nija exercises with Michael having a go at the mosquitoes higher up and ending up with ...

Insert embarrassing video...

All in the best possible taste.

As was supper, which was again delicious and plentiful. Vidhya excused herself delicately when the whisky glasses were raised and the conversational tone lowered. Alex seemed intent on ensuring that there were no boundaries, so we settled into discussing a very broad range of low level and unsettling issues, which will stay on tour.

But there was a lot of bad language and raucous laughter, as if we were the only people in the hotel. We weren't.

After a pretty good nights sleep and another brew from Paul, we went down for breakfast to find an elderly couple, whose curt and unhappy 'Good morning' sounded German.

Maybe they were booked in for several more days but decided prudently not to stay in a hotel that would accept us.

I scoffed a stream of omelettes that appeared from the kitchen and we got ready for what should be an easy day...