Adventures in The Lost World 10 - Heading south to Aizawl

Silchar to Aizawl.

The challenge of writing a couple of days after a ride, and after 10 days of riding is how much events get mixed up.

The basic hotel

gave us a basic breakfast. It seemed to take an age to get tea and we had to ask them to fry both sides of the eggs. There were too many people waiting around to be helpful, which was a little disconcerting. The manager would interrupt our order to give different instructions to the waiters. I guess the instruction had changed by the time they gave it to the kitchen and brought it back. We asked for tea, the manager said coffee, we got tea. Go figure.

This ride was supposed to be 172 km, but after the challenges of yesterday we were not giving Alex any quarter on warm ups. He was very attentive to the route out, despite the efforts of the local drivers.

Lewis survived several assassination attempts and we filled up with petrol outside town.

Once we cleared the madness of town traffic the road wound up into the hills. Mizoram means People From The Cold Hills.

 we never met the Enfield riders, but we felt welcome!

And getting in meant another checkpoint and, being an independent people, a separate stamp in the passport.

Luckily the people and the hills were warm. The road drew us onwards and upwards. We stopped at a lonely shack for chai, or maybe it was lunch. It seemed that all they had were cakes. So I grabbed one hoping something else would turn up. It didn't, so I scoffed a couple of biscuits from the reserve in my bike panniers, just in case we didn't stop for a while.
The jungle closed in. It was reminiscent of scenery in Vietnam war films. The view would open up, showing big valleys covered with trees and not a settlement in sight. We wound up, avoiding the potholes and the oncoming trucks, overtaking on rough patches or the few straight stretches till we found ourselves on a ridge with huge views either side, faded by mist, or pollution. So the hills were vague shadows, but there were a lot of them, stretching a long way into the distance.

with the jungle taking over man made impositions, like telephone poles

Michael, Will and I hung back and kept what they considered a slow pace, but for me was as fast as I could sensibly go. Paul and Lewis took lots of photos. We stopped when we felt like it. Will's back was giving him some pain so we did not want to put any extra strain on it. He stood up on the bike when going through the rough patches, which Michael was doing as well, so I tried it more often. At first it did not feel comfortable, but got a bit better, especially when I stopped trying to rip the handlebars off the bike, gripping them too hard.

They let me lead for a while and I really enjoyed the sweeping curves, but having to be aware of potholes hidden by dips in the road and the risk of oncoming overtaking lorries on every curve. There were not so many, but you have to be prepared for them.

Will gave me feedback on my line in curves, which I had thought was brilliant as I went wide to give myself extra line of sight and extra room for manoeuvre. Paul explained that sweeping so wide could confuse an oncoming driver or rider and even as I swerved left to my side of the road, they may feel that was the safer side for them as well. They should have a clear path, and choose to go to my right. It was all very logical. So since then I've moderated my line into curves.

One advantage of leading is that you are sensible as you don't want to make a fool of yourself in front of everyone else. At the back you are the last to get the chance to overtake a difficult vehicle, so there is a pressure to keep up. But in front everyone knows you get held up, and you help in the open stretches as they can see if traffic or potholes, or rough ground is ahead.

I started getting enthusiastic, which form experience we knew was dangerous, so I let the others through. Falling behind as always I was getting tired and checking the milepost, or kilometre posts at the side of the road. It was getting on and although I really wanted to stop for a break I thought I might catch up with the group.

I should have stopped, but was not making mistakes so kept going. The traffic got heavier about 15 km from Aizawl and it was difficult trying to overtake. Some 10 km out there seemed to be a mindset change and the drivers became a little crazy. There were few horns but there was some very aggressive driving. It was hard to overtake the trucks as we wound uphill around tight bends.

Still I slogged on and safely negotiated a couple of crazy people overtaking on bends. My panic reaction of 'upright and straight' made braking and avoiding a lot easier. So if I was angled in a right hand curve I could straighten and head for the verge, while braking and maybe changing down a gear. The bike was a lot more stable but I did not want to try any of the changing gear or braking manoeuvres while turning.

I was very tired when I caught up with the group close to the centre of town and really wanted a couple of minutes break, but Alex was impatient and pushed us on. 

We followed in close convoy as he took us and and down various streets. Some of which were the correct ones. So today we didn't have a warm up, but we had a cooling down!

Tucked down a side street a long way up one of the hills Aizawl is built on, was the hotel. I was very tired and happy that the rooms were on the same floor as the car park...

The next day was supposed to be a rest, with breakfast at 7:30 and meeting at 10 to pop into the CID police station for foreigner registration. Well breakfast went OK. Paul and I had a couple of cups of tea to keep us going between dawn and 7:30. He got me to download an app so I could steal photos from his camera. That seemed a lot more technical than I expected from Paul, and I started referring to him as a technical wizard, which he laughed at.

After breakfast he went for an unsuccessful walk as his path was blocked by an officious female guard. I tried to write and download photos the group had taken from Facebook. Neither went very well as the internet was dreadfully slow.

The 10 o clock meet was sort of punctual, except for our local guide who would show the van driver where to go. So we could watch the boys washing the bikes: 

We all loaded ourselves into the van and set off into the narrow, packed streets. The driver did very well. The guide started talking about Christianity in the state. Since he was wearing a t shirt that said Experiencing God, it was a short conversation, we were not in the mood to be converted.

He then started asking people where we had to go, which seemed a little strange. The centre of town was packed with teeming masses of small taxis, mopeds and motorcycles. Each junction was a jam, despite the earnest commands of the traffic police wearing gleaming white tops and brandishing whistles.

 The road we were supposed to take was blocked off, it was undergoing repairs, so we went round the one way system in the centre again. The local guide's local knowledge wasn't up to date. A few discussions with passers by and shopkeepers later and we ended up at the top of a small road, where there was a police station. Another discussion and the driver had to use every ounce of steering lock to turn and in the narrow street on a steep hill. Not for the faint hearted.

 The CID police station took a few more discussions and another 30 minutes to find. 90 minutes to cross town. Passing guys with jackhammers standing on exposed rebars to demolish a building...

The registration forms were simple but asked odd questions like, passport place of issue. Not the number, just the place of issue. We waited patiently out side a small interview room and were called in two at a time.

An old guy came in after us and was ready to complain ab everything. He was married to a local girl he'd met in Calcutta some years before. He was probably an eager imbiber, smelling of booze well before midday. It turned out he was from Wakefield, a town very close to Paul. But there was not a lot to talk about and he kept repeating himself.

I used my phone to write for the blog, so it was not time wasted, but it w as still an hour before we were all seen and our details checked against some central computer. Part of that was because the internet went down while Michael's details were being checked.

We bundled back into the van again and a couple of minutes later and some way down the hill I realised I'd left my camera behind. A small panic and chat with the driver before Alex handed it back and the usual well deserved ribbing ensued.

 The guide took us on a different route that was a lot less crowded, but was longer. Still we saw a different side of Aizawl and got a few photos from the van windows.
Including what seemed a significant industry, breaking rocks down into stones...

 

There was also the strange sight of a multi story building built right on the edge of a rock. Although it is aparently well known locally it seemed pretty normal for this Aizawl.

As soon as we got back Michael, Will, Paul and I set off for the KFC, visible from our room and just across the road from the hotel. Well from the front entrance. The van and bikes were parked around the back on the fifth floor where our rooms were. We had to walk down five flights of steps, the lift was not working, to get to reception then across the road.

It's been about a decade since I had a KFC and we all wanted a break from continuous Indian food. It seems a lot of Aizawl citizens also wanted a break. The place was efficient and packed. We chose spicy variations of the Colonels secret recipe and sat upstairs, scoffing away.

After lunch it was almost siesta time, but instead I tried more internet downloading and some of it worked.

I tried calling my bank as the card had not worked the last time all the way back in Tezpur, but gave up after 8 minutes on hold before speaking to anyone. I went for a walk anyway and the first cash machine coughed up, so I tired again for a bit more cash and that worked as well.

On the way back to the hotel I spent some of the new funds on a haircut and also wanted a head massage, but there were no openings. The girl that cut my hair was not well practised so the result was dubious, but having someone else wash your hair in itself is a luxury and I felt a lot better afterwards, even though it cost some €3.50 including a generous tip!

Supper was a bit of a mess as the girl who had taken Vidhya's instructions in the morning had disappeared without telling the kitchen. 

So we had to wait for 30 minutes, during which time Vidhya and Alex got called away to see 'a visitor' waiting for them at reception. That seemed strange. It turned out to be a CID policeman who asked some odd questions, found that we had all registered properly and left. 

Supper was very good, as usual. Very heat hot and quite spicy, with a mix of classic and local dishes, including a green soupy cabbagy thing that nobody could identify!

Alex came back to Paul's and my room for a nightcap and more chat. I tried and failed to video chat with my kids, who were out and about.

I was exhausted but the time Alex left and went straight to sleep. Ready for what was expected to be the longest day of the trip. 

The last bridge was rarely open and both times Alex had tried this leg they had a huge diversion, ending up in Dharamanagar in the dark...without the van and spare clothes.