The Beginning of the Road

**A little wordy I know, I will be more concise in future**

The title of this piece is a little misleading. The term 'road' is a little dubious in Nepal and often when you are on the 'road' you are in fact riding what we would term 'off-road'. Perhaps the title should read "The Beginning 'off' the Road" or "The Beginning of the Way". In a country where only a third of the government tax-take goes back into the country due to corruption then it is easy to understand why one should not expect too much. Naturally the siphoning of public funds provides a massive disincentive for people to pay their taxes and so the available pool of money for infrastructure spending becomes even smaller again. Still, popular opinion in Nepal is split as to whether the government is doing a good job or not. It is interesting seeing the ways of a developing nation coming from the most 'developed' country in the world of course. If Ireland had continued any further with its Monopoly money there would have been no more supermarkets or petrol stations left. Even Monopoly has never offered hotel financing or mortgages.

Anyhow, a couple of volunteers I met were going to be spending the weekend in Pokhara. This is about 275kms from Kathmandu and serves as the base-town for the Annapurna Himalaya, which is heavily trekked. Pokhara is a lakeside town and so functions as a resort of sorts. The mountain lake in the snow-resort of Flims in the Swiss Alps is one of the nicest places I have ever spent time and so I was looking forward to something similar in Pokhara. As my planned cycle from Lhasa (Tibet) to Kathmandu had fallen through and as the Nepali Himalayas are only suitable for downhill rigs I had to cook up other plans. Thus, I decided to take the scenic route to Pokhara with the intention of arriving in Pokhara for the weekend so that I would at least have some familiar faces to hang out with.

Jenny, who took me mountain-biking on the Monday in the Kathmandu Valley, talked me through a route. On Tuesday I set off for my first bit of adventure touring to Pokhara. As I rose along the forest path that lifts one out of Kathmandu I felt like my wings were starting to flap. The noise of Kathmandu was fading into the distance behind me and I soared towards the blue skies in the direction of the village of Kakani at 2400ms of elevation. It was quite a stirring moment as I could feel the waterfall of emotion bubbling up inside me. Not that I could dwell on such things as my focus shifted back to the outside world where a waterfall of perspiration was occurring. I was climbing with circa thirty kilos more than I am used to. My race-weight is 74kg and my race-bike is about 7kg. I came with some extra padding for the low temperatures in Tibet and so I was weighing in at 79kg, the bike 16kg and the bags are about 24kg. I had left some items in storage in KTM so I was in fact carrying something like 20kg on the bike for this trip. On my return from Tibet I will ship my warm clothes home as I won't need them again until Argentina in February. Thus, I am used to pushing 81 kilos up a mountain and here I was carrying 115kgs. Thankfully, the thirty kilometre climb to Kakani was reasonably gentle and fueled with adrenaline I was able to happily negotiate the roads and take in some great views. I knew Kakani was at altitude, although this is hardly accurate when one is in the land of the Himal. 2400ms would be considered a high pass in the Alps but here it is nothing but a hill when Everest towers at 8848 metres. While the climb was long it felt like an intermediate climb in the French Alps, something like Les Deux Alpes or the Col d'Ornon.

What should have been a short trip to Kakani ended up being a 80k day on the bike and I didn't even get there completely on my own steam. When touring it is important to leave as close to sun-rise as possible so that you have plenty of day-light hours to arrive at your destination. This gives one time plenty of time for mishaps and for arranging accommodation on arrival. I was unable to leave Kathmandu until 11am as my laundry was not ready when it should have been. Time does not exist in Nepal like it does in Switzerland; it is simply that space between sun-rise and sun-set. In addition I had not done my homework in terms of the route. I knew Kakani was at the top of the climb but I was unsure of how far exactly as I was too busy to check. I was more preoccupied with finding the right road out of Kathmandu and I knew that once I was on this road that I could not miss Kakani. Of course I rolled right through the town without knowing it, how about 40kms through! I was aware that I had to take a right turn at the top of the climb to what is a much visited picnic spot, however, there was no official top of the climb like in Europe. Indeed, due to lack of resources there are very few road-signs in Nepal full-stop and so it was not obvious that I was in Kakani at all. The mountain was higher than the road and so I kept on cycling on what was a false-flat. This inevitably led to some picturesque views and a nice descent towards what I thought would be another climb and the village of Kakani. After 40k of additional riding I stopped and thankfully a local approached me out of curiosity. After a brief conversation I understood that I had gone way too far. I was in fact closer to my lunch-stop for day two than I was to my first-day destination. I headed back up the mountain but after 10k I realised that the sun was going to drop in the next hour and I was in no-mans land. I looked or rather listened out for one of the local buses that pass over this climb. You can hear them from miles away as they are always honking on the narrow roads around the many blind turns. They happily stopped for me and as they put my bike on the roof the passengers took the time for a toilet break. The lads working the bus were very happy and cool, one driver, one conductor and a guy who sits on top with all the luggage. The last two frequently jump onto the road to bang on the bus to let the driver know that he is cutting it too close to whatever obstacle or ridge he is negotiating. Transit time is always a long time in Nepal due to the roads and so nobody is ever in a rush. Nepali music kept us all company and the bus stopped en-route for twenty minutes to allow us all time to get a much needed feed. I was dropped at the top of the climb in Kakani, not that anyone would know and so I set about finding the turn-off towards the tea-houses along the picnic spot. It was dark at this stage and so I donned my head-torch and set about climbing the steep 4k up to the viewpoint. The reason people go to Kakani is because there is a vista of five snow-peaks and on a clear day the sun-rise is supposed to be incredible. If one slips into the National Park at the top one can visit a temple where they worship death. Death is celebrated as opposed to mourned here. While I was tired, I wasn't dying just yet. I just kept spinning the pedals, the bus had given me an opportunity to recover from my efforts and while the climb was difficult it was impossible for me to make out the road and so all I could do was spin blindly. Suddenly I passed a bemused Gurkha check-point and I realised that I was passing through a military compound. The Gurkhas are highly respected in combat and their symbol is the Khukuri knife. Khukuri knife (a poor translation of the Colaiste Eoin motto)I had been reading Haruki Murakami's 'Wind-up Bird Chronicle' in which there was Mongolian man-skinner. The book perfectly describes how this man could deftly skin a human-being like one would skin a slaughtered animal. It was a horrible way for the Japanese soldier to die. I certainly had no intention of getting in the way of the Gurkha so I just accelerated and eventually I arrived at some lights, a cold shower and my bed for the night.

I woke at 5.30 to catch the sun-rise but unfortunately there was a strip of cloud interrupting the view and so it was not as incredible as I had hoped. I settled my bill generously and made my way back down the road I had overshot the day before. It was a beautiful day and a really pleasant ride to the town of Trisuli Bazaar for lunch. This was a reasonably big town although it is never clear what a town's function is here. Clearly the title suggests that it is some sort of market town but to me it just looked the same as every other Nepali town I had seen; a noisy mess. Having had yet another bowl of Dahl Bhaat (rice, lentil soup, curried vegetables, spinach and a little salad which provides the only surprise in terms of variety) I set off to find the road that I had missed that signalled the turn-off for Gulchi. Gulchi is a small truck-stop where this road rejoins the highway to Pokhara. I knew that I needed to follow the Trisuli river but it was not obvious which turn-off this was (no signs and it was not on the map). I made my way back out of Trisuli and the police checkpoint confirmed that I had to go back about 10k the way I had come. After 9k I confirmed with a local that it was just up the road but not before he had tried to pair me off with his highly embarrassed daughter. I didn't know what to say ... even in English I didn't know what to say. Anyhow, after a few laughs I set off on my way to see that there was in fact a sign for Gulchi, it was just not in the direction I had come. What? Am I supposed to cycle backwards? I was really excited about following the course of the river as I knew it should be an easy flat 19k to Gulchi. Indeed the road dropped towards the river on new tarmac which I followed until it ran out in a village. I was told to go back to a fork and take the left hand turn. I had followed the tar at this fork and so now I knew I was in for a tough last 17k. It took me the best part of three hours to navigate my way along this 'road' or rather way. The road was a bomb-site, I had to cycle through mountain stream run-offs, I had to cycle over washed out muddy roads post monsoon and I also had to navigate the most brutal of rocky roads I have ever seen. Of course, it was all fun as it was a great test for me and the bike. Thankfully we were both made it through in one piece although I did manage to buckle my rear wheel somewhat. Amazingly I met plenty of happy children on this route who were more than happy to accompany me running along this road in their bare feet. I thought I could run but I havn't got a clue. These kids can seriously run as they don't even notice the surface they are ghosting over. I was staggered by the amount of people that lived on this stretch of road. I had yet to find a quiet spot in Nepal, people were around every corner and babbling in the bushes. The one time I found a quiet spot to rest in the shade it turned out to be a bus-stop and so I had to move on as the buses kept stopping for me. Again it was a close call with darkness and I just managed to make a guest-house in time. From here I knew I couldn't go wrong as I was on the highway, which goes direct to Pokhara.

Having adjusted to the time-difference I was starting to adjust to the early morning rises. I set-off on the road with the aim of getting breakfast in the first town, more rice. I hoped to do a big day so that I could give myself an easy run into Pokhara on the Friday. I just kept riding and while the weather was hot it was always possible to stop to get some mango Capri-Sun type drink. I love mangoes so it was very refreshing even if ultimately something artificial. The terrain was quite tough to cycle on. While the climbs were never overly long they were at least 1k if not 4k. Nepal just seems to be a series of rolling hills it seems, much worse than riding around the lakes in Blessington. To give you an impression of what touring with a loaded mountain-bike is like it is best just to double everything. So, if I cycle 50 miles it feels like a hundred. If I'm cycling a 5% gradient, it feels like 10% on the race-bike. At last I turned a corner and I noticed the snow peaks of the Annapurna in the distance. Getting closer to the HimalayaThis was the reason I had come this direction. It was a nice moment to stop although I was too tired to really care. I kept on riding towards Damauli which would leave me with a short 50k ride on the Friday. Before arriving into Damauli 110k later the road dropped down to the river I had been following all day. I had been riding along  hoping to find a quiet place in which to take a dip to cool off. Such a spot had eluded me until now. I peeled off the road and walked into the river. I peeled off my top also and used it as a sponge to wash myself. I was covered in dust so I needed to make myself presentable before finding accommodation. I also did a bucket wash of kit so that I would have something fresh to cycle in the next day. Again locals were everywhere. Privacy doesn't exist here. The ladies eagerly came over to see what I was washing, I don't think they could believe that a guy would wash his own clothes. I'm guessing only single guys would do such in Nepal. Of course, there was an endless stream of kids walking home from school to their homes in the middle of the bushes. You think you are in a secluded space but it never is here. It's nice to talk to the kids as they have good English. Private schools teach every subject through English except for Nepalese. However, in this case I was busy trying to catch my breath and so I had to be a little rude. I had in fact turned up at the local car-wash. There were two jeeps a little further down the river parked in the water getting a bucket wash and two guys in their twenties stood in the river in their underwear washing buses down. Perhaps they had read 'Rich Dad, Poor Dad' (I have not but I know everyone who has considers setting up a car-wash/valet company). They would back the bus into the water and spend twenty minutes scrubbing it down. The bus-driver would sit on the grass in the sun and smoke a cigarette. They had quite a good little business going as two more buses arrived for a bath.

the local car-washI made my way to Damauli and after checking in I managed to walk around the town and look for some food. I found a pretty hip place. As nice as the people were there I ate something a little dodge. This was to be the first time my tummy moved since I arrived. It was bound to happen but when you are cycling in this heat you need to eat and drink a lot. If you stick to Dahl Bhaat you are unlikely to be ill but having rice for breakfast, lunch and dinner inevitably means that your taste buds overrule any sensibilities. In fairness it wasn't until the next morning that my stomach started to move. I decided to ride it out as I'm sure my body would extract whatever energy it needed from the previous evening's meal. Cycling seemed the best way to reduce the biomass in my stomach. It was never violent but unlike in the west these things don't clear in one sitting. I was to have the rumbles for the best part of 10 days. It took that long to remember that I had packed grape-fruit seed extract as an anti-biotic for such occurrences. The guy who served me in the restaurant liked his music, I tried to stick to the mainstream artists I liked but he did not know them. He was a big fan of Michael Jackson and who of course appeared on the news but none other than Wacko himself. It was only when I got to Pokhara and I saw the festivals that I realised why he liked Michael Jackson so much. They love to dance here and it is taught in schools. Thus, it is easy to see why Jacko should be so much in the public-consciousness.

The final day to Pokhara was supposed to be easy but it was actually the hardest day of the trip. My legs were a little heavy from the efforts of the previous day. It is much like a stage-race, you don't want to get out of bed but you just have to get on with it and face the first hour of riding. Usually after an hour you get your legs back but it is always tough mentally to get on the bike when you are tired. The worst part was that the road to Pokhara was dead-straight and as I was trying to get there before lunch-time I was cycling with the sun directly behind me with no bends in the road or trees to provide me with shade. It was a massive effort to get to Pokhara, it was only when I watched the suspension of the motor-bikes that I realised how bumpy the road was. This was the reason I was going nowhere slowly. I must have stopped four times in the last ten miles to get some 'Frooti' (drink). Of course, the roads were full of obstacles and very large craters. Road-works consist of a truck dropping a load of dirt and gravel just before the crater. This load can be a meter high on the road. Such a jump would be impossible for the best of cyclocross riders so inevitably I had to snake my way to Pokhara. It was all bad. Since I was the smallest vehicle on the road I was always forced onto the bad lines through the craters or onto the dirt-verge.

I arrived at last and grabbed the first western people I could find. The Australian girl spoke and gave me the low-down on the place but it was obvious that she was finding Nepal tough and that I should have gotten a second opinion. I took her advice and ended up paying over the odds for a B&B. When you are as wrecked as I was you don't really care.

Pokhara was supposed to be an oasis for me, a place to relax and recouperate for the weekend. It is a nice place but it is a far cry from the mountain-lake in Switzerland that I had hoped for. The views of the Himalaya are great, however, the lake is under-developed and the town is full of people trying to sell you stuff like in Kathmandu. If this was in Europe there would be paddling boats, a swimming section, diving boards on floating islands and of course some imported sand from Egypt to make it somewhat more beach-like. Instead the water was not really safe for swimming near the shore and there was no real haven but for the lakeside restaurants. I enjoyed my down-time there getting to know the local mosquitos but it could be so much more than it currently is. Naturally, this is an unfair expectation in a country as poor as Nepal.

The biggest impression made on me during my trip was the following; while this is a very poor country it is a different kind of poverty to what one would see in Africa (not that I have been). There is no shortage of water here; there is a communal tap or a pipe installed by a local from a mountain stream every 200 metres where they wash their utensils, vegetables for the market, clothes and themselves. The place is gushing with water. In addition there is no shortage of food. There is plenty of rice to go around. It might bore me a little bit but living off a diet of Dahl Bhaat is not so bad. The people in the countryside have a relatively simple life and while I don't know what their aspirations are and whether they struggle or not, they seem cheerful and have time to sit in the shade and think. Pretty much all the kids go to school, although they typically help around the house or in the fields first. They don't have much more other than the clothes on their back. I saw hundreds of kids along the way and the only toys I came across were two dolls and a tricycle. Not that they seemed to care. It was nice to see people living so close to the land and seeming relatively content.