Three Days - From Kargil to Srinagar

After finding a new camera in Kargil I put my misfortune behind me and focused on the journey ahead.
It's Ramadan during the month of August and most of the eating houses are closed between sunrise and sunset as 95% of the population from Kargil to Srinagar are Muslim. After dark I wander through the bazaar looking for supplies. The noise and activity is overwhelming. I find some bananas and tomatoes but I would love something that looked like bread. Eventually I find some pastries but it's a difficult decision - do I choose the bun with 50 flies on it or the one with 100? Last night I ate vegetable 'thali' which is a plate with separate compartments - an all-you-can-eat meal for about $2. I find a pharmacy which is wall to wall with thousands of small dusty boxes. I want lip balm so I point to my lips which are looking dry and cracked. The man searches through piles of drugs labelled in Urdu, Kashmiri, Hindu and English. Eventually he smiles and hands over a box labelled 'Sore Lips' in English. I couldn't find any razors anywhere so I thought I'd hit the jackpot when I used the invisible razor action on my face. he grabbed me and led me down an alleyway, up some stairs to be greeted by a barber with a cut-throat razor, beckoning me to sit down. They were a bit disappointed when I took a rain check and quickly disappeared.

KARGIL TO DRASS
At 6.30am, after a restless night as loudspeakers in the minarets called muezzin. Leaving Kargil behind on a steady climb next to a fast flowing river. Just to test my sense of humour the road continually changes from a good surface to something resembling a goat herder's track. I'm worried about my tyres and the rear rack as I spend a lot of my time navigating through the rubble at walking speed.
Thanks to the Army there are some long sections of bitumen through a steep barren canyon with the river down below. Army convoys, brightly decorated Tata trucks and 4WD vehicles use their horns relentlessly and, most of the time, I have to get off the road to let them pass. On one occassion two trucks passed each other on a bend and I had about 50cm between the bike and a certain death drop into the canyon.
As the road continued to climb I passed camouflaged bunkers and huts and hundreds of military vehicles. At one point I could hear shooting from the mountain on the other side of the river. It must be the Indian Army letting the enemy know they are still here.
By early afternoon the heat from the sun was intense so I stopped on a bridge above the river as it was the only shade for my lunch. I ate a couple of tomatoes, something that looked like a small cucumber, two bananas, some biscuits and chocolate all washed down with warm water.
I was resting in a semi slumber listening to the white water below when I heard a sharp whistle. I looked around and three armed soldiers, one with a whistle in his mouth, were walking quickly across the bridge towards me. 'You have to go sir', said the soldier with the whistle. When I was packing my lunch stuff away he said 'where are you from?' I replied 'Australia'. HIs immediate response was 'Adam Gilchrist.' (Cricket has an enormous following here). He told me the Pakistan border was only 2 kilometres as the crow flies and, for my safety, I should keep going.
I neared a rundown village with some mud brick houses just piles of rubble. The road sign said 'you are under enemy observation'.
At least 60% of the road surface was stones and washouts.
A storm developed and fierce headwinds almost pushed me backwards as I struggled to climb slopes.  During a moment of weakness I thought 'Colin, what are you doing here? You got a lovely family, a comfortable home near a tropical beach, cold drinks in the fridge, good food and a quiet comfortable bedroom.' A light rain started and I pushed on with my head down. 10 hours riding to reach Drass.
It's not an inviting place. It looks like a war zone and it has been one! As I cycled into town I pass a sign that said 'Drass is the second coldest inhabited place in the world - 9 January 1995, -60c.
Just near the bazaar I found a room - no electricity but it had a bed and a washroom with water and a bucket. I shut the door, took my clothes off, and tipped buckets of ice cold water over me. Using a flannel and soap I cleaned all the dust and grime off my body.
In the bazaar I ate a mutton curry with rice and chapati. When I returned to the room it was pitch black. I eventually found my bike light, put my sleeping bag on the bed and a pillow slip over the pillow, brushed my teeth with bottled water and collapsed on the rock hard bed. Truck horns, people shouting, a rodent scurrying around the room - I didn't care. I pushed my earbuds into place, selected 'shuffle' in my music library and smiled. 'What a bloody day.'

DRASS TO SONMARG (over Zoji La Pass)
I'm glad thet I packed food securely in my pannier as mice were scuttling around last night.
As I leave Drass the enormous barren mountains have subtle hues of greens and blues with escarpments throwing dark shade onto the slopes. Further away the snow clad peaks of 5,000m plus mountains create a magnificent vista with a scale that's hard to grasp.
The military presence is overwhelming. Hundreds of soldiers jogging down the road carrying backpacks, guns and some big Sikhs with rocket launchers. There's a parade on the road as I cycle between the sergeant and his men.
I pass through Machoi, a small village set hard against the hill. Some of the villagers are Brokpas, an Aryan people with pale skin and hazel eyes.
The climb continues into a glacier scoured valley and my low gears are jumping so I stop to make some adjustments. I have my toolkit laid out, a damp cloth to clean the filth and grime and some chain lube. Two goat herders sit on a rock beside me silently. The goats join us. Soon I'm surrounded by about 100 animals - I thought they were going to eat my panniers.I managed to fix the gear problem and sat down with the men. They ate half a packet of digestive biscuits and a tomato each plus a free lesson on adjusting derailleur gears.
I haven't seen a lot of wildlife since Leh but the Ladakh region has Snow Leopards, the Tibetan Wolf, Brown Bears, Gazelles, Yaks and Bactrian Camels. I've watched some black birds that look like they belong to the Raven family but their call sounds like a parrot. I've seen Golden Eagles and a bird that looks like a Sparrowhawk and small Quail-like birds that scamper across the road. In the villages, even at high altitude, Sparrows have found a home. How they arrive in these places beats me. They're scrounging crumbs in a Sydney cafe and one of them says 'hey fellahs, let's go to Ladakh.'
When the climb up Zoji La starts I have a 'second wind' which enables me to keep going even though I have to navigate the stones and obstacles on the road. I notice the rack is coming loose - the wire, rope and zip ties are finally saying 'I've had enough!'
I lost most of the feeling in my left hand and had a lot of difficulty holding the handlebar grip tightly and my feet were becoming sore where the cleat is attached to the shoe. I stopped and took my shoes off and exercised my hand until it was almost back to normal. I looked at the panorama in front of me and said to myself 'Colin, how many people in the world would love to be sitting right here, high in the Himalayas. And it feels so much better when you've done it the hard way - you feel like you've earned the right to sit here - I name you 'Colin's rock'.
Black clouds and rumbling thunder above the pass is just what I need. The marker at the top of the pass is lower than the road ahead so I climb some more - it's raining lightly now and suddenly it's very cold and ... my rear rack collapses onto the back wheel. The road is treacherous here - the width of one vehicle, very rough with 'wash aways' and rock overhangs plus an almost sheer drop into the valley below. I find my tools, gloves, my jacket as my bike leans against a vertical rock face. I grab the pliers and remove the wire, my left hand has very little grip. I undo the rope and break the zip ties. I'm shivering, squinting and quietly cursing. I tie the rope again and use my last piece of wire. The zip ties are too weak and snap very quickly. I put the bag back on the rack and tie a piece of rope from the rear of the rack to the seat post just below the saddle.
The rain began to ease as I continued slowly down through the mud and stones. It was, without a doubt, the most dangerous section of road I've ever ridden on. Almost an hour later, after many hairpin bends, I was on bitumen with a smile on my face.
This could be an Alpine valley - snow covered mountain peaks, green meadows, forests, grazing animals, but it's all an illusion. The road suddenly narrows with potholes and I stop at a tea stall for a chai. I sit with an old man on a bench and we watch road workers. A tip truck arrives and parks in the middle of the road blocking all traffic. The driver looks like he's having a social conversation with somebody in Urdu. Meanwhile dozens of vehicles are a symphony of horns and abuse. He casually gets back in the truck, dumps a load of gravel in the middle of the road, and drives away.
I arrive in the village of Sonmarg (meaning 'meadow of gold') in the late afternoon, find a room in a guest house and suddenly I'm very weary.

SONMARG TO SRINAGAR
In the morning I go for a short walk down the street. I'm on the outside of the village where goats, sheep and horses graze near the road. Shepherds squat and watch the world go by. Some of the horses are hobbled with rope around their front legs and only about 30cm movement. One horse is trying to cross the road and I can see the fear in his eyes as trucks drive very close either side of him. Wanting to run but frozen with fear.
It's about 90km to Srinagar. The first hour is downhill through villages where all houses seem unfinished and public buildings have a tired colonial presence. Tourism was a major industry in Kashmir but not many westerners visit this region. The Australian Government website for travelers strongly recommends that Australians should not travel in the Ladakh and Kashmir regions near the border with Pakistan. Bill Clinton once said 'Kashmir is the most dangerous place on the planet'. If you look at Srinagar, a million Muslims cut off from Pakistan by a line on a map; it's bound to be a volatile political situation. I have a theory, rightly or wrongly, that if I treat people with respect and let them sit on my bike, everything will be alright.
Of course, even though I'm a peaceable man, I have my breaking point and it almost happened today. About 200 metres of road was flooded, lots of mud and water. Half a dozen armed soldiers were trying to direct the one way traffic. The soldiers were very helpful, smiling at me and pointing to a path that went over a small hill. This almost solved the problem but I still had about 10 metres to go. I picked a route, waited for a gap in the traffic, and went for it. A four-wheel-drive vehicle was suddenly behind me, horn on non-stop and when I looked around he was waving and abusing me. We are talking about 10 metres and he wants to cover me in mud. I was almost at the dry road when the front of his vehicle nudged my rear bag. I stopped and turned around, the soldiers on the hill were watching, the horn still going.Part of me is saying 'drag him out of the car and into the mud' but common sense prevailed. I would probably end up in jail.
As luck would have it he was stuck in a traffic jam ahead and, as I approached, he wound up all the windows and looked everywhere but at me. It's easy to be a bully in a 4WD vehicle.
Further down the road I was given the wrong directions at a 3 way intersection with no signage. This added another 25km to my journey but I eventually arrived at a boathouse on the lake. An idyllic and, hopefully, peaceful end to my journey.
I had to put another hole in my belt so my shorts would't drop to the floor. I feel great - just a little weary.
The bike. Well I'm amazed how well it stood up to the punishment. Wider rims and tyres with more grip would have helped. The 3 speed Sturmey Archer hub with a 9 speed cassette worked well.
Thanks to my wonderful and supportive wife, family and friends for supporting me and understanding that, once in a while, I need to go on these crazy rides.
Thanks to Jade and Joel for the satellite phone.
Thank you to Shaun and Dan from Moulton Bicycles.  

Day 7 Drass to Sonamarg

Message from Colin on sat phone - 25 August 2011.
I was organsied early for a long day. The road was narrower than before, if that's possible, and it was pretty much up hill all the way, steep in places, partly bitumen but mostly rough and rocky, it was a real struggle. I was stopped at every army check point along the way by soldiers with automatic rifles, and, just to make sure, they had missile launchers at the ready. Eventually I made it to the top of Zoji La Pass, the second highest pass on the Srinigar-Leh Highway at 3,528 metres (11,575 feet).



I was greeted at the top by a thunderstorm that took me by surprise, at the same time my back carrier rack broke from its makeshift binding. In the midst of the downpour I had to retrieve my anorak and fix the rack. There was no shelter. The storm overpowered the warmth of the day with freezing winds and driving rain. Zoji La is one of the most perilous passes in the world and after the downpour it was like skidding down a muddy ice rink. My tyres had no grip and navigating a safe line down the narrow track past overhangs and sheer drops with hairpin bends took me over an hour or so. I reached some bitumen and had a safer ride the last 20 or so kilometres into Sonamarg. My first impression was a town that resembled something you'd find in Austria with pine trees and green fields but on entering the town its self I found it was similar to the last two, but without the army decoration. I was advised to cycle a little out of town for a good place to stay. The advice was good, I found a clean and comfortable room, with water (cold of course) for a wash. When I looked in the mirror I scared myself, unshaven, hair awry, covered in grey dirt, red eyes blinking back at me. But I'm happy. Very happy to have the worst behind me with one day left to Srinigar.




  

Day 6 Kargil to Drass

Message from Colin on Sat phone - 24 August 2011.
I left Kargil for the second time around 7.30am. and climbed for 72 km to Drass. Not many villages on this route and virtually nowhere to buy food. The road clung to the side of a steep brown valley with a fast flowing river below and towering mountains above. This is the closest the road gets to the Pakistan border and there's a huge military presence here. I cycled past camouflaged huts and bunkers and a massive assortment of army vehicles. At one stage I heard shots ringing out across the canyon and could see Indian soldiers scrambling amongst the rocks and boulders. I stopped in the shade of the bridge that crossed the river for lunch. I washed a few tomatoes, and something that resembled a cucumber and was enjoying those with some biscuits and chocolate, all washed down with warm water from my bottle when I heard a whistle. I looked up to see 3 soldiers striding across the bridge towards me, one with an automatic rifle. The one with the gun said "You have to go sir. Where are you from?" "Australia" I replied. "Ah, Adam Gilchrist!" was his response. He told me the Pakistan border was only 2 km away and that I shouldn't linger and keep going. As I cycled over the bridge I passed a sign that read "YOU ARE UNDER ENEMY OBSERVATION". Needless to say I didn't feel the need to hang around. At least 70% of the road surface was stone and rock today, and only had to walk through a few sections. As I approached Drass I was greeted with a storm coming in from the mountains that brought a bit of rain and a powerful headwind. It took me 10 hours to ride the 72km. Drass looks like a war zone, and it has been one. Cycling into the town I passed a sign claiming Drass to be the second coldest inhabited place in the world. Temperature on the 9 January 1995 was -60˙C.  
I have found a good, quiet place to stay away from the bazar, no electricity but the candles create a warm glow in the sparsely furnished room. I will find some fruit for tomorrow and a good meal tonight. I am happy. 

Day 5 Kargil

Message from Colin on Sat phone - 23 August.
Not the best nights sleep. Lots of shouting throughout the night. I attempted to find some toiletries but nothing opens 'til mid-morning so set off up the mountain leaving Kargil behind. One and half hours later I stop to take a picture of yet another amazing landscape when I discover my camera is missing. I'm devastated, the images I've taken; of monasteries, monks in their saffron robes with my bike, colourful prayer flags fluttering against the snow clad mountain tops and so many more flash through my mind like a slide show in fast motion. How? When and who? I left my camera packed in my bag at the hotel for a half hour while I made a phone call and searched for shops that sell toiletries. I also left it for a short time when making arrangements to leave. These were the only times I'd left my belongings. I had to make a choice, continue on my journey without a camera and keep to schedule or turn back down the mountain and confront the hotel and report the theft to the police. With tears of anger and frustration I headed back. Of course the hotel denied my accusations so I went to the police and spent a few hours making a report and completing paperwork. No one but the police chief could speak english. He wanted me to stay for 3 days while they carry out an investigation, to which I flatly refused. If I had all the time in the world this would be last place I'd spend it in. There will be no investigation, just my resignation to the facts and to try and make do. By now the bazars had opened so bought some toiletries. I found the one and only camera store and bought another camera so I could at least record the second half of my journey. It was now too late to resume my ride back to Drass so resigned myself to spending another day here. When wondering the bazars I found the hotel I was supposed to stay in last night, a clean and friendly place, but because of the demonstrations I was unable to get to it, I checked in. If only I'd arrived in Kargil today, my experience of this place would be a happier story.

Day 4 Mulbekh to Kargil

Message from Colin on sat phone - 22 August 2011.
I spent a bit of time 'unearthing' my bike this morning but don't know why I bothered as it (and I) were returned to the same dirty, dusty state in a blink of a yak's eye. Much the same road conditions as yesterday but must have been passed by more than 500 army trucks. Every time I had to stop and let them pass.
12 years ago Kargil was the centre of a war between India and Pakistan over the Kashmir region. Pakistan surrendered and India has maintained a close watch on the border ever since. I cycled past bunkers and thousands of army troops into the town that sits on the banks of the Indu River at 2,676 metres (8,780 feet). I was exhausted and fed up. Demonstrations created congestion in the centre. I was told by the army not to go any further until after 6pm when it would be safer to look for accommodation and something to eat. This town is the second largest in Ladakh, with a population of 10,00 people. I have not seen one foreigner but then it's not the ideal holiday destination.  When I found somewhere to stay I discovered I'd left my wash bag back in Mulbekh. It wasn't a great day but trying to stay positive. I can buy another toothbrush and some razors tomorrow. Need to get some sleep now knowing I'll wake tomorrow feeling better and happy to leave this place behind.

Day 3 Lamayuru to Mulbekh

21 August. Started the day climbing a 18km pass to 14,200 feet, this is the highest pass on my route. A long descent into the next valley, a roller coaster of a ride that was slowed by soft sand, road works and chunks of rock. I had to push my bike through this for over an hour then climb back on and ride 12 km up the other side through more road works, had to walk again, the rocks under the wheels made it impossible to ride. Passing army trucks cover me in dust and dirt. My bike and I are the same, not metal, not flesh, but dirt. Eventually made it to Mulbekh, a small village at 10,839 ft. Leh is now 190 km behind me. I'm now at a home-stay with a traditional Buddhist family. They have no electricity. I'm given a water bucket to wash from, I'm sleeping on the floor with the family's yak in a room next to me. All is well after, what I'd have to say was, one of the biggest days in my life. I'm tired but happy.

Day 2 Basgo to Lamayuru

Message from Colin on Sat phone - 20 August 2011.
Made good progress today. On schedule. I left the Indus River behind as it continued on towards Pakistan. A few areas of the road under repair by road workers. Had to push my bike up the mountain for 2 hours as the surface was impossible to ride on. Arrived at Lamayuru and found somewhere to get clean, they have washing facilities and a restaurant. There's a monastery overlooking the town built into the side of the escarpment with caves hollowed out beneath it. There's a strong army presence here.

Day 1 Leaving Leh

Brief update from Colin on sat phone. 19 August 2011
Left Leh and headed east on my journey to Srinigar.
Hard going. Bitumen some parts and rough dirt in others following the Indus River. Battled winds across high, flat plains with moments of wondering "what the hell am I doing here?" But when I reach the top it's all worth it. The last part took 3 hours to travel 20km. If a vehicle comes along, they beep their horns and I have to stop to let them pass as the road is so narrow. Arrived at Basgo in a dusty barren gorge next to the Indus River, wide and fast flowing. Looking forward to a wash and something good to eat (rice, vegetables and chapathi), and somewhere reasonable to sleep. I'm happy.

Big Hill

Yesterday. I packed some cold weather gear in the bike panniers along with bread,chocolate, biscuits, nuts, fruit juice, 3 litres of water and a small bottle of coke for my sugar hit. I ride along the pathway with high mud brick walls, navigating through a network of junctions. A small water course tumbles down over rocks next to the path. Women are washing their clothes, boys are having a bath and dogs, which don't seem to belong to anyone, sleep on the pathway. Out onto Fort Street, a narrow laneway that leads up to the Bazaar. Traders are setting up their displays outside stalls - they wave and smile. Through the bazaar where women in traditional Ladakh dress are selling vegetables on the footpath and men are pushing wooden carts holding large drums of water. No rain today and I'm too warm with three layers of clothes. Near the Leh Palace I can see a line of monks walking across the barren hillside above. Downhill now to the gates at the entrance to Leh. Crowds of people gathering near the markets, thousands of prayer flags across the blue sky. I avoid some cows lying in the middle of the road and turn left up a narrow road and start to climb. It meanders up past a school, workshops and mud houses. I settle into a comfortable low gear as it going to be ascending all the way for the next 7 hours. The road is narrow but it's bitumen up to the South Pullu checkpoint at 13, 500ft. I had to get a permit to go past that point (stamped by a magistrate!)  The army presence is strong in all these regions close to Pakistan and China.
After about an hour, Leh sits on the plain down below and a convoy of 20 army trucks rumbles past me. I have to get off the road onto the rough dirt as it is too narrow for both of us. Care has to be taken as it would be very easy to go over the edge and tumble down the steep rocky mountainside. 30 minutes later I look up and see the army trucks - a line of ants crawling across the mountain high above me. A rock bounced down the slope above me and landed with other rocks on the road. The scenery is awe inspiring. The mountains are a pallette of soft earthy colour with splashes of red and blue. Rocky outcrops hang over the road as it snakes it's way upwards; streams are a torrent of water rushing down the mountainside from the snow above. I stop frequently to drink and have a snack, gazing at the huge snow covered mountains surrounding me. The Moulton is comfortable and the hub gear combined with derailleur works well. I'm not sure what will happen after South Pullu as the road becomes a track with washouts and stones - my narrow tyres are not made for rough terrain.
It takes 5 hours to reach South Pullu. I show my permit to an official in a canvas lean-to and buy a cup of chai (in an old tin can) for 10rp. I sit and rest for about 20 minutes, my lungs have been working hard and there's a hint of dizziness when I get up, but I'm feeling ok. Continuing up the switchbacks I'm expending more energy avoiding rocks and washouts than fighting gravity. It's twice as hard, both mentally and physically. I'm stopping more often now, watching eagles soaring above and conscious that the snow is not far away. After an hour or so the sun hides behind the mountains and it suddenly gets very cold. When I eventually reach the North Pullu checkpoint I'm at 5,100 metres and I stood gazing up at the pass. It's probably another hour but I just cannot do it. It was a huge decision for me as I dreamed of standing up there for a long time. I turned around with tears welling in my eyes.
The descent, which lasted nearly two hours is, without a doubt,  the best experience I've ever had on a bicycle.

Leh, Ladakh

On my first night sleep was a stranger - I read a book, listened to music and sat outside watching the moon throw a soft light on the mountains. A headache reminded me that I've probably got mild altitude sickness. It seemed like about 3am when I finally fell into a restless slumber but, at sunrise, a sound like an animal being slaughtered made me jump out of bed. Through the window I could see a donkey being attacked by 5 dogs. The donkey rotated and kicked like a martial artist and the dogs eventually slunk away like a bunch of hyenas. The backdrop to this drama is the incredible sight of sunrise on the Himalayas. Snow clad mountains, golden in the morning sun behind a brown lunar landscape of ochre mountains folded and wrinkled like the skin of a huge animal. The 9 storey Leh Palace clung onto the hillside above the Tibetan-style buildings huddled together on the plain below. I was finally living a moment I've been dreaming about for a long time.
After a bottle of water and chai my headache faded. The Padma guest house is owned by a Ladakh family of buddhists who wear traditional robes and sit next to their lush vegetable garden with prayer wheels and a smile. 80% of the 25,000 people living in Leh are Buddhists.
I decided my first task was to assemble the bike and was devastated when I couldn't find my seat tube and back carrier clamp. I distinctly remember putting it in the box in the box at home but it's not here. There's a hole in the side of the box and there's a possibility that it escaped through that exit. I noticed that when I picked the bike up in Delhi there was new tape on the top. There's a possibility that the Malaysians opened the box. Apart from that I dont know. Of course it isn't just a seat post clamp - it holds the rear carrier also. I sat down and felt stunned for a while until self-motivation kicked in. There's only one solution - try and improvise.
I spent most of the day wandering through bazaars and alleyways. I found the only bicycle repair man in Leh. His workshop was about the size of my garden shed, mud walls, rusty old bikes, hammers and cold chisels and a couple of scruffy sleeping dogs. His full moon Tibetan face is wrinkled like an unmade bed - it's nodding from side to side and he waves his arms in a gesture that says it's too difficult. I walked down to the moto markets where mechanical accessories are traded but it's bedlam; crowds of people around makeshift stalls and thousands of prayer flags adding a colour to the dusty scene. Suddenly three young Indian men started talking to me about bicycles. They were on holidays in Leh and happy to help. First stop was a welding workshop which resembled a village blacksmiths with similar tools of trade. We trawled the trade shops in the area with much arm waving and scratching of heads, laughing, pointing and discussion but with no solution. A mountain bike seat clamp is too small to fit the larger diameter tubing on my bike. We bought a couple of heavy duty hose clips, wrapped tape around the frame and I cringed as I added this accessory to the Moulton bicycle. One part of the problem is solved and the rear bag will have to be joined using zip ties and rope.
I cycled around with just the front panniers today - squalls of rain. Getting a pass to cycle into a restricted zone tomorrow. I rode up to the palace and climbed a few hills today but my breathing is still a bit restricted. Driving here is erratic and assertive and ... crazy.
I had shower as cold as a mountain stream this morning and when I picked the deoderant up, the ball shot across the room and bounced off the wall. 
Amazing what high altitude can do.


  

New Delhi

I was lost in the backstreets for a few hours. The humidity like a hot wet blanket, senses on overload - wafting odours of incense, frangipanis, urine and diesel. Loud Indian music accompanies the drone of traffic and the incessant honking of horns. A woman and child sleep under a roadside bench with all their possessions stuffed into plastic bags - nearby is a Mercedes showroom and guards with automatic rifles. A billion people trying to survive in this land of contrasts.

Taking the bike box through airports was stress free until I met a young lady in Kuala Lumpur. She said that, although I was within my weight allowance, I would have to pay excess baggage fees because it is classified as sporting equipment. "What if it was a plasma tv in there?" I asked. "That would be ok" she replied. I asked to see the supervisor and, luckily, he didn't share her point of view. Now she was a bit agitated and suddenly blurted "you cant take that bike helmet on the plane". Wisdom tells me it's not wise to continue discussions with officials who have a warped perspective on rules and regulations. I picked up my helmet and cabin bag and breezed through airport security.

9am tommorow I should be in Leh, Ladakh at an altitude of 3,550 metres where I'll wait for 3 days for my body to acclimatise. Hopefully my body will adapt to its new environment and I'll be ready to ride.

My journey starts tomorrow

Suddenly it's time to leave. I find it hard to believe I'll be in New Delhi tomorrow. I still have to bubble wrap the bike and squeeze it into a box padded with clothes. A list as long as my arm - things to do and items to pack. Not much sleep tonight.
We found time to visit the beach, just 200 metres from home - a few Kodak moments with the bike in the sand. What a contrast - a beautiful tropical beach and the Himalayas.

Small wheels in the Himalayas

It's three days until I drag a bike box out of the front door, past the banana trees and the bright red lipstick palms, past the cockatoos squawking in the paperbark trees, past the large buddha statue hiding in the tropical undergrowth, and place the box onto the roof of my 4WD.
Five weeks away from Marie and my daughters with the promise to check-in everyday on my satellite phone when I'm alone in the Himalayas riding a bicycle.
I've been waking at two in the morning with feelings of trepidation and excitement mixed with doubt. Can I ride above above 5,000 metres? Am I prepared?
Four days later I'll be in Leh, Ladakh (meaning land of high passes) waiting for my body to acclimatise.
My companion is a green Moulton TSR bicycle with a Sturmey Archer 3 speed hub and nine speed cassette.