Tuesday, September 6, 2011
Sunday, August 28, 2011
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.
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.
Friday, August 26, 2011
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.
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.
Wednesday, August 24, 2011
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.
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.
Tuesday, August 23, 2011
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.
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.
Monday, August 22, 2011
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.
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.
Sunday, August 21, 2011
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.
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