Highway conditions on the 52nd day (by my count) and final leg from Nuwakot to Kathmandu were wisely judged to be suicidal for bicycles, and the decision was made to shuttle by bus to the capital, and re-form the peloton for a ceremonial tour of the city once we were in the relative safety of the downtown core. (A group of bicycles actually has some tactical weight in the flow of urban traffic, as opposed to the one-on-one life struggle an individual bicycle faces on the decrepit and crowded highway.) The in-town procession was escorted by a cheery contingent of riders from the Kathmandu bicycle club, stylin’ and directing traffic on their mountain bikes.

Thus ended our 3,000 km bicycle journey to Kathmandu. The original intent had been to kick things off in Srinagar, Kashmir, but the touchy political situation prevented access, forcing the program to back-track west from Leh. Throughout the tour, TDA (the organizers) made similar adaptations as conditions required. Endlessly creative, TDA was superb throughout.

In sum, the trip was stunningly beautiful, intensely satisfying, and more arduous than I expected. But, given that the venue was the foot-hills of the Himalayas, it’s hard to understand why day-long climbs would have come as any surprise to me. Moreover, day-long climbs ultimately result in day-long descents, which any reasonable rider will tell you is a worthwhile investment of effort.

As a means to gaining insight to the way of life in northern India and Nepal, bicycle travel excels. Riders have ground-level access to the sleeping dogs, the goat-herds, the sacred cows, the rich and acrid smells, the children and tea shops and coke stands, the dust and smoke of real life.

Kathmandu is a compelling show, with it’s gorgeous temples, narrow alleys, insane traffic circles, and perpetual construction sites. But, my visit will be short: just enough time for a celebratory dinner, to pack the bike for air transport, and some aimless wondering through the city center. Then it’s off to Tribhuvan International Airport for the Air India flight to New Delhi, and an 11 hour layover until the 13-hour Air Canada flight over the north pole to Vancouver. A brief delay before the 20-minute hop to Victoria. Bike and baggage arrive safely. Total time from Kathmandu hotel to Saanich home about 48-hours and 12 time zones.

The essence of Kathmandu is above street level.

It was a hard cycle to Dhadingbesi with broken rubble, claycast wheeltracks, boulders, and occasional deep sand traps, all set in some of the most stunningly beautiful riding topography imaginable. The Budi Gandaki river valley is the primary focus. Just staying on the bicycle was a similarly intense concern. I began walking after four involuntary dismounting events on the steep terrain. This was mountain bike country and I was out of place.

The terrain is remote, and the road resembles a wagon trail. Very basic living. Still, two examples of local ingenuity stand out: a wooden ferris wheel. And a few km further along, the biggest swing set I’ve ever seen, built smack dab in the middle of the aforementioned remote road.

We rode along the spine of a mighty ridge, which may soon be part of the reservoir for large hydroelectric power project. Landowners have been apparently already been compensated and wilĺ be evicted as the project moves forward. Meanwhile they continue to live on their farms.

But this is Nepal, land of the unfinished bridge. The chance that there will be rapid progress on the hydroelectric megaproject seems remote. Technical factors such as abrasive sediments will slow development. Farmers don’t expect to be packing up their water buffalos and goats anytime soon.

Local treasure: Yak milk cheese. Strong, mellow flavor . European texture

A hard cycle climb finale brought us to Pokhara , second largest urban centre in Nepal. Since Maurice Herzog led a French team on the controversial first ascent of 8091 meter Annapurna 1 in 1950, Pokhara has been on apparently unregulated diet of growth steroids. Luckily the old town retains some of its original charm.

Pokhara is also home to a Museum dedicated to the Gurkha soldier, a mainstay of the British military since the early 1800’s. The Museum is terrific, very detailed. I found it enthralling.

An easy day in the saddle brought us to Lumbini, the birthplace of Buddha. Centered on ancient ruins of early Buddhism, an enormous campus (three km by two km, enclosed by a brick fence) has been under construction since the 1970s consisting of temples, waterways, bricked thoroughfares, and gardens. Buddhists from many nations have contributed temples reflecting their national flavor. Though far from complete, the work done thus far is inspiring, and often marvelous.

It took four passport examinations, but finally we cross into Nepal. Access to the final approach to the border crossing is limited to pedestrians, bicycles, and, strangely enough, the ubiquitous motorcycle, generally in dangerous hands.

In Nepal, bicycles are the predominant form of transportation. There are lots of motorcycles, but nothing matches the flood tide of human powered ‘cycles.

Heading for Nepal

Thankfully, we’ve now done with the thousand meter climbs. Today’s trip to Naukuchia Tal required a mere 1,000 meters of ascent on a narrow highway with no shoulders, shared with frantic traffic. They’re aggressive and merciless with the horns.

The first day out of Rishikesh heading for Landsdown required 2200 meters (7200 feet) of climbing. The altitude is nothing to compare with the heights of Rumtse or Debring , but the day’s effort is easily as demanding. I’m not sure why the work load is so challenging even in the oxygen-rich lower altitudes. But it could have something to do with the difficulty I’m having keeping weight on.

We rode into Vanavasa Resort late one afternoon. A gem. Well worth four km to access via a private rubble and dirt road. It made for a slippery exit early the next morning

Cows are sacred in India. Which doesn’t mean that their lives are particularly blissful. If fact many are terribly abused through neglect. Once their productive dairy careers are over, some are turned out on the streets They are bone and skin, and wonder without restraint searching for food. They cause mayhem on the roads.

Cyclists quickly learn that a sacred cow takes precedence in the constant struggle for road space.

As an added stimulus to personal performance cyclists have come to expect a late afternoon deluge. Finish the ride and avoid a soaking.

We traversed tiger country , where even a few wild elephants are said to roam

The past few days have been spent working our way gradually down from the higher altitudes. But there is no respite from the climbs. Two thousand meters is a commonplace daily assignment. The morale of my fellows is unshakeable. These are remarkable, resilient people, many of whom have travelled with Tour d’Afrique (TDA) from its inception in 2003.

We’re visiting some of the hill stations all dating back to the Raj: Rohru, Purola, Mussorie, and finally Rishikesh, on the banks of the Ganges, mother of rivers.

Rishikesh is said to be the birthplace of yoga. What is certain is the astonishing role that yoga plays in daily commerce

One of the few places offering Rishikesh pedestrians some peace and quiet are a pair of suspension bridges. Amazingly motorcycles and rickshaws cannot penetrate. But there is another annoyance. Cute monkeys. With an attitude. Don’t make eye contact. Cameras seem to grate on the furry little dears.

It’s improbable perch on the side of an exceedingly steep hill designed to keep things cool, Shimla is a pleasure. But getting here from Manali was a bitter struggle including one day featuring a 3000 m altitude gain, before a final downhill into the city. I lasted five hours on that particular climb, actually pushing the bike up the worst pitches.

Remnants of the Raj, the days of British Colonial control, are treated with pride. The constitutional seat of Colonial governance moved to cool Shimla from sweltering Delhi every summer.

This Gaiety theater was built to commemorate Queen Victoria’s golden jubilee–her 50th year as monarch in 1887. It was extensively updated recently and now plays a central role in a vibrant local theater community.

Just some pictures of the riding in the last few days. Fantastic sceneries.

I have added a Sim card to my paraphernalia, so I am live as we start the bus transfer to Losar. The terrain is incredible. Like nothing I have ever seen.

About two hours into it, we are at a stop, a landslide has reduced traffic to one impossibly narrow lane creating a monumental traffic jam. Actually, upon further investigation, the road is actually open. The issue is that up-bound traffic won’t give way to downward bound traffic. Stalemate ensued. Apparently no fighting yet. It’s almost impossible for the police to come. Stalemate continues.

You may not know about the happy ending to this traffic jam for a few days as I am also losing signal in the mountains. Pictures later.

We’re stuck for another day in the beautiful hill town of Manali, sequestered in the classic Johnson Hotel, peace and relative quiet scant feet from the murderous onslaught of Royal Enfield motorcycles.

This is TDA ‘s inaugural Trans-Himalaya bicycle tour, and logistical challenges are daunting. For instance, the Rohtang Tunnel, a high-altitude engineering marvel, was not open as expected, forcing a five-hour bus transfer for cyclists descending to Manali.

TDA now plans another bus ride, this time transporting us from  Manali to Losar, which will gain a day and put the entire tour back on its original schedule. Losar, at 4085 meters, is a tiny village located at the top of the Spiti Valley, adjacent to the Indo-China border, which, as usual in this part of the world, is a contested frontier. So we can expect a significant military presence.

And Losar will mark my return to high altitudes  though it won’t be as challenging as the lofty passes on the Leh-Manali route. So, lots to look forward to. Will I suffer from a recurrence of high-altitude cerebral oedema, or will the foe be mere oxygen deprivation? I’m hoping for the latter.

Meanwhile, time to enjoy one final day in Manali.

The “old” section of Manali attracts a crowd with a distinctly Euro flavor. The streets feature clean, unbroken pavement, very different from the Mall lower down. Because road grades are so steep in old Manali, the Royal Enfield/motorized rickshaw anti-pedestrian assault is somewhat muted.

Altitude sickness is immediately relieved by the simple expedient of going downhill. But the group can’t wait. It makes it’s way across the 5300 m pass, and I am delivered back to, yup, Leh. My bike goes with the group, along with most of my baggage. I’m left with a backpack, a headache and no appetite.

How to reunite with the Trans-Himalaya expedition as it presses inexorably east? Road is out, because that means a trip over the Tanglangla, far too high for the good of my brain. The only solution is to fly,  first to Delhi, and then on to Kulu, and its abbreviated airstrip. From Kulu, it’s a 70k drive up into the pine hills to Manali, a hill station in the days of the Raj.

Our ultimate rendezvous point is the Johnson Lodge & Spa. The place is a delight. I’ll happily cool my heels here while the group catches up.

Early morning in Leh. The witching hour when the dogs finally lose enthusiasm for barking, yipping, and outright howling, and cede center stage to the military. Then the fighters take over for a rousing few rounds of the valley, choppers pitch in and add to the rumble of the day’s early convoys. Security is tight as we wheel past a series of massive military installations. For this is contested hill country, with unsettled affairs involving Pakistan to the west, and the imponderable Chinese to the North and East.

Leaving Leh (heading east-ish to tiny Lato) by bicycle starts with five km of frantic downhill, through jammed markets, security stations, unmarked T-junctions , and several what may well have been a traffic circles. Ultimately, back to the calming influence of the Indus river and all things green.

The climb to Tanglangla pass is about 40 km of unrelenting altitude gain. The pass is 5300m. Much of the journey parallels the headwaters of the Indus.

I had 400 m to go to the pass when altitude sickness rendered me incapable of balancing the bike. Unbelievably frustrating. I had trouble dismounting, and stabilizing the bike sufficiently.

I walked the bike at least 4 km before they pulled me out for the day. Got a ride in the van with oxygen and on steroids, retreat to lower altitude. So I am back in Leh, doctor’s orders for swelling of the brain, safe and feeling better already. (No more pictures of Leh, I promise).

So change of plan for tomorrow, much re-arranging but I am not giving up. Only giving up the top of the upper of the Up of this trip in the next four days.

Bucket wash time at Lato. Never scoff at a chance for hot water. Ablutions with a bucket of alpine cold water is another matter entirely. But still necessary to maintain hygiene…

These cyclists were turned away from the refuge in lato. They had been dropped at the top of the pass heading West and were 45 km into the descent. Certainly a civilized way to deal with the climbing issue.

Resting easy as I have a cold, watching the sacred cow sampling the geranium just before being shooed away.

We have been stalled far too long, but it was essential to get back on the original schedule. In doing so though, we let some magnificent weather go by.

The whiteboard looks a little scary if not dark for the next six days riding. We are not sleeping low in Leh but it gets worse. Pray that I make it to Manali a mere 1949m and I will be over the big hump.

New Municipal block in the colour of the old city which is already more than jammed. medieval narrow streets contend with a hotel building boom.

A shot of Medieval looking Leh, The town grows on me. Mix of old and new, all different religions and cultures. A homogeneous and comfortable brew.

And this is a cheer from all my Victoria cycling friends, including Phil holding the red wine glass and Stuart cut off on the left. Thank you for preparing me for this insane venture. You are with me all the way.

My pictures are too slow uploading so more later. Bear with me as I will do the hardest cycling of my life by may thousand meters in the next few days.

We have been under another military communication cut, hence the delay. We are not far from Pakistan and things are a little hot in general but no big deal for us. No trouble through the checkpoint. However, much military making their way West.

I am fine physically and mentally, It is very different from my expectations, and the trip is only now really getting underway. I am hoping that I have no unusual difficulties.

Though not forbidden for religious reasons, alcoholic beverages are a rarity in the Himalayas. Occasionally, shops stock the Godfather, strong beer (8%). Never touching the stuff personally, I can only report that discerning palates are rude in their reviews.

And there is tomorrow’s plan!

We’re completely in the dark when it comes to the political crisis in Kashmir. The military-ordered telecom and internet blackout is complete once out of Leh heading west to Mulbeck.

One gets the sense of drama from the military convoys, and the buzz around the many Indian Army military facilities in the region. The biggest impact is on traffic. It’s virtually non-existent. We have the mountain passes to ourselves, (and a scattering of fuel tankers).

Tourists are a rarity. Restaurants are empty. Construction been abandoned, at least temporarily on literaly dozens of new hotels and guesthouses. Leh has a half-baked look to it.

There’s always a nice buzz around race headquarters. Including learning the necessary skills to help ensure a fair and safe contest.

The Trans-Himalayan tour begins in Leh, so the trick is to get there with 100 litres of gear, and, most critically, a bicycle sufficiently robust to withstand 3200 km of mixed riding conditions featuring highways, avalanche debris, sand, gravel, mud and temples. I’ve committed to a Marinoni Fango, a Xbike, a cross between an on-road touring bike, with some of the characteristics of a dirt and mud track racer. Perfect. Now to stuff it into a box, tidy enough to be acceptable to Air Canada as far as Delhi. Then the responsibility rests with Spicejet, a low-cost Indian airline.

The Fango is equipped with hydraulic disc brakes. So the challenge is to reposition the racing-style drop bars to fit into a big cardboard box without putting any stress or kinks into the hydraulic system. I’ll be fretting about this until we unpack in Leh.

I’m now in the final stages of preparing the Himalayan-issue Marinoni Fango for its journey to northern India via Vancouver, to Delhi, then the last leg aboard a Spicejet Boeing 737 to Leh.

A Brief Introduction

I’m about to embark upon a two-month, 3200 km cycling journey along what most Canadians would refer to as the Foothills of the Himalayas. We’ll be cycling at altitudes as high as 5330 meters (17,486 ft) in India, and as low as 265 meters (870 ft) later in the itinerary when we swing into Nepal. The program will be directed by TDA Global Cycling, a Canadian company based in Toronto.

My plan is to regularly post pictures of places, things and people that I think are of interest, for whatever reason, and provide a snippet of pertinent information. Call it ‘an enhanced caption’ format.