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[unsealed]

Jeff (Cyclist, US)
curmudgeon, unkempt

To Delhi

We waited in the bus terminal area of Rampur, what appeared to be a charmless one-street town, but turned out to be a charmless one-street town with a bazaar that fell away from the road along the steeply sloping bank of the Sutlej. I went in search of some juice while Martin sat dazed and glum looking, rubbing at his throat and sucking on lozenges like they were candy.

The Spiti Valley

We arranged to take a van to Koksar, at the junction with the road to the Spiti Valley, and begin cycling there, the last segment of our bicycle ride in India .This van was set to leave at 3am “tomorrow morning”, which I tried to clarify with the driver. Does “tomorrow morning” mean what we would refer to as “tonight”, or does it mean the following night, sometime after midnight and therefore actually two calendar days hence? I struggled with this for some time, and called the man's cell phone to reconfirm in the evening.

“Tomorrow morning, meaning after midnight tonight?” I asked.

Leisure Time in Leh, and an Ascent of Stok Kangri

What remained in Ladakh? Lots, of course, but one of the items still on our list was climbing Stok Kangri, a nice looking peak across the Indus Valley from Leh. Poor weather on the mountain kept us homebound, wandering the city streets, watching cafes and shops close for the winter season.

Over the Mountains to Nubra and the Changtang

The town of Leh is a collection of cultures, and the capital of Ladakh. The people are primarily Ladakhi, but the place is polyglot, with lots of downcountry Indians from Punjab or Haryana conversing in Hindi, Muslims from Kashmir gathered around the mosque speaking Urdu, Tibetan refugees selling handicrafts lining the Main Bazaar, and a sprinkling of foreign tourists bargaining in English. There are rug shops, cafes catering to Western tastes (pizza, pasta, burgers and fries), stalls selling the sickly sweet Indian snacks: gulab jamun, jalebi, barfi, kulfi.

High and Dry: The Road to Ladakh

We left Manali under sunny skies, having bought a few provisions for the road. The town ended abruptly at the river, which was crossed by a bridge festooned with prayer flags. Just beyond the bridge we began to climb, an ascent that was to last the rest of the day and part of the next one. We passed through two Tibetan refugee camps, depressing places constructed of scrap wood and metal panels salvaged from trucks and cars, beaten into material for walls and roofs. This place didn’t resemble anywhere in Tibet.

Rolling in the Foothills

Before leaving Dharmsala, Martin had one last chore to do, which was to go to the post office and mail home two huge stones (geodes) that he bought off the street near our hotel. What possessed him to go and buy stones in India the day he was to leave on a bicycle ride, I don't know, but he did it. They were nice enough stones, but they weighed about 20kg (thats 45 pounds). And I experienced the Indian postal system years ago, and unless things had changed dramatically, I knew this would be at least a two hour ordeal.

The Long Transit

McCleod Ganj. I never really thought of coming here, but it's fairly convenient to the mountains of Ladakh in northern India, and there is an airport of sorts nearby. I had no interest in hassling with Delhi, so better to just hide in the hermetically sealed environment of Indira Gandhi Internatinoal Airport and catch out on the next flight full of monks.

The Return

I got to Dahongliutan in the late afternoon. I figured my best shot was a truck ride back down to the desert, since the bus from Ali would likely be full. I went back into the Uighur restaurant, and asked if I could have laghman.

"Sure..." No one was moving very quickly. It occured to me that perhaps it was Ramadan.

"Has Ramadan started?"

"Yes."

"Ah, well then, hold the laghman - I'll break the fast with you tonight."

Rogue Climbers in Western Tibet

Janne and I left Kashgar on August 27th, leaving me with about three weeks on my visa. (An aside here: Hong Kong agencies can issue six month visas to just about anyone, but since the beginning of 2007, US passport holders can no longer get six month visas. Again, I carry the cross...) Our plan had been to cycle from Tashkurgan east towards Mazar, but Steve had just been in the area with horses and camels, and had run into major washouts along this road, ending near the settlement of Pilu with an uncrossable river that had eaten the entire road along its bank.

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