The downhill run to the Tibet/Nepal border was wickedly fun. It was cold and wet and the visibility was dangerously low but I loved it. The potholed tarmac plunged on one side into the depths of a gorge whose bottom was often obscured by mist, and came up hard on the other side against black rock fringed by dense greenery. The rock wall was carved by occasional waterfalls, the biggest of which crashed down upon concrete bunkers crudely built to protect passing traffic and grinning cyclists. The water being squeezed through the bottom of the gorge boiled ferociously and Anil looked smug as he explained the rapids were classed at the highest level of difficulty. "If you can kayak those, you can kayak any river in the World", he said.
The road is a controlled fall from the rooftop of the World. It chases the tumbling water clumsily through mountains and forest, through the heart of sleazy townships where we outran chasing dogs and avoided toddlers defecating in the middle of the road, and ends at the border where trucks are parked in lines up to two kms long. And just as Russell used to service the needs of the old-time whalers and earned its name as the 'Hell Hole of the Pacific', those roadside towns service the men who are waiting for their cargos to be cleared by the border officials.
In a situation reminiscent of Cold War movies, once you have passed through the Chinese check point it is necessary to cross a reasonably short bridge before entering Nepal on the far side. On the one side are crisp uniforms, erect postures and even mannequin-like soldiers standing to attention inside bullet proof glass cages, machine guns to hand. On the other, carelessly worn uniforms on men slouching in chairs or engaged in casual conversations. We sat in the open in the rain while porters moved our chairs and luggage on their backs and piled them in the wet with our sleeping mats until the buses could be brought up. We were wet and cold and happy to be back in the chaotic jubilance of Nepal. As Anil said to me, "I am looking forward to getting back to civilisation". Tibet, by any standard, is hard work, let alone from a chair but I'll be happy to return ...just as soon as the cow jumps over the moon.
Then a scary bus ride along a cliff edge road that might have qualified for 'World's Most Dangerous Roads', and long story short we arrived back at the Kathmandu Guest House feeling like we were home. Almost.
And in ones and twos the team left, generally with some relief it can be said. Until we were five. And in a few hours we'll be home...thank God.
Wednesday, 17 July 2013
Post 9: Thursday 11th
It's easier to source a drinkable bottle of red wine in Nepal than it is in Tibet. This is a demonstrable fact, as I have proven this evening while dining in Kathmandu with the remnants of the Catwalk Big Cycle team. In Tibet, one can purchase a bottle of Great Wall red wine or...well, nothing actually. That's it, Great Wall red wine and it barks like a Tibetan dog. Tonight in the Thamel district of Kathmandu, we enjoyed a couple of bottles of Portuguese something or other and it was great.
The day after EBC there was a consensus that we weasel out of the days scheduled ride. Truthfully, bodies and bikes weren't up to it and the route was tough, taking us through some of the most spectacular but challenging terrain of the journey. Our Tibetan bus drivers raced over roads unsuited for such things, while Sexy Driver (I never learnt his real name) transported those of us in the van more sedately to our lodgings for the night. Amy and I opted for the musty ground floor room, while the rest of he team went for he relative grandeur of the balcony accommodations. I wanted access to the street and the chance of a shower, though the later proved impossible as I found it all but impossible not to roll into the squat toilet in the bathroom floor..
There was a surreal moment when a squad of 20 or 30 Chinese policemen marching in military formation with batons extended halted in front of a small group of us about to enter a bar. I was clearly the focus of their interest and, for a few heartbeats, I believed I was about to be arrested for criticising Chairman Mao in one of my blogs...such is the state of things in Tibet. A brief but sharp command caused four of the squad to jog in formation toward me, compounding my confusion and fear until they took hold of my chair and hoisted me up the steps to the bar. I instinctively saluted the men and they returned the acknowledgement before rejoining their squad and marching off up the road.
That evening was the turning point of the expedition. The major goal had been achieved and the blinkers were removed. In a shabby Tibetan tea house we ate and drank and congratulated ourselves and each other. The Tibetan drivers and cooks were called up one by one to receive their tips and eyes were wiped as Kunchok's courage and tenacity was recognised. The Tibetans sang and danced with the girls and the stress of the last 6 months drifted away with their deep harmonies. And Everest Base Camp was a shitty pile of rocks and who gave a right Royal fuck if my trike was ok or not.
The day after EBC there was a consensus that we weasel out of the days scheduled ride. Truthfully, bodies and bikes weren't up to it and the route was tough, taking us through some of the most spectacular but challenging terrain of the journey. Our Tibetan bus drivers raced over roads unsuited for such things, while Sexy Driver (I never learnt his real name) transported those of us in the van more sedately to our lodgings for the night. Amy and I opted for the musty ground floor room, while the rest of he team went for he relative grandeur of the balcony accommodations. I wanted access to the street and the chance of a shower, though the later proved impossible as I found it all but impossible not to roll into the squat toilet in the bathroom floor..
There was a surreal moment when a squad of 20 or 30 Chinese policemen marching in military formation with batons extended halted in front of a small group of us about to enter a bar. I was clearly the focus of their interest and, for a few heartbeats, I believed I was about to be arrested for criticising Chairman Mao in one of my blogs...such is the state of things in Tibet. A brief but sharp command caused four of the squad to jog in formation toward me, compounding my confusion and fear until they took hold of my chair and hoisted me up the steps to the bar. I instinctively saluted the men and they returned the acknowledgement before rejoining their squad and marching off up the road.
That evening was the turning point of the expedition. The major goal had been achieved and the blinkers were removed. In a shabby Tibetan tea house we ate and drank and congratulated ourselves and each other. The Tibetan drivers and cooks were called up one by one to receive their tips and eyes were wiped as Kunchok's courage and tenacity was recognised. The Tibetans sang and danced with the girls and the stress of the last 6 months drifted away with their deep harmonies. And Everest Base Camp was a shitty pile of rocks and who gave a right Royal fuck if my trike was ok or not.
Post 8: Wednesday 10th
On July 6th we made it to Everest base camp, me with the help of a pink dressing gown. While it was very satisfying to reach the staging point of the world's highest mountain, I found my bliss two days later in the cold and the rain on the world's longest descent. But I'm getting ahead of myself...
The climb to Pang La pass and descent to the Rongbuk valley camp on July 4th was by far the most arduous day of the expedition. The 76 kilometre ride involved negotiating 46 switchbacks over a rocky and terribly corrugated dirt road to the 5,150 metre pass before dropping a thousand metres via the same hellish road.
It's impossible to exaggerate the misery of that road. While rocks and pot-holes could be avoided the cursed corrugations were everywhere and they took a toll on bodies and bikes. Two thirds of the way into the ascent the strain on my motor caused it to overheat and I rode in the van to the top of the pass. After a packed lunch, I chose to ride the descent with the others, which proved to be even more draining than the climb.
If our presence at high altitude had had us joking about our proximity to the Gods over the preceding few days, the ride down to the Rongbuk valley felt like a decent into Hades itself. The absence of suspension on our trikes ensured that every bump was experienced as a thumping through our spines, while our bodies were rattled about in our seats. We spent eight hours on that road and by the time we limped finally into camp that night, my rack had been destroyed and my batteries were exhausted. It was raining, i had diarrhoea, and if it had been feasible, I'd have thrown in the towel.
Neil and Catriona spent the night passing blood, Neil's situation serious enough to keep him off the road the following day. The next day's ride was another 33 Kms along the same road and when my motor again failed me after only 4 Kms, it was with a great deal of relief that I got into the van. Cat completed the ride.
Several of the guys arrived at camp with bleeding backsides, and Sam, who had been vomiting half the night but still rode, was struggling for composure. With the ride up to Base Camp scheduled for the following day, it was a fairly somber company that crawled into their bags that evening.
Everest chose to show itself briefly and unexpectedly while dusk was falling, and those of us not incapacitated grabbed cameras. Cat was unwell and missed the event, while I stole a glimpse through the rear flap of our tent from my position on the toilet. Frankly, I couldn't have cared two fucks about that view. Amy, as ever, was in good spirits.
I woke in the foulest of moods. This was the climax of the expedition; I was still suffering from the shits and my trike was held together with duct tape and old inner tubes. The hub motor was shot and I couldn't believe it would get me up those last eight Kms. It didn't.
At one of the check points I was having a piss when several Chinese tourists began filming me. Not a big deal as I'd spent the last three weeks pissing and shitting on the sides of roads, in fields and in markets, usually to an inquisitive audience. When I promised to shove one gentleman's iPhone "up your fucking arse", I'm not sure he understood my words but the intent was communicated adequately enough. I wasn't enjoying myself.
After satisfying the Chinese authorities that we weren't likely to make a stand for the "Free Tibet" crusade or to set ourselves on fire (our Tibetan guide was risking imprisonment by having a store of petrol for our generators), and after narrowly avoiding expulsion from the mountain by an outburst from Mike, we rode through the barrier for the last eight Kms of the main goal...Everest Base Camp.
I know I'm making this all sound very dramatic but that's how it was for us. Cat especially had the expectations of many supporters on her shoulders (approx. $600,000 has been raised to date) and we all had our own personal reasons for being there. We had been consumed for months by the project and the last three weeks removed from normality had exaggerated the importance of the day no doubt.
For the first three Kms I received a reasonable degree of assistance from my hub. Then it ground to a halt and I was without power again, only this time at 5,000 metres on that shitty bloody road, at my lowest physical ebb. I was immersed in my struggle to move up that hill, struggling for breath from the exertion and the height, and trying unsuccessfully to keep my mouth and throat wet enough, and I was only vaguely aware of having company. The bulk of the team had disappeared around a switchback and there was no one in sight.
Well, I'm afraid my heroics were over for the day. I looked for and found the towel I'd contemplated the previous night and stopped, less than 3 Kms from Base Camp. When I did get moving again it was because Nicki and Sanjeev had dismounted and with a hand on my seat posts and a hand on their own bikes, were pushing me onward. And when they were exhausted and in tears from their efforts and my mouth was too dry to form a suction around my drinking tube and my thoughts had turned ungenerously toward the pack ahead, the cavalry arrived.
Not the support crew - they had been shepherded into a bus by the authorities and transported to the top - but Mike and Sam and Scott and Stu and Jack. And while I was regretting the direction my thoughts had been taking me, Stu organised a relay and they took turns shoving me up the road 40 metres at a time. And when we caught up with Cat and Neil and the others, who were waiting for me 500 metres from the top, someone thought to tie me to Neil's trike with the cord of the pink dressing gown that Mike was wearing. So it was, that I arrived less than triumphantly, at Everest Base Camp. And I don't mind saying that I'm having some trouble recounting it all.
After the pictures and the hand shakes and the hugs we quickly enough left for camp. I had thought to collect two stones from Base Camp, one for myself as a memento and a much larger one, I forget what for. When I stopped Scott, who was pushing me and gasping for breath, as I was about to loose my grip on the large stone (OK, rock), he looked down and said "You must be fucking kidding. I'll shove that up your...". I still have the smaller memento.
The climb to Pang La pass and descent to the Rongbuk valley camp on July 4th was by far the most arduous day of the expedition. The 76 kilometre ride involved negotiating 46 switchbacks over a rocky and terribly corrugated dirt road to the 5,150 metre pass before dropping a thousand metres via the same hellish road.
It's impossible to exaggerate the misery of that road. While rocks and pot-holes could be avoided the cursed corrugations were everywhere and they took a toll on bodies and bikes. Two thirds of the way into the ascent the strain on my motor caused it to overheat and I rode in the van to the top of the pass. After a packed lunch, I chose to ride the descent with the others, which proved to be even more draining than the climb.
If our presence at high altitude had had us joking about our proximity to the Gods over the preceding few days, the ride down to the Rongbuk valley felt like a decent into Hades itself. The absence of suspension on our trikes ensured that every bump was experienced as a thumping through our spines, while our bodies were rattled about in our seats. We spent eight hours on that road and by the time we limped finally into camp that night, my rack had been destroyed and my batteries were exhausted. It was raining, i had diarrhoea, and if it had been feasible, I'd have thrown in the towel.
Neil and Catriona spent the night passing blood, Neil's situation serious enough to keep him off the road the following day. The next day's ride was another 33 Kms along the same road and when my motor again failed me after only 4 Kms, it was with a great deal of relief that I got into the van. Cat completed the ride.
Several of the guys arrived at camp with bleeding backsides, and Sam, who had been vomiting half the night but still rode, was struggling for composure. With the ride up to Base Camp scheduled for the following day, it was a fairly somber company that crawled into their bags that evening.
Everest chose to show itself briefly and unexpectedly while dusk was falling, and those of us not incapacitated grabbed cameras. Cat was unwell and missed the event, while I stole a glimpse through the rear flap of our tent from my position on the toilet. Frankly, I couldn't have cared two fucks about that view. Amy, as ever, was in good spirits.
 |
| From camp - Everest peeps out |
I woke in the foulest of moods. This was the climax of the expedition; I was still suffering from the shits and my trike was held together with duct tape and old inner tubes. The hub motor was shot and I couldn't believe it would get me up those last eight Kms. It didn't.
At one of the check points I was having a piss when several Chinese tourists began filming me. Not a big deal as I'd spent the last three weeks pissing and shitting on the sides of roads, in fields and in markets, usually to an inquisitive audience. When I promised to shove one gentleman's iPhone "up your fucking arse", I'm not sure he understood my words but the intent was communicated adequately enough. I wasn't enjoying myself.
After satisfying the Chinese authorities that we weren't likely to make a stand for the "Free Tibet" crusade or to set ourselves on fire (our Tibetan guide was risking imprisonment by having a store of petrol for our generators), and after narrowly avoiding expulsion from the mountain by an outburst from Mike, we rode through the barrier for the last eight Kms of the main goal...Everest Base Camp.
I know I'm making this all sound very dramatic but that's how it was for us. Cat especially had the expectations of many supporters on her shoulders (approx. $600,000 has been raised to date) and we all had our own personal reasons for being there. We had been consumed for months by the project and the last three weeks removed from normality had exaggerated the importance of the day no doubt.
For the first three Kms I received a reasonable degree of assistance from my hub. Then it ground to a halt and I was without power again, only this time at 5,000 metres on that shitty bloody road, at my lowest physical ebb. I was immersed in my struggle to move up that hill, struggling for breath from the exertion and the height, and trying unsuccessfully to keep my mouth and throat wet enough, and I was only vaguely aware of having company. The bulk of the team had disappeared around a switchback and there was no one in sight.
Well, I'm afraid my heroics were over for the day. I looked for and found the towel I'd contemplated the previous night and stopped, less than 3 Kms from Base Camp. When I did get moving again it was because Nicki and Sanjeev had dismounted and with a hand on my seat posts and a hand on their own bikes, were pushing me onward. And when they were exhausted and in tears from their efforts and my mouth was too dry to form a suction around my drinking tube and my thoughts had turned ungenerously toward the pack ahead, the cavalry arrived.
Not the support crew - they had been shepherded into a bus by the authorities and transported to the top - but Mike and Sam and Scott and Stu and Jack. And while I was regretting the direction my thoughts had been taking me, Stu organised a relay and they took turns shoving me up the road 40 metres at a time. And when we caught up with Cat and Neil and the others, who were waiting for me 500 metres from the top, someone thought to tie me to Neil's trike with the cord of the pink dressing gown that Mike was wearing. So it was, that I arrived less than triumphantly, at Everest Base Camp. And I don't mind saying that I'm having some trouble recounting it all.
 |
| Pink! |
After the pictures and the hand shakes and the hugs we quickly enough left for camp. I had thought to collect two stones from Base Camp, one for myself as a memento and a much larger one, I forget what for. When I stopped Scott, who was pushing me and gasping for breath, as I was about to loose my grip on the large stone (OK, rock), he looked down and said "You must be fucking kidding. I'll shove that up your...". I still have the smaller memento.
 |
| Everest Base Camp - Tibet |
Post 6: Saturday 29th
The now familiar thunder storm is upon us with the first smatterings of rain prompting Amy to zip up the tent. This is our fourth camp but few of us bothered to bring out our cameras. The landscape has lost it's novelty. Dry dust and stone underfoot, brown shadowed mountains on all horizons. Thankfully it is unusually warm and I am hoping to use my sleeping bag as a duvet. I feel claustrophobic when it is necessary to pull the hood over my head and zip up over my shoulders.
It has been a difficult day when it should have been simple. The scheduled ride was only fifty odd Kms with no major passes to climb but the mood among the team was fairly sour as we breakfasted and prepared the bikes. There were complaints about the food and that many of the squad weren't ready in time. Little of the usual banter was circulating. We are all fairly exhausted and the thought of spending the next three nights camping contributed to the flat mood I suspect.
We headed out at around 9:30, half an hour behind schedule, and hadn't travelled far before Neil's trike had mechanical problems. The rest of us waited while a few of the guys worked on the trike. As we had stopped in the Tibetan quarter, a crowd of interested bystanders quickly developed around the two of us in hand cycles. At one point, a member of our support crew translated to the spectators that Catriona was paralysed. Immediately people began to pass money to her, overwhelming both catriona and penny. The people here are extremely poor.
My ride was interrupted by a blown tire that almost scared Amy off her bike. It made quite a noise and frightened her more than the night the thermos exploded in front of her showering glass over a handful of people in the mess tent. The tires are now a serious issue; this one blew after only 40 Kms and there are no more opportunities to buy any. Suspecting I the steering had been knocked out of alignment, we made some adjustments this evening and are expecting to see an improvement tomorrow.
It has been a difficult day when it should have been simple. The scheduled ride was only fifty odd Kms with no major passes to climb but the mood among the team was fairly sour as we breakfasted and prepared the bikes. There were complaints about the food and that many of the squad weren't ready in time. Little of the usual banter was circulating. We are all fairly exhausted and the thought of spending the next three nights camping contributed to the flat mood I suspect.
We headed out at around 9:30, half an hour behind schedule, and hadn't travelled far before Neil's trike had mechanical problems. The rest of us waited while a few of the guys worked on the trike. As we had stopped in the Tibetan quarter, a crowd of interested bystanders quickly developed around the two of us in hand cycles. At one point, a member of our support crew translated to the spectators that Catriona was paralysed. Immediately people began to pass money to her, overwhelming both catriona and penny. The people here are extremely poor.
My ride was interrupted by a blown tire that almost scared Amy off her bike. It made quite a noise and frightened her more than the night the thermos exploded in front of her showering glass over a handful of people in the mess tent. The tires are now a serious issue; this one blew after only 40 Kms and there are no more opportunities to buy any. Suspecting I the steering had been knocked out of alignment, we made some adjustments this evening and are expecting to see an improvement tomorrow.
 |
| After 8 Everest summits Neema is not fazed by a blown tire |
 |
| Big hole |
Thursday, 4 July 2013
Post 7: Closing in...
A brutal day. My trike is being welded in some godforsaken Tibetan village. I am run down and in need of sleep. Amy is holding everything together.
Post 5: Friday
Friday 28
In my last update I mentioned one of the guides crashed his bike into a cart.. I must confess, I considered him slightly buffoonish even before this mishap. I now know this 'buffoon' has summited Everest no less than 8 times and from both sides. Until recently he has been employed by Adventure Consultants - you may remember this is the company founded by Rob Hall, the New Zealander who died on Everest with many others in 1996. Who's the buffoon now.
Yesterday's ride was 100 Kms of almost flat straight riding. A mostly tedious affair, though I did get face to face with a yak (the Tibetans refer only to the males as yaks and not being brave enough to explore between this beasts legs I use yak in the generic sense). This large bovine stared at me with a look of complete disdain and this, coupled with the two scimitar like horns arcing from his head, persuaded me to get on my bike so to speak.
For dinner last night we dined at a restaurant associated with this hotel. The service was so farcical we began to refer to the place as Fawlty Towers, and our waiter as Manuel. To everyone's surprise and pleasure we had lunch today at a Tibetan restaurant where you could order a leg of lamb among other highly edible morsels, and even a cold beer (surprisingly hard to get here). It was such a treat after the fare we have been surviving on.
I forgot to mention that Amy managed to get lost yesterday. She had the good sense to stay on the main road and was found by a search party in good time.. Her disappearance did upset our guides though. Manga was very relieved when he found her and said, "Amy, we have been so worried. I had to call Ann and tell her, we have no Amy, we have no Amy."
Tomorrow we head off on the hardest leg of the journey. Our briefing this morning told us to expect living conditions to get harder and the colder temperatures and higher altitudes to take a toll. After the last couple of weeks, no one is taking these warnings lightly. We stocked up on chocolate bars and nuts as this will be the last chance to do so for some time. Amy and I have decided that she will not continue to do all the cycling; it is too exhausting with the other responsibilities she has. We will see the Himalayas for the first time tomorrow.
After some reflection during the hours of tedium yesterday, I thought it only fair to provide more balanced reporting on the state of affairs in Tibet. To date, I have criticised the Chinese without providing a alternative view, even going to the extreme of running over the toes of a member of the Public Safety Traffic Police force.
We all know of the Dalai Lama, he with the beautific(sp) smile who promotes peace and harmony around the world. A less known fact is that there are many Lamas in Tibet, who are spiritual leaders of the numerous schools of Tibetan Buddhism. The Dalai lama's line gained ascendency sometime in the 17th Century, or thereabouts, after a rather brutal coup against another prominent school. From then until the Chinese invasion in 1951, the Dalai lamas ruled Tibet as a kind of feudal theocracy. The monasteries (and other ruling classes) owned the land, which was worked by the Tibetan peasants, allowing the monks to go about their scholarly and political business.
No doubt I've made some errors in the brief summary above but the gist of it is correct I think. My point is this, who among us would choose to be ruled over by a theocracy, where the land is owned by the aristocracy and the common people are bound to be subsistence farmers supporting the activities of the church? Count me out. I have no more faith in the ability of the Dalai Lama to make good decisions on my behalf as I do The Pope, God forbid.
Still, would you choose Chairman Mao and his bloodthirsty Red Brigades to lead you to a brighter fairer future.
It may not be possible to post for some time but I'll try. Wish us luck in navigating the road to Base Camp.
Sent from my iPad
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