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.