October 24 – 27, 2016

And just like that, literally, as I crossed the border…it all stopped. All of it. Buses blaring their horns traveling through narrow busy streets at speeds unsafe on a 4 lane highway. Cars weaving in and out of those buses, also blaring their horns, somehow traveling even faster. It ended, literally, at the border. I looked around and saw…bicycles. I heard…the clanking and grinding of squeaky chains. I stopped to rub my eyes. I pinched myself. I could hear myself think. I could ride with traffic. There was a steady stream of women crossing the border back into Nepal, bicycles LOADED from the market in India. And here I thought I was traveling a bit heavy?

I continued on about 10km to the first town of any size in Nepal, called Bhimdatta.  I stumbled upon one of the fanciest hotels that I have seen in over a month, booked a room for about $15, ordered mixed veg curry delivered to my room, and watched a Seinfeld re-run. I’m still feeling the pull of the mountains in India, but will admit that the peace thus far in my first hour in Nepal is very welcoming to my body.

So it turns out that not all of Nepal lies directly in the Himalayas. Hmmm. Ok, I did know that, but there are no mountains in sight. They are directly north. I’m officially at sea level…or 436 ft above according to my GPS, in the Terai region…and it’s HOT. It’s a heat that I have not yet felt.

I was still hungry after my curry so I decided to venture out into town. It was like any other border town; dry and dusty but provided an opportunity to restock some supplies like sunscreen and toilet paper, which literally just did not exist in India. Truly, I looked every place that I stopped. Across the street, I saw someone making some fried noodles and decided to give them a try. I took my first bite and immediately knew of my mistake. I saw the man spraying water from a bottle that his wife had just filled from a pump, directly on the noodles that he was cooking. A small part of me thought (hoped) that flash frying at that temperature would kill anything in there. Two hours later, that theory was blown up, and so was I. I took 2 Imodium, then had dinner a few hours later. Things were still moving too quickly. I took 2 more, then 2 more before bed. (I figured if a couple worked then a couple more might work better?) It worked alright. To the point where nothing was moving. Well, I figured that I would eat something else and naturally restore the balance.

According to the map it was about 450 km from Bhimdatta to Butwal, which is the turnoff to Pokhara and also where the road starts to climb back into the Himalayas (happy face). That stretch however is nearly completely flat (unhappy face), but could be broken up with a visit to Bardia National Park. It is an area known for elephants, rhinos…and tigers. There’s the metaphorical hook. I figured a 2 day safari detour could be worth enduring some jungle heat. I set out at 545 a.m. before the sun rise. It was calm. It was peaceful, and it was still cool. The pedaling was effortless and even at 6 a.m., the Nepali people are the beacon of kindness.  Children ran, not walked, from their homes yelling “bye bye”, likely the only English they knew. It might be the cutest thing I’ve ever seen or heard. Along the way, I crossed a dozen named bridges, which spanned dried up river beds, vaguely showing the remembrance of the recently ended monsoon season. After six hours and countless greetings, I had ridden 130km to the turnoff for the National Park. The heat was turned on, fully. From there, I got a jeep transfer from the park guide, 13km to the lodge. He began to hoist my bike onto the roof. “Where is your rope?” I inquired. “No rope.” He replied. “Ummm…yes, NEED rope,” I insisted. “No problem without rope,” he quipped back. I was not about to just toss my bike on to the roof basket of this jeep, down a blown out rocky dirt road. Sure, it likely wouldn’t get bounced out, but I was pretty sure that a 1 hour mosh pit would not do my bike any favors. I could see that I was going to have to try another angle, so I took both wheels off and loaded my bike inside…and that we could agree on.

The lodge was called Bardia Eco Lodge. They had a genuinely friendly staff, solid food, composting toilets, and remarkably clean mud built huts to sleep in. Actually, my room was one of the cleanest that I had slept in during the past several weeks. I truly wish there was an epic tale of a near death encounter with a tiger or even a far off siting, but it simply did not happen. As a reference, the guide for my safari in Africa picked us up in a Range Rover, rifle never far from his side, as we toured the bush looking for lions, elephants, zebras, and giraffe. It was like being in an outdoor zoo. Simply amazing. This safari was a walking safari and our guide had a bamboo stick. Immediately I had concerns and doubts about our adventure.

We set out at 7 a.m. into the dense jungle. The morning dew rained from the trees. I was immediately saturated. The protocol was to walk several hours to a known hot spot, then wait…for several more hours. We did this numerous times throughout the 10 hour day. Nothing.  The last time I did a walking safari was in Madagascar and I was able to talk the guide into borrowing a bike so that we didn’t have to walk. Not so fortunate this time it would seem. As the day wore on, the heat rose precipitously, as my interest and patience plummeted. At one point our group of 4 tourists was splayed out in the dirt, half asleep, waiting for the elephant or tiger that never appeared. One of the guides who was sitting next to me on a log actually drifted off to sleep and fell into me, face first, jarring himself awake. This was our day and it was a bust.   I just wanted out, now. It wasn’t anyone’s fault however, every time I enlist in an organized group activity, I feel the same suffocating feeling, almost like an elephant is sitting on my chest.  I know this going in, and yet each time I still do it. I’m not sure if it is the control that I forfeit…c’mon…who am I kidding..yeah, that’s what it is. It was at that moment that I committed to taking a bus and getting back into the mountains, my happy place, as soon as possible. I did not want to waste another moment.

I had seen plenty of buses in my last 5 weeks. People were packed in, heads hanging out the windows, as the bus rumbled along. I had a choice: an 8 hour experiential bus ride to get me back to the mountains or 4 days of cycling through what essentially was Nebraska in July. The next day, I handed the driver $12 and got on the 7 a.m. bus…but not before another battle ensued about actually securing my bike to the roof with a rope. There was already rope up there, holding some of the other luggage in place. Begrudgingly, he caved and used a section of the rope to at least tie my handle bars down. Small victories. I boarded the fully loaded bus. It was clearly over sold. There were no seats and people were standing in the aisle. The driver pointed and yelled down the aisle at someone, an old woman, to get out of my seat. “No problem, no problem!” I pleaded, but to no avail. She got booted to the floor, directly next to me. There was a pricing structure and she evidently did not pay for an actual seat. Awkward…Fortunately she got off at the next stop so I did not feel as bad. The next 8 hours was a blur, one that went by without further incident. I’ll count that as a win. I have only been out of the mountains for 3 days and I find myself yearning for the suffering and exhilaration…and freedom. Where is the reset button?