October 20 – 22, 2016

I asked for it. I wanted it. More mountains. India delivered an American supersized portion. It was like being at an all all-you-can-eat buffet and the only thing being served was mountains. The big, steep, sweeping, relentless kind. I wasn’t getting out without a fight and she wasn’t just gonna let me go. This is India. It is pure, raw, and authentic. I’m in love (except for all the blaring horns of course).

Yesterday was just a warm up to the next 4 days as I approached the Nepal border. Each morning I woke at 515am and was pedaling by 6am knowing full well the weight of what lay in front of me for the day. That was typically 4,000-5,000 feet of climbing, 6-7 hours of pedaling, and 50 miles.

There are few things that I have experienced so captivating and calming as seeing the sunrise each morning over the Himalayas as it lights the valley below, bringing to life and waking the stillness in India yet again. The days are long but at the same time, they are not. I am in no rush to leave. I know that my time here is nearing an end and I’m cherishing every switchback. There is magic here.

“Good morning, morning!” the Indian men call to me as I set out each day. “Come here! Chai!?!” they say in a declarative and simultaneously interrogative way. I graciously stop for chai or breakfast. People sit next to me and stare, sometimes unknowingly awkwardly. They try to communicate and desperately want to connect. It always makes me laugh. It’s as if they are seeing something (me) that they have only seen on television. They try to talk to me in indiscernible English. I politely smile back and chuckle. It is amazing how powerful a smile can be.  I smile some more, finish my chai, and once again begin to pedal. I’m in an area in the Uttarakhand state where thus far it has never been more clear that English is a foreign language and I am an anomaly. Even the word rice is a foreign word, however, fortunately dahl, chapati, and chai are not.

The school children, both boys and girls, dressed in their school uniform walk to school up these steep mountain passes. “Hello! How are you? Where are you going?” they beckon to me, with the extent of their English. When I reply with the town that I am traveling to that day, they smile and giggle, partly because they were able to interact with me and partly because they likely have not traveled that far from their village and thus have no idea where I’m talking about. I’ll answer the same question 12 times each day. I truly believe that life is about human connection. I cherish each of these encounters and they never get old.

The towns are becoming smaller. Accommodations more simple. Last night, I stayed in my least expensive room yet. Rs300 (about $4.50). It was the VIP room, in the back corner of the hotel with 2 doors, views of the valley, and also the trash dump below my balcony. But it was quiet, if only a bit stinky. I searched all over town (which was only about 400 meters long) in search of an air freshener. For $2 it was money well spent. It’s quite evident to me that the hotels that I’ve been staying at really do not clean the rooms after each use. I thought that I had an isolated instance several weeks ago, but that was clearly false. I routinely find evidence of prior guests. They just fold up the blankets, fluff the pillows (sometimes) and hand you a key. Most of the time it is just an exercise in recalibrating my standards. This room was the tipping point. It was the first time that I actually “camped” in my room with my air mattress and sleeping bag. However, it was quiet, comfortable, safe, and I slept well.

The next morning, I woke to see the diffused light of the hazy sunrise over the Himalayas. I’m at a high point and the low lying clouds shrouded the valley below. Another day. Another adventure. Another war. On this day, however, I got my ass kicked in a way I haven’t had in a while. I knew that last night I would begin today by going downhill. Indeed I did, for 2 hours. I don’t know that I’ve ever been more relaxed than I was floating down a single lane, paved road, with no traffic, as the sun was cresting the distant peaks. Crayola needs to create a new color. India Green. I’m convinced there isn’t anything greener.

The further down I went, however, the more concerned I became. I would have to go back up all this. “Please don’t go all the way down to the river. Please don’t go all the way down to the river,” I repeated over and over, first in my head then aloud. The road snaked around each bend, dove back into each canyon, all the way down to the river. It was 8:30am so I stopped for breakfast to reflect on the amazing start to my morning and also contemplate how my day was going to end. I began climbing, and climbing, and then climbing some more. Was the road steeper? Was I just tired from over 15 hours of climbing during the prior 3 days? Yes. Emphatically. How curvy and steep was the road? At one point a taxi passed me. There was an Indian man with his hanging out the window. At first I thought it was just someone looking back at me as I have seen so many times before. He was vomiting a continuous stream and the taxi didn’t bother to pull over.

The sun was now at eye level. I flipped my collar up high and pulled my hat down low. This was the war I was expecting. Each turn, the sun followed me. There was no escape. I zigged. The sun zagged, draining the strength and fluids from me. By 11 a.m. I had bonked. I went through 3 bottles of water and all my breakfast. I was still 25 km away. I was losing. I stopped for a Coke. I stood up. I sat down. I slowed my cadence. I sped up my cadence. Every trick I knew to keep the pedals turning was in vain. I could see the sign posts counting down the kilometers but not fast enough. By 1pm, I had dragged myself to the top of the pass and rolled 4 km down the other side to the town of Lohaghat. I was still 15km short of my planned stopping point. However, there was a hotel there, friendly smiles, and a guy to stitch the rip in my shoes (for about $0.15). I pulled the plug.

The first room I was shown had no window. Truly. It was a box. Fortunately for $1.50 more, there was anther room. A double for Rs500 (about $8.00). It was clean, with a huge window…and another view. I wondered why I could hear literally every word from the next room. Typically it has been because buildings here are tile and concrete and everything just echoes. Not this time. I was going to the bath room. There was a window in there. At first glance, it just went to a space that looked like a shaft or chute. I didn’t look any further than that. When I stood up from the squat toilet, I saw a head. Startled, I squatted back down, then slowly peered back through my window. It was looking directly into the room next to me where 2 men were sitting and chatting. Honestly, I’m sure they thought nothing of it. Ah…India.

I saw a Facebook post recently from Conrad Anker, legendary alpinist. It brought everything into perspective after my day. “Sleeping on the side of a mountain has taught me to have empathy for those less fortunate.   As alpinists we “celebrate” how much self imposed hardship we can endure. Yet there are fellow humans who have no or little choice but to suffer…Recognizing them and sharing a little kindness is a small action towards lessening pain and suffering…Smiles cost nothing. Smiles make our communities vibrant. And smiles are healthy.”

I woke the next morning, rested and once again excited to see what lay ahead. There was however a bit of pause as I was packing up at 530a.m. I began reflecting back on the past 5 weeks. I was within 100km of Nepal and this very likely would be my last day in the mountains…and in India. While I was excited to experience Nepal, there was a part of India that just would not let me leave.

Starting out, it was about a 1 hour climb to my proposed stopping point from the day prior (a climb that I surely would not have made yesterday), then another magical and exhilarating 30km descent to the valley floor. At one point, I pulled over to put on a jacket, hat, and gloves due to the morning chill…something I had not done in 3 weeks. This was where I wanted to be. Looking at the map, I knew that I had 1 more climb. One more battle in India before she would let me pass. The ascent however had a far different feel. Each pedal stroke felt like my first ones when I landed in India 1 month ago. They were effortless. I felt playful and exuberant like a child at recess. The pitches were steep. The road curvy. It was no matter. Everything just flowed. Memories from the prior day of suffering were scarcely recallable. Every pedal stroke I knew was bringing me closer and closer to the end. I reminded myself that it is never about the end. Always the journey. I reached the summit by 11 a.m. and pulled over to sit and be. This was it. All around me was beauty and magic. Emotions at one point got the better of me. I threw a leg over my bike, wiped the emotion flowing down my cheeks, and began my final descent. I looked off to the east. I could see the river separating India from Nepal. I’ll admit that I used my brakes a bit more on the way down, if only to savor the experience a bit longer. As in typical Indian form, I came upon a bus. It is easy to catch them on the descents (for obvious reason). On a single lane, winding road that clings to the edge of the mountain, there just is no place to pass. I have been in this position too many times. I followed the bus down the pass for about 10 minutes. He was handling the curves remarkably well (no idea what it felt like inside the bus) but still not as fast as I would like to go. But then…he pulled over and waived me by. I opened up my front shock, plowed through the rocky shoulder on the left, popped back onto the pavement and whizzed by as the driver and passengers all gave me the thumbs up. It was if India had finally conceded and was letting me go.