A Vicious Cycle

After that first day of minimal activity-- laundry and a shower (neither of which had been accomplished during the week's ride through Tibet), we decided to buy the guidebook to tell us what we should see. Durbar Square in Kathmandu was the first stop which houses several temples and museums of Old Nepali architecture (the 3 largest towns in the valley- Kathmandu, Patan and Bhaktipur all have their own Durbar Squares). We biked the second day to the one in Patan. Biking here is even worse than in China-- it's just as disorderly, but here they don't slow down. Then we made it to Swayambunath, ("Monkey Temple" so called for the populace of wild monkeys guarding the area), before the pedal on my bike broke off and Carolee's derailleur fell limp. The next day we went out to Kopan monastery- a refuge for the many Tibetans who chose to flee their home country, and went out to Boudnath stupa which also serves as a place of worship for many Tibetan exiles.

The fourth day I took the bike out again, this time to actually go off on the trails. There's an intermediate ride recommended by Lonely Planet that takes you to the height of 2200m at a small village, Kakani, 23km NW of the city. Carolee had enough stop-and-go traffic in the mobbed pedestrian alleys and brushes with hell-bent cab drivers on the bike the day before so decided to take it easy, leaving me to tackle the ride alone. The trip is said to take 6 hrs for the avg rider so I left at 10:30a to get myself back home before sunset.

All was going smoothly-- the ride there was a nothing climb- 800m uphill for nearly 2 hrs, but it was very gradual. And the single-track was excellent-- a full hour and a half's worth of quite a bit of technical spots, several water crossings and a few harmless spills. But where I thought the trail would end right around 4:30, it kept going. I still had a good hour and a half of sunlight left so wasn't yet panicked, but a bit concerned as to how much further the trail went-- that's when I came up to a fork in the trail, which wasn't on the map. I fretted for a moment as one turn might lead me home in time, the other may keep me going for another 4 hrs. A bit of worry began to set in as I really didn't want to get lost in the woods, in the dark, miles from home. But just at that very second, out of nowhere, 3 elderly men appear on the trail just ahead of me-- I had been riding for 2 hrs in complete solitude, tucked away on the hillside and hadn't seen a bird, fish or squirrel-- but just at this crux in time 3 old men appear, like sages, with long white beards and white robes. A blessing from the sky? Hardly-- my temporary belief in divine intervention was dashed when upon asking them which path I should take for the next town, Budhanilkantha, (they had me say it 6 times til I pronounced it correctly-- Boo-DON-ill-konth) a confusion of limbs appeared, like the tangled arms of Ganesh, as one gentleman pointed to the path on the left, the other 2 pointed to the right. After some bickering amongst themselves they told me to take the path on the left-- and I had full faith in that decision even then, until the one guy adds "good luck".

The sun was quickly setting and it didn't look like I was anywhere near the trail end- I was actually continuing back UP, away from the valley. After 20 mins of climbing (and getting off and pushing), I then began to hear the roar of a crowd. Fock-- hillside rebels at a rally? Fortunately no- it was a military camp- the roaring was inspired by an evening volleyball game. It looked innocent enough, except when the checkpoint officer raised his rifle and motioned me to halt. Apparently you're not allowed to trespass on these grounds, (I intend on getting someone from Lonely Planet fired), so they kept me for 20 mins while trying to get their commanding officer's ok for me to pass. I never had the gun actually aimed at me but the soldier was clearly in "ready" mode the entire time-- unnerving enough for me to deem it necessary to announce that I was just reaching for my water bottle. After thoroughly quizzing me and keeping me after the sun went down, realizing that I wasn't a rebel spy but just a hapless, bumbling American simply on a bike ride, who lost his way back home (how cute) they allowed me to pass through. I assume the guy could only smell my fear (in that I had now just bore a fruit in my looms) and assured me that the next town I was looking for was only a half hour downhill.

I immediately found the trail to lead me back and sped the last hour and a half home. I got back into town, filthy and starving (I lost one of the 3 Mars bars I rationed out for the day down a cliff while pulling out the camera) and headed out for a steak at Rum Doodle's, a steakhouse commonly patronized by expedition crews celebrating a recent summit of Everest (you can dine for free for the rest of your life if you conquered the climb). Though my outing was nowhere near the dangers of scaling the tallest mountain in the world, I did for a brief moment picture my untimely death on the treacherous hillsides of Nepal.

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