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Published: October 18th 2018
Our beloved leader thinks that the sun shines out the Royal Enfield's exhaust pipe, well we don't and are thus negative and basically unworthy of travelling on the noble metal steed.
Of course I knew that we'd be on this kind of bikes but that they were that underpowered and under braked, I did not know, well I should have guessed, old, or rather obsolete, British motorcycle technology made in India if you get the idea.
We've been having some little talks on our different views on travelling and riding on bikes, we're not happy about him moaning and he's not happy, especially with me.
Breakfast the next morning and back to the flea bag to suit up and yet again we battle the mud and the water crossings and the ever present rocks that want to tear the handle bars out of your hands.
Up here the traffic situation is a lot more considerate, buses give right of way to the motorbikes as we chug upwards, the riding is fun and the landscape beautiful, not really very different form the Andes.
We fuck up our Karma by riding as fast as we dare, Raul who's
a very good rider disappears in a cloud of dust and we struggle keep up, well at least Kjell and I.
Some brief stops for some food and then back in the saddle and back to battling with the road.
Our goal is a place called Muktinah and a temple, the altitude which is not very empressive robs our under powered bikes of much needed power, if you stall on a steep ascent you have to rev like mad and slip the clutch, rocks bangs at the under carriage in a constant barrage and the dust fills your nose and makes you cough and sneeze.
Still we're having fun and the we reach Jomsom our next stop, Jomsom is one street with hotels and a constant wind bringing more dust into the village, we opt for the best hotel, what else?
It's getting coolish and more so as the sun sets
Everything is very affordable for Westeners and our beloved leader does not mind us springing for the difference between his choice of lodgings and ours.
Kjell and Raul are just as pissed of with him as I am and we decide over some
anti bacterial Black Label whisky that we're going to give him notice the next morning.
We'll we needn't have bothered, at breakfast he resigns stating that I'd "taken over" the group and that if the others would opt to stay with him that was fine but I was not to be included.
As if my son would leave me to my own devices, well hopefully not.
We settle our bill and as usual his wallets stays in his pocket.
We ride up to Muktinah, some 3600 meters above the ocean and funnily enough the last kms are a very nice black top and we run as fast as we can, no dust, rocks nor mud, Yihaa.
The temple is a very holy pace with hot springs and lots of holy water and what not, loads of Nepalese cleanse themselves and pray.
We who are heathens take our pictures and set off back towards Pokhara, without our ex leader, what a joy!
My stomach and Nepalese cooking are diametrically opposed, and the Nepalese germs win, big time.
I'll not go into details.
The ride back seems different, maybe it has rained because
there's more mud and less dust, we stay at the posh place in Tatopani and going for an evening stroll after dinner, nothing much to see, they're not that big on street lights in the countryside.
The next morning we set our navigational aids for Pokhara, in Kjell's case it is his sat nav and in Raul's and mine we just point our noses forward and just go, there's only one road.
Raul makes eat his dust and disappears in a cloud of the sam, that boy can ride.
But pride goes before a fall, mother nature has put one rock to may on the road and that one choses to crack a part of his engine.
Luckily we stop for a cuppa and when we're to take off again there's a small puddle of oil on the ground.
The local lorry driver gets his bike in the back and Raul gets a tour from Bumfuck down to Pokhara and Kjell and I scoot along and a leisurely pace.
The truck driver stops on the road to get some hasch which he proceeds to smoke whilst driving.
Kjell and I miss a torrential
down pour, we'd hurried back to get enough cash to pay the lorry driver and get caught outside when the skies open.
The streets are turned into rivers and it just keeps on pissing down.
Eventually it stops but still water is cascading down from the higher levels of the city and makes crossing the streets a very wet affair.
We needn't have bothered as the lorry takes quite a long time to arrive.
A couple of beers and dinner and the off to the horisontal, there's no need for lullabies.
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