Bike High Diary

Kippered at Kristmas in Kathmandu

2006-12-23T12:15:00.000+01:00

Apologies for the lack of pictures and this brief blurt, but my computer is down. The 'home made' charger built of wire and old bits of telly that I had made back in Leh has finally expired - nearly taking my room with it! This is extremely frustrating as I'd planned to use my time here (while waiting a week for a new Indin visa) to finish an article for Bike.

I came to this city via Chitwan Park (my second visit there), where I again had some nice 'jungle watching'. Again no rhinos, but at least saw another fine mugger croc' up close. Certainly too close for him, as he got a bit shirty, displaying teeth and hissing.

Despite my present hassles and the climate here being a bit on the cold side, I like Kathmandu. There's some kind of ancient shrine or temple on every street corner, plenty of colour and bustle. I'm staying in the old city, where I'm lodged, rather appropriately, on Freak Street.

I managed to rip a tendon in my left forearm while changing tyres back in Pokhara (and then aggravated it by pulling a daft handstand in Chitwan). It's bloody annoying and makes exploring the congested city by bike a bit too painful with all the clutch use, but at least I can give it some rest. Tomorrow, Christmas Eve, I plan to walk across town and maybe find somewhere to get drunk in the name of the Lord.

Soon as I get my visa I'll be on my way back to India. I had planned to go to Sikkim and then Varanassi, but due to my own slack-arsedness, the wheel problem and now this charger malarky, I shall head straight back to Delhi via western Nepal. It should only take a couple of days from here.

So, if I don't get my backside into gear to post before the festivities end: Happy Christmas and a Bangin' New Year cyber folk.
Damon

The Pokhara Times

2006-12-08T09:24:00.000+01:00

I've been in Nepal a month now and this is only my second blog, which just goes to show what an idle layabout I have become. I am presently holed up in Pokhara Lakeside, centre of the paragliding world - although at $100US/day I am not learning to become a 'pilot'. Instead I am spending my days either writing up my former exploits for Bike magazine (and have just written on the Raid race for Bike magazine, India). That or doing the best part of bugger-all.

Evenings generally consist of eating and drinking, pursuits which are neither going to get me any fitter, nor any richer. To be honest, I'm a little bored of Pokhara now, despite views of the Annapurna Range and easy living. But I'm waiting on P to send up a replacement front rim for the bike, as there's a crack in mine. This is not surprising, considering the bashing the wheel has taken and my inattention to spoke tension. I have just been sent some fresh Metzeler tyres, but dare not pull the front rubber off until I have the new rim.

A little while back, I took a ride down to Chitwan National Park in the company of a local bike tour operator and some customers. A good four days were spent riding and walking in the park, or its 'buffer zone'. I'd hoped to see some rhino, but wasn't lucky in that department. Did see a big mugger crocodile though - luckily he saw me first, or I would have trodden on him. Also saw a fabulous yellow-banded krait (a snake) and plenty of hog deer among the beautiful wetlands.

Like Pokhara, Bardia and most other places I've seen in Nepal, Chitwan is something of a 'tourist trap', with all the trimmings. As a white, I'm instantly identifiable as a walking cash machine and prices are hiked to suit - in the case of internet use by up to 750% in tourist hotspots. Obviously being an old tightwad with transport I've found out the local prices of many things and pay accordingly, but many shop-keepers, etc, will start off asking for twice what the goods are worth.

But the prices aren't the worst aspect of Nepal's reliance on tourism. It's the them-and-us attitude, that's found in all such places in Asia and beyond, that gets most tiresome. If a Nepali approaches to start a 'conversation' it's a pretty good bet they're after something. It may be an hour down the line, or a couple of days - but it's coming. There are, of course, a few exceptions, but they're not easy to find. Guess it's my fault for be unimaginative and hanging out in well frequented tourist haunts.

Making 'hanging out' in Nepal a little more interesting is the ongoing political situation. The Maoists and the interim government have just (two weeks back) signed a peace treaty, about which folks seem to be pretty chuffed after 11 years of insurgency. There are still plenty of huge issues to be resolved, but Nepalis are optimistic (perhaps also a little naive) about the prospect of living in a democracy.

Meanwhile in the hills, the Maoist cadres are still abducting children into their ranks, or bribing them into arms. Roadblocks still routinely 'tax' people and Mafia-like behaviour would appear to be rife.

But put these facts to people and they are still upbeat: 'What do you expect? We've stopped shooting each other. It's a start.'

Right - it's been a little while between writing this and putting it up. The wheel I needed is here and I now pan to go back down to Chitwan and thence to Kathmandu, where I've the highly irritating business of getting a new Indian visa.

Now in Nepal

2006-11-06T12:29:00.000+01:00

Since leaving Shimla, over a week back, I’ve made my way to Pokhara in the middle of Nepal, crossing at the western border at Banbassa (India) and Mahendranaggar (Nepal). On the way through I made a couple of stops, one at an out-of-the-way little village and another at Rishikesh.

The village was my unplanned stop on Diwali night (the 22nd, I think) as I’d underestimated how long another lovely little unpaved road through the mountains might take to traverse and was riding in darkness. There was very little sleep to be had as the villagers celebrated all night with fireworks, the firing of shotguns and setting light to everything.

Next day the roads were deserted and I made good time to Rishikesh and a very pleasant room overlooking the Ganges. I like the bustle of Rishikesh, watching the tourists and Gangetic pilgrims who arrive from all over the country, so spent a pleasant three days before packing to leave for Nepal. The evening before the off I checked my mails and there was a message from Pankaj – he was due in Rishikesh the following day, where he would be hosting an adventure training programme for 60 of Johnson & Johnson’s Indian staff.

So, departure delayed, P and I met up for the first time since he left Leh back in July. That night we were given luxury tents on a river valley campsite owned by the company arranging the course’s activities and I spent a short while kayaking with one of the guides (a refresher after not having set arse in a canoe for 20 years) and swimming in the cold river, before wittering away a pleasant evening with P.

The following morning I was up early to go white-water rafting on the holy river, joining a group of young Russians and older western Europeans. The rapids were pretty impressive, but nothing compared to the afternoon, during which I joined the J&J employees for their run down the bigger stuff. For a people who like to spend much of their time dipping in ponds, lakes and rivers, a surprisingly high proportion of Indians (well over half) can’t swim, so there were plenty of nerves on display.

These lower rapids were way bigger than the morning’s, stopper waves, towering above the rubber raft, which was thrown all over the place, but not flipped. In some of the lesser white water it was permitted to jump out of the raft and float down in one’s life jacket – fun, but cold – an offer with few takers.

All this unplanned activity was a wonderful surprise, but time was running out for me to get to Nepal before my visa expired and I was keen to have a day or so in hand to cope with any problem reaching or crossing the border. So, following a night on the rum with P, I left Rishikesh, making good time on smooth, flat roads until within 50km of the line.

The border crossing at Banbassa carries very little traffic, running over a series of small bridges crossing the huge Sarda Canal. Everything was fairly straightforward until it came to processing my customs carnet on the way out of India. It had been incorrectly filled at Delhi airport, which caused quite some consternation and debate as to what should be done. In the end – after some 45 minutes of drinking chai and eating leftover Diwali sweets in the small customs office – they agreed to let me through.

The differences between Nepal (the bit I’ve seen, anyhow) and India are immediately apparent. There are far fewer people around and, despite Nepal having a poorer population on paper, there’s less poverty apparent on the streets. Less litter, too, and everything and everybody looks that bit cleaner and healthier. There are few TVs and no satellite dishes, but the quality of peoples’ lives looks just fine in this area.

There is one big main road running west-east in Nepal, and it was this smooth, wide route that I followed. Despite its prominence on the map the road carries very little traffic, as very few people have cars. Bicycle and buffalo use is heavy, though.

When you think ‘Nepal’, a vision of endless mountains doubtless springs to mind, but here in the south, the countryside is lush, flat farmland and sub-tropical forest. It was into this forest I turned a couple of hours and 150km down the road, in order to visit Bardia National Park, about which I’d been told at the border by a travel geezer.

It’s a lovely spot – so peaceful, lush and unspoiled. The village is sited in the park’s ‘buffer-zone’ and is wonderfully scenic and relaxed. But all this calm beauty belies the reality of a troubled country.

For the past five years, Nepal has been in a state of virtual civil war between the well-equipped, US-backed, government forces, loyal to King Gyanendra, and the ‘Maoists’ – who are more left-wing anti-royalists than strict followers of Mao’s doctrines. Presently Nepal is in a period of truce, with an interim coalition government composed mainly of moderate opposition leaders, communist party members and some politicians previously loyal to the king. Also in the political fray are the Maoists.

Loyalty to the monarch has been low and suspicions high, since his brother, the previous king, along with his two sons and daughter, were slaughtered by a palace insider in 2001. This increased the popularity of a democratic opposition and anti-royalists (not to mention reinforcing the position of the ever-growing Maoist movement, whose premier gripe is the leech-like king) to the point that on February 1st 2005, Gyanendra dismissed the civil government and declared his direct rule, backed by the army. All communication, both internally and with the outside world, was severed as the king desperately tried to reassert his beleaguered status.

However, the Nepali people tolerated this for only until late April, when they took to the streets in mass demonstrations. So deep was the feeling across the stratum of Nepalese society, that Army chiefs appealed to the king to reinstate civil governance, rather than try to use force to quell the uprising. On April 24th this year the king concurred, almost certainly realising it was his only chance of hanging onto any power.

Constitutional elections are scheduled to be held in seven month’s time, after which there will be the not-so-small matter of writing a constitution and moving on to full parliamentary or/and congressional elections. There’s already a framework document outlining Nepal’s move into full democracy, but a couple of major sticking points remain – what to do with Gyanendra, and how to either fuse or demobilise the Royal Nepalese Army (if indeed it is to remain ‘royal’) and the well-armed Maoist guerrillas.

On the royal front, the Maoists want to see to king dispossessed and exiled – which has been the opinion of the overriding majority of Nepalese I’ve spoken too. They see him as nothing short of a thief. However, many of the ‘opposition’ leaders want to keep him on as a ceremonial puppet king, which worries left-wingers as they see him possibly re-building his power base and once again rearing his gold-framed RayBans. Many in the older generations are also pro-king as he’s part of Nepal’s religious framework and they can’t imagine life without the divinely-appointed royalty. Should the left insist on showing Gyanendra the boot, it could well kick off some kind of Royalist last stand – though I’m sure you’ll find the king safely out of harm’s way during any ruckus.

On the militaristic questions, the first concern is how to remove the armed factions from the streets at election time – to house them and their weapons under UN supervision is favourite. Next is the question of what to do with all these fighters thereafter. The Maoists rather simplistically claim that as their forces have contributed at least half the impetuous to democracy, they should make up at least half the armed forces. Obviously other parties are worried this will give them a position from which to launch an all-out revolutionary coup. This would also mean very poor Nepal having a massive – and massively expensive – military, just when it should least need it…

So what does all this have to do with the Indian one-horned rhinoceros? Or the Nepalese one, come to that? Well, all this civil strife, violence and intrigue have impacted on his horny hide in several ways.

The political shenanigans, and the way they’ve been reported, say locals here I’ve spoken to, have had a profound effect on Nepal’s all-important tourist industry. Although the left-wing ‘terrorists’ have avoided harming foreigners - Nepal’s only major means of gaining hard currencies – the perceived threat has all but killed the travel trade. The Maoists ‘taxed’ trekkers occasionally to the tune of around ten pounds per head, but their main targets have been government institutions, royalist sympathisers and the military.

Here in Bardia, over half the tourist lodges have closed and those six or seven remaining have been clinging on by their fingernails. Things are improving now that there’s a peace, and tourists are slowly returning (though the most lucrative Yanks and Japs are still mainly staying away), but their absence has hit communities such as this hard. In turn this hurts the park and our one-tonne big-nosed buddies.

Without the tourist dollar coming in, why should the villagers tolerate the elephants who come out of the park to ravage their crops (there are loud trumpetings near the village as I write), or the leopards and tigers nabbing the odd goat? Or indeed knocking the shack-shop holder next door off his bike? He managed to fend off the leopard with his bicycle, sustaining only minor claw-wounds.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the notional fence, poachers have been at work depleting wildlife reserves while the military, who erstwhile did the guarding, have been distracted by the insurgence. Maybe we’ve just found out what to do with the militaries – have them guarding the peoples’ forests. Or The Peoples’ Forests.

I’ve been talking much of this over with Sri, the proprietor of the curiously-named Racy Shade Guesthouse, where I presently reside in comfort for a pound and 80 new pence per night… and the plumbing works… and it’s clean… and there’s 12-Volt solar backup for when the mains goes down every day. Sri is an intelligent, reasonably well-travelled fellow in his mid-thirties. He’s recently married (very late for this part of the world), has a year-old son and is pretty optimistic about things. In the past five years he has had 40 guests passing through, but has equalled this in the seven months since the restoration of government – though this is still nowhere near the number of guests expected prior to his majesty’s paddy.

He is also the leader of the village’s park forum, designed to improve communication between the villagers and park authorities. A hopeful example of how this works is the restoration, by Mum Nature herself, of the buffer-zone’s forest which since it was handed over to the village as ‘theirs’ several years ago, has started to regenerate. Since the villagers now have a sense of ownership, they must apply to their peers before taking anything out instead of poaching resources, as they did when they felt they were taking something back from corrupt government or king.

Also in a spirit of cooperation (bad link), I joined a bunch of Shady staff and villagers last night for an unusual spot o fishin’ by moonlight. This entailed damming the small river that runs out front, just above the bridge and the mini-weir soon beyond. Remove all the water you can, straining it through a net, and voila, fish…

Eels (‘bam’ in Nepali) were the most prized of the catch of the night, though the most elusive, being able the wriggle under the stones. So there was some chaos, with villagers shouting ‘bam, bam, bam’ and scrabbling though the exposed riverbed on all fours, grabbing with cloths at their slippery prey.

The cloths were explained when I caught my first eel. They look very like our own freshwater slimesters, but sport a line of spines along their backs. This minor pricking was nothing, however, when compared to the spines on a catfish’s gill covers. I assume they’re slightly venomous as the throbbing from a pinprick went all the way to the shoulder. Henceforth I specialised in freshwater shrimp, not risking grabbing at anymore silhouettes in the shadows.

I was invited back to the cookhut to share the eelfeast, which was prepared much as my grandmother used to on the Somerset Levels. Chop yer wriggler (although eels here actually die when you kill them, whereas UK eels are indestructible until cooked) into two-inch sections, roll in flour and spices, and fry the hell outta them. In the UK’s Westcountry, however, we seldom ate eels with gluey rice flakes.

After the eel eating I headed of to Pokhara, with a stopover at the small market town of Tansen. I’ll update on Pokhara in the next couple of days, but in the meanwhile I’ve got ‘real’ work I need to send.

Rishikesh - The Cows Are Taking Over!

2006-10-24T11:34:00.000+01:00

Hi - And Apologies - From Rishikesh

2006-10-22T11:05:00.000+01:00

Bolted from Shimla yesterday as my visa is fast running out and I wanted to shift nearer to the Nepalese border. Will try and put up the final part of the Raid story tomorrow evening. The after-event was by far the most bizarre part of the whole shooting match.

Will also stick up some pictures from Rishi'...

Ta
Damon

Raid Report - The Aftermath

2006-10-19T13:48:00.000+01:00

The morning after the raid I’m not exactly feeling spry. Still feeling a little ‘vacant’ I assess the damage. I have donkey-kicked kidneys, lower back and arse cheeks. My hips ache and I have a bruised shin, a swollen right hand, small cut to my lightly bashed knee and another where my watch has tried to embed itself in the wrist. But it could have been much, much worse. Cheta, the car co-driver who dropped me the rope estimates I’d fallen 50 feet.

My riding kit has performed a number of small miracles. Spine, forearms and elbows have been saved by the soft armour in my Hein Gericke jacket; the same firm’s trousers have saved my knees and backside from serious damage. Dainese Moto-X gloves have also done their thing. My Arai helmet has three distinct impacts, one a deep gouge.

The Sidi boots that I’ve been criticising for the ingress of water have redeemed themselves. I have taken a huge impact to the shin. It has exploded the front of my trousers and broken the thermoplastic shin guard, but not my leg – without proper bike boots my lower leg would be smashed to pieces.

The day is spent between hobbling over to the bike to play ‘spot the damage’ and sitting around drinking coffee.

At six we assemble in the huge hall of the Himalayan Mountaineering Institute for the prize-giving. There appear to be hundreds present to hear the Himachalli minister for sport (who doesn’t look like he could pick up a shuttlecock without having a heart attack) mumble out a list of sports he’s heard of for what feels like an hour. If he isn’t drunk he does a very bad job of being sober. Representatives of the various sponsors also get their limelight time, before the gongs, finally, get distributed.

I have never seen trophies the size of these. I get a cup you could boil a head in for the overall bike win, a plate you could then carve it on for best in class and then am called up to receive the John Mark James Trophy – given in the memory of John Mark, a Brit’ who died while competing in 2001. The award is given for something like ‘embodying the spirit of the event’. I feel there are others more deserving.

Perhaps the best prize is my giant cheque. Not purely for the fiscal benefit it imbues, but because a) I am still suffering from the bang to the head and it’s wonderfully surreal and b) it’s one of those big cheques like what them proper sportsmen get… like the ones Flintoff is forever receiving for man of the match.

As the show breaks up I am interviewed by various print and TV reporters, to whom I babble incoherent nonsense. My Land Rover friends Koos and Kevin offer to bung my cups in the car and transport them to Delhi for me - thank God, as I’d never get them on the bike – and give me a lift to the posh Manali hotel where we’re to party the night away.

It’s a good do and several bottles of muscle relaxant mean I can dance disjointedly with the younger of the assemblage. The most exhuberent of these are the Punjabi contingent, who whirl for frenzied hours.

OK, I’m also tired of this overly-long explanation. Perhaps I should leave it to the succinct and accurate Himachal Times: “In bike category, Demon Ison was declared first.”

As the other competitors headed home, I moved to a cheap hotel for a few days of recovery (really shouldn’t have overdone it at the do). I found a guy to do a pretty shabby job of welding on a new footpeg, banged the front end of the Yamaha straight and did some considerable eating and drinking.

I also popped up to see my friends Luder and Khem at the Hotel Iceland – more eating and drinking. In the morning following crashing in one of their rooms, Luder suggested we go paragling. It was a short flight, but fantastic, a really natural flying feeling. I will be back to do a course.

A BIG THANKS TO

Vijay (pictured looking sinister), Manjeev, Bantu, Trigun, Suzie and all the mechanics at Motoworld who helped me find things and let me get in the way. Also thanks to all the Raid officials and medics who toiled for seven days to make the Raid possible and the other competitors in all classes who showed such great sportsmanship and hospitality.

Raid Report - The Home Run

2006-10-18T15:32:00.000+01:00

With six hours sleep under my Arai helmet I’m a different man. The choices are no choices at all – if I retire from the race it will make no sense to anyone and may well cast a small cloud over what is, and has been, a fantastic event. It could be disrespectful even to the other competitors who have given their all. The least I can do is give the same and win or lose with the best grace an oik such as myself can muster.

Having simply parked the Yamaha up last night, I give it quick ‘n’ frosty check over. Tyres are still pressurised, split link still in place on a chain that hasn’t needed adjustment in over 1500 miles of racing. No leaks, no major rattles. I still don’t know where Rocky and I stand time-wise – and have a strange lack of concern, deciding to conserve everything for the last stage, whatever the situation. Worrying now is just a waste of mental energy.

At the start point the usual printout of our current time standings is not available, but still I’m unconcerned as we leave for the first transport stage, heading for the last competitive section. Rocky is above me in the starting order, so he’s still in first place and I will be chasing him up the mountain.

It’s colder than an Eskimo’s earlobes as I head out of Leh. Even at ‘just’ 3300m there’s a light glaze of ice smoothing the ponds. We will be climbing two vertical kilometres higher this morning. I keep speed low so as to buck some of the wind-chill and to avoid sitting around for too long while waiting for the off. Rocky has been employing the same thinking and we ride the last 20, or so, kilometres together.

We are nonetheless still some 30 minutes under time and are both feeling the chill in our spectacular, snow-capped, sub-zero surroundings. My cold-tattered cuticles are usually painful, but this morning there’s no sensation and the blood coagulates upon emergence. The streams are frozen, the valley is silent, not a bird in the sky. Even the ubiquitous crows don’t show. No breath of wind. Utterly lifeless, save two drivers, two riders, and the officials huddled in their vehicles. The peak snow oranges in the dawn and as the minutes pass and the sun rises higher somewhere over the summits, the glow drains down the sandy mountainsides promising a tolerable day. But not far enough. Not soon enough.

What feet? I’m jumping around, singing and dancing without a care, winding myself up, but still the ice blocks in my Sidi boots won’t thaw. This early morning podiatry discomfort is, however, less than peripheral. I’ve not an ache in my body and feel as fit at 4300m as I did in my Fen-level hovel before I left over four months ago. But stronger.

Like a demented native American witch doctor with a rattlesnake up his bison-skin kilt I stomp-hop over to one of the official cars to see if they can give me the low down on the time situation. They don’t recoil from the sun-and-wind-and-cold-burned, wrinkle faced, chapped-lipped, red-eyed nutcase, but instead get on the radio and come back with an answer: 1min 6sec. Then I’m called back – mistake, it’s 1min 16sec. Still purrrrfect.

Having made the decision to go for the kill (and to be honest I’d imagined how I’d feel in exactly this situation when I’d entered the race, only to berate myself for being over-cocky to the point of stupidity) I find myself looking at Rocky as prey. The high mountains can do strange things with the mind and right now they’re painting blood-red crosshairs on the back of the 22-year-old’s helmet.

In a physically and mentally challenging event like this you’re often looking inward. Once you’ve found the something, a mental condition maybe, The Zone, that will let you ride on the edge, your edge, on the edge of the edge, that big, scary, fatal edge, hopefully without going over it, then… then you start to write overly-long, babbling sentences with a surfeit of commas. And maybe you learn to work yourself into that zone.

First car goes… two minutes pass… second car goes… rabbit in the trap… two minutes pass… run bunny run! For two minutes Rocky is, I assume, giving it everything. In this time he can easily be over a mile ahead as I drop the clutch and begin to chase down his bobbing scutt.

In the thick gloves I’m wearing, I can’t ‘double-shuffle’ the slow-action, big-turn throttle in my palm, so I’ve started with my elbow cocked above the bars. Drop the elbow for full-fuckin’ open and use the wrist for more sensitive throttle metering. Power uphill is my huge advantage here, so I’m going to milk the bike for every wheezy (at three miles high) dobbin.

My biggest weakness throughout the event has been concentration when I’m racing alone – pushing hard without going too hard when there’s no other vehicle to gauge my performance against. On all the high-risk, technical race stages so far, I’ve been talking to myself, geeing myself up, usually with some hardcore self abuse and foul language: ‘concentrate, eyes up you dozy f’er, pick a line, push. Don’t look down you silly old git, stop fannying, open the throttle all the way, shit or get off the pot…’

Today, besides self checking that the throttle cables are like bowstrings where the grip is available, it feels easier – this is when you know you’re going quickly. The normal tension warning is exhausted hands, from gripping the bars too tightly. Now I’m focused yet relaxed, the perfect state. It’s smoother, less dramatic, but faster.

I catch sight of Rocky much earlier than expected and he doesn’t appear to be going so fast as usual. His body language isn’t what it should be – usually he’s wide-shouldered, puffed up like a boxer, but today he looks deflated, hunted, waiting for the sound of my engine. I feel sympathy when I come up behind him before the top of Tanglang La, sound the horn, and lope past.

On the first downhill section, mainly dirt and patchwork-mac, I’m bemused not to find Rocky anywhere in the mirrors. It’s only been a couple of kilometres since I passed him. I slow down – after all, I only have to keep him in sight – but he doesn’t show and normally he’d be barrelling downhill behind me. At the end of a long, death-drop straight I look back again, but he’s not there. I’m worried he’s overdone it in pursuit. I stop, put a foot down to crane backwards and wait. In a few seconds Rocky’s blue leathers appear, so off I shoot.

At the foot of the descent are a flat-out few kilometres to the finish. My top speed is still limited to 130kph as the bike bucks, sways and weaves beneath me, the damping in my overheated shocks failing to cope with the undulations and ever-shifting cambers. But there is certainly no way I’m going to be caught. As the line comes into view, the second-placed car is having his card stamped, so I’ve made up over three minutes on the four-wheeler.

The Times of India, 9/10/06: “[Asish (Rocky) was] hunted down by rookie Ianson (sic), a British auto-hack, powering a brute, 660 cc Yamaha XTR – which called for lots of Zen for motorcycling… Finally on the 7th day in the thin air at about 17,000ft near the top of Tanglang La, Ianson ‘went mental’ and passed the reigning champion on the last competitive section of the event,’

If anyone knows what that first bit means…

At the competitive’s finish, I’m congratulated by all and interviewed by a TV crew. I try to point out that the event isn’t actually over, that there are another 300-ish kilometres to the Manali finish and that anything could happen the remaining mountainous miles. And of course, anything does…

I reckon I’ll be very short of pictures for Bike, so grab a friendly photographer do a few shoots of the ride back. This, of course, murders my average speed, so I pick up the pace a little, which also helps my concentration – for most of the long ride, at least.

Rohtang is the last pass before Manali, one of the most beautiful spots on Earth and one of the most stunning rides. I’m over halfway down the Manali side, eager to get to the line and crack open a beer. I’ve been whooping through the tourist traffic that’s been making its way down from the pass’ top and making good progress I’ve passed most of the other returning competitors.

In the dwindling light I find myself behind a small taxi, itself behind a jeep. Beeping my tits off I pull out and start to pass, when so does the taxi. Beep, beep, beep is having no effect and I’m pushed to the edge, where I’m forced to brake. The Taxi’s rear wing takes my front wheel and leaves me spinning down the hillside.

As I struggle up the slope, kicking my boot’s toes into the dirt like a snow climber, a rope is thrown from above, courtesy of Cheta, the co-driver in the second-placed car. I wrap it around my right wrist. Mistake, it’s bloody agony as I’m helped/hauled up by my injured hand.

Near the top many hands pull me to the road where I’m relieved to see the bike lying on the falls’ edge. The right-hand footpeg assembly has been sheared off and the bars are twisted away to the right, but it looks rideable and starts after a few seconds on the button, so I tuck my injured leg into the side of the engine, ask which way I am supposed to be heading and with the steering pointing off the cliff, ride off towards the finish. I self-diagnose a touch of concussion as oncoming traffic leaves me weaving to a halt when it dazzles my pie-pupil eyes and I manage to drive straight past the turning to the finish before realising my mistake and U-turning.

At the finish gate everything is very low key, with few spectators and no photographer to record the event. Rude Matt has made it home before me, making him the first westerner ever to complete the Raid.

The battered bike is left in the Parc Ferme and I’m helped to carry my kit to the nearby hotel. In my room I’m joined by a gaggle of congratulatory friends and we sink a few beers before dinner, after which I crawl under the blankets like a beaten dog and pass out.

The Raid - Day Six

2006-10-18T15:09:00.000+01:00

Day Six

I know the road from Leh to Pangong Lake as it's the one
Pankaj Trivedi and I took into the Ladakhi hinterlands when
going for our altitude record. I know it's just the territory
the Yamaha and I enjoy and that with the Metzelers back on
front and rear I can catch the leader today. Only two
problems - I haven't slept a wink all night (and little the
previous at the cold army base) and I have a raging shits.

Wearing the carpet out between bed and bathroom, I'm
considering bowing out. In store today we have a crossing
of the 5000m-plus Chang La, a pass that felt higher and
colder than even Tanglang La on my last ride around the
area. I doubt I can concentrate fully for 320-odd dangerous,
high-altitude kilometres when I can't even risk breakfast.

Having come this far, I decide to break the day into sections
and just try to get through each one. First, get dressed;
next get to the bike, scrape the 5am ice of the saddle and ride
to the start-line in the dark cold.

In the paddock, waiting, shaking uncontrollably, big spasms
wracking through me as I fight the urge to vomit. I'm
exhausted and so is my bog-roll.

Next task is to complete the long transport to the first
competitive section in the bitter cold. I feel a little happier on the
bike - I always do because it feels like home. A measure of
how bad I feel is that when I stop at a shop for loo paper
and water, I forget to buy cigarettes!

From the doctor's car at the competitive stage's start point I
am delivered a magical bowel-binding antibiotic wonder-pill
and some electrolyte sachets to add to my water. The other
required drug is, I know, that good old adrenalin stuff, but I'm
having trouble revving myself up in the cold and still can't
stop shaking, still feel like death.

The stage begins with a few kilometres of flat-out action,
which wakes me up a bit. I leave my visor up for a big fresh
blast - insects are grounded in these temperatures, so eyes
are fairly safe. As the road rises up to the pass, I manage to
slip into that full concentration zone where only the riding
matters - full focus, I barely notice my hands deadening
under my heavy gloves. On the descent I notice them alright
and as the blood starts to move again it feels like they're in
boiling water.

I can't even remember where I pass Rocky (somewhere near
the top, I think), but I do and make back some more
minutes. As the surface is mainly very good, I've started
catching the two lead cars, too.

The next section is ultra-fast (comparatively), with an
average speed of under 70kph required to 'zero' the stage. I
am feeling a lot better now, go at it hard and clear the
stage without any time penalty, faster than the two lead cars
and faster than Rocky. But I gain no advantage, time-wise,
as there are four of us who have zeroed the stage.

Things are now going to be tight if I'm to catch Rocky,
because we now have only three competitive stages left to
run, two of them today. So I put everything into the job,
gassing as hard as I can, everywhere I can. Again, I zero
stages and go fastest of all, but I'm not gaining all the
advantage I might. I'm busting the target time, but Rocky's
not coming in far over it and so not getting big time
penalties.

Had I taken it easy on day one, I would not be within
shooting distance. As it is, I estimate myself to be
somewhere between level and two minutes behind. The final
stage tomorrow is a reverse run of the Tanglang La stage
and I'm confident I can take two minutes back. My wish is
that I'm now a couple of seconds behind, so that Rocky will
start ahead of me - it's a letting the dog see the rabbit
thing.

Rumours that night, before the official numbers are available,
are that I'm in the lead; that I'm 1min 16 secs behind; that
someone's going to 'fix' my bike in the night. Rocky's brother tells me
their mother is making a special trip to the prize-giving to
see her son crowned. Having not eaten all day, I'm too tired
for other people's mind games. All evening I've been nurturing my own head problems and am considering withdrawing from the race anyhow.

In my tired state I'm feeling that if I win, I lose, because
everyone will say it's the bike. If I lose, I lose twice over,
because I must be crap if I can't win on the big Yamaha.
Nobody complained about foreigners competing on powerful
bikes when they weren't vying for a win - there have been
others before me and all have failed to finish. And nobody
gets shirty about the Indian riders on imported bikes. No-
one - except ultra-rude Brit' Matt, of course - has come out
and said: 'You're shit, it's just the bike that's doing the
work,' but I there's an undercurrent of such feeling, I'm
sure. Maybe it's just the fatigue messing with my mind and I
myself am my only accuser. Except rude Matt, of course.

Over pizza with Shetty, I'm a sullen old bugger. I sit silently,
reminding myself that there were four big bikes entered at
the start (a couple more suitable than mine, I reckon) and
that I'm not even entered in the same class as Rocky. I only
have the one bike on which to race!

Rocky has done extraordinary things on his 225 Honda, has
been a great competitor, a good sportsman and spending so
much time waiting together at the front of the field we have
also become pretty friendly. I have great respect for the lad,
but should I just hand him the race? Surely nobody should
expect to win. He shouldn't be feeling like a condemned man
when there's every chance he'll be a class winner - and by
some considerable degree. And, hold on a god-dang minute,
there's still one anything-could-happen stage to run and the
small matter of Leh to Manali and the finish, 475 high-level
km away.

I've ridden as hard as anyone, given the event as much
commitment, taken at least as many risks, endured the
same physical challenges. And all on my own, without the
help of a support team. As I've picked up the pace, people
have started to make assumptions: that I'm a professional
off-roader; that the XT is a competition enduro bike, etc,
etc. They do't see the stiff, short-travel forks, the rubber
touring footpegs, unadjustable suspension trying to control
the wild buckings of a 185kg road-biased machine, or know that as
standard this bike has sod-all ground clearance.

They can't feel the weight of the thing, the back tyre spin
everywhere on the torque, the effort it takes to get such a
long and weighty bike turned on the dirt, or slowed on the
frost. Still, it is one of the three best bikes to start, but only
if you can ride it.

I decide to decide whether to race in the morning, when,
hopefully, I've had some sleep and can get some kind of
reasonable perspective. A couple of small rums, earplugs in
and zzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.

Raid Report - Part Two

2006-10-17T14:15:00.000+01:00

Day Five

At 5am we all come alive in our barrack room. Washing and
brushing is outside, water from an old oil drum positioned
above a fire to stop the water freezing. I don't bother with
the washing bit. It's bitterly cold, but not so bad as it could
be, not so bad as it will be at around 7.30 when we climb
over Baralacha La (4890m) on the day's first competitive
stage, which starts at the army base and runs for around
60km to the nothing place of Lingti.

The cars preceding Rocky and I have broken the ice on the
streams, but this is not such a help when they've dragged
water onto the dirt and it has instantly frozen in their tracks.
The vast majority of the stage is tarmac in reasonable
condition and towards the transit camp at Sarchu the road
straightens out and speeds build. There are, however, deep
culverts ready to catch out the unwary... or the wary for that
matter. Hitting one at about 110kph, bottoms the
suspension out, before kicking the back end into the air as it
unloads. All that's to be done is getting arse out of saddle
double-time, gritting teeth, holding on and hoping.

WeÕve been warned about the ice expected on the steel
bridges, but I still go in too hot at Sarchu, crossing just
about the whole span on full lock with a football in my
throat. For some reason the bolts holding this simple
construction together have been inserted from the
underside, meaning inches of threaded steel spikes
protrude. Thankfully my tyres survive and I don't fall onto
the iron maiden.

All this fast road means it's not long before I've made up
Rocky's two-minute, on-the-road headstart and by the
finish line I've gained some three minutes. The rest of the
field are now comfortably behind our two-horse race.

Next comes a long transport stage across a huge, and
hugely stunning high-level plain. At the end of this is the
loftiest point of the Leh route, Tanglang La, claimed to be
the second highest road in the world at 5328m. At the
stage's start point, a couple of kilometres before the road
begins to climb up to the pass, there's a long wait in a cold
wind. But things look even worse ahead as dark clouds
gather over Tanglang, promising snow.

Tales of the Raid being snowed to a halt a few years back
have got me a bit twitchy and despite needing this 40km
stage to pull back some time, there's a part of me secretly
hoping it would be cancelled. A radio report from up top
suggests there's some light snow, but not enough to stop
the stage, so off we go, this time me starting ahead of
Rocky despite him being ahead in the bigger picture.

It's damn cold, with some light snow falling and at the pass'
summit the rough ground is hard and white with frost. Again
there's ice, but in most places the power is getting to
ground surprisingly well. On Tanglang's downside to Rumtse
the road is fast and wide, again suiting the Yamaha and I'm
able to brake into corners with a fair amount of vigour on
the front Metzeler. I get to the line and watch watch. Rocky
comes in some three and a half minutes behind me, so I've
made around a minute and a half. Things are going to plan
and I expect to be able to haul in Rocky's now six-minute
lead tomorrow.

The last transport stage to Leh should be easy going, and is
until I'm stopped by an angry mob blocking the road. Running first on the road, ahead of the cars, I find myself
surrounded, being met with some aggression and don't
understand why I'm the subject of the crowd's ire. There are
police wielding sticks and telling me to drive on through the
crowd, but I'm not up for ploughing old ladies over. I ask the
police not to hit the people, the people not to hit me and
hope I'm not about to get the shit kicked out of me by a
band of Buddhists. When they start to pull me off the bike I
feel I've no choice but to go and the assemblage parts to let
me through with only some token blows.

I'd assumed I'd committed some terrible sacrilege. Perhaps
some grand-master monk had been disturbed on his
deathbed. What awful act had I inadvertently committed? I
had been part of an event that had made their bus late...

More arse-ache was to come when I arrived at the Leh finish,
only to be told to bugger off back out of town until the
minister of inconvenience was in place to receive us arriving
at neat minute intervals. My next job was also to wait. To
wait around three hours for Kevin and Koos to turn up in
the Land Rover with my replacement rear tyre, which I
changed in roadside darkness near a garage with an airline.

My luggage, however, was in yet another vehicle, staying a a
different hotel and by the time I'd tracked it down, had a
shower etc, it was getting on in the evening. Nonetheless,
my new roommate, 'Little Nitin,' a fiend called Shetty and I
went to one of my old Leh haunts for dinner and a bottle of
beer. This proved to be very pleasant, but the food
poisoning that followed was anything but.
More tomorrow.
Damon

Yamaha Success in World's Highest Race

2006-10-16T12:33:00.000+01:00

Sorry about the rambling 'style'here, the tardiness of posting, lack of good pictures and that the ones I have bear little relation to the text - it's impossible to concentrate on racing and taking photographs simultaneously - but here's the first instalment of my experience in the Rally Raid de Himalaya...

Anyone who contemplates taking part in the Rally Raid de Himalaya, with its terrifying and potentially fatal vertical drops, must wonder what it feels like to go over the edge, to leave the road and spin into the void. Well, although I only went over a small one, I now have a pretty good idea of how it feels. First there's a familiar 'whoops', then a cold realisation that as far as cock-ups go, one is presently engaged in a mother. A sense of 360-degree, what-way-up space precedes a mix of pain and relief as the ground is struck and left, struck and departed again. Spinning through the twilight, tumbling, sharp blows coming in from every side, a rag-dolling realisation that if you can't arrest the downward spiral, then you've probably opened your last Kingfisher. I'll be beaten to death by the rocks, or go over a big one. I've no idea what's below me.

Legs out rigid; arms, hands and heels searching for purchase. Flailure is failure. Arse over tit again and the heels dig in.

Delighted to be alive, I go through the post-stack motions: Toes wiggle? Check. Fingers move? 'Ow!' But check. Knees, elbows, shoulders all move stiffly. I know I'm all here because everything hurts. Especially my right leg. It isn't responding to instructions, but as I draw myself upright I'm able to pull it into position and when I put weight on it there's only a marginal increase in pain. I am able to lean forward against the slope to steady myself and start to climb.

I was in the lead, 2075km into a seven-day, 2100km race when the taxi punted me over the edge. Just 10 miles to the gate and I'd have clinched a win, but all I can now work out is which way is up. I don't know where my bike is and seem to have blown it, big-time. Having taken time out en-route to get some pictures taken for coverage in Bike magazine, I am perilously close to losing time on this last 'transport stage' and only have a lead of around 1min 20secs. If not on the bike and over the line within about half an hour I'm done. A week of hard-riding; four o'clock morning musters; changing tyres in the dark in the biting mountain winds; boily backside and dust-clogged nose; stinging eyes and sunburn; four previous crashes - it all looks set to end here in the rocky scree of the Rohtang Pass thanks to a stupid error of judgement. But, make no mistake, I'm happy to be alive and not smashed to pieces.

The Preparations
The run up to 'The Raid' was a busy few days - giving the Yamaha its first full service, changing my part-worn Metzeler Karoo tyres for Pirelli MT61 enduro rubber and buying provisions. To pass scrutineering I was also required to fit mud flaps fore and aft, and they have done wonders for the bike's styling. Lovely. It was also necessary cover the bike in an extraordinary number of race sponsorship stickers.
I did manage to find time to get in a couple of test rides, getting an idea of how the new Pirellis worked on the dirt, but didn't get nearly so much practice as I'd have liked. Still, with the bike now luggage-free and riding with a bunch of other riders (including English Matt, who I'd first met in Leh) I managed to get a measure of how quick I could go - which on the lose dirt was not quick enough.

For a couple of days another English fella and around-the-worlder, Adam Lewis, and I had teamed up to halve the number of stupid questions we felt obliged to ask the organisers. Despite Adam having competed in a number of UK enduro events, neither of us had a fool's clue on how this monstrous number was run. We were also both granted the use of Motoworld's workshops - the garage business of communications director, Vijay Parmar (thanks Vijay) - to prepare our machines.

Now I like Adam, he's a proper Brit grass roots racer; ready to smile and laugh his way through inconvenience, resourceful (stripping his BMW F650 to its underwear two days before the race to change its suspension bushes) and ever ready to lend a hand. Like I said, I like Adam, but I don't want to sleep with him, thanks. But that was the arrangement laid on for us the night before the race's kick-off.

Mind you I didn't join him until after midnight, thanks to unfinished jobs and a briefing that took up a good part of the evening. From there it was a completely sleepless night, if only a four-hour one, before rising to ride to the race's start.

Day One
Completely knackered at 4.30am, I'm strapping my toolkit and Baglux tankbag, containing requisite sleeping bag, emergency rations and first aid kit, to the tail of the XT. We have to be in the start area at 5.30 for the first vehicles to leave at six. It's bikes first and then cars and of the 33 (I think) bikes leaving, I'm 28th bike, near last thanks to my high (101) unseeded race number.

It's a weird sensation running quickly through the quiet streets of Shimla at 6.30am, cops waving me through the junctions and tunnels. Soon we're off the main track and heading for the first competitive stage on the dirt. A number of waiting bikes mark the start - for every minute early into the staging area, there's a five-minute penalty; for each minute late, it's just a minute's penalty. Accurate timekeeping is essential.

Stage One, Day One, is tight and rocky dirt track. At just 26km it is short and intense with perilous falls. Advice from experienced mentors (four-times winner, Bantu; seen-it-all font of motorcycling wisdom, Trigun; organiser Vijay et al) is simply to take it easy and survive the first day - around half the entry is expected to fall out by day's end due to failure to make the maximum permitted lateness (MPL), crashes, punctures, or simply realising they're not up to the job.

My friends give good advice indeed, but it fails to take into account the fact I might want to compete. And Vijay, after taking me for a short assessment ride to gauge whether I was fit for the Raid had marked me thus: "You are good enough to ride in the Raid, but you won't win it." Whether by intention or accident, this has fired me up - nobody likes to be underestimated, let alone written-off...

I reckon that if I fall too far behind on these initial tight dirt stages - where I know the small-engined bikes are quick and agile with more experienced riders - then I won't be able to make it back up on the more open sections later in the race. Today we have some 425km to cover, and with more than a quarter of this rough-track racing there's a long way I could fall behind.

So best advice ignored I go for it, hard as I can. Over the course of stage one I pass many slower bikes, have a few near misses and one slide that has onlookers running for cover. In competitive two I slide off on a shiny surface in front of an assembled village. I was showing off, trying to spark the pegs and Matt is proved right, the word 'twat' could have been invented for me. Luckily the road just here is so smooth that the bike and I are barely marked and I lose less than a minute. Next hazard is a dog that runs out on me. I manage to lose speed, spin Muttley around on the spot, and we both go about our ways.

All day I have been dicing with 'Big Nitin', number 100, on his madly modified and hugely tuned orange Enfield Bullet. His bike is fitted with long-travel forks, a Japanese monoshock rear end and he rides it like a devil, spinning the wheel everywhere and backing off for nothing. I pass him on the long Stage Three, over 60km of dirt track, when he has a technical problem. I then have a problem of my own when the front mud flap is dragged into the wheel, but get going before he re-passes.
Within minutes I hear the drone of his engine behind me and there he is, 25m behind and gaining. I have lost concentration, over-relaxed and slowed. Efforts redoubled, I manage to gap Big Nitin and finish the last racing stage of the day, having overtaken about 15 bikes on the road and stayed ahead (on the road,not in time) of the fastest cars.

The last transport stage of the day goes over the Jalori Pass at about 3300m and on to the finish at Manali. For once taking advice, I stop only for a quick smoke before tackling the day's last 250-odd kilometres. Five hours is plenty of time, but it's best to get going and refuelled early, in case of a problem later. I have this problem when 40km from the end I get a puncture in the dark. With half-a-dozen Himachalli villagers trying to 'help', I get a new tube in and hit the finish line at around 8pm.

Adam, with whom I am again sharing a room/bed, has lost time with a puncture in the first competitive stage and now his suspension problem has re-emerged. His friend Dan helps him strip the complicated BMW once more to find that the upper shock bush of his Ohlins has once more worn out - only 400km since replacement. With no permanent fix in sight, Adam withdraws from the race, which is a big disappointment, as not only have we been working as a mini team, but I'm also looking forward to a bit of a ding-dong with him on the tarmac.

Later in the evening the day's results are out. I am astonished to find myself in second place, leading a bunch of riders who are all within a couple of minutes of me. Ahead are a couple of cars and a rider nicknamed 'Rocky' - so named because of his love of the films and his mild-mannered behaviour off the bike and tenacity 'in the ring'. Rocky (last year's winner, number 71, riding a lightly modified Hero Honda Karizma) is a whole 11 minutes ahead. With the roads opening out tomorrow and more suiting the big, heavy Yamaha, I hope to take some time out of Rocky's lead, or at least stay in touch.

Day Two
The tough first day has done its job, all but halving the field. Today is an 'easy' day, with a 50km transport over the Rohtang Pass, a 100km dirt racing stage and a further 60-odd km to the Finish at Kaza in the stunning Spiti Valley. I'm tired, a bit achy, and struggling to concentrate and pace myself at the start of the stage.
About 20 minutes in, there's a beeping behind me as a blue rally car approaches for an overtake. I consider where to pull over and let it through. Then reconsider. Overtaken by a car? Not going to happen. If it does pass I'll lose time in its dust cloud and as we're starting to climb towards the 4500m Kunzum Pass may well get stuck behind on the steepest parts of the climb.

Being chased kicks some extra adrenalin into the system and I take off like a hairy bear with its arse alight, quickly gapping the Suzuki car and managing to focus for the rest of the stage. It pays dividends as by the day's end I've pulled back (I think - I didn't check the time sheets that night) around three minutes on Rocky.
In Kaza, determined to get some sleep (I've had around three hours in the past two nights), I check into a cheap hotel that I used on my reccy, eat early and get some kip.

Day Three
Three very steep, very tight and technical 'special' stages comprise day three. They are all in the stunning high desert Kaza area and we'll only cover about 100 miles, but I know the terrain is going to be very physical on what is basically a big road bike with knobbly tyres.

Each of the stages climbs from around 3000m to approximately 4000m within the space of about 20km, with vertiginous drops from which you could base jump. There are a couple of points at which officials wave speed down for some potentially fatal technicalities, and bugger-all grip throughout.

I crash three times in all - all slow ones. Twice the bike comes around on me on nadgery uphill sand; once I'm distracted by roadside officials and topple against the cliff-side after locking the wheels. One crash leaves the bike tank-down on a steep slope and I lose at least a minute hauling it upright.

One of the stages is run twice and the last downhill 7km is rough tarmac. Barrelling down and braking into the hairpins is pulling my front knobbly apart.

Overall, though, I'm happy to be pretty much on the pace. Although I have around twice the power of the bikes near the front of the pack (the bigger bikes in the field are failing to compete), there's no reward in 40bhp when you can only get 20 of them to the floor and you're wheel-spinning everywhere, struggling to hold the weight up in the hairpins. I don't know exactly where I stand behind Rocky, but am pretty sure he hasn't got away today.

Day Four
The main competitive section of this race is basically a reversal of day two, 100kms over Kunzum La with fast valley-floor sections. I've upped my tyre pressures to try and get some more stability and a higher top speed on the fast bits, which run over gravel and stone dry river beds. The 'death weave' now sets in some 5km faster and I'm able to top out at about 130kph, but it's arse-twitching stuff when you see what terrain you'll be tumbling over.

Running the stage this way also brings those of us running at the front over Kunzum Pass early - about 7.30am. There is ice lurking in the shadows.

Again I've slept poorly and am struggling to race all the time, wary of getting the bike's mass slowed and turned on the downhill 'pins. Staying full-on for every second of an hour and a half over this stuff is hard work. I miss an official short cut and lose time. Rocky gains a little on me, but not enough to worry too much about when this is the last of the serious dirt stages.

The last stage of day four is situated on the famous/infamous Manali-Leh road. All tarmac (or at least a rough version of it) and only 17km over a small pass, it's the ideal place to see what kind of time I can pull back on good surfaces, where I can use the Yamaha's power. I get confused by a roadside 'finish' sign, put out for cars competing in the 'reliability' class, and lose a minute or so dithering over what to do.But I'm still fastest here, quicker even than the lead cars.

My front tyre is now in a state of serious disintegration. The knobs on the sides are breaking off and it's not fit to compete another day. I have my part-worn Metzeler Karoo tyres (the dual-purpose rubber that has served us so well throughout the trip) being carried by Kevin, a Brit' with his Land Rover entered in the reliability competition. But there's a problem. We are staying in a military transit camp at Patseo and as Kevin has diplomatic number plates he can't.

I've my wheel out ready for the tyre change, so the officials (thanks you, guys) arrange to bring the tyre the 25km from the hotel at which he's now been posted. It arrives at around 9.00pm and is quickly fitted, but finding someone with a pump takes another half-hour. I'd wanted to change the rear, too, but it's getting too late and too cold at near 4000m.

Carrying kit has been a problem throughout. Most of the competitors have service crews running with them, but I'm having to ask favours of people to carry my overnight bag. I'm grateful to those who helped, but this means me rarely seeing my kit and is a constant hassle I don't need. I'm having to run around finding cars when I need to work on the bike, or sleep.

Night four I sit up and have a few much needed social whiskeys with friends before crashing out at midnight in the barrack room bunk beds in which w're billeted. It's cold, the roof doesn't fit, there's a plethora of snoring styles, but I manage to get some kip eventually.

I'll leave it at that for now, cos it's going to take about two hours to get this posted. More, probably, tomorrow.
Damon

Seem to have won The Raid!

2006-10-08T12:02:00.001+01:00

Have just finished the Rally Raid de Himalaya... and won it! No, I don't know, either.

Rather knackered, having fallen down the side of the Rohtang Pass - will post the story within the next couple of days with pix to follow later.

Damon

Ready to Race the Raid

2006-09-27T12:54:00.000+01:00

The past couple of weeks have been spent preparing the XT (and to a lesser extent myself) for entry into the Rally Raid de Himalaya, a seven-day race (with bike and car classes) covering some 1300 miles of the world's worst surfaced roads and best trails; all of them incredibly scenic. A third of the distance consists of closed- road time trial, the rest time-limited 'transport' stages. Each stage has a target time for completion (with pretty much impossible average speeds for the 'competitive' stages) and any lateness over the day's stages is added together to give one's overall time. Geddit?

There is a 'maximum permitted lateness' (MPL) rule, by which one is allowed to accrue a certain amount of lateness per day before disqualification enters the picture. On some days - the first in particular - completion without overstepping the
MPL limit is pretty tough.

Last week I took a reccy of the first three days of the Raid,
riding across country from Shimla to Manali and then on to
Kaza in the Spiti Valley to check out some special stages,
before returning to Shimla. What did I learn? It is not going
to be easy to complete this event!

Hazards include all the regular Indian road madness on the
transport stages and although they close the roads for the
competition stages, the animals aren't let in on the
secret. Then there's the terrain itself. Competitors may
break down under the mental strain of trying to race with a
rock face on one side and a 1000ft-plus drop into a raging
river the other. Especially 12 hours into a day, after nearly a
week's racing and little sleep - the longer days I estimate
could be up to 16 hours of hard riding.

Just to make things easier, the course varies in altitude from
around 2000m to over 5000m (which it does six times, plus
another four passes at over 4500m). Racing up to these heights is
quite plainly stupid. If nothing else, expect dizziness, poor
decision-making, shortness of breath, dehydration and a
tangible loss of physical performance by oxygen-starved
muscles. In October it can also be cold enough to put
hypothermia on the menu.

Obviously all this is pretty hard on the bikes too, but after so
much rock-bashing together, I've a high level of confidence in
the Yamaha - it's proved to be one seriously tough customer.

There will be river-crossings, landslides, ice and probably
snow encountered. Freshly-fallen boulders will randomly plonk
themselves in the road. In the high-altitude deserts there is sand, in
other places mud, bare rock, shale and sometimes even
tarmac. The concentration levels, let alone wrestling a 185kg
bike off-road for 100kms at a time, will be exhausting for a
middle-aged smoker who is rather too fond of the booze.
Perhaps this wasn't the best choice for my first off-road
event...

The competition, with about 35 bikes in all, mainly consists
of small, lightly modified, Indian-market bikes - Yamaha and
Suzuki 150 two-strokes, the mighty Honda Karizma 225
(18bhp), Bajaj Pulsar etc. There are also, however, a few bigger
bikes entered, including A 650 Dominator, a 250 Dominator
and a 'motocross Enfield' or two. There are six Europeans entered,
including Adam Lewis, a racer of some experience, who is
riding a BMW F650 and is writing up his around the globe
adventures for Fast Bikes magazine.

I recently went out for a ride with a former three-times
outright Raid winner on his Suzuki 100 two-stroke. He blew
me into the weeds - OK he knew the road (a dirt track that
is part of the course), but also what he was doing. I should,
though, be faster than the wee bikes on tarmac stages,
especially uphill - though them there Karizmas do brake and
corner. Pirelli have just been kind enough to supply me
with a new set of tyres to replace the shot ones on which
I've been reconnoitring, so that should help get down some
more of what, most of the time, is too much power.

With just three days to go until the start (Sep 30th), this is the
last I'll be writing for a few days. I'll do my best to update whenever
I can on route, net availability and tiredness/bike repairs
permitting. I'm very excited, a jot nervous (not least about
getting up at 4.30 for 6am starts) and can't wait to get
started. Tomorrow I'm in for scrutineering. Things to be
carried on the bike include emergency rations and a sleeping
bag! For 'emergency rations' read 'ten Snickers bars, four energy
bars, a quarter kilo of Fruit and Nut chocolate, dextrose tabs,
cashew and glucose biscuits.

In the meantime go to: rally-de-himalaya.com for more information on the
event.

To link through to my page on the Himalayan Motorsport's (who have been incredibly helpful in getting we Brits through the formalities of entering such an event - ta) site, where you'll be able to get a daily update on my pathetic performance, click: http://www.raid-de-himalaya.com/2006/showcontestant.asp?id=182&category=XT

For more info on fellow competitors, check out: http://www.raid-de-himalaya.com/2006/viewcontestants.asp

Blessya

Damon

Still Slobbing in Shimla

2006-09-16T12:09:00.000+01:00

Am still in Shimla, where I have taken on the form of a monkey to investigate the place further, but will be leaving tomorrow to reccy part of the Rally Raid course. This will take me from Shimla back up to Manali, via the backraods, and then on to Kaza, over in the Spiti Valley.

Preparations have been going well and I've completed all the paperwork, have my route books and am working out all the fuel and tyre logistics. Pirelli have sent me some new tyres (thanks Jim), Yamaha oil and air filters (thanks Miles) - though these are yet to arrive from the Bombay shipping agent. I hope this is not a familiar story unfolding. Jen at Bike has also despatched some new front brake pads (ta).

My laptop is making some very horrid noises (that'll be a computer), sometimes refuses to start up and I think the hard drive is about to expire. I have thus been backing-up all my notes and pictures to disk - which is very time consuming. Will put up a post explaining more about the race when I get back - in the meantime, here are some more holiday snaps of Shimla...

Slacking in Shimla

2006-09-04T12:47:00.001+01:00

Sorry there hasn't been a post on the site for some time,
but I seem to have lost the last vestiges of my self-discipline
somewhere in the Ladakh mountains, which I have now left. I
am presently in Shimla, the capital of Himachal Pradesh
state, lying some 700 road kilometres to the south of Leh.

While in Shimla, I have been organising my entry into the
stupefyingly tough Rally Raid de Himalaya (or rather Vijay
Parmar, the event's mastermind, has been organising me), a
seven-day, 2000km mountain race to be held from the end of September
onwards. More information on the race can be accessed at:
www.raid-de-himalaya.com

To compete I've had to take a medical, get clearance from
the British motorcycle racing control body and apply for an
Indian race licence. The only formality left to clear is the
obtaining of suitable personal accident insurance, which will
be sourced through an Indian company.

So what's happened since I was last arsed to open the
laptop?

There were a couple of days in Leh, eating and drinking too
much and generally loafing around, before setting off
southwards. P and I had tackled the awesome Leh-Manali
route in two days when heading out, but wanting to get an
idea of where my endurance limits lie before entering the
Raid I set off at 8am, hoping to clear the 475km run in one
hit. Knowing I only had 11 hours of light (and you really
don't want to ride in the high stuff at night) the XT and I set
off at a fair crack. Speed was hampered by long queues of
trucks, the terrible dust clouds they blew up and the fact
that sections of the road had been washed away by the
recent flooding, but I was still just about on course to make
Manali by nightfall.

With just 50km to go, things took a turn for the worse.
Clouds rolled down the mountainsides, dry ice style, as I
approached Rohtang La, the last high pass before Manali.
Drenched and getting cold, with my speed down to about
25kph, night fell and things got a tad perilous - it's quite
nerve wracking not quite being sure where that 500-foot
drop-off is.

It was thus with great joy that I rolled into the garden of the
Iceland Hotel, a few miles above Manali in the small village of
Solang. It's run by friends of P, is where we had stayed on
the outward journey and was from where I needed to collect
my spare, part-worn tyres. The Iceland was a real touch of
luxury after the places in which I've been staying - clean,
fresh linen, electricity and, and, get this: clean towels! After
such a tough run - fast Enfield riders do Leh-Manali in two
days; most take three or four - it was all I could do to lift
veg' curry to mouth before crashing out before 10 o'clock.

The following morning found me in two minds over whether
to head straight for Shimla, or stick around in Solang,
enjoying the pleasant company, peace, quiet and eye-
soothingly green vistas of the valley (which after a month in
the sandiness of the high desert come as a pleasant
change). The latter won.

I walked up to old Solang village, a couple of miles up the
hillside, and then above that, trying to get to the top of the
mountain. Got close, but there was no way up the steep last
portion and cloud shrouding the very top.

I could easily have stayed in Solang for quite some time
(even before I knew the Iceland's boss, Khem Raj Thakur,
had taken me in as a guest - thanks Khem), but knew that
time for signing-on for the Raid was wearing thin. So off
again, heading for Shimla on the main road and making good
time. Too boring, so I left the main route for a stunning
twisty following the Beas Valley. What a joy, leaving any
tourist trails well behind and getting a charming view of
Himachali village life... until cloud descended to the road,
lightening flashed around and it bucketed down. With
visibility poor, I pottered into the sleepy village of Tatapani,
which is only a short ride from Shimla.

Despite near-constant rain and low cloud I like Shimla.
Almost all the tourists here are Indian and there is much
people-watching to do. I've become a regular client of some
local dhabas (small, cheap eateries) and made some friends.

Shimla was the summer capital of the British Raj, and is a
strange mix of Indian and (mainly decaying) Brit'
architecture. The flavour of the place is, of course, very
much Indian and I'm enjoying the bustle of the bazaars, the
colour and the food.

Yesterday I went out for an overcast-then-rainy ride with Vijay, Suhrid Sharma
and Trigun Vir Singh Pathania.

Suhrid has won the Raid de Himalaya outright three times,
riding a lightly modified Suzuki 150 two-stroke. Over a reccy
ride of the rally's first competitive stage he managed to give
me some perspective on just how fast a good rider can
cover dirt rides on such a small, light bike. He was way
quicker than me - minutes over 26km - his confidence
through the mud making all the difference. Suhrid isn't
competing this year, but there will be plenty of similar bikes
and riders out there with everything to prove. There are also
a smattering of bigger bikes entered, some of them with
professional riders in the saddle.

Trigun is also quite some rider. I have never seen a Bullet
500 being ridden so well and would never have believed I
could enjoy going out for a spin with someone riding a Royal
Oilfield. But Trigun's lines are perfect and he uses every one
of his 20-odd horsepower to its very best effect - one of
the best road riders I've seen anywhere. Thank God he isn't
entered - if he had a big Yamaha...

So what now? I had planned to head east into Uttranchal,
but I think that's now got to wait until after the rally. My
part-worn Metzeler Karoo tyres aren't going to make the
distance (I've now gone through two sets - the rocks in
Zanskar and during the record attempt have knocked
chunks off and prematurely aged them) and I'm waiting on
some Pirellis to be sent out. I'm also expecting some brake
pads, plus oil and air filters so I can service the machine - it
needs it, especially an air filter, having spent so much time in
the desert. And with just over three weeks to go I also need
some practice at trying to muscle such a heavy bike fast on
the dirt and to take a look at a bit more of the course.

So I think I'll spend a week in Shimla, trying to re-find some
discipline while pacing up and down, praying my spares
arrive. I'll do some work on Bike magazine features and also
get out on the bike to try and develop a few of the off-road
skills I so clearly lack. After that - hopefully when the
weather has dried out a bit - I'll take a look at some of the
race route that runs further afield.
Damon

Zanskar

2006-08-21T14:01:00.000+01:00

Have just returned from the remote and romantically-named valley of Zanskar, which
was a three-day-each-way trip, taken at a reasonably
leisurely pace. The ride was one of the most stunning
imaginable, first through mountainous moonscape desert
with dunes at over 4000m, then following the tortuous
Indus Valley with huge drop-offs straight into the raging
river.

At Kargil, right by the Pakistani border, I dropped south
following a lesser, mainly unpaved, road for about 200 miles.
There were lots of deep river crossings and extremely rough
sections, but it was worth it for the views, especially of the
7000m Nun/Kun mountains and their glaciers, which tumble
down to very near the road.

After the high pass at Pansi La (4400m) we were into the
Zanskar Valley and one of the strangest landscapes you'll
find anywhere - flat-bottomed stony valleys, complete with
ancient white monasteries and dotted with flat-roofed,
straw-covered, Tibetan-style houses. All around are snow-
capped peaks, glaciers hanging into the valley walls and
remarkable folded rock formations. As the sun moves across
the sky, the colours of the rocks - green, red, beige - shift.

As I rode along, Himalayan marmots, furry, waddlesome creatures, would shout warnings to each other before bolting into their burrows.

The capital of Zanskar is Padum, centred on an ancient
gompa (monastery), but now spreading its concrete tendrils
along the roads and out into the valley. It's still a very small
town, however (as seen in the view from the gompa). Its
fertile surroundings are criss-crossed with an intricate and
ancient irrigation system, much like those for the rice
paddies down south, only tiered to take account of the
gradient. As with much of the mountain country, the main
crop is barley and this was under attack from a plague of
locusts - as if the recent flooding hadn't been Biblical
enough...

A couple of spectacular villages share the valley, clinging to
the steep mountainsides like insect colonies. One such,
Karsha, on the opposite side of Zanskar looked especially
interesting. In the clear air, it appeared to be only two or
three miles away, so I set out to walk there. It took three
hours to reach the Gompa and climbing it took a further
half-hour. As there was no bus back, I also had to walk the
return - a total distance, it transpired, of nearly 20 miles.

There are 20-30 tourists in Padum at any one time,
recovering from the jeep ride and waiting to leave on multi-
day treks. All of these were Italian, French or German when I
was there. All the locals I spoke to, from Kargil to Padum
said I was the first Brit they'd met.

Two days was enough in Padum, as there really is stuff all to
do when, like me, your unfit to walk - an old hip injury gave
me severe gip after the Karsha excursion.

The return to Leh, where I am once more, was even more
spectacular as the sun was out and the air crystal clear. As
on the outward journey, I spent a night in the small Muslim
village of Panikhar where bed and board cost the equivalent
of £1.20.

In the next couple of days I will leave Leh and back-track
over the high passes to Manali, where I'll pick up some spare
tyres before moving down to Shimla. I'm not sure exactly
what I'll be doing from there, but I plan to sign on for the
Rally Raid de Himalaya race, which is held at the end of
September.

Meanwhile, Pankaj, down in Bombay, is arranging to ship his
bike back to the UK, where our main sponsor, Devitt
Insurance, want to put it on their stand at the NEC Bike
Show. It may then be shipped to Germany, where our
luggage and off-road bits supplier, Metal Mule, want to use it
in another show.
Damon

The Case of the Drowning Yak

2006-08-08T15:19:00.000+01:00

The stuffed yak is sodden, rotting, its back slumping under
the weight of the damp straw that has been plumping it out
for the last 13 years. Its existence as centrepiece of the
Antelope Guest House's garden is looking under threat as
climate change takes its toll.

It has rained every day for the last week-plus, and rained
harder than anyone here can remember. Ladakh generally
has four inches of rain per annum - we have had about a
foot in the past week, causing flooding and the washing
away of roads. A couple of nights back the rain fractured a
glacier up the valley, causing the release of a great deal of
water, which rushed down the small river, damaging and
destroying bridges in its wake. Huge boulders were thrown
metres high onto the bridges higher up the valley, while
lower down people were evacuated from their homes. In
Zanskar Valley there are reports coming through of lives
lost.

Here at the Antelope we had a mini-drama of our own when
at around 10pm water burst through the up-side of the
building and cascaded into the garden, where it couldn't
escape due to a five-foot retaining wall that had no drain
hole (why no drain? 'It never rains'). I suggested knocking a
hole in the wall, so a pickaxe was sourced and the two hotel
lads and I set about trying to make an opening in the three-
foot-thick, rock retainer. Working in the dark, knee-deep
and rising, it took about an hour to get through and let the
water out - another few inches and I'd have had to evacuate
my room. There was a fair bit of water-damage to the
'concrete', the garden was left deep in silt and the dead yak
began its slump.

The weather has put my trip up to Zanskar on hold for the
time being (I plan to try again in a couple of days). I don't
actually know if the road is open as Leh has effectively been
cut-off from the outside world - by road - due to landslides,
road collapses and the majority of bridges being knocked
out. The first convoy to make it from Leh to Manali in a week
made it through today, so things are improving, but it's still
raining on and off and landslides are constantly undoing the
bulldozers' work.

A few days back an English friend I've made (who has a tent)
and I set off to try and walk over to the Nubra Valley, which
sits the other side of a high range and involves a pass over
5000m. What a farce. We set off for the first leg using a
trekking guidebook with instructions such as: 'take the track
on the right side of the small, triangular mountain' and
obviously picked the wrong triangular mountain as a three-
hour warm up walk turned into a six-hour circuit back to
Leh. So with six days-worth of food in our packs we ended
up eating in a restaurant back in town, feeling a right pair of
chumps. And we haven't been able to get out since, as every
river crossing, of which there are many, is impassable.

Leh is packed with tourists as treks have been cancelled and
many people have returned from the hills - though some are
still stuck out there by high rivers. I met a teacher yesterday
who had been staying in a monastery which was hit by a
landslide. He was lucky to get out alive, his only remaining
possessions a pair of pants, wallet and his camera -
passport, air-ticket and everything else gone.

A couple of days back I witnessed the collapse of a bridge in
upper Leh. It happened as a guy was sprinting across. He
went down 20 feet into a raging torrent along with about ten
tons of concrete. I though he was surely dead, that nobody
could possibly survive, but by some miracle he managed to
clasp a fallen electricity cable and pull himself out.

I'd use this break in travelling to get on with some work, but
the electricity has been off for ages and when it is there the
required 24v to charge my laptop fails to show. So I'm
writing in an expensive e-cafe that has a generator, but
getting a little done. Overall there is bugger-all to do in Leh
and I, along with lots of potential trekkers, am finding the
place very frustrating. Tonight will doubtless see me
hammering the budget with a few beers...

In a couple of days the army should have a temporary bridge
up on the main Srinagar road and I will try and get through
to Zanskar. After that I will return to Shimla if the Leh-Manali
route is open, otherwise I'll have to take a massive three-
day detour through Srinagar in Kashmir.
Damon

Padung-Pangong-Khardung

2006-07-30T08:53:00.000+01:00

It's been a while since I updated here - sorry, have been
finishing the second instalment of the story for Bike
magazine.

Anyway, back to the plot... Come the morning after our
record ride, we duly showed up at 6.30 to head up the
mountain with the border police patrol and after an hour and
a half of very rough truck ride, we were with the bike. It was
only a couple of hundred yards from the road and upon
assessing the scene, P and I realised that we could have
extricated it ourselves if it weren't for our exhausted state.
The patrol helped us shift the Yamaha perhaps 20 yards and
from there I was able to ride the bike down to the road.

After photos with the ITBP guys, we headed back to
Pobrang, packed, and set off for the vast salt-water lake at
Pangong. Crystal clear at over 4000m, with huge snow-
flecked mountains reflecting in it, the Pangong Lake presents
an incredible vista. Only 17km of the lake (of about 45 in
total) are in Indian Ladakh, the rest in Chinese-nicked Tibet.

We loitered in the area for a while, enjoying riding the rough
tracks and fording the rivers that flowed into the lake, before
heading back for Leh at around 5pm. The 100 miles of mixed
tarmac/dirt road seemed very tame after the previous few
days and we blitzed the 100 miles back in around three
hours.

A couple of days later we rode up to Khardung La, the road
which has for so long been regarded as the world's highest.
On measuring it with the GPS, we actually found it to be a
metre lower than Chang La - the road on the way to
Pangong - and 217m lower than Marsimik La. Thus, we were
satisfied that our record stood.

Since then (11 days ago now) I've been hanging out in Leh,
recharging my batteries by drinking and smoking too much -
the only 'cultural' thing I've done here thus far is visit a
festival at a nearby Buddhist temple, which was very
colourful. Pankaj left for Bombay five days ago, so I'm
expecting that any time now I'll get notice that he is home
and safe. He returned via Srinagar in Kashmir, a route which
occasionally sees trouble from Kashmiri separatists.

Before P left we had made friends with a foursome of Indian
Bullet riders, up from Bombay to ride Khardung La. Roy,
Vinay, Rahul and Anil are all very different characters, funny
and hospitable. Thanks for the laughs, chaps.

The plan now is to head for the Zanskar Valley on Tuesday -
with such an evocative name, it has to be seen. Although
just the next major valley across from Ladakh, it is only
accessible from one end (the one furthest away), so I'll have
to ride to Kargil (half way to Srinagar) and drop down from
there. It will probably take a couple of days to get there and
I'll decide how long I spend in Zanskar as I find it. I expect
to be off the radar for a around a week, before backtracking
to Leh.
Damon

The Come Down

2006-07-24T14:09:00.000+01:00

Getting down the mountain beside Marsimik La was way
harder than we'd imagined, or left energy for. On the way up
it was relatively easy, if physically draining, to pick out a
route, but descending we had real trouble making out a
course that didn't either lead into a giant rock-block or over
a mini cliff. Stopping was difficult, turning a huge effort and
time and time again we fell as we lost our footing or ended
toppling in one of those scenarios where you're stopped but
canÕt reach the floor. Pick-up after pick-up. Rolling downhill
there wasn't enough muscle-power left in my shoulders to
hold the bars in-line as the front wheel kicked off big rocks
and I just had to go with the bike.

It was with enormous relief that I found my way back onto
the rocky track leading around the mountain and back to the
pass. But just as I was thinking the trial was over, I glanced
over my shoulder to see Pankaj heading down the
mountainside, having missed the track. Then over he went.

As I started on foot towards P, several hundred metres
away, he got back on and started down again into the valley
until he was obviously stuck in some larger rocks. I rode
down the main track to where I could most easily get to him
and walked up the slope, cursing him for making me exert
myself when all I wanted was to get lower and lie down. His
bike was thoroughly stuck between a rock and a steep place.

For about 15 minutes we tried to move the bike, but simply
couldn't muster the strength. We tried taking a 20-minute
break, but no power returned to our arms and we were
gasping hard for breath, throats dry and painful. Realising
we were undergoing the first stages of altitude sickness, we
considered leaving the bike where it was and returning the
next morning with freshly oxygenated bodies.

P had already hit his leg pretty hard on some rocks in a
crash that broke the clutch lever and bent the gear lever into
a piece of modern art. He was hobbling, and in trying to
extricate the bike with big throttle and clutch-dumping, I had
crashed fairly hard on the rocks, winding myself, though by
some miracle - and the protection of my Hein Gericke suit - I
was entirely uninjured. A broken bone of any kind here
would have been very serious, even more so along with the
shock it would probably engender. There was no shelter
from the fierce sun that in the rarefied atmosphere was
burning my scalp through my hair in minutes. We were
already at the outer limits of what we could endure and
certainly didn't have enough in the tank to carry an injured
body down. One foot in front of the other was becoming a
challenge.

Although the army base was only 16 miles away, that
distance would take nearly an hour on a bike and getting an
army truck back up again would be a further hour and a half.
And that's if the rider going for help didn't himself crash.
With all this in mind and our worsening condition, leaving P's
XT seemed the only sensible course - as if we had a choice...

Riding down two-up was difficult. I lacked the shoulder to
correct front end slides and we stayed in first and second
gear, so any crashes were likely to be trivial. It took over an
hour to make it down to Pobrang Valley below.

Of course the army noticed that something was missing
when we got to the checkpoint and P had to do some
sheepish explaining in Hindi. The chief of the garrison was
pretty unfazed by the whole thing and told us to return at
6.30 the next morning when a patrol going out would help
us retrieve our machine.

We tried our best that evening to have something of a
celebration - after all, we had almost certainly achieved our
goal after many weeks of blood, sweat, tears and, worst of
all, the bloody paperwork. It wasn't easy to dance a gig when we were
so beat and beat up and dinner was the same nettle bhajee
and half-cooked lentils (because water boils at a lower
temperature it takes ages for food to half-cook) that we'd
had the night before.

The stars, though, put on quite a performance. Neither of us
had ever seen a sky like it, so packed with light it would be
easier to imagine constellations from the dark patches
between and so busy with stars the only pattern I could
identify was The Plough. And they're so big up there, so
close and so clear with zero light pollution, no airborne
moisture and so little upward atmosphere. Pobrang must be
the best place on Earth from which to star-watch, if not to
dine out.

It's a Flipping Record!

2006-07-23T15:06:00.000+01:00

Sorry about the delay in posting a blog, but after the travails
of scaling Marsimik La-plus, a day of rest - in fact of sleep -
was in order.

Today we went up Khardung La, so often claimed as the
world's 'highest motorable road', to check its altitude with
our GPS and to make sure we are justified in claiming a
record. It is, in fact, nothing like as high as its 5600m claim.
And so we are happy as Yaks in snow to claim the record as
the highest unsupported riders ever.

To try and set the 'highest road' record straight, below are
the heights, recorded by us, of the four highest passes in
the world:

4. Tanglang La - 5349m
3. Khardung La - 5382m
2. Chang La - 5383m
1. Marsimik La - 5599m
0. 0ur record - 5713m

And here are some extracts from my diary:

17/7/2006
Pobrang looks like a tatty green flag unfurled on the sandy
beige valley floor below. As we move down the mountainside
the village becomes a pastoral jewel embedded in the desert.
We see a stream, a few willow stands, shiny green barley. A
few horses graze alongside stunted mountain cattle on small
but lush meadows.

Six small 'n' squat Tibetan-style dwellings, filled with small 'n'
squat Tibetan-style people, survive in the shadows of the
snow-flecked mountains rising steeply on every side. We
have a very basic room in one of them, staying with a family
who scrape a living weaving, making bricks from the valley's
mud, raising livestock and hiring rooms to contractors
working on the army base. With 4500m of altitude this is
one of the highest inhabited places on earth, one of the
driest, and with minus-45-degree winters it is said to be the
third coldest.

As Pobrang is the last outpost of human existence, the
garrison is the last bastion of the India/Tibet Border Police
and around 40 hardy souls patrol the huge mountains,
ready to see off the Chinese hordes should they show the
nerve to make an incursion. It is here we have to present
our paperwork if we wish to pass on up to Marsimik La, the
world's highest road, and attempt to make a record.

The police chief suggests we have added the name of
Marsimik to the permission documents. It is unheard of for a
foreigner to be granted a pass to come so far as Pobrang. It
may well be the case that I'm the first non-Indian (or
Nepalese soldier/contractor) to come here in nearly a century
Ð nobody can remember seeing a white man here before.

There is a record from the mid-eighteen-hundreds of a fellow
called Ward leading an even earlier expedition to try and re-
find an old route through to China from Leh. In a previous
valley I was shown an incomplete photocopy of a page from
a book which suggested a date prior to 1832 for his
expedition. His comments: 'Marsimik 18,400 feet. Fuel mainly
dung.'

By the time we have convinced the police chief our
paperwork is genuine, drunk some army-issue tomato soup
and partially explained what the hell we're up to, it's obvious
we'll have to leave any record-making to the following
morning. We've already had an exceptional day, riding 100
miles out of Leh into the arse end of nowhere, crossing
Chang La at 5383m, watching the colours of the
mountainous desert through which we've been riding shift
hues by the minute.

Neither of us gets a wink's sleep that night. Our sinuses are
crammed with dust, cracking with dehydration. Lack of
oxygen at altitude is famous for preventing sleep, but we've
kipped at over 4000m before without problems. Maybe it's
the fact we're so close to our ridiculously meaningless goal
after so much arse-ache, so many setbacks and the near-
catastrophes...

18/7/2006
The morning dawns bright - as they do here about 360 days
of the year - and by 9am the temperature is already heading
into the thirties. As we ride up to the pass along a steep and
dusty track the intensity of the sun bores through our
clothing. Graceful, tastefully-striped wild ass canter beside
us and fat giant Himalayan marmots double-take before
waddle-sprinting to their dens.

In places the track's surface has the consistency of cornflour
and tyres slew around, but its only 16 miles to the top of
the pass and our bikes are untaxed as we take it easy on
our knobbly tyres. It would be a different game on an Enfield
- big respect to the small hardcore of Indian Bullet riders
who have made it up here.

Marsimik La shows 5599m on our GPS and this ties in with
the altitude shown on a military map we've seen, so we
believe it to be higher than the other contender for highest
road, Khardung La. Running to the left of the pass' top is a
path consisting of sharp-edged, bread-loaf-sized lumps of
granite rubble, leading to the base of a scree slope that
heads up the rocky mountain above (the second on the left
from the pass itself).

Any increase in height should see us safely able to claim an
unassisted altitude record, but we want to set a decent
benchmark. And we haven't measured Khardung yet, so
want to be sure that we're getting higher than the many
who've ridden there. So, off we go, straight up the side of
the mountain, everything braced and clenched.

We attack the mountain with handfuls of throttle and the
mountain fights back. The rules of this ridiculous game are
that neither of us is to give the other help, in order to keep
our unassisted mantra alive. It's more than hard going. Our
XT660 Yamahas weigh in at near 200kg apiece and it takes
everything we have in us to repeatedly dust ourselves off
and lift them single-handedly at over 5500m. Everything.

The strength to stand up on the pegs is soon lost and we're
relegated to - quite appropriately - the techniques of leg-
flailing dirt novices. We take turns in charging wildly up the
slope, passing each other by a couple of hundred on-the-
ground metres before toppling or digging in to the softer
scree.

I have never known exhaustion like it (though I'm later to
taste it on an altogether more serious level). I am reduced to
supine panting beside the bike before the strength
rematerialises to pick it up. When the back tyre buries in the
sandy dirt the bike must be wrenched onto its side, dragged
clear and lifted.

With some 30 vertical metres to the mountain's top my back
tyre digs into the surface again and I'm able to leave it
standing alone. Pankaj is fighting an epic battle of his own a
little way below. Our physical resources are fast diminishing,
so we decide the height of my bike is to be the benchmark.
We are not tired, not knackered, we are becoming truly
exhausted. In the thin air there is no recovery, just physical
degradation. In fact the air is so thin it's tough to keep a
cigarette lit!

But P fights on, the plan to get his bike dead level.

Whether the last 30 feet took 30 minutes or an hour I don't
know, but it was painful to watch without helping as he fell
over, picked it up, fell over again, had the tyre dig in, got
stuck against some big rocks, fell panting to his knees.

Eventually, by working his way parallel to the slope, P found
some traction and carried on up until I cried 'Stop!'. Each bike
when measured had its front tyre patch at 5713m according
to the Garmin GPS. We were happy, we were sure we had a
record, we were thoroughly exhausted, we were in for a
nightmare ride back down.

Two bikes made it up there, but only one came down that
day. More tomorrow (excuse the tenses, no time to sort as
electricity is down and battery fading).
Damon

Done it! Probably

2006-07-20T10:26:00.000+01:00

The day before yesterday (the 18th) Pankaj and I took the bikes to 5713m, by riding straight up a mountainside from Marsemik La. This pass (la) claims to be the world's highest 'road' and we measured it with GPS at 5599m, which would substantiate this claim. Thus we are almost certain that we have ridden 114m higher than anyone without a support crew.

During the ascent we gave each other no help whatsoever in order that this record be an 'unsupported' one. There were many crashes and we made it down utterly exhausted, bashed and bruised. Tune in tomorrow for a full report.
Damon

Going for It

2006-07-16T12:22:00.000+01:00

Tomorrow we're setting off from Leh for Marsimek La, one of the two passes in this area that claims to be the highest road in the world. We expect to spend between four and five days camping out in this remote area and will try to get a little higher than the pass itself.

We have been very lucky in getting permission for me to visit the pass, as it is outside the remit of any tourist permit. We have also been granted permission as a 'special motorcycle expedition' to travel as a pair, when it is usually necessary to move in a group of four with a guide. For his help in granting us this special status we would like to thank Manoj Kumar Dwivedi, who is the District Magistrate and Deputy Commissioner here in Leh.

After Marsimek we'll return to Leh, from where we will ride up to Kardung La, which also lays claim to being the highest 'motorable' road. Assuming we can get to the top of both passes we should be able to settle the matter, as we'll be using the same instruments to measure both passes.

Today has been spent replacing the bikes' chains and sprockets to lower the gearing for more off-road capability and in order that we'll have a chance of climbing above the pass, we'll also be travelling as light as possible. Keep your eyes on the site, as we'll be posting a report from Marsimek as soon as we're back... and may even be in a position to claim some kind of record.
Damon

The High Stuff

2006-07-14T14:30:00.000+01:00

It was six days ago that I finally met up with P again, in the
small village of Solang, a little way above Manali in the Kullu
Valley. There we spent a couple of days, acclimatising to
some altitude while checking over the bikes, fitting new tyres
and buying extra petrol cans for the trip over the mountains
to Leh, in Ladakh.

The 485km Manali-Leh road is rightly famed for being one of
the most spectacular routes in the world, carving its way
through lofty valleys, most of it at over 4000m. The route is
a very popular challenge among more adventurous Enfield
Bullet riders, both Indian and foreign tourists. These Enfield
boys must leave at seven to reach the halfway mark at
Sarchu by sunset, but we farted around, drinking chai and
recovering from the party at our guesthouse the previous
night before setting off to cross the Rohtang La (La means
pass) at 11am.

Our Yamahas with their blend of road-biased comfort, long-
travel suspension and knobbly Metzeler tyres could have
been designed specifically for the job of tackling this route.
The surface varies between reasonably smooth, if lumpy,
tarmac and raw dirt, with a few river crossings thrown in.

On the ascents, all other vehicles were struggling just to
hold their speeds, but we could blitz past and up. In around
three hours we were at Keylong, where there is the last fuel
stop before Leh, 365km on.

The night was spent camping at Sarchu, in a flat river valley
at around 4000m. A small truckers' canteen provided food
and there was an 'English wine shop' from which I purchased
a bottle of Old Monk rum. Whether it was the booze or the
altitude that gave me a thumping headache the following
morning cannot be proven. It certainly goes against all
advice to drink when acclimatising, but at least I got a good
night's sleep.

The headache stayed with me the next day as we topped
5000m for the first time at Lachlung La and then went on to
the highest point of the route at Taglang La (marked on my
map as 5328m), where we drank tea with some army chaps.
One of them asked P why anybody in their right mind would
chose to come here. On cue it started to sleet.

The serious side of travelling so high was brought home
when an ambulance arrived on top of the pass to pick up a
doctor. In the back was an ashen-faced soldier suffering
from pulmonary oedema - bleeding on the lung. He was
being brought up the pass at a snail's pace from Pang,
1000m below, and it would be many hours down to Leh and
a hospital.

The high passes were very spectacular, with incredible wind-
carved spires and gullies, but it was the last part of the
route that was the most stunning. As the road turns along
the Indus Valley, variously-coloured mountains - green with
cooper ore, red with iron, beige with sand - tower over the
sparkling river, crops and flower fields that line the road.

And so here we are in Leh, altitude 3505m, set in the high
desert of the Ladakh Valley. This place owes more to Tibet
than India and has a rainfall average similar to the SaharaÉ
and it's now raining. Of course itÕs raining, because IÕm here.
A major worry is that there will be large amounts of snow
falling on the highest passes, though the cloud is low (here),
so the highest of places may still be above the precipitationÉ

We now need to get the various permissions ('inner line
permits') to travel north and east from here into the heavily
militarised border areas with Pakistan and China. At one
travel agent we have been told we can only enter for two
days on an overnighter with a local guide, at another that we
can get a seven-day pass - we'll see. And we need to
replace the chains and sprockets on the bikes - P's have
worn out, but both will benefit from the reduction in ratios
offered by the replacement gears we're carrying.

Our kit will also needs to be re-evaluated and we'll have to
leave some stuff behind to get our weight down. We expect
to be camping, so will need provisions. If the paperwork,
authorities, weather and health all hold up, then within ten
days we might well be able to do this bloody thing. Tonight
Kingfisher and Bombay mix methinks.

For the record, here are some altitude measurements we
took along the way in order to check the accuracy of our
instruments, comparing figures on our map, roadside
markers, a pressure-type altimeter and GPS:
Rohtang La - map: 3975m - marker: 3915m (13,050ft) -
altimeter: 3875m - GPS: 3990m.
Baralacha La - map: 4890m - marker: 4950m (16,500ft) -
altimeter: 4775m - GPS: 4933m.
Taglang La - map: 5328m - marker: 5275m (17,582ft) -
altimeter: 5205m - GPS: 5349m.

.

Hey, We're in Leh!

2006-07-13T15:31:00.000+01:00

Pankaj and I met up in Manali five days back. Would have put up a post sooner, but 'puters in Manali forever crashing. Two days back we left for Leh in Ladakh and we've just arrived after camping in the mountains at 4000m. Stunning ride taking us to over 5000m - pics etc tomorrow.
Damon

Bullet Wallas and Baksheesh

2006-07-07T09:31:00.000+01:00

What a frustrating week it hs been. I have suffered lie-after-lie from the shipping agent (channel freight) here in Delhi. I was first told the bike would arrive last Saturday and duly waited for it - it didn't. Next delivery date was Monday, then Tuesday... Many times I was told that the bike had been loaded onto a lorry and was only half an hour from me; many times it failed to arrive.

During this time I have been hanging out at a bikeshop - Bullet Wallas - run by an American called Balu and his Italian girlfriend, Laura. They've been invaluable, not only in providing me with a convenient address to which I could have the bike delivered, but also giving me advice, beers and friendship.

So, I've been loitering in mid-forties-plus heat, for day after day, waiting for the bike to turn up and listening to the agent's bare-faced bullshit. I even went to the expense of getting a local lawyer to give Uttam Sulaya a call to get things moving, which kind of worked. Ok, the bike didn't arrive at 4pm as expected - it was almost 11pm by the time it showed up - but, after waiting six days for the bike to be moved just 16km it's finally with me. Unfortunately, the papers weren't with it as promised.

I took a day to put the bike back together and calm down a bit before going to see the agent and retreive the valuable Carnet de Passage (a customs document, without which I can't get the bike back out of India). He was out, so I got him on his mobile and he told me he'd be back in half an hour. Half an hour later I called again and he said he'd be an hour, all these brief conversations interspersed with more lies. At this point, on the very edge of the lie-limit, I decided to try a more aggressive approach, so picked the laptop from his desk and made to leave. There was quite a stand-off with the office staff as they tried to stop me going - it was one of those 'first person to touch me gets it' scenarios, though it's really just a matter of posturing.

The threat of a big bun-fight, and the hassle of getting the police involved, meant another person working in the office got in touch with the company boss in Mumbai. After a conversation and explanation of what was going on and a threat of legal action (in which I pointed out I would spend the money out of pure revenge and expected to get no return) things started to happen. Dear Uttam met me at the customs office some 30 minutes later and the deal flew through - no bribes, no bullshit, no payment for the late bike delivery. I'd hired a car to do the running around and gave the office lad who'd been with us a lift back. Uttam? I left the lying dog by the roadside. After leaving me waiting in the heat with his lies for a total of about seven hours he had as much chance of a lift as a scabby dog.

And so I am nearly set to leave Delhi and the stifling atmosphere, thank gods. I'm reckoning on going tomorrow, but I have a few things to do first... including buying a drink for Balu and Laura. From what I can make out, they are an island of honesty in a sea of male cow excrement.

Balu is actually a bit of a nutter, if the truth be told. This ex-rancher who now herds Enfield Bullets has bought camels on which to travel around the sub-continent and engaged in all sorts of equally hatstand endeavors, but in trying to run a business like his in India he is taking on the biggest challenge of all. It would take more electrons than this machine has in stock to explain why it's so tough for an outsider to do business in Delhi, but lets start with words like: thievery, dishonesty, corruption, complacency and bribery.

But Balu is set on taking India on, so good luck to the fella. He's not doing badly, mind, as he currently (after just three years in business) has five 'Bullet Wallas'-branded hotels, a ranch, a houseboat and campsite, plus ten franchised bike shops scattered across India (and other places, including London). The aim is to operate with some integrity and it seems to be working. His bikes are certainly no more expensive than those sourced from the local opposition and are more carefully maintained - and I have checked this out.

So, if you're in the market to 'do' India on an Enfield Bullet Motorcycle then I'd suggest you give then a shout: www.bulletwallas.com , 0091-09810902872. If nothing else you get a shed-load of advice.

Sorry about crappy writing, speling etc - much to do if I'm going to head north tomorrow.
Damon

Ride to live

2006-07-06T11:21:00.000+01:00

I stayed in Dharamshala longer than I expected - almost fifteen days. Now I wanted to start riding again. I was feeling restless and wanted to feel wind on my face, hear the sound of my engine. I wanted to get in to my riding jacket and pants (D’ told me it is American English you can’t say pants it is trouser pants mean underwear). I wanted to ride on mountain curves again. I wanted to be one with my my bike. In this journey I started loving my bike. Now if I don’t ride for some time I start missing her. When ever I am on it we become one.

I told D on 3rd July 6, I am leaving tomorrow for Manali. I went and I packed my luggage. It took a while because in last fifteen days I removed every thing from pannier boxes. In the evening Raspal called me for dinner and they prepared special dinner for me. He got vegetables from jungle, some kind of beans. This bean grows in wild above 3000m. He told me this beans work as Viagra. I was thinking it is wrong time to have this because I have only one love at the moment and that is bike and this bean will be useless for it. Now it was time to search other love.

I told Raspal I am leaving and he said: “Tuesday is a bad day to start anything." I wanted to leave and was desperate to be on the road. After 10 minute of discussion with him and entire family they were forcing me to stay back. I didn’t wanted to heart their feelings so I decided to stay back.

Today my mission was to look for place where I can watch England in football semifinal without any problem because when I went to watch England’s match in one restaurant, around 15 feet by twenty feet with no windows or ventilation. Lots of people were there. It was fantastic ambience with nice sitting on the ground on lots of cushions. I thought this is perfect place to watch football match. I was enjoying match and supporting England because D told me very clearly “this time in football you have to support England.” After 15 minutes chillum were out people next to me started smoking in small room entire room was filed with smoke. I can’t bare that so I decided to change place and after some time people sitting next to me started smoking joints. I was enjoying game so much that I decided to seat there and enjoy. When Rooney got red card I was so frustrated that I wanted to kick them in same place [the balls] why he got red card. I decided to look for place where I can enjoy my match without all that trouble.

Morning I got up little tiered because semifinal was in India as standard time 12.30 Am it ended at around 3 o clocks. I had hardly any sleep but I was so glad I was leaving and I am going to be on my bike again. It was hard to leave Raspal and his family. I was feeling part of their family and they told me in last few days so many times this is your family and this is your house. Morning when I was leaving they got me some curd and they put some sugar inside. As Indian tradition when you go for any good work they give you curd and sugar. I was touched by there feeling and how they treated me. I knew this is real India they treat people like god.

I started my bike and I was on my way to Manali around 150 miles. There were mix feeling for some time. I started enjoying my ride in beautiful mountain ranges and roads. I started enjoying every curve. When I thought of starting this journey I thought I knew how to ride bike but I was wrong. I learned a lots from D he taught me lots of thing. I will not say he is good or bad teacher but it is very difficult to learn from him you have to be very passion. He will shought and scream at you he will get angry but that is his style of teaching. I am glade I was with him and he taught me lots of things. Those learnings and tips were very useful in mountains.

I am riding in India from last fifteen years but this time it was very different experience because I started from UK and travel through Europe and so many different countries. Now I started thinking Indian driving is most dangerous. They will overtake on curves where you can’t see any other vehicle coming from other side or not. If you have bigger vehicle you don’t care about smaller vehicles they overtake if they see you coming. You have to leave the road. On smaller road they have rights to drive and you have to go off the road. I started feeling when they are driving its like video game and they don’t have value of others or their on life. In person you meet same guy on road side Dhaba (small food shack) they are fantastic human they will go to any extent to help you.

After riding for about 80 mile on small mountain road I reach place call Mandi. Now roads were bigger and better and I started getting mileage. I was going at my speed and feeling comfortable. I reach behind bus I was trying to look road ahead and I saw one jeep was trying to over take other jeep on the opposite side. I realise there is no space for that because on our side of the road there was bus and I was behind the bus. My bus driver put emergency brake I was ready for it I put emergency brake. Our tyres were making noise and I heard big boom. I stopped and saw that jeep crashed in to the bus. I got down and rush there. I saw every body in the jeep were badly injured. Lots of people came there. We removed people from jeep one by one every body was bleeding. We put them in another car and rush them to hospital.

I was shaken by this incident. After seeing every body is safe and after putting them in car I decided to move on. I started my bike and I was on my way to Manali. After accident people realise it is not video game you really get hurt. I reach safely to Manali. I am going to enjoy in Manali for some time and wait for D so we can start are journey together. I thought D is going to edit my article for spelling and grammar but some times it seems to difficult for him to understand it whisky pegs or packs [no, sorry, still don't understand]. Sorry to all the reader for my ignorance of English language.

Pankaj