Last Days on the Road

Adventures make one late for dinner - Bilbo Baggins 

So I'm now back in the UK. I'm home. End of trip. That's enough of adventure for me for now. 

It's tempting to write an Oscar speech thanking everyone, and gushing about how fabulous it all was. But I ain't gonna. I've thanked everyone in person, or with sweets, and, well, it wasn't all fabulous. There were amazing times, days and weeks of blissful cycling and wandering, but some days were hard. There were occasions when I just wanted to give up and go home, or at least go somewhere cooler than the baking heat of a north Indian summer. 

I was probably ready for a break, but in the end I was defeated by circumstances. 

The first thing to happen was that my sister called to tell me that dad was in hospital. If I hadn't had my emergency passport and a concomitant load of admin in order to change my travel plans, I'd have gone straight to Delhi and caught the next flight home. However, I decided to wait an extra day in Nahan, wait for a call from home and watch the England vs Italy quarter final. Dad seemed to be improving, and to no one's surprise he told me to carry on. 

I was worried about him, and my heart really wasn't in it any more. The depressing football match didn't help. I hadn't been enjoying much of the cycling as it was too damn hot and I was having to take a huge detour to get to where I wanted to be. I thought I was a week, at most, away from getting into the high Himalayas where it would be cooler, and quieter, and better. 

The next morning, I was moving slowly. It was eleven o'clock before I left the hotel, preparing to ride into the hottest part of the day, which is tough at the best of times, and I was having second thoughts about bothering. I had repaired my gear shifters only the day before, as I thought they were the source of my mechanical problem. But the bike had also felt unaccountably weird, as if it was canting to one side, leading me to think that I'd got the weight distribution wrong... I leant the bike against a wall in Nahan and gave it an experimental kick. 

The whole rear end moved. That's not good. 

I looked closer, and the right side chainstay had sheared off. It was obvious that this was the source of the gear changing problems on the ride up, and it seemed even more obvious that it was the end of my trip. 

I rolled back to my hotel and ordered tea and toast at the restaurant. I was going to strip the bike down, salvage what I could, chuck the rest in a skip and go home. There actually was a skip around the corner from the hotel. I'd just have to make sure I didn't brain any monkeys when I threw the frame in. 

While I was sulking, the hotel manager came in and looked at me. 

"Why are you still here?" he asked. 

I explained, and took him outside to show him the problem. 

He looked down at the bike, gave the rear end a shove and said "This is not a problem. We can fix this." 

We chucked my bike in his jeep and went down to his mate Vishwal's welding shop, only a five minute drive away, chatting about his drive through Kinnaur and Spiti on the way. That's where I had been planning to go next.

The welding shop was as ramshackle as you'd expect, with a dog asleep amidst a tangle of wires, and enough bits to make the halfs of six or seven vehicles, but not a complete car or auto-rickshaw in sight. Still, Vishwal clearly knew his trade, and... well, here's the video. 

http://www.flickr.com/photos/30024450@N04/7522167806/

Good on you, Vishwal. Half an hour later we were back at the hotel and the staff were taking my bike for test rides around Nahan's alleys. 

Nevertheless, I was on the bus back to Delhi the next day. 

I always thought that there were two things which could make me end my trip early (assuming that I avoided injury and stayed sane); an emergency at home, or a catastrophic failure to my bike, such as the frame breaking.  Both of those happened, and on the same day. I can recognise an ending when I see it. 

I stayed in a decent hotel, and though I had a couple of days negotiating with Indian officials to organise my visa, it was relatively straightforward. I was an old lag at it by then. A couple of pleasant flights over the Hindu Kush and up the English east coast and I was back, dazed, enjoying the proper skies and late nights that an English summer offers. Not to mention the food. I arrived for my sister's 40th birthday dinner, at your typical English country pub with your typical English country pub food. I had the roast dinner, of course. With a few pints of beer. 

I've now been back more than two months, which feels like no time at all. It's been fabulous to see my friends and family again, and easy too. Too easy, hence the length of time it's taken to update this. 

It might be better to have come back so suddenly, rather than having had a drawn-out countdown. But, there's so much I didn't get to see. I'm particularly disappointed to have been so close to the Indian Himalayas, and to have been turned back, first by military-controlled zones, then by events. 

Needless to say, it's now time to start planning a different trip, and a different bike. I was very pleased not to have to hoy my bike into a skip in India, and to be able to being it home. The weld's still going strong. 

Too much to say here. Which is the reason this has taken me so long to finish; I've so much left to say that I didn't know how to fit it all in.  But that's how the journey came to a premature end, and look out for the book (which I need to get around to writing). I didn't put everything into the blog, so there are a few good stories you've yet to read. I'll see you all on the road somewhere. 

Dean 

Is This the Way to Allahabad?

The day into Allahabad to briefly cross paths with Phileas Fogg was marked by a series of minor catastrophes. The hostel tried to skank me out of fifty rupees, I had a puncture after only 3 miles and had to fix it in the blazing sun before yet another goggle-eyed audience, bellowing questions into my face while I was trying to find the hole, then I lost my iPhone when the road - National Highway 76 - turned into a rutted track of loose hardcore and four-inch stones. I rode that section twice, quartering the ground for my phone.

I was accosted by a holy man in the village, who insisted on daubing green dye on my forehead. I don't count that as a catastrophe - it cheered me up a bit, and I rode on, saying farewell to my phone. I was probably more annoyed at having to do a double turn along the awful surface, which snapped the cable tie repair on my rear pannier, which I had to fix again, and above all it cost me time which I didn't have as I wanted to get to Allahabad that evening. I'd been riding mostly long days since Bundi to get to Varanasi for Holi and have a couple of days off, and consecutive days of 85, 95, 75 and 80 miles had taken it out of me, especially in the heat. I had to take long breaks in the afternoons to get out of the sun, and as anyone who knows me can testify, I'm not good at getting up in the mornings, so I usually failed to take advantage of the cool dawn air.

The road surface improved, and I was making good time at last, until the next setback, when I had a rear wheel puncture. And I had to replace the cable ties on my pannier again. Then I couldn't repair the tube, as it was split at the valve, so I hoyed it. This left me with only one spare tube; I'd had to throw the other two out as they'd been chewed up by a rat which bit its way into my drybag at a ratbag hotel in Shivpuri, also perforating my sleeping mat and condemning me to an uncomfortable night's sleep on the stony ground when I camped up.

I fitted my last tube. Then, riding into a village, the road turned to cobbles, and I noticed that the rear tyre was deflating again. I rode on. The cable ties on my pannier couldn't cope with the cobbles, so the pannier landed in the dust.

It was getting dark, and I'd had enough. In the heat and humidity and with a huge crowd, I fixed the puncture and re-attached the pannier. Then, I opened one of the beers I'd bought and drank it. That was my best move of the day. I was having a grand old time chatting with the crowd which had developed, and for once they had to tell me to clear off, as it was getting dark and I needed to get to Allahabad.

Night riding in India is insane. I always try to avoid it, but on a couple of occasions I haven't had a choice. The sheer heedlessness seems to go up a few notches, as drivers have their headlights on full beam (those who bother switching them on) and drive down the middle of the road. A few times, I simply couldn't see where I was going in the dazzle of headlights. The roadsigns to Allahabad petered out, but a few locals pointed me in the right direction, onto the huge suspension bridge which crosses the Ganga. At night, when the mist was rising from the river, it was an eerie experience, and I was completely worn out. I fell off a little bit in traffic -I clipped my front pannier on a bit of corrugated iron which jutted out into the road and which I hadn't seen in the dark. I dropped the bike, but unclipped and stayed on my feet, and the tuk-tuk driver behind me had good enough reflexes to stop before smacking into me. I smiled an apology - he seemed more amused than anything else.

Yes, I was feeling sorry for myself. I had a near-meltdown at a hotel where, after I'd said I didn't have enough cash and specified that I'd have to pay by credit card, they made me go through the whole rigmarole of looking at the room and trooping up and down the stairs before they told me that the machine wasn't working so I'd have to pay cash. I left in a ranting fury and found a different hotel, a much nicer hotel than I'd stayed in since Jonathan went back to the UK, as this was no time to go hunting for the budget option. A comfy bed, pleasant staff, a shower, TV and a lie-in were on the cards. It had been a very long day - 13 hours and 92 miles, which was at least 10 miles further than I needed to travel.

I made it to Varanasi the next day, in contrast riding the 85 miles in about 8 hours. I picked up yet another puncture, and the skewer on my rear wheel has snapped, which will require major surgery to my bicycle and probably the use of a machine shop to get me back to Delhi. Every other bike I've seen has solid axles, and Delhi's the only place I can get a replacement quick release.

India is tough. But, I alwas knew it would be, and if there's anywhere in the world where you'll get loads of help when things go wrong, it's mega-populous Uttar Pradesh. OK, the help isn't always very helpful, but the warmth and the desire to be useful is heartwarming. There are bike shops and puncture-wallahs every couple of miles. I'll ride back to Delhi somehow, even if I have to bodge a single speed wheel into my frame and strap the old wheel to the back. Dammit, this isn't going to beat me. It's a test, everything's a test.

But it can wait until tomorrow. Now, I'm off to negotiate some beer.