Mustang by moped! (don't tell the rental company)

It was Guido that cracked the Annapurna problem - how could I ride to Muktinath without detroying my Transalp? Simple - rent a moped and destroy that instead! In fact, it seemed like such a good idea that the Germans followed suit, and we duly set off on the Jomson trail with a mixed bag of three Bajaj Pulsars, a Hartford VR and a Yamaha FZ (OK, not technically mopeds, but collectively about the same engine capacity as an Africa Twin...)

Past Beni, the going was tough, and it took us 5 hours to reach Ghasa from Pokhara. By mid-afternoon, I had recorded the first spill of the trip as I fired my Pulsar up a rocky slope a little too vigorously, and pogoed my way into a stone wall. One wing mirror down. We stayed at the excellent National Hotel in Upper Ghasa, where we enjoyed some well-deserved momos, dal baat, and a few beers.

Next morning, we had our first casualty proper. Claus's Pulsar refused to start, and after an hour of bump-starting, kick-starting, and anything else we could think of, a local mechanic confirmed our worst fears - seized engine. Arrangements were made to take the bike back to Pokhara by truck, and we continued. After Ghasa, the road actually improved. We were in Jomsom within 2 hours, and we reached Muktinath at 4:30pm - about half way round the Annapurna Circuit, and at 3,800m, the highest point that can be reached by vehicle. Not much of a view that late in the day, but a real sense of achievement.

All hail the moped mountaineers!

We had just turned around and hoped to be back in Tukuche by nightfall, when I got a puncture. Not the best time and place to remove the rear wheel on a shonky old Indian motorbike, but with the help of two German mechanical engineers, we had it fixed in about an hour and made it back to Jomsom and treated ourselves to Yak steaks (and beer).

There was a bit of rain overnight, so when we got up the next morning, the air was clear and we were rewarded with some near-perfect views of the Annapurnas.

The big white mountains all look a bit the same,

but I think this is Annapurna I and Annapurna South...

We spent a few hours taking a lot of photos, but eventually we had our quota of big white mountains and started back for Pokhara. At that point, the elements turned against us and we endured a pretty heavy thunderstorm, which made the already tough conditions even more treacherous. When we returned the mopeds, the final tally was: one seized engine, one broken subframe, one bent handlebar, one broken mirror, one scratched exhaust cover, one bent engine bar, and various other cuts and grazes. The rental company stung us for about 28 quid in damages - I hate to think what I would have done to my Transalp on that route...

So long, Himalayas (for now...)

Heading for the hills...

I've been in Pokhara, Nepal, for the last four days, getting a really good fix of the internet, good food and good company. Sure, people will complain that Pokhara is too touristy these days, but I was definitely ready for a shower and a steak..

After Kathmandu, I headed east with the Germans. They were committed to reaching a hill town called Taplejung - I'm still not sure how this plan originated, but I was happy to travel with them on their odyssey for a few days.

We hacked our way out of Kathmandu along some horrific roads that were little more than a series of potholes (henceforth referred to as NRBs, or Nepalese Rim Benders), joined together by a small amount of tarmac. The first rule of Nepalese roads is: largest vehicle has right of way. The second rule of Nepalese roads is: LARGEST VEHICLE has right of way. The third rule is: liberal honking of horn is encouraged, but it won't really make a difference.

The worst thing about the road is the buses and trucks. They are painted in garish colours. They have ear piercing, multi-tone airhorns that are used every few seconds. They give way for nobody. And they belch dense black smoke, which is stings your eyes, coats your skin and clothes, and the effect it has on your lungs does not bear thinking about. And you have to overtake one every 30 seconds or so. While avoiding NRBs.

We made it out of Kathmandu, and after Dhulikhel we enjoyed about 20km of smooth, quality tarmac that meandered across a range of hills with plenty of blind corners. Unfortunately it was only 1.5 lanes wide, which is fine for a motorbike and a truck to pass, but doesn't leave much margin for error.

Further on, the road followed the Sun Kosi river along a deep valley. First the tarmac gave way to hard dirt, then sand... quite a surprise since this was marked on the map as a major highway, but we still had a lot to learn about Nepalese roads...



Every few kilometres the valley narrowed and the track snaked its way up hundreds of feet in a series of switchbacks, and then descended just as quickly again.

This bit's a little steep...

The track ran along ledges with sheer drop-offs for hundreds of metres, which certainly focused the mind on keeping the bike upright. This was tough riding, and there were a few fallers...

Oops, I did it again...

At one stage, we found a pedestrian footbridge across the Sun Kosi that was a couple of hundred metres long. No sooner had I mentioned that it would be amusing to ride over the bridge, Rainer was half way across, the the great amusement of the local kids. It wasn't until he was at the other side that he found the flaw in his plan - there was a set of steps, and the bridge was too narrow for him to turn around. 15 seconds to cross going forwards, 15 minutes in reverse...

Rainer, GET DOWN from there...

By 5:30pm, we were still at least an hour's ride from Bimeswar and it was starting to get dark. We bought some instant noodles and bottled water in a small village, and soon found a large grassy floodplain - a perfect spot to camp. As if by magic, a dozen or so local kids appeared, so we circled the wagons and issued stern rebukes to anyone who entered the compound. We were soon tucking into noodles and Marian's delicious homemade pesto, followed by a cheeky schnapps (I was doing my best to lighten the German's luggage by consuming all their provisions...).

The perfect campground?

Next day it wasn't long before we were back on tarmac again, and what a piece of tarmac! For sheer twistiness, this surpassed anything I'd seen in Thailand!

Doesn't get much better than this...

Another one for the bikers

We pressed on, and decided to spend the night in Janakpur, which turned out to be a bit of a dive. We checked in at the Rama Hotel, which was pretty unfriendly, but the Chief of Police was staying there with his retinue, so at least the bikes were safe.

A quick survey of the damage from the previous day's ride showed that the Transalp fared significantly better than the Africa Twins, which suffered a ruptured rear brake pipe, some sheared bolts, and a few missing mirrors. Hopefully it's just teething troubles for my travelling companions, but it makes me realise that I've been extremely lucky to have had no mechanical issues so far, in spite of some spirited riding and a few spills. A local mechanic was found, and it turned out that the brake pipe from Hero Honda fits the Africa Twin just fine, as do the mirrors...

Back on the road, we had an uneventful ride along the Mahendra Highway except for a few public protests, and we stayed at the Kamakshya Hotel in Damak, where Mohan provided claen rooms, great food, and secure parking for the bikes.

Bad day at the office? Burn a tyre...

Having travelled east almost to the Indian border along the Nepali plains, we turned north at Charali. The road rose steeply to almost 2,500m, and I needed my jacket for the first time in 3 months. At 5pm we reached Phidim, end of the sealed road. We were offered accommodation at a basic guesthouse, and we could leave the bikes at the police station. When we saw how tidy the police compound was, we asked if it would be possible to camp there, and we were given a fantastic pavillion to sleep in! The District Chief of Police, Hom Jung Chauhan, was a fantastic host. He explained that he had served in the UN Peacekeeping Force in Croatia and the Sudan.

Next day, we set off for the final push to Taplejung - 85km along a dirt track. We ditched all the luggage and planned to go there and back in a day. But after 20km, I pulled up. The road wasn't too difficult, but we were riding on uneven bedrock and 6" boulders, and my bike was taking a hell of a beating. If I'd been out for a weekend ride on a lightweight dirt bike, it would have been a lot of fun, but my Transalp has to get me back to the UK, so I'm trying to avoid giving it any more unnecessary punishment. There was immediate agreement among the others - I think they'd been waiting to see who cracked first - so we turned round and headed back towards Kathmandu.

Around lunchtime, we noticed a roadside festival with some interesting looking food on display. Rainer and I pulled over, and were treated to a slap-up feed. The quid pro quo was that we then had to visit temple for a quick prayer session, where we were mobbed by some crazy sadhus...

Please God, no more punctures...

"I have to ask, didn't you think it was a trifle unnecessary
to see the crack in the Indian's bottom?"

I then parted company with the Germans and headed back to Kathmandu to pick up my passport from the Pakistan embassy. I'd been hoping to make it back to the city in one day, but the last 120km on the Tribhuvan Highway wound its way up to to 2,500m, and by nightfall I was still 60km short of Kathmandu, so I stopped at the Everest Guest House in Daman.

The Avril Lavigne room at the Everest Guest House

I'd expected to see some spectacular views on the way to Taplejung, but so far I'd only seen the brown mountains, and I was really hoping to see some white ones. When I woke up the next day in Daman, I was finally rewarded...

Room with a view

Next day, I ploughed through the traffic into Kathmandu, picked up my passport with no dramas, and headed for Pokhara along the Prithvi highway. It was a really pleasant ride along the bank of the Trisuli River. Just before Bandipur, all the traffic came to a halt. "Traffic jam", someone explained with a big smile on their face, which seemed surprising given the relatively small number of vehicles on the road. Now my normal reaction to a traffic jam is to use Bikers' Privilege to ride around all the cars, buses and trucks, but in Nepal everyone applies that principle, so both sides of the road were blocked with vehicles heading in my direction. I slowly picked my way through, and at some points the locals helped with a bit of manhandling of the bike to get through some narrow gaps. After about two kilometres, I reached the epicentre of the traffic jam - but there was no cause to be found. All that happened was the vehicles were pointing in the other direction. Apparently what had started as a stand-off between a couple of trucks resulted in total gridlock, which was going to require a lot of coordinated reversing.

"Traffic jam, Sir!"

Having made my way past the traffic jam, the road was quiet for a while as expected, but I started to get an odd feeling that the road was too quiet... About 20km from Pokhara, I came to a police roadblock. The next district was having a bye-election, and the ensure security, the road would be closed until the election ended at 5pm. Apparently everyone else knew this except me... but at least it was 4:30. By 5pm, about a hundred motorbikes were lined up behind me - only problem was that the police would not open the road until they received a call from the top brass. Next thing, I was in the middle of a full scale protest, with lots of shouting, hornblowing, engine revving and edging towards the roadblock (which I was quite happy about, since it meant I was no longer on the frontline). The police were very goodnatured about the whole thing, kept smiling and showed a lot of restraint for guys armed with 4ft batons and the odd machine gun (although it's quite hard to take a protestor on a 150cc chicken-chaser too seriously). At 8pm, the police obviously got their phone call and reopened the road, although the crowd were happy to claim a jubilant victory for people power...



In Pokhara, I was happy to chill out for a while, and it wasn't long before I spotted a familiar sight - Guido's red and black KLR650. Marian was there too, and she had some very bad news - on the way from the Chitwan National Park, Thomas had hit a pedestrian, who had ended up in hospital with a head injury and a broken foot. Given the state of his bike, which was ridable but considerably bent, he must have hit the pedestrian quite hard (one of his panniers was ripped completely off). Thomas was invited to sleep at a police station again, although this time not voluntarily. Fortunately, the man appeared to be OK, and after some negotiation with his son, Thomas paid the hospital bill (about 600 euros), and was allowed to leave. Obviously, not a pleasant experience for anyone, although the Nepalis have terrible traffic sense and people frequently walk out into busy roads without looking. Definitely in need of a visit from the Green Cross Code Man...

I'm now faced with a bit of a dilemma. Guido just came back from a gruelling 370km ride up to Muktinath and back - the Jomsom Trek - in one day. It sounds like an incredible ride, and I'm sorely tempted. But I'm reluctant to do non-essential rides that will hammer the bike (most of the trek is off-road). I rode round the Phewa Tal lake yesterday, and nearly destroyed the bike hacking over a mountain just to get back to Pokhara (Lesson 1: get a map. Lesson 2: don't start these adventures two hours before sunset). My tyres are now down to about 15%, and I have a bad feeling that the rear shock absorber is leaking oil (OK, no need for denial - it IS leaking oil...). Rainer and Claus are considering doing the Jomson Trek, which is starting to fire up my competitive streak...

Caravan enters a new (sub-) continent...

Since the last blog I wiled away a week in Bangkok waiting for the paperwork to export my bike to Nepal. The shipping agent that the bikers generally use was probably the gloomiest Thai person I met in six weeks. I think she's tired of the same old questions - why does it take so long? - why does it cost so much? But at over $1,000 per bike, they're making good money from shipping motorcycles, and some of the riders are starting to look elsewhere. I'm still scarred from being without my trusty Transalp for over a month when I shipped from Brisbane to Singapore, so I played it safe, paid my money, and drowned my sorrows on the Khao San Road.

Bjorn and Elmar, the Germans that I met in Laos, caught up with me in Bangkok. Being the master networkers that they are, they had got in touch with all the other overland bikers nearby. Bangkok is a bit of a hub because almost everyone riding from Australia to Europe (or vice versa) flies in or out to avoid Myanmar, and each evening there was usually a gang of ten or more.

Hey, who wants to hear about my bike trip???

Now Bangkok is a pretty cool place to hang out for a week, but it was great to jump on a plane bound for Nepal. Guido and Esther, a couple of Swiss overlanders, were on the same plane. They'd heard that a group of German riders would be staying at the Yellow House in Kathmandu, so we headed there from the airport.

Kathmandu was quite a shock after Bangkok. Given that my knowledge of the city to this point was based largely on the Green Eye of the Yellow God, I was expecting something quite exotic, but Mad Carew has long since departed. At first glance modern day Kathmandu looks like it has been bombed extensively. And it doesn't really improve with a second glance, either. Nepal has always been poor, but it has had a particularly hard time recently with royal assassinations and a Maoist revolution. Since the dam for the hydroelectric plant collapsed last year in the floods, the country only gets a few hours of electricity each day... Very friendly and helpful people though (although after a hard day in the saddle, sometimes a little too friendly and keen to help...).

The Yellow House was a great find. It's basic, but it's very clean, well located, the staff are great, the food is tremendous, and all for 300 rupees per night (less than 3 quid). Later in the evening, the Germans turned up - Claus, Rainer, Thomas and Marian. They'd flown their Africa Twins in from Germany and were planning to spend 2-3 months riding back.

Apart from collecting the bike, the other priority in Kathmandu was to get a visa for Pakistan. For some reason, you first need to get a 'letter of no objection' from your home embassy, which meant a trip to the British Consulate. At this point, I discovered that when it comes to baksheesh, the British really are world leaders. Up to this point, the most I have had to shell out was $5 to get a customs stamp when entering Cambodia from Laos. But to get a simple pro-forma letter from the British Consulate, they wanted 35 quid! Obviously it's done extremely professionally, with a nice smile and a helpful leaflet that explains exactly how much you have to pay, and why it's necessary...

Letter of no objection in hand, I headed over to the Pakistan Embassy. I don't know much about Pakistan, but with the current troubles they're having, I did feel a certain uneasiness as I went into the building. But in fact, the folks in the visa department couldn't have been nicer as they processed my paperwork and chatted about England and Pakistan. I thought we were done, but this was only the first stage, and I was then ushered into another room for 'the interview'. The guy behind the desk was the spitting image of Colonel Gadaffi, and had a very serious look on his face. What was my reason for entering Pakistan? Where was a planning to go? How long was I planning to stay there? I answered all the questions with a straight bat - riding from Melbourne to London, Islamabad and the Karakoram highway, two weeks. He gave me a pained look, and told me that my travel plans were unacceptable. Two weeks was not nearly enough for Pakistan, and he reeled off a long list of cities and historic sites that I absolutely had to visit while I was there... I nodded politely and promised to extend my stay. He told me the visa would be ready on Monday. Mission accomplished, I headed quickly for the exit...

Next stop was the cargo warehouse at the airport to collect the bike. I'd heard that it was necessary to get a 'fixer' to help with the paperwork, since it's all in Nepali. At the gate I was met by the usual gaggle of opportunists, who were quickly shooed away by a guy who looked like he had slightly more idea what was going on, so I followed him into the warehouse. We sat down at a large table with about half a dozen other Nepalis. The conversation then went something like this:

Overland traveller: What is your fee?

'Fixer': 4,000 rupees (about 35 quid)

Overland traveller: Forget it! (stands up to leave)

'Fixer': OK! 2,000 rupees

Overland traveller: Do I look stupid? (heads to the door)

'Fixer': 1,000 rupees? (Overland traveller continues to the door). OK, no charge

No obviously, that doesn't really mean no charge, but it means that I decide how much he gets at the end of the process, and I'd heard that a good fixer gets 500 rupees for a job well done. The fixer then led me from room to room in the customs office. It quickly became apparent that he had no idea what the process was and had to ask the other fixers what to do. Furthermore, he didn't speak a word of English, and to make matters worse, he was extremely irritating. With remarkably little assistance, I got my carnet stamped by customs. My fixer then changed tack completely, tried to hug me and repeated the word 'friend' many times, at which point I reminded him that he'd just tried to fleece me for 4,000 rupees. My crate was then moved from the warehouse to a concourse out front, and unpacking began.

Now in my haste to complete the day's chores as quickly as possible, I had left two essential items at the hotel - firstly, the bike keys, and secondly two litres of petrol (I had to drain the tank in Bangkok). There was a spare set of keys on the bike, but it was a classic Catch 22 since I needed a 5mm allen key to get at the bike keys, and the bike keys to get to the 5mm allen key... Earlier, I had asked my fixer to find me an allen key and some petrol, but this level of resourcefulness was completely beyond him. Before you ask what I was planning to do if I really lost the keys, the allen key is usually taped to the outside of the bike (I am assuming that any would-be Transalp thieves will not be reading this blog).

Fortunately, at this point Guido and Esther came to the rescue. Being Swiss, Guido was carrying a good multi-functional pocketknife, and Esther offered to share her petrol with me. Having done the public motorcycle dismantling / reassembling in Asian countries a few times now, I knew that this would attract a formidable crowd, which can be harnessed for various tasks such as taking the crate apart. However, when it comes to the more delicate part of the process like putting the front wheel back on, the crowd can be quite a distraction, especially when you are trying to keep an eye on your tools, your luggage and a bag containing your passport and a thousand dollars in cash. Additionally, you are being bombarded with the same Three Questions:

Q1: Sir, which country are you coming from?

Q2: Sir, how many ccs?

Q3: Sir, what does this motorcycle cost in your country?

As I subsequently discovered, these same three questions are parroted at every opportunity across the entire country - do they teach them at school? Occasionally an innovative member of the crowd will throw in Q4: Sir, how far can you travel on one litre of petrol? But there is no Q5.

I was part-way through the job when Guido and Esther's crate arrived, and Guido's experience began to shown. He arranged the panels from his crate in a magic circle, and anyone who dared to cross the threshold received a polite but firm rebuke and were escorted out of the inner sanctum.

Guys, haven't you finished yet?

Bikes reassembled, I gave my fixer 250 rupees, which I thought was fair enough given his overall contribution (Guido and Esther paid 500 rupees, but their fixer was a lot more helpful). Additionally, we were hit up for 1 rupee per kg storage fee. The fixers then insisted that we pay another 2.5 rupees per kg 'labour charge'. I'd heard that this could be avoided, so I told them that I wasn't going to pay, at which point I got long-winded explanation about how fixers didn't get paid by the warehouse, etc. etc.. By this stage I was definitely smelling a rat. We were told that we would not be allowed through the main exit without a stamp showing that we'd paid the labour charge, but we decided to chance it and roared away from the warehouse. When we got to the main exit, there was no security guard, so no problem. The Nepalis could definitely use a lesson from the British on baksheesh...

The day's drama was far from over, however. Half way back to the hotel, my bike sputtered to a halt - out of petrol. We were just debating who would ride back to the hotel to get my two litres when an Anglo-German couple, Sue and Rafael, pulled up on an Enfield and offered me a litre. We got a few more kilometres down the road, and then Guido's fuel ran out. This time there was no alternative, so Esther and I headed back to the hotel for the extra petrol while a crowd assembled around Guido and subjected him to the Three Questions.

Next day, the priority was to find some petrol, since Kathmandu is in the midst of a strike by the drivers of petrol tankers, who are outraged that the Nepal Oil Company wants to phase out the use of tankers that are more than 25 years old (and some of them look a lot more than 25 years old). The Germans knew a local who made a few phone calls and found us 120 litres on the black market for 170 rupees a litre (regular price is 77 rupees, but overland bike trips don't go very far on an empty tank). We were then escorted around Kathmandu, first to one destination, then another, before ending up in a secluded yard. Our supplier turned up in a tatty old car with three drums of fuel, and explained he could only get 60 litres. Since we brought five bikes, we started measuring the fuel out in a five-litre jerry can, which was working OK until we had dished out 45 litres... and there was no more fuel. A heated debate then ensued, with our supplier insisting that we had taken 60 litres. We ended up paying an extra 1,000 rupees - personally I was ready to fire the bike up and head for the exit, but there were about a dozen guys in the yard and I don't think Guido fancied being the last biker to leave...

Hmm, I smell a rat...

That evening, Guido ordered a bottle of wine, and at midnight cracked it open to celebrate the fact that he had been on the road for five years - bloody good achievement, particularly when you consider that he has remained completely sane, relatively social, and somewhat clean...

Meanwhile, the Germans were about to embark on the first part of their journey - cross country from Kathmandu to Taplejung, which is in the north east corner of Nepal - and they kindly asked if I wanted to come along. I still had a few days to wait for my Pakistan visa, and I was enjoying their company. Furthermore, you will have noticed from the blog that it's very difficult to get pictures of myself when I'm travelling solo, so I thought I might get a few snapshots along the way. Finally, I must confess to having a little bit of bike envy, since their Africa Twins are more expensive and powerful than my Transalp. Although, as we were later to discover, not quite so reliable... Additionally, I think they ceded most of their power advantage by packing a significant amount of extra luggage. Spare tyres. A hammer. A coffee percolator??? So, next morning, I joined forces with the Germans, said my farewell to Guido and Esther, and we set off.

Intrepid adventurers about to set off into the unknown