Peo, Pooh, Tabo, Kaza

Sounds not like the villages they are, but like names for puppies. If Amy had her way, she'd be giving these names to the countless dogs she'd take home to Alaska with her. The are everywhere, and luckily, they are docile and gentle. They know where their next meal will come from. My next meal will come from the restaurant across the street from this internet cafe. It serves better western food than many US establishments. And everything is fresh. We're staying in a 5 dollar a night guest house with a wonderful rooftop space. Last night of us random travellers- 2 cyclists, 3 motorbikers, 4 bus riders, from the US, Scotland and Israel, all shared beers and watched shooting stars under the warm, breezy night sky. And that experience pretty much defines this part of the trip: lots of travellers are making their way on this route, and we seemed to have fallen in synch with several, meanng that we meet up in each new town. That has it's pros and cons. Seems the only locals we meet these days are the ones we interface with through commerce: cyber cafe operator, restaurant owner, hotel proprietor etc. It is distinctly lacking in family life, children and genuine cultural exchange. I've had to shift my goals on this bike trip, focusing more on the riding and less on the cultural contact; more on the ease and less on the camping.


We left Rekong Peo with a fortunate event- the pound of cookies we'd bought the evening before were still there at the bakery where we'd left them, and so we were able to head of of town with certain refreshment for the day's ride. That said, this was the most stressful day, and I felt ready to quit. Too many trucks with their endless horn blasts, scary, crumbling, narrow road, continuous light rain. Then we reached the inner line check point- so close to the Tibet border, you need to have your $3.50 paper work in hand- and things became more pleasant. Construction ended and calm remained. Pooh was a lovely night's rest, even if it did entail a late-in-the-day switchbacked, 9 kilometer climb to reach the village. It seems in this vertical Himalayan world, that the only flat surfaces are those terraced from the steeps; going anywhere entails going up. From Pooh we went on to ride our hottest and climbingest day, more than 4000 feet climbing to sleepo at 11,000. The location, "Nako Lake," was funny indeed. As each new group of tourists alit from a bus, you could hear them asking the same thing we did, "Where's the lake?" On the maps it should be huge. In reality, just an algae pond. Still, the village was a wonder of close, winding alleys between Tibetan white-washed, stone and timber dwellings. Calves and dung and stalls and ladders- it really felt like we were somewhere. We took a rest day there, adjusting to the altitude and catching up on sleep. India starts early. Leaving Nako was another thing. We knew there was a landslide to contend with, but knowing that jeeps were able to pass it left us confident. Approaching it was another story. As we neared the final switchback before the impassable section, a natural release occured, sending sand and boulder cascading forcefully to the river below. We tightended our helmets and considered our strategy. Avalanche trained, I determined to pass from safer zone to safer zone, pausing to breathe under each bulging outcropping, hanging above the roadside along the treacherous course. I watched one hard-hatted female worker jog hastily past the most dangerous spot, her baby's unprotected head flopping back and forth as it slept in her back wrap. Another moved quickly, helmet in hand, trusting her prayers to keep her safe. I watched from a safe spot as workmen paused in their task of heaving boulders over the cliff edge to assist Amy in hoisting her bike up and over the rubble. She photographed me in my turn, apologizing for the likely blur due to excessive hand shake. Quite the ordeal. An expansive descent came next, and it would have been a dream downhill cruise, except that the blip in my braking surface had become dangerously pronounced. At this point I believe it is caused by a crack in my rim. Applying the rear brakes caused unpredictable hopping and skidding, to the point where Kamikaze that I may be, I chose to walk (trot) downhill until I reached pavement again. At least there the skidding was more predictable and I could handle the steed. The rest of the ride to the Tabo Monastery was pleasant enough. When we got there, I put Amy's wheel on my bike and determined that the brakes worked fine and the problem is with my rim alone. We spent the morning looking around and had a late start to the day, arriving here in Kaza around 6 pm. I am taking advantage of the first internet in 12 days, and the chance to spend some time alone. Amy went up into the mountains with two American motor bike tourers, one of whom was a big help in diagnosing my wheel problems. Bavo just arrived in town, having taken a quiet day in Tabo alone yesterday. Tomorrow we should head up, or the day after, depending on how the wheel replacement proceeds. In any case, I am looking forward to the opener spaces, the chance to camp, and the bajillions of stars in the high altitude sky.


These four days of riding saw us through to the end of construction and it's dusty roar, to a beautiful landscape reminiscent of Arctic glacial valleys. We continued upstream to the place where the river sparkled in its gravel bed, dancing back and forth in its braided channels. Deep, living green ignited in its brilliance in the terraced villages on both sides of the river. Irridescent barley jiggling in the breeze. Finally, a landscape that speaks to me. Because in the middle, it was two days of rding through rock. If you collect stones, you can understand what mean. It was like taking one of your striped specimens, and blowing it up to the size of a small state, and then miniaturizing yourself and your bike, and riding through the tiny cracks in the rock. Fun, for about five minutes. But worse, was when we passed through the hard rocks and road through the crushed ones. Whole slopes reflected in shimmer-sand grays, above and below to the river, causing my sunglassed and ball-capped shaded eyes to squint from the glare. With temperatures around 100, it was like riding through a not-so-easy bake oven. And then there's Amy, who with every turn of her head proclaimed, "This is beautiful! It's so gorgeous!" To quote a special ed. high school friend, "To reach a zone."

A few faces from the road