Sometimes what seems to be a small decision can have a big impact. Sitting in a roadside stall in a small Indian town called Nagina that happened to have WiFi, I was trying to arrange postage of our next parcel of parts with my brother via a WhatsApp call. All the couriers that he’d spoken to refused to deliver to the post office box address in Kathmandu that we’d been given by a friend of a friend and we were running short on time to get things sorted out. In the end we elected to use Royal Mail, split the parts into two packages to meet their International Service weight limit and hope that the estimated minimum delivery time of 5 days would be correct. This decision would cost us nearly four weeks.

6th October 2015 – 1st November 2015

Having arrived in Kathmandu on the 6th day after the parcel left my brother’s hands there was of course no sign of it. Not a problem as we had our other favourite city pasttime of visiting embassies to keep us occupied. If TripAdvisor included international embassies we’d be star reviewers by now. In summary our experiences were as follows:

Indian Embassy, Kathmandu
***
Convenient online application is flawed by inflexible staff at the visa processing centre. Photos have to be the correct size to the nearest mm, forms must be filled out in intricate detail and you must have exactly the correct cash to pay the non-refundable fee. The price for UK citizens is very high ($140 each) and the 7 day wait also spoils the experience. An additional letter was required to be able to get a triple entry visa instead of the standard single entry.
[We needed new visas as we’d spent longer than planned in Himachal while Kirsty recovered leaving too little time to get across to Myanmar. Tourist visas can’t be extended either, even if you ask nicely]

Bangladeshi Embassy, Kathmandu
*
Only open from 9am to 12pm. Can’t issue visas for travellers using land borders, only those arriving at an airport. Despite their own website claiming buying a visa on arrival is possible at all land borders they in fact could only tell us we could get it from Benepol, some 500km out of our way. We waited over an hour to be told all of this and left empty-handed. [We later decided to skip Bangladesh all together after two terrorist attacks, targeting non-Asians and claimed by ISIS put the country on high alert. Our friends Pete and Josh cycled through with a police escort with sirens blaring making the experience highly stressful and less than enjoyable.]

Myanmar Embassy, Kathmandu
****
Loses a star only because of its location which is at the top of a steep hill and nowhere near the point on Google Maps where it claims to be. Other than this, the staff were friendly, efficient and issued our 28 day visas the day after we handed in our applications and $20 fee. [From others’ experiences Kathmandu seems to be much easier than Delhi for getting a Myanmar visa].

Many people will remember the footage shot in Kathmandu immediately after the earthquakes in April. The impression given was of widespread devastation in the capital and we’d braced ourselves expecting to see lots of evidence of the damage. In reality the buildings that were affected seem to be in localised areas with the majority of the city apparently unharmed. Sadly it’s a lot of the historical structures that were hit hardest. The main Durbar Square has huge piles of rubble in place of temples that had stood for hundreds of years. Gaping cracks have opened up on walls and you have to dodge timber supports that are propping up some precarious repair work in several streets.

One of the saddest sights is the Boudhanath Stupa, one of the landmarks of the city and the one of largest Buddhist stupas in the world. The ‘quake didn’t destroy it but caused enough damage to make the towering top section with its iconic Buddha eyes so unstable that it has had to be dismantled. One day it’ll be rebuilt, but not without a lot of hard work and with the need for a lot of funding.

There are many NGOs and charities working in Nepal which means there is a busy expat community. This also means there is a popular Hash House Harriers running club: The Himalayan Hash House Harriers. I join them for the weekly outing that takes us on a fantastic route on the southern outskirts of the city, across streams, up hills and through rural suburbs. Two wiry Nepalese set the pace at the front and are uncatchable on the climbs. During the customary ‘refreshments’ after the run I chat to a few of the other members from Poland, Italy, Germany, England and Australia. All of them either working for various aid agencies or studying crisis management.

Although the earthquake was 6 months ago there are still hundreds of people living in tents or sharing the homes of friends and family. It’s a massive task to build more permanent shelters but with winter fast approaching it needs to be done quickly. Unfortunately the fuel crisis has put a halt to the effort as there are now not enough vehicles to transport material out to the remote areas worst affected. Container loads of supplies are also stuck at the border, unable to cross due to the restrictions put in place by the Indian Government. A lot of people see this as a bigger crisis than the earthquake itself given that the whole country is affected and the overall impact on businesses and ultimately the lives of those who might have to spend a cold winter in a polythene tent is yet to be seen.

During our prolonged stay a new Prime Minister is elected and also their first female President but there seems to be no end in sight for the constitutional dispute. Meanwhile we watch shutters close on dhabas and cafes that have run out of cooking gas, taxi fares double or triple due to black market fuel prices and the number of tourists is a fraction of what it should be during the peak season.

We do our bit by supporting the restaurants that are still open as frequently as possible. We spend a morning with Social Tours learning how to make momos and then sampling our handiwork. Another morning is spent at a yoga class discovering just how inflexible it’s possible to get after cycling for so long and not stretching once.

A few of the tour companies have been plugging a social media campaign to encourage visitors back to Nepal. Tourism is by far the biggest source of income in the country so it’s vital that people realise that, despite the earthquakes everything is open for business. They want us to spread the message and encourage you to take a trip to #NEPALnow!

After 10 days waiting (16 since it left the UK) there’s still no sign of the parcel so it’s time for an excursion to help pass the time. We board a bus for the next biggest city, Pokhara with a couple of rucksacks and a map in hand of the famous Poon Hill trek.

Nepal is undoubtedly one the finest destinations on earth for those who like to walk. The mountain scenery is just incredible and the network of paths can be picked to cater for just about everyone, from leisure ramblers to the most serious of mountaineers. The route we had chosen took us into the Annapurna Sanctuary from Nayapol to Ghorepani then across to Ghandruk and down through Tolka to finish in Phedi. A moderate 5 day ‘tea house’ trek, so called because all the food and accommodation is available at regular intervals at tea houses in the numerous villages along the way so no need to carry much gear.

This doesn’t stop people packing the kitchen sink though and we pass many groups with an army of porters labouring away under the load of several backpacks, dry bags and holdalls strapped together and slung from a strap around their heads. Despite the unbelievable burden they are almost always 100m ahead of their clients and skip up the steep climbs in battered trainers, not a single Vibram sprung Gore Tex lined walking boot between them.

 

The highlight of the walk is the climb up Poon Hill at the dawn of the third day. Leaving Ghorepani at 4:30am we wind up the narrow path by torchlight, reminding me of night running exploits in Leigh Woods. At the top a crowd gathers to watch the sun slowly reveal the huge Annapurna range in a magnificent 270 degree amphitheatre of mountains. Our ‘hill’ top viewing platform is 3200m high, a mountain by most standards, but the frosted peaks towering in front of us are over 8000m reducing it to an insignificant lump.

As well as providing a route for trekkers, the paths are the only links in and out of most of the small villages clustered on the hillside. There are no roads so everything that the people on the mountains need has to be carried in and out by horse or porter.

Just constructing the paths themselves must have been a mighty task with hundreds of metres of stone staircases laid into the steep hillside and threading their way through beautiful orange and yellow rhododendron forests. Climbing up was slow but steady, cycling muscles seem to be well adapted to going up steps. Coming down is more of a challenge as it wakes up muscles that have been mostly dormant for the last year or so. Kirsty gets an involuntary shaky leg action that Elvis would be proud of.

Other than a new set of aching muscles, the trek made a refreshing change from pedalling, almost feeling like a mini holiday within our maxi-holiday. The simplicity of carrying a few bits of kit on our backs and heading into the hills also gets my mind racing on ideas for foot-bound adventures, something I’d written off in the past as being too slow but now I can see the appeal.

The biggest festival in the busy Nepali calendar is Dashain and it’s been slowly building up over the days that we were in Kathmandu but reaches its climax once we get back to Pokhara after the trek. Everywhere there are children flying kites, playing on huge bamboo ‘Pin’ swings and families enjoying a stroll round the lake with foreheads caked in red paint and rice. This is their equivalent of Christmas Day.

Another important ritual for Dashain is the sacrifice of animals and we’d seen herds of goats being traded on the road side then going home on the roofs of buses to meet an unfortunate end.

By the time we get back to Kathmandu it’s been nearly four weeks since the parcels were sent. We’ve come to the end of our Nepalese visas but it’s an easy process to get another 15 days added for an additional $30 each at the immigration office. It’s possible to stay for a total of 5 months if we want, though of course we hope that we won’t need to make full use of this option.

We pay a visit to the General Post Office to try and get an update on where the parcels could possibly be. Any confidence that we’d ever see our precious goods is quickly diminished as we’re sent from room 21 to room 33 to room 32 to room 31 and finally to window 5. The wild goose chase takes us through desolate rooms stacked with dusty sacks of mail and battered pigeon holes. No-one seems to have a clue when our parcels are likely to arrive and if they do where we should collect them from. For all we know it’s at the bottom of one of the mountains of packages that we’d seen but for now we have to leave empty-handed.

Kathmandu is a great city if you need outdoors kit so we take the opportunity to replace, repair and upgrade where we need to. I find a machine shop that fabricates a new head for our click stand which had come to the end of its life having propped up the heavy tandem one too many times. It’s like a full reset making sure everything we have is back to full working order for the next leg of the journey.

My status on Trip Advisor improves thanks to the numerous reviews of our now extensive knowledge of restaurants in Kathmandu. We’re also making new friends with other guests at Elbrus Home Hostel where we’re staying including fellow British cycle tourists Frances, Graham and Sarah, and an interesting chat with Roeland from The Netherlands.

One evening we’re joined by Sebastian from Medevac, who’d I’d met at the Hash run, and his friends Celine and Sophie. Sebastian is thinking about cycling back to his home in Germany next year so is keen to glean advice and inspiration from us. In return we get to find out a bit more about how emergency relief operations work and also get an invite to a weekend of rafting and canyoning.

Then one rainy morning  I head out for a run and decide to pop into the post office on the way, just in case there’s been a miraculous delivery. It seems miracles can happen as when I find a lady sitting in front of a computer in the corner of an otherwise empty office she punches in my tracking number and tells me both parcels have landed that very morning. By 2 o’clock in the afternoon, having presented my passport and without any of the expected customs charges to pay, both boxes are under my arm and I head back to show Kirsty. It’s like Christmas, only it’s actually Dashain.

The most valuable item is a new front dynamo hub, replaced very efficiently by Schmidt under warranty. I hand over the front wheel to Sonam of Dawn to Dusk bike shop to have it rebuilt. Sonam is largely responsible for pioneering mountain biking in Nepal and came highly recommended by our friend Chrissie who was taken under his wing while she lived in Kathamandu.

So suddenly we had everything we needed: Visas, bike parts, kit, and just as we felt like permanent residents of Kathmandu! But having agreed to the weekend of activities with Sebastian we had to stay for a couple more days. As Kirsty keeps telling me, we shouldn’t rush.

The weekend includes abseiling down waterfalls, sliding down streams and jumping off cliffs, all great fun. The rafting is also a step up from my previous experience of white water which extended to the Grand Canyon Rapids ride at Alton Towers. The adrenaline keeps flowing on the ride home too as we take to the roof of the bus as all the seats are taken down below. It’s not a usual sight to see westerners in the ‘cheap seats’ which amuses the locals as we speed past, singing songs from the roof top.

As has always been the case, these enforced stops are frustrating but give us time to do things that we would otherwise have missed. To have visited Nepal and not been on a trek for instance would have been regrettable and already we’re thinking about coming back to take on something a bit longer. With the benefit of hindsight we could have found another address that a courier would have been able to deliver to within a few days, saving us time and money. But at the time that the decision had to be made we opted for the simpler, standard mail service and in return we had a much more thorough experience of Kathmandu and Nepal which we can thank Royal Mail for. Now onwards, back to India.

“Where are you going?”
“Kathmandu!”
“On this bicycle?”
“Yes!”
“I do not think that this is possible.”

For as long as I can remember, almost universally the first question we’ve been asked by the people we encounter on this trip is “Where are you from?”. Admittedly this has varied slightly with the relentless “Atkuda, atkuda?” through Central Asia and “What-is-your-country-sir?”, “Ah-England-is-a-very-fine-country-sir-and-Alistair-Cook-is-very-fine-cricket-player” in India. But the Nepalese seem to be more concerned about looking forward rather than back, and everyone seems keen to know where we are going and not where we’ve come from. Looking to the future is a useful trait for a country that has had a difficult year after the terrible earthquakes in April, now compounded by a further crisis that we were about to arrive right in the middle of. More on that later, first we had to leave India.

10 days of rest in Shimla have brought Kirsty back to a position where she can contemplate riding the bike again. Our prolonged stay has put us on first name terms with the local cafe staff and they tell us they’ll be sorry to see us go (along with the thousands of rupees we’ve spent there). The monkeys see us off too by snatching a bag with our lunch in it right from Kirsty’s hands.

To ease Kirsty’s legs back into cycling mode again without too much of a shock we take the ‘Toy Train’ off the ridge to avoid more difficult mountainous terrain. This picturesque narrow gauge line is a legacy of the British Raj and is one of the world’s classic rail journeys. It winds around the hills through 100 tunnels and over several hundred bridges, stopping at various stations to allow the purchase of samosas and chai due to the lack of a buffet car. We disembark at Kumarhatti and stop there for the night.

Then we’re both back on the bike after 23 days of either 1 or both of us not riding. The day begins with a gentle descent followed by a steady climb. All crew members seem to be functioning correctly and we enjoy some more ups but mostly downs through to mid afternoon. The annoying macaques and curious grey langur monkeys are still in abundance in the trees so we keep our food safely packed away. On the final drop we’re accompanied by a small car with a man hanging out of it to film us.

Then we hit a brutal climb before Nahan to end the day. We’d joked on our way down that the town would be at the top of the steep hill in front of us and sure enough it is. Our hill climbing legs have lost some of their power but we just about manage to winch to the top. There’s a scout jamboree taking place and we catch a few of them playing a furious game of kibadi in front of the Sikh temple.

While refueling in the evening we’re joined briefly by Shibu. He seems a little odd but is keen to show us round so we agree to meet in the morning.
“English people get up very early, yes? Shall I meet you at 5:30?”
“Better make it 8:30, thanks Shibu”.

At the allotted time we venture out and Shibu is already waiting for us, he’d been there since 8. We’re greeted with a big hug as his ” Brother and sister” then he leads us out hand in hand. It’s perfectly normal for men to hold hands in this part of the world and men and boys do it as a sign of friendship just as couples would do in the west. I’m keen to show acceptance of their culture so have no problem when he shifts his arm onto my shoulder.

We walk through the bustling, narrow streets with the typical Indian hive of activity cranking up at the start of a new day. Shibu’s arm drops down and he begins rubbing my back as we walk, but he’s just showing that he wants us to be good friends I suppose. Kirsty isn’t so relaxed when he begins to do the same to her with his hand creeping under the back of her shirt, so we have to draw the line at back massage. This is beyond normal behaviour even in India.

We assumed we were being led to his house but it’s actually a wild goose chase and we zig zag all over town, always “just another 5 minutes” to his home. When we start trudging down the steep hill while he talks about feeding each other apples, spending the rest of the day together and asking us “Do you like fun?” we have to make our apologies and make our escape. The poor chap is clearly upset that we’re leaving but we’re not sure we’d have ever been able to leave if and when we got to his house.

We quickly fetch the bike and with gravity on our side we plummet down the hill laughing about our curious new friend.

Soon we’ve made it to the flat lands at the edge of Himachal Province and pedal alongside water buffalo, scooters and bikes. It’s hot, humid and harder than it should be. The dysentry seems to be making a comeback and sapping the energy out of both of us again. We can’t believe it hasn’t been killed off yet.

By the evening we roll into Paonta Sahib and up to the gates of another Sikh temple, the Gurudwara Paonta Sahib. Like the Golden Temple in Amritsar there is a free hostel here and we’re given a prime riverside room complete with ensuite bathroom (squat toilet and bucket of water for washing). It also comes with 2 lizards that have to be chased for half an hour before they get the message that they’re not welcome and scuttle out the window.

We join the devotees in the temple where the Guru Granth Sahib is being sung. Legend has it that the holy book was written here giving this location special significance as a place of pilgrimage for Sikhs from all over the world.

After the prayers we head to the canteen to sit cross legged on the floor with our serving of chapati and dahl in a tin tray. Sikh hospitality is always tasty.

Next day we keep the pace easy and use rain showers as a good excuse to stop for chai, sweets, then pomelos, a delicious giant citrus fruit that tastes like a sweet pink grapefruit.

By late afternoon we’ve crossed into Utarrakhand Province and arrive in Dehradun. The rain has set in. A scooter pulls alongside and its rider asks us where we’re from in an American accent. A short conversation of explanation as to why we’re on a tandem in the pouring rain in India and we’ve been invited to follow him home. Stephen is from Michigan but his wife, Nalini is Indian so they now live here with their youngest daughter Sabina and son Stephen Jnr. They have built their own house on the edge of the jungle which serves as a wonderful place for us to stay for the night. While being shown where we can sleep Stephen nonchalantly mentions that we shouldn’t go outside after dark on account of the leopards that roam around looking for dinner. We think he’s joking at first but his face says otherwise and he even tells us a story about some people who had been attacked down near the river not long ago. Of course there’s the usual risk of bears, cobras and pythons too. The doors and windows will be firmly locked tonight.

We are served a tasty meal and have an interesting conversation about life in India and its north/south divide. Bizarrely Nalini had read about my ‘Marathon World Record Dressed as a Toilet’ in the Indian Times last year.

Then the topic turns to religion. Stephen is what is usually termed a ‘born again Christian’ having had a real road to Damascus moment that turned him around from being well off the rails to being firmly back on track. His passion for his faith and the effect it’s had on his life is fascinating to hear about.

Our spiritual journey then continues into Haridwar, our destination for the next day and one of the 7 holiest sites for Hindus in India. This town on the banks of the Ganges is supposed to be where drops of Amrit, the elixir of immortality, accidentally spilled over from a pitcher while being carried by the celestial bird Garada. To obtain a long and healthy life I take a holy dip in the river, immersing myself 4 times then nearly getting swept away by the strong current. Garada is already looking after me so I survive.

 

There’s a ceremony each evening that involves lots of fire and singing with a huge crowd gathering to watch. Hundreds of boats made from leaves are filled with flowers and candles before being launched into the river for good luck.

But the celebrations are bigger than usual tonight. By chance we’ve arrived at the culmination of the Ganesh Chaturthi festival, celebrating the birthday of the elephantine god Ganesha. A procession of carnival floats trundle down the street accompanied by energetic drumming, loud music and crowds of dancing revellers being sprayed with coloured powder. Following them is a decorated elephant that takes offerings of money in its trunk and passes it up to the driver. It seems completely unphased by the chaos around it but its glazed eyes suggest this might not be its natural character.

Families bring their idols of Ganesha down to the river and let them float away. It’s said that Ganesha takes all their misfortunes and maladies with him on his journey back to his holy abode on Mt. Kailash.

It’s an exciting, vibrant spectacle that leaves me fired up with adrenaline from all the dancing and with multi-coloured face. Kirsty had her own excitement when a firework landed on the balcony outside our room. It also explains why we’d found it so hard to find a hotel with vacancies. Every 12 years, up to 100 million people descend on Haridwar for the Kumbh Mela pilgrimage. It’s hard to imagine that many people in one place and it may well be too much of an intense experience.

The next three days take us ever eastwards past jungles that are home to elephants and a huge national park that includes the Jim Corbett Tiger Reserve. We pick up more drugs, this time a 10 day course of slightly different antibiotics, antiamaeobas and probiotics on the recommendation of a doctor in Khashipur.

A shortcut takes us alongside a quiet canal with straw hut villages and carts being pulled by water buffalo. The roads vary from smooth asphalt to rocky tracks and at one point another shortcut is completely flooded so we have to turn back to the main road.

Bicycles are increasingly popular while the scooters and motorbikes become a menace. A westerner on a bike is unusual enough but two on a tandem is something they’ve never seen before so they buzz round us with smartphones set to record and we get repeated cries of “please stop! One selfie sir! One selfie, I beg you sir!”. Usually one of the many passengers is on camera duty but the drivers are busy gawping as well and on several occasions we nearly get ridden into. We can’t stop for everyone so they have to settle for an in flight shot.

In Rudripur we find ourselves in a strong Muslim area and after a night in a lizard infested room 101 at the Hotel KK we see crowds of men in long salwah kameez and scull caps off to Friday prayers. The women on the back of the scooters now peer out from under hijabs or the full face covering niqab.

This final stretch before the Nepalese border feels more rundown than most of the regions of India we’ve ridden through so far. Alongside the road huge piles of rubbish are grazed by cattle, pigs, dogs and children. The roadside provisions are sold from basic wooden shacks. Every couple of kilometres a bike mechanic is serving the two wheeled traffic and there are far fewer cars.

Improvements seem to be on the way with a brand new road in construction to replace the pot holed track we’re picking our way over but there’s very little work going on. The Garmin thinks one of the new bridges should be complete and sends us up to a river bank with a few concrete pilings in place but no way of getting across.

At Banbasa we reach the border and a young Nepalese cyclist called Shiria helps escort us across. Indians and Nepalese can cross without any passport control and as tourist traffic is rare at this point we have to seek out the immigration office to get stamped out. While we wait a monkey takes the bananas that we’d carelessly left on the back of the bike. A short ride further and a relaxed official sells us our Nepalese Visas and then we’re sent off into our 32nd country.

We’d been told to expect a change compared to where we’ve come from and the difference is immediately obvious. A wide smooth road stretches out in front of us and motorised traffic is almost non-existent as most people are either on bicycles or walking. It’s such a refreshing change after the bedlam of India. In the first day of riding not a single person asks us for “one selfie”.

Crowds soon gather when we stop though, especially in the small village of Chaumala where sisters Sumdinu and Madu look after us from their parents’ dhaba. Everyone is curious of the ‘Double Cycle’ but friendly and courteous with it. They’re particularly amused when I purchase the traditional Dhaka Topi hat that I’d seen most of the older men wearing and queue up to have their photo taken with us. Someone tells me “You must be the tallest man in Nepal!” which also means that I fit in none of the beds in Nepal and hit my head on every doorway.

We ride on past neat little straw houses, some tree houses, fields of wheat and barley, over pretty rivers and alongside dense forests. Huge bundles of sticks are carried on heads with more awkward loads slung in a basket on their backs. That’s if a bike or donkey isn’t available.

It’s cleaner than India, something that they are very proud of and several people tell us about how dirty their neighbouring country is. It’s the poorest country we’ve visited so far too (Nepal is in the lowest 25% in the world) so there are charity and NGO funded projects in many of the villages. Lots of pictorial signs explain the importance of sanitation and using latrines properly. WaterAid is one such such charity that funds projects here and we’ve been supporting them through various events in the UK for a while. A lot of the improvements that we can see will have been the result of their hard work so it’s fantastic to see what a difference they can make. If you have some spare cash then I’m sure they’d be grateful for a donation at www.wateraid.org.

The forests become humid jungle with the noise of the birds and insects at maximum  volume. Road signs hint at some interesting wildlife lurking in the trees but we fail to spot any tigers, rhinos or armadillos, just a deceased snake in the road. But it puts us off the idea of camping so each evening we search out a cheap hotel and tuck into the national dish of Dahl Baht, a great meal for a cyclist as it comes complete with an endless supply of rice and lentil soup. The heat and humidity makes for another good reason to a find a room so we can douse ourselves in cold water from the ensuite bucket.

After checking into one such hotel in Gorusinge we take to the streets to find some dinner. We’re quickly surrounded by a dozen or so excited children who don’t normally get visitors to their small town. They all attend the nearby English school so enjoy interrogating us to practice their language skills, which are impressively good. They also tell us about how scary it was when the earthquakes hit. Despite being a few hundred km from the eipicentre one boy tells me “the cricket bat was shaking in my hand and I didn’t know what was happening”. Before we manage to break away we promise to ride with Uba, Diya and Pushpa to their school in the morning.

The school has 700 pupils and when we arrive we’re mobbed by every single one of them. It’s utter chaos as we’re dragged through each classroom to say hello, shake lots of small hands and answer questions. The teachers stand back, bemused by it all then invite us into the sanctuary of the staff room. Here they explain that all lessons are taught in English, giving the pupils a good grounding for studying abroad. We’d seen lots of signs advertising colleges in Australia, Canada, Denmark and Japan for courses that just aren’t available in Nepal. Technical subjects like Engineering in particular seem to be the most lacking. Attending an NGO funded school like this will really help the children’s future prospects.

After extracting the bike from the rabble we continue on to Lumbini, the direct opposite of the noise and excitement of the school. We enter this Centre for World Peace, created around the birthplace of Buddha, and find ourselves in an oasis of calm. Many countries have built Buddhist monasteries in their own particular style so riding round them feels a bit like a theme park. There’s ‘Chinese World’, ‘Burma Land’, ‘Cambodia Towers’.

We spend the night in the dorms of the secluded Korean Monastery, tucked away in a forest enclave at the edge of the sanctuary. There are several other tourists enjoying the hospitality of the monks, including Or, an Israeli who is about to embark on a three month meditation retreat. With the prospect of 16 hours a day engrossed in his own contemplation, it’s something that he’s looking forward to with some understandable trepidation.

After our side trip to Lumbini we spin back up to the main highway across flat farm land. The highway is the only major road that crosses Nepal but it’s still relatively quiet. We have discovered that the reason for the lack of traffic is due to blockades at the borders preventing the huge number of trucks that bring imports from India to makeing it across. This includes fuel. Petrol stations are closed with vehicles parked all around them waiting for new supplies. Some enterprising shops are selling petrol from coke bottles at twice the normal price. There seems to be traffic control measures for the lucky few that have vehicles still running so two or three times a day a convoy of buses and trucks passes us before the road returns to peace and quiet.

A dispute over the recently introduced constitution resulted in riots and protests by some ethnic groups that felt excluded. In response, India decided it was too dangerous for its vehicles to enter the country so they have been left standing in sight of Nepal but not able to get in and offload their goods. Essentials like medicines and cooking gas are now in very short supply. In essence the Government are being blackmailed to change the constitution but with both sides refusing to negotiate it’s a stalemate that has led to a national crisis. Good for cycle tourists but terrible for the residents.

The flat plains are receding behind us to be replaced by several sweaty climbs. Nepal is hilly after all but we’d become complacent after several days of easy riding. We’re earning our endless dahl baht now as well as a plateful of sweet orange jalebis and swaari bread for breakfast.

Sometimes it’s the simple moments on the road that make a day memorable and on a rare flat section we’re surrounded by a flock of orange and black butterflies that then glide alongside us. Simple pleasures that keep us smiling.

Not long after there’s less to smile about. Turning onto a smaller road we’re hit with a steep gradient which doesn’t let up after a weary lunch stop. In the afternoon we climb 650m in less than 8km with the limit of our power being touched for most of the way. Part way up we have the conversation about wanting to ride to Kathmandu but being told it wasn’t possible by a passing driver. At the time we’d laughed it off but a few km later we can see their point.

A building claiming to be a hotel not far from what we think is the top turns out to be a fraud without any rooms. They cheerily tell us that it’s only another 10km to go. Only 10km at 15%!

Getting desperate as the light is fading fast we catch sight of a flat piece of earth just off the road and enquire in the building opposite if anyone would mind if we pitched our tent on it. “Why don’t you ride to the top of the hill instead?” we’re told, clearly unaware of our state of exhaustion. After a few phone calls and meeting the owner of the plot of land we’re invited to sleep on the floor of the building instead. It’s a part built cafe with no door but a roof and four walls. There’s a family living there too and after making us some dinner a sheet of corrugated iron is used to block the doorway and we settle down under our quilt. The family push a few benches together and huddle together under a blanket. This appears to be their home as well as their business.

We pay for our night’s lodgings then get going early in the morning. It turns out to only be 2km to the top but it still takes 20 minutes to ride. A bite to eat at one of the three hotels we could have stayed in and then it’s an equally steep descent off the other side. So steep in fact that we have to stop for 10 minutes part way down to let the rims cool off.

The undulating valley road takes us a few km further on before an enormous ridge looms up ahead again. The road is now just as steep as the day before with added rockiness and the top far out of view. Our legs are still recovering from the previous day’s effort but we work away at it for an hour or so getting slower and slower until we stop. Pushing would be even harder so we take stock of the situation and reluctantly flag down a passing Mahindra pick up. The words from the day before are ringing in our ears as we get whisked up the hill in the back of the truck: “You can’t cycle to Kathmandu”.

We jump out after the summit and get our first views of the capital city and the enormous snowy hills forming a backdrop. Somewhere north of here is the highest mountain in the world. Descending past monasteries and hearing drums and cymbals in temples we eventually arrive on the streets of Kathmandu. It’s eerily quiet though and becomes the easiest capital that we’ve had to ride into so far. The fuel crisis means that there are hundreds of vehicles parked up on every road leaving plenty of space for cyclists and the odd scooter.

We find a place to stay and venture out into the tourist district of Thamel, packed with tempting restaurants to eat the tastiest, and admittedly only steak we’ve had in months washed down with ‘Everest’ beer.

There’s some of the usual admin tasks on the agenda in Kathmandu with applications for visas for Banglasdesh, Myanmar and an extension to our Indian visa to sort out. A parcel of parts is also on its way from the UK. It all sounds ominously familiar and we’re under no pretences that any of this will be easy. A rest will probably do us some good though so we settle in and prepare to wait and eat and wait and eat.