Pt 1 - Nepal cycle - 2016 or "How I failed to cross the Thorong La, and does it even really matter?"

KATHMANDU TO BESISAHAR 

During 2015 my son Dylan and I cycled across Bhutan and into Nepal via West Bengal, finishing in the capital city of Kathmandu (KMD). Every now and then huge Himalayan peaks would reveal themselves to us, towering above the swirling clouds at impossible angles in the distance. I vowed then that one day I would take a closer look. In 2016, I did.

On my maps I find a road leading up onto the Annapurna trekking circuit on which I should be able to reach up to around 4,000 MASL. My plan is to take this road up to the mountains and spend a few days exploring the area after which I would return to KMD via the central and southern regions. The complete circle would be just over 1,000 km providing me with an excellent cross section of Nepal culture and environment. I would rely on guest houses and tea rooms along the way for accommodation and food, just as Dylan and I had done during our 2015 trip. 

Preparations in Kathmandu

I spend a few days of final preparation in and out of the craziness of Kathmandu ticking off the final items from my "to do" list, sorting out my trekking permits, assembling and preparing my bike. As arranged, I drop my bike off at Himalayan Single Track for a quick check up, and oh boy, how fortunate that I do. They completely strip down my bike checking every minute detail and replacing a number of worn parts. Much later that day, I leave with a bike that is only now, capable of the trip I have planned. 

Face to face conversations with people from the cycle shop lead me to revise my route, including a much larger section of the Annapurna circuit with the added possibility of carrying my bike over the Thorong La (pass) at 5,400 MASL, descending on the opposite side to the road of my original planning. I never actually say that I will go over the pass, but in my heart I can feel a sense of real excitement brewing. Based on these changes, I buy a pair of waterproof trousers and an extra long sleeve tee shirt. I will now definitely need the rear rack which I fit with a thick dry bag to carry the bulkier items of clothing. Finally, I tick off the last item on my list. I am ready.

KMD to MALEKHA - 100kn - 889m climbing - 1,828 MASL max elevation

The first day’s ride goes off well, following a route slightly inland of the main highway, winding through terraced rice paddies, so typical of this central Nepalese region. Navigating the sprawling suburbs of KMD is a challenge, and I follow blindly the thin line on my GPS as it pulls me through small cobbled streets and exploded street markets. 

There’s a good deal of climbing followed by some very broken up and muddy downhill sections due to road works taking place. I’m still relatively unfit and as a result, suffer with cramps towards the end of the day. The first three days of a long ride are always difficult as you adapt mentally and physically to the new set of demands. My bike is a dream machine after its service and I nurse it through the muddy stretches, being sure to clean the drive chain a few times during the day and again in the evening. 

While breakfast had been a western plate served against the stunning backdrop of the KMD valley, my lunch is by contrast, 100% local; rice, curried chicken, chili and dal, no utensils except for the grubby fingers of my right hand. The final 20 km along the main highway introduces me once again to the sheer madness of the Nepalese traffic, not quaint as in Vietnam or silly like Thailand, just lethal, as in juggling chainsaws. The road follows the river, but instead of remaining along the valley, climbs out at every opportunity. I am seriously overcharged for my hotel room, my own mistake for not checking the price first. 

MALEKHU to DOME - 65km - 615m climbing - 450 MASL max elevation

Only 60km today, but it’s quite tough enough with 600m of climbing in energy sapping heat and humidity. Manic traffic completes the package although overall it’s pleasant enough, made more bearable with frequent tea stops along the route. By lunch time I have already settled into a small lodge / restaurant run by a lovely Nepalese family at the road junction town of Dome where I am able to catch up with washing and bike maintenance. I spend a frustrating few hours unsuccessfully trying to figure out how to convert my new pump to take a Pesta valve, eventually finding a work-around to solve the problem. 

These towns are really something special, conforming very much to the picture I have in my mind of an ancient trading post. Full of color and character, the bright clothing of the Nepalese woman twirling between piles of merchandise and the fragrance of spices. These are the bazars found in almost every town, and they leave me with a feeling of excitement and awe, just to be gazing on such a scene.

My evening is spent within the peaceful warm company of the Nepalese family as they gather around my computer screen to glimpse something of life in Bhutan, Laos and South Africa. They give me two slivers of stone, one of slate, the other quartz, which they tell me is from their birth village, a village I will be passing on my way to Annapurna. Soon I will see for myself why there is such an intense and passionate connection between the Nepalese people and the towns of their birth. I fall asleep to sound of water softly gurgling below my window.

DOME to BESISAHAR - 44 km - 825 m climbing - 825 MASL max elevation

I wake to the sound of pouring rain and decide to sleep a bit longer, only to find out that the "rain" is actually the river running below my window. My rear tire is flat, so I replace the tube and clean up for breakfast, relieved that I had sorted out the pump the night before. Elevation will now replace distance as a measuring tool for a day’s progress. My route leads me away from the main highway so the road is small and winding, climbing steeply between rice paddies, waterfalls and swollen rivers. Tea stops are frequent and always shared with interesting local characters, the cinnamon spiced milk tea deeply refreshing even during the hottest part of the day. 

I arrive at Besisahar around lunch time and look for a guest house. Accommodation is cheap at 300 Rupees, too cheap I think, so I walk across the road where I am asked 250 Rupees! I shrug my shoulders, go back to the first place, pay the 300 and check in. This will be standard practice throughout the Annapurna route, the only consideration is that you are expected to eat all your meals at the restaurant attached to the establishment and that’s where the overall price evens out. 

The town is located at the end of the tar road, the beginning of the Annapurna trekking trail, and groups of foreign trekkers arrive throughout the afternoon. Lilly white spidery legs disappear into large clunky new hiking boots, North Face jackets and aluminum water bottles clipped onto webbing belts. They are for the most part sullen and unresponsive to my greetings. Maybe its because their journey from Europe to Besisahar is contained within the bubble of the tour group and they need more time to let go of their defenses. Traveling alone on a bike takes care of that transformation pretty much before morning tea on the first day. I repair the punctured tube from the morning, re check my gear and fall asleep to the light pattering of rain on the street. 

“A Series of Fortunate Events” (PT 1)

My personal perspective of the 2006 extreme mountain bike race across South Africa, “The Freedom Challenge”

Finding the soul of South Africa

Both water bottles on my bike were frozen solid, the tube to my hydration bag standing out like a piece of ‘bloudraad” (fencing wire) next to my shoulder. My hands were dead, and acting like a propeller was no longer having anyeffect. My speech was slurred, and I stopped thinking. I knew we were in trouble, but all I could do was rest my head on the handlebars and drift off to  sleep.

“There’s a light! come on Ben, lets go!” said Cornell, fumbling with the gate catch. We both scrambled up the hill in the direction of the light. In the doorway of a small mud hut, the silhouette of a lady danced and swayed in the flickering glow of firelight coming from inside her hut. We could almost feel the warmth, comfort and safety of the fire when the door slammed shut, the bolt sliding home with a loud “thunk”. Dignity thrown aside, we stood at the door knocking, begging and pleading to be let in, but no amount of self humiliation could entice her to open her door to the two alien creatures she had seen running towards her that dark morning, skin alive and glowing (reflective tape) life support system (rucksacks) and a single evil white eye shining out the middle of our forehead (helmet LED)! Peeping trough a crack in the door, I could see her standing in the middle of the hut, hands clasped protectively in front of her trembling with fear. 

With a creak of well-worn hinges, a door from the neighboring hut opened, and a lady, unaware of our presence, stepped out into the dark to empty a bucket into the frozen air. We needed no prompting and discarded all manners as we pushed past her and headed like a magnet for the small wood-burning stove in the middle of the kraal. With eyes closed, we crouched next to the stove and held on to the hot stovepipe as if worshiping a strange idol.

At some stage through the haze I felt a wooden crate gently pushed under me, and sank gratefully onto the bare planks. Again and again small pieces of wood were pushed into the tiny stove, while not a word was spoken. 
Slowly, the warmth and comfort of the fire began to thaw my mind and I became conscious of pairs of wide bewildered eyes staring at us from all around the circular hut. Looking around, I saw that we were in the middle of a hut surrounded by an extended family of about fifteen people of all ages, huddled under blankets, hessian bags, newspaper, and coverings of all sorts of materials. After a time, we got up stiffly, mumbled our thanks, walked on stiff legs out of the hut and back onto the frozen steel of our bikes. We learned later that an escaped convict had recently terrorized the very same community.

It was 4 am. 

Though not a single word was spoken during the incident in the hut, I will never forget the understanding, courage, compassion and generosity shown to us by that lady on that cold morning high in the mountains.

I had once again, experienced the “soul” of South Africa.

The Freedom Challenge

The Freedom Challenge is an extreme mountain bike race across South Africa, stretching from Pietermaritzburg in Kwa Zulu Natal to Stellenbosch in the Western Cape. The 2,300km route consists of gravel roads, two spoor dirt tracks, single cattle tracks an numerous portages where no tracks, paths or trails exist. 

The route has been designed to pass through as many areas of natural beauty as possible, incorporating a number of nature reserves and conservation areas. The race is run during the middle of winter over some of the highest mountain ranges in South Africa where cold fronts and snow storms are a certainty at some stage of the route.

Why?
 
From the moment I first heard about the race and studied the details I knew that this was my race, a package of every experience gained through my life up to that point, the familiar stained and frayed jersey you love to wear around the campfire.

•    It is unsupported, so once you start you are on your own in terms of decision making and basic survival. 
•    It is not a team race, although you are permitted to collaborate.
•    It is nonstop, so although there are checkpoints at farm houses about every 100km or so, you choose if, when or where to stop, eat or sleep.
•    The rules manual is one paragraph long, a paragraph longer than the safety regulations. 
•    No technical equipment such as GPS are permitted and the route is marked as a line on a series of orthophoto maps, low tech with high probability of getting lost on a daily basis. 
•    The outcome of the race is reliant on the integrity of each competitor to diligently follow the route and the rules, not catch a lift in the back of a pick up or take one of many possible short cuts. 
•    There is no prize money, the reward, a traditional Basutho initiation blanket, or a traditional whip with a maximum value of $30.

Bragging rights however, are pretty awesome. 

Part 1 

Day 1 - Pietermaritzberg to Allendale

105 km
1,980m climbing
11hrs cycling

Race tip #1: - Pack light:

It is amazing how generous some competitors became after the first day of the race, donating to the locals on a scale only exceeded by the National Red Cross Organization.

Start

This epic adventure started from the city hall in Pietermaritzburg as the church bell tolled 7am. Of the six of us who pedaled away on that Saturday morning, only four would cross the finish line in Paarl, some almost a month later.

Left to right; Greville Rudock, Geritt Pretorius, Andre Britz, Corness van der Westhuizen, Ben Swanepoel, Zolani Mtshali

The first day was a good introduction to the race, with some big climbs, a few short portages, river crossings and a jumble of forestry tracks. I planned to take it easy on the first day and only went as far as the first support station, 105 km from the start. 

It was good to get going after so much anticipation, preparation and training, a bit like a scuba diver finally hitting the water and feeling the equipment and gear, so unwieldy on land, come into their own. It’s a tough first day but I felt relaxed and confident that I had a solid strategy to at least, break the record and didn’t heed the temptation to race after the guys running out front.  

Meanwhile, on a very different strategy, Cornell Van Der Westhuysen, an architect from Johannesburg and an experienced long distanced cyclist blasted ahead to the first support station, stopping only for a quick bite before racing towards the second stop at Ntsikeni Nature Reserve another 90km away.

I enjoyed an excellent farm meal and settled in for an early night, fully aware that according to my careful planning and strategy, my personal race would begin in earnest at 1:30am, only a few hours away.  

Day 2 - Allendale to Masakala

160 km
1,620m climbing
21hrs cycling

Race tip #2: - Obtain the handbook “Understanding Race Director language”:
For example:
•    “It will take you guys 45 mins to do that section, max.” = It’s going to be a long cold night under the African skies.
•    “Its do-able”  = It can be done, as long as you are in a mode of transport that has an SAA sticker on the side, a day consisted of 48hrs, contour lines are measure in seconds, not meters, and all tracks marked on the map actually do exist on the ground.
•    "Tomorrows cycle leg is really a non event" = Tomorrow you will be cycling more than double your normal distance, as we could not find a suitable support station in the area. You will probably blackout from sheer exhaustion, and not remember a single thing about the day.  
•     “Stettynskloof is going to kill you” = Stettynskloof is going to kill you. (see later)

Break Away

01:30 am saw me quietly dress and slip out into the crisp cold air, my secret betrayed as I almost ploughed headlong into a cow standing silently in the middle of the entrance road. It felt good to finally be alone, and for the first time this race felt real. Navigation proved a lot easier on this section than the previous year and before long I was on the winding forestry switchbacks leading up to the fist mountain portage to the Nsikeni Nature reserve. 

On arrival at the lodge I was completely taken a back to find Cornell relaxing outside on the porch with no sign of preparations to move on. Over a quick lunch together, I heard how he had been caught by darkness the previous night while negotiating the portage, and had spent the night on the floor in a shepherds hut, waking during the night to the scurry of cockroaches covering the thin blankets given to him. Greeted to sharp stabbing pains in his knees that morning, the enormity of the race sunk in and he decided to abandon his original strategy and spend the day waiting for the rest of the competitors to arrive. was ready to move on, but after some discussion we realized we both had a very similar strategy in terms of actual distances and days, and decided to ride together at least for the next few days. In actual fact, we ended up riding together for the remainder of the race, the single best decision I made during the entire race.

For the rest of the day, we rode hard. The first few days of this race are incredibly difficult, mainly because your body is still adapting to the distances and sheer brutal effort that will soon become pare for the course. The only time I honestly thought about quitting was during those first two or three days. 

I remember very little of that evening other than we struggled to find the village where our guest house was located. How we found it, what the rooms looked like, what we ate is still a mystery to me even though I can still easily recall every smell, taste and feeling of the remainder of the race.

Day 3 - Masakala to Vuvu

125 km
1,200m climbing
18 hrs cycling

Race tip #3: - Nutrition Come into the race a few kilograms over your ideal weight. 

During the race eat everything and anything you can get your hands on. Steal food from kind trusting country folk, your competitor’s rucksacks, and out of farmer’s lands alongside the road. Bang on doors in the middle of the Karoo demanding peanut butter and jam sandwiches. 
At support stations, sneak into the lounge under the cover of darkness and remove (completely) all fruit from the creative display on the coffee table. Do not feel guilty. Very importantly, stop this behaviour immediately on completion of the race.

Heading for the berg.

Mentally and physically, this was the hardest day of the race for me (other than Stetynskloof of course). My motivation levels faltered at the mere thought of the physical effort and pain I knew would be needed to complete the daily route, and I started doubting if I really did have the mental and physical stamina to make it. 

At one point I think Cornell realized how I was feeling, and he made me eat a couple of energy gels in spite of my weak protests. It’s just amazing how often a shortage of food (fuel) caused my motivation to plummet. Within a few minutes I was a new person. Food, or lack of decent nutrition, was a major issue for both of us on this day, and we suffered for it.

We rode hard the entire day, trying to put distance between ourselves and rest of the field at this early stage of the race when we knew everyone would be suffering and struggling to adapt to the demands of a race of this nature. We both paid some “toll fees” for our efforts, I managed to crash off the path and injure my knee which has never completely recovered, and Cornell went over the handlebars straining his wrist. 

Navigation during this section of the route is notoriously difficult, and later that night, in coal black freezing conditions, we lost our way and had to negotiate a steep cliff, only to come up against a strongly flowing river. After searching the bank for a way over, we came to a reasonably flat stretch of water about 20m wide, and started wading across. Halfway across the frozen water, the firm sand bottom gave way and with shouts of alarm we were both swallowed up to our thighs in porridgy quicksand. We literally had to throw our bikes across to the bank and somehow managed to get across to the opposite bank without falling headlong into the icy water. I do not want to think of what would have happened had we soaked our bodies, clothes and kit in that water, with the air temperature already well below zero.

A few hours later, and utterly exhausted from climbing impossibly steep tracks, an “angel” in the form of a Catholic Priest from one of the mission stations drove up to us out of the blue with news that our designated support station was deserted. He had been searching for us for hours to give us this news. It was now close to midnight as he started banging on doors, eventually organizing for us to sleep in a shepherds hut. Blankets were quickly loaned from a neighbor and a small shop opened for us where we bought bread, bully beef, baked beans and yogurt. 

I will never forget looking at a shelf of the shepherds one room hut, noticed that he had only one knife, one spoon and one plate, yet he was so generous to us. everything he had, he made available to us. Somehow, I got the spare bed, and Cornell the floor.  
It was well after midnight when warm, safe, fed and dry, we fell asleep trying not to think of the 1 000m high portage over the Lehana pass that waited for us the following morning.

Day 4 - Vuvu to Rhodes

50 km
1,160m climbing
10 hrs cycling

Race tip #4: - Standard toolkit: 

If the farmer’s toolkit consists of “bloudraad and tang”, then the freedom challenge toolkit must consist of “duck tape and a multi tool”. I used duck tape to create a new sidewall for my tyre; Amy used duck tape to repair a competitor’s knee joints.

Other uses include:
Waxing your legs (stick on, rip off), 
Pain killer (Sniff the sticky side)
Competitive advantage. (Tape your competitor’s bike to his bedpost, and then slip out in the middle of the night) 

Lehana Pass

The Lehana pass portage was one of the highlights of the route. A 1 000m elevation hike over the Maluti mountains following an infamous trail used by cattle thieves to bring their stolen goods on hoof into Lesotho from neighboring South Africa. The trail joins the gravel road at the top of Naudes neck, at 2 500m one of the higher mountain passes in South Africa. During the previous years race I had suffered as the weather closed in, driving temperatures down into the minus, reducing visibility to a few meters while we scratched around blindly looking for the trail in the growing darkness. It was only with the help of some shepherds crouching in a storm shelter that we finally reached the gravel road, and which point our troubles had only just  begun. 
This year however, everything was different, the weather was crisp but clear, the trail plain to see in the clear blue skies and my body finally in sync with my mind. We had finally become a team.

In warm sunshine, we pushed, pulled and carried out bikes up the ridge with all the Southern Drakensberg falling below us. Soon we were over the ridge and absolutely flying down Naude’s neck, where ice still clung to the rocks on the shoulder of the gravel road. 

We reaching our support station at Rhodes in broad daylight and decided to celebrate the first big landmark of the race at stay put. It really was a well-deserved luxury and we bought a handful of sweets at a local shop to celebrate. We washed clothes, cleaned our bikes and soaked in a hot bath massaging our spirits for the next leg of this amazing race across South Africa.

Day 5 - Rhodes to Loutebron

125 km
1,080 m climbing
16 hrs cycling

Race tip #5: - What spares to take with: 

Due to the high degree of technical advancement made on mountain bikes over the past few years, selecting the correct spares to take on a race of this nature has become a science in its own right. Based on my own valuable experience, I would recommend that the following hi-tech, ultra specialist items be included in your spares list:

•     One bicycle tyre (Any old one will do)
•    One standard bike cable (Price R7.00) 

The chill before the storm

Now well ahead of the rest of the field and feeling stronger every day, we set out to make the most of our hard earned advantage. Climbing out of a warm bed in the middle of a winters night at altitude is not the easiest, but my “Just like heaven” ringtone helped. 

Breakfast was a quiet affair, as we were the only guests stupid enough to be enjoying a hearty breakfast at 01:00 am. We later heard we had been accused of steeling the extra loaf of bread that went missing from the walk-in pantry at pretty much the same time as we were having breakfast. 

At 02:00 under a charcoal canopy punctured with pinholes of a billion pulsating stars we set off, totally overwhelmed by the spectacular majesty of a night sky in its fullest splendor. What we failed to realize, was that the temperature was already well below freezing, (reported later as -9 degrees) and that as we descended into the long deep valley it would drop even further. 
The wind chill factor of freewheeling downhill at over 30km per hour would cause us the pain and agony that left us crouched on a crate with hands glued to the wood stove in the middle of the shepherds hut. One moment disaster and the next, relief, such is the pain and pleasure, passion and dreary slog of racing the Freedom Ride. It is an emotional roller coaster ride in every way. 

Another 110km of gravel road, two mountain portages, a shredded rear tire, and one day’s music rations, filled the passing of the sun. Cornell had raced ahead, and I rode alone for much of the day which was very enjoyable. I did wonder if he had actually broken away from me to race ahead but I didn’t mind, I had a pretty good race strategy, I was on schedule, feeling strong and had the advantage of knowing from the previous year what was still to come. found Cornell relaxing at the next support station and as soon as I had eaten, we took on the next portage over the mountains via a firebreak into the next valley just as darkness fell. We were keen to do the next portage in the dark anyway, but once again found ourselves at the receiving end of the mercy of “angel’s”. This time in the form of Japie Smith and his wife, who refused to allow us to proceed, insisted on taking us into their home. We had only come to them seeking local knowledge, but ended up giving ourselves over completely to the warm hospitality of rural South Africa. 

Drugged on the contentment of full stomachs, clean clothes and warm fires we listened to Japie’s exploits on his trail bike, which he has adapted into a hill climber, complete with a trucks flywheel as a rear sprocket! 

His favorite trick is to invite the city hill climbing trail bike clubs to his farm on weekends to test their high tech machines, and then, wearing shorts, long socks, vellies and a bush hat, “chug a lug” up near vertical mountain slopes and slabs of rock alongside the ”official” smoothed out hill climb as if on a Sunday paper run. He said he had some photos in a magazine to prove it, but I didn’t need to see to believe, not with Japie.

Blissful sleep.

Day 6 - Loutebron to Smuts Pass

120 km
880 m climbing
14 hrs cycling

Race tip #6: - Map Pouch:
Have some system whereby you can keep your daily route maps handy. You want to be able to check them while on the move. 
Actually know how to read a map.  

Storm

Cornell is an amazing navigator, probably something to do with well-developed spatial orientation due to his work as an architect. He always knew exactly where we were, except for today when during the early morning portage, we inadvertently descended the wrong valley. Although we didn’t loose much time as a result, it bothered him for the rest of the day. 

It was also the day that the storm struck.

It started fairly mildly that morning, covering us with an icy mist as we neared the top of the porterage. Descending, we broke out the clouds, and it looked to be a cool cloudy day for our 115km trip to Smuts Pass just past Dordreght. We got all excited when we saw a few snowflakes drifting lazily down onto our clothes, laughing as we thought how we would report that we “cycled in a snowstorm!” Half an hour latter, the clouds released a carpet of thick silent snow, blanketing the landscape, our clothes and th road ahead. For the rest of the day, we cycled alternately through gently falling snow, icy wind, or freezing rain. I loved it, an amazing experience, silent, muffled movement. 

Stopping at a Police station in the small settlement of Rossouw to confirm our navigation, we were summery detained without trial by the Station Commander, having to serve a sentence of fresh coffee, and a huge cooked lunch of venison and potato salad. We eventually received a pardon, and left with a suspended sentence of sandwiches, biltong, fruit and too many other goodies to mention, or to find the space to pack!

With evening, came the cold, not just an unpleasant cold, a life threatening numbness. Because of the minimum space and weight we could afford, we only had cold weather clothes to keep us warm while we cycled hard. The moment we stopped, the cold became desperate. Stopping for more than a few minutes was not an option. Riding off into that dark cold night with not a single light or landmark was a matter of faith, not confidence, and I remember making a mental note of the position of a hay stack I saw flashing past my headlight, thinking that we could always take shelter among the bales. At about 10:00 pm, we finally saw a light in the distance and after fumbling around in the dark being misdirected by a well meaning shepard arrived at the support station, an old colonial styled lodge.   

Our experience here, after the extreme cold and uncertainty of the days ride, can only be described as fantasy. I will never forget the incredible sense of inner warmth and peace we felt, sitting on the floor in front of the huge log fire, a plate of hot food in my lap. Around me, the comforting “buzz” of a family quietly busy with the normal things that normal people do in a million normal homes around the world. 

Although late, we somehow found the energy to service and wash our bikes, wash clothes and prepare for an early morning start. Sleep beneath a mountain of soft down came easy and sweet. 

2015 Year end cycle. - Paksan to Oudomxai (Laos)

The Idea

So its December 26 2015 and I have decided to go on a nice week long end of year cycle trip up North. Never really seen these areas, so looking forward to some surprises along the way.
Also going to keep it "relatively" low teck on this trip for a change, no internet access phone, one single fixed focus lens, one battery, one memory card, ok...and an e reader.....and a GPS.

My proposed route up north

Not exactly NO tech, but definitely LOW tech by comparison.

Day 1 - 27 December 2015

Paksan to Namphaeng - 115 km, 650m accumulated elevation.

Pleasant relatively easy day along friendly roads, hot. The last time I travelled this section on my motorbike about 4 years ago, the tar sections were all dirt and the dirt sections all tar which points somewhat to the level of maintenance in relation to the construction of new roads.

I made an absolute rookie mistake of fitting the bike with a new saddle at the start of a long trip and struggled during the day to find the right settings. This mistake would cause me immense pain and suffering during the trip, almost causing me to pack it in altogether in the days to come.

Irrigated rice planting during the dry season on the way to Ban Thasi

Wooden suspension bridge provides access to a small village on the way to Namphaeng

Day 2 - 28 December 2015

Namphaeng to Phonsavan, 119 km distance, 1380m total accent

Poor saddle and wrong position wrecked my knee and gave me open blisters on the part of my body in contact with the saddle!. Not fun I can tell you. Both pairs of cycle shorts, vaseline and Nivia could not even prevent this. The day was a bit of a nightmare really, don't know how I managed to to get in, but I did. Grave concerns about continuing the next day, mainly due to my knee.

The route was ok, if a little dull with long hot climbs on wide tar road, not the best, but still great to be outside. Coming into Phonsavang I could see the mountains rising above the road in the direction i would be going the following day. Good diner at "Craters" the restaurant opposite the UXO (unexploded ordinance) headquarters in a town routed in the history of "the secret war"

Hmong girls dressed in traditional clothes for a local ceremony in their town.

Road side villages cling to ever eroding river banks.

Day 3 - 29 December 2015

Phonsavan to Ghot Lieng, Distance: 97.8 km, Total ascent: 1,714 m

Finally found the sweet spot with the saddle, and immediately felt the relief on my knee. As long i kept it in riding position it was fine, anything out of that arc was not. Sitting is still Agony.
Riding was good, loads of climbing and quite cold, with a low mist settling in towards the afternoon.

There was no guest house in the villages I passed, but a young guy offered for me to stay with him and his family for the night. They had just lost their father a month earlier and were still struggling to pick up the slack left by him. They did try to get me drunk on "Lao Hi" but only half succeeded.

Always a humbling experience to be saturated by the generosity and hospitality of people who can barley afford to care for their own needs. My personal motto in these situations:
"Rely on the kindness of strangers, but quietly leave double the normal guest house rate on the counter on your way out"

This guy insisted on showing me his "secret war" battles scars, and his papers of commendation for bravery.

Nice to be back in the mountains again.

Day 4 - 30 December 2015

Grot Lieng to Nam Nern, Distance: 42 km, Accent: 409 m

I know, I wimped out, but really, i just could not sit down without ccursing and i was worried about the sores getting septic. I decided to rest out the day after a short ride, mostly uphill, but with a welcome standup 18km downhill into the town of Nam Neum with its one brand new guest house.

The ride itself was really quite beautiful, wet and silently misty in the morning, men huddling around wood fires watching the woman work, the mist clearing as i dropped down towards the river. Small Hmong settlements, houses strung out like wooden beads clinging to the side of the road, life lived as much on the road as off.

After a breakfast that was not noodle soup, I slept for three hours solid before doing some washing and servicing the bike. Visited the chemist and stocked up on more plasters and vaseline.

Exhale.

early morning mist and rain high up in the mountains, just before the long downhill.

Some welcome R&R in Nam Nerm town

Day 5 - 31 December 2015

Nam Nern to Meung hein Distance: 67 km, Accent: 1,550 m

Fantastic ride today,hard work with lots of climbs but well managed, narrow winding roads and big vistas, ample reward for the climbing.

I left without breakfast to make an early start, and then struggled to find a village with someone prepared to make me something to eat. Ba-na-na! and crackers came to the rescue.
Thick mist forcing me to pack away the camera and haul out the rain jacket at times in the morning, but better than the searing heat and humidity of summer in these areas.

Arrived in Viengthong, the town of our (WCS) field office for the nam Et Paloy NPA. Its new years eve so most of the better restaurants are closed, but still found some good food at the bus station.

Quote of the day "Damn, this bum thing is a real pain in the ass"

Banana and crackers. Emergency fuel.

Day 6 - 01 January 2016

Viengthong to Nong Khiaw

With only a limited number of days remaining I was forced to make up some distance by busing through from Maung hein to Nong Khiaw. This would give me a day to make it through to Oudomsay in time for my flight back to Vientiane.

Woke to a slightly slower Viengthong after their new years celebrations but did manage to find a decent breakfast spot. The bus only left at 12, so I rode around the town a bit and went to visit the NEPL PA office. The bus journey was a welcome change and hardly hurt at all.

We arrived in Nong Khiaw about 30 mins before sunset and was completely blown away by the dramatic beauty of the place, I just didn't expect it. I literally thew my gear into the first guest house I saw and raced around taking photos before the sun went down.

With so many restaurants to choose from I ended up having two dinners, steak at one, hamburger at the next. Damn! that felt better.

Bike on bus, bus to Nong fhiaw

Day 7 - 02 January 2016

Nong Khiaw to Oudomsay, Distance: 114 km, Accent: 1,869 m

Got off to an early start in cool misty conditions. The first 30 km went quite fast, the dramatic scenery of the days before subsiding as we dropped down into the valley.

After the turnoff at Pak Moung, the road became wide, new, guttered and edged and ominously empty. A number of road construction stops later revealed the reason. I always managed to work my way past the string of cars, trucks and motorbikes to carry my bike over wet tar, duck under a swinging excavator arms or scramble through the bush at the side of the road.

The weather flipped from streamy to cold to rain throughout the day, the road climbing all the way till the last short blast into the city of Oudomxay. In actual fact, the trip really finished on the top of the mountain and it was with a vague sadness that I descended into the untidy, noisy outskirts of Oudomsay.

Roadside tap, free water.

Day 8 - 03 January 2016

Oudomxay to Paksan

I had to run around looking for something I could use to make a box for my bike and eventually found a damp piece of cardboard. Was more tape than box, but it worked and got onto the flight back to Vientiane and survived the bus to Paksan.

All said, it was an amazing trip into areas of Lao I have never seen before. I loved the climbing again and the mountains and hill people. Definitely heading up that way again in the future

Probably the ugliest bike box I've made so far.

Short video of this trip