Hhhhemmes (Spanish James)

'So you have heard about the South American girls in the monastery in Kee? No? Oh its bad man. One Argentinian, the other I don't know, but they stay at the monastery. I think they are too, how you say, respectful, no, in awe of the monks. They pay them too many compliments. I think they get the wrong idea.

'So at 2 in the morning, the monk is banging at the door wanting to come in. They are frightened and so no, what you want, and the monk is drunk and say I wanna come in. They put beds in front of the door but he is still banging. So you know what they do? Call 911, and somehow it gets to the police in Kaza. They turn up an hour or so later, and start beating the monks. I mean really hitting them. Then they take the girls back to Kaza, and they stay for free at a hotel. Not sure of the name, but something like Jamaica's.

'Bad shit man. Giving monks too much respect. They can be bad too for sure. Maybe they come after you! If you go there, you know, make sure you wear tight pants!

"I'm Spanish, you know from where? Isles de Canaria. What do I do? Well now, not much, buy a little stuff from Morocco and sell. No, not that stuff! Shawls and scarves and stuff. But I have a little inheritance, a business from my mother, 700 euros a month. Is enough you know, we live simply.

'I have been travelling 24 years man.This year I am 50 so I do the big one, India. 2 months. But I been everywhere, Africa, South America, Australia.

'You know were I like best? Muslim countries. Never any trouble. People so hospitable there. Jordan, Oman, Saudi, I like very much.

'You see different things when you are older. I mean, when you are 24 it is all girls. I love so many, but for me, I think Mexican girls are the most dangerous. They sound so pretty. And then I think Columbian or Venezualan. Ahh, but they are beautiful, even the ones who are not. I like your saying, you don't look at the mantlepiece when you are stoking the fire!

'But not anymore. I am married now, 14 years. We have great trust. But every year, I say I have to fly. She knows, she understands. She likes her space too. We live next door to each other, I like my space, she likes hers.

'Her name, Isabella. You think a Gypsy name? Yes that describes her very well. Dark her and wild eyes! She is a musician, plays percussion in 2 orchestras! I am father to her son, my son. He is 15, and he says he don't agree with anything we say, but I know he listens. i hear our voices in him when he speaks to his friends.

I like these monasteries, but the music! Ah god, it can be awful and lovely too. Om mani Padme Hum - they chant that every morning in Kalpa, beautiful, But those horns and drums, not rhythm man, just banging.

But Africa, thats where the music is. Morocco, so much beautiful music, you go there. Great motorbiking in the Atlas mountains.

'2 months I am in India. I head straight to the mountains. It is out of season, but I think it is the best time. No fucking idiots around. I come to Spiti because a girl in Delhi told me about it. Its so beautiful man

'I have two books published. One is called 'Scatching my balls', about my travels in Africa, but with autobiography too. It means doing fuck all. On 5th edition now. I published myself originally and went to book fairs. The other, 'Three running in two' is short stories set in Canaria. One about how hot dogs came to Canaria. Now it is harder to write. I worry about style and words, First one is much easier, you just write.

'Football, of course I like! Tenerife is my team, but any teams with Spanish in too. Who is yours, Brighton. Ah you have Poyette as your manager now. He is famous in Spain too now.

'So you go to Kaza? Maybe I will see you there? And After, I want to go to Manali, maybe see you there too!'

In the end we spent four or five days and nights with James. He came to Kaza on Divali, and then in the truck to Manali. He is perceptive, funny, kind, intelligent, and a very young 50. he can talk to anyone, about anything it seems, but unlike many talkative people is as interested in what you have to say as well as what he is. A larger than life character, good company round the dinner table, out on treks, in a support vehicle, or even in a hot spring at 6am. I hope our paths cross again one day.

Night Ride to Shimla

Since the ride over Kunzum and Rohtang, it has been quite hard to write. It felt as though the story with us arriving in Manali, had reached a natural conclusion. We had completed the circuit round the Spiti Valley, we had crossed the dread passes, we had achieved our mission.

Finding endings, or knowing when they should come, is sometimes as hard as the ending itself. Sooner or later, Dan and I will have to part, his part in my story in India will finish, and I will have to find a new story. But I wasn't sure when this should be - Manali? Shimla? Should I even come back to Delhi. I felt lost and not sure what to do.

But of course the story wasn't over. We hadnt completed the journey, the circuit wasn't compete. We started in Shimla, and so the story would need to end there. Although we could have parted in Vashisht, it felt right to come back to where we had met.

We spent 2 days in Vashist. Mostly hanging out with James and taking it easy. We walked to a waterfall one day - beautiful and rubbish strewn like lots of India. We walked to Old Manali another. We had long breakfasts on a high terrace overlooking the Valley. We drank beer and ate Italian food in a cosy wooden 'Seating Hall'. We explored the crazy alleys of Old Vashisht, and visited the holy hot spring.

All interesting things, and all have little stories in, but it felt like recovery time. Like doing nothing, relaxing after our
exertions round the Spiti valley. For one thing it was a lot warmer, maybe 10 or more degrees, which made it feel like summer.

I felt really comfortable in Vashisit. Its mixture of tourists, enterprising locals, hippies, thrill seekers, entrepreneurs, hikers, bikers, dope heads, locals, Bengalsi, Europeans was an atmosphere I knew and enjoyed. Dan found it irritating at times, but I would have been happy there for a while. But he had to get back to Shimla to get back to Afghanistan, so planned our trip back.

'Up at 8, check and service the bikes by 9. Breakfast, pack and check out and on the road by 10'. But of course it didn't start like that at all.

'My bike wont start,' Dan called up. Not sure why. He replaced the spark plug, still no joy. 'If its the electics, it could be anything,' he sighed. 'They are a dirty job, and could take ages. We'll push start it, and I'll take it to the bike shop at the bottom of the hill. And someone has stolen all the fucking bungees from the back. Bastards'.

So we pushed his bike up through the little alleyways to the main square, which was quite an effort, and let him go and sort his bike out. Meanwhile, I cleaned my muddy leathers and packed.

At ten am he was back. 'Fancy riding two up?' he said cheerfully? 'What, I don't understand' I replied. 'Sold the bike for 90,000. Fuck Rajesh and his pile of shit bikes'.

'WHHHAT.... oh you're joking. Very funny. I take it all is ok then'.

'Yeah, the battery is not holding its charge. Means that I will have to park on a hill overnight, although should be ok on a trip. Lets go and have breakfast.

So breakfast, with Hhhhemmmes. Our last time possibly we will see him, so we made it last. He has been an excellent person to be with, witty, clever, fun, relaxed, cheerful. I will miss him.

I had already packed my gear, but Dan spent a while doing his. We then had to take all the bags up to the main square, and try and tie them on with the few bungees we had left. Then checking out, which was delayed because they charged a different price to the one they quoted, so we argued but then had to pay.

By which time it was gone 12. We had so replenish my gear oil, so another stop at the bike shop. We then bumped into Trixie from Kaza, which delayed us even further. She said she would join us down the hill, so we waited, then I some petrol, but she still didn't come, so Dan went to look for her, and then she turned up but Dan wasn't there, and then we had to wait for Dan, and then when he turned up say the goodbyes all over again......

I was really chafing to get going. This was just crazy delays. it was a long way to Shimla. We had lost time on.

When we got going though the drive was great. After a week in Spiti, properly tarmacced roads, stalls, shops, people, hotels, villages and towns still seemed a novelty. We sped down the river valley, sometimes hitting 80km an hour.

But time was against us. I had decided to take the Jelori Pass rather the National Highway all the way to Shimla. Its a more direct route with less traffic, and a lot more scenic, but the road is a lot more windy, and significantly lower grade. I had taken this road a couple of weeks before, when I travelled from Chirgeon to Raju's homestay, and I had forgotten how bad it was.

We made the 3000m pass about 5pm. Not bad time really, but Shimla was still 180 odd kilometres away and night was falling,

'Are you sure this a quicker route?' Dan asked again. 'No, but its more direct'. I started feeling terribly guilty about going this way, and kicking myself for the decision. Dan was planning to drive to Delhi the next day to catch his flight, and it looked like we wouldn't get back to Shimla.

'We aren't going to make it, are we. Perhaps we better stay somewhere else. Narkanda, how about that, only 80km? Don't feel guilty mate, its not your fault'. But I felt that it was.

So we started down the pass, which dropped probably about 1800m. Quickly it got dark, but the air was a lot warmer and felt almost tropical compared to the temperatures we had been in. Although visibility was low, it was exhilarating.

At the bottom, Dan turned to me and said 'I'm actually quite enjoying this. It reminds me of driving round at night when I was 16. Why don't we push on to Shimla?'.

And so we did. Drove for four hours under the stars, mostly up hills, overtaking a few lorries, but mostly we had the road to ourselves. At times it was exciting, at times cold, at times tedious, and probably at times dangerous too.

In a way, it was as challenging as the Road to Manali. The road took as much concentration, there was the discomfort of the cold, but there was also the thrill of the ride too.

Dan kept spirits up by laughing a lot and joking about the Indian Road Authority, bad drivers, and Bike Rental Shops. "Do you know what I'm going to say when people ask me how my holiday was? Character building!', or 'I took my girlfriend on a biking holiday round northern India. Jamaica? Yeah, I had to. She wanted to go to Thailand'.

There were some funny incidents on the route. We stopped for Chai in Narkanda, about 2 hours form Shimla, and had to shoo cows away from our bikes - they seemed to want to earth the leather gloves or lick the paint or something. Instead we watched them scavenge the rubbish piles, and then the heaps of plastic garbage that the shop owners had set on fire.

We eventually got to Spars Lodge at about 11. Food was waiting for us, and my usual room was ready. I was very glad to get there, and happy that we had pushed on.

The next morning I was still feeling guilty about the choice of route, but I realised that actually it was not really the route that was the problem, but our late starting time. I was feeling so bad because I was actually resentful about our late start.

So I took the mick out of Dan for being lazy romantic and slothful. He responded by saying my riding clothes were camp. And that I always ate his crisps when I said I didn't want any. I said he looked like he had leprosy he was peeling so much.... and so on and so on as men do to relieve tension and get things out in the open. We both laughed together and at each other and with each other and both felt a lot better for it.

I can recommend riding at night in India. There is little traffic and the stars are bright above. If you can understand and let go of guilt and bad feelings and resentment, then the world, wherever you are, is a wonderful place.

The Road to Manali

Getting out of bed in freezing temperatures in an unheated room is never easy, but at 5.30 in the morning, when it is still black outside and well below zero, and you have perhaps over indulged because of Divali, it is a battle of will.

But we did it, dressed in all the layers our wardrobe allowed, and waddled out to our bikes with all our kit. The stars were still bright, and only the merest smudge of sunrise in the sky.

Jamaica was there with hot chai, Mark had come to catch an early bus and Trixie to say goodbye too. Also too the truck promised had arrived with its driver Beejay. At the last minute, we woke up Spanish James, and insisted that he come with us too - Jamaica was not that happy as he thought it would take up space in the cab which we might need, but he needed to get to Manali and we had space.

It was sad saying goodbye. In the last 24 hours, we had come together as a family to celebrate Divali. We had visited monsateries, watched monks dance, drank and laughed together. But life is all about partings, and when you are traveling in foreign places, both meeting and leaving happens much more quickly and more intensely.

Before 7 we were on the road out heading north to Kunzum. Dan and I on Carmen and Butch, and James and Beejay following in the truck. It was cold. Colder than I had thought possible. The wind grasped out our skin through the layers of clothes, rasping them with icy fire. My hands grew colder and colder, until I could feel them no more, and my fingers turned into icicles of pain.

Dan was even more exposed, his gloves thinner and less wind proof. The roads were good, but less then 20km outside of Kaza, we had to pull over. Dan could not even speak he was in such pain. We tried to warm our hands on the engines of the bikes, but it took a long time to warm ourselves to a point we could continue.

20km and 20 minutes later we had to pull over again. The pain in our hands was making driving dangerous - we could not feel the clutch or the accelerator. The landscape was stunning, the road winding through boulder fields with mountains marching on either side, but we could not appreciate it. As Dan said, 'Its beautiful, but its fucking horrible'.

Eventually though we made Losar, the last village before Kunzum and the only habitation until Manali. We stopped for Chai and breakfast of Parantha.

James asked to borrow some toilet paper, disappeared behind the building for a while, then came back with a smile on his face. 'A shit at 4000m. Unbelievable. I think this record will stand!',

Slowly the sun came up, warming the air bit by bit, raising our spirits and bringing life back into our bodies. The first hour of the journey was so painful, that I was not sure we could complete the journey. It was with a heavy, dread heart, that we turned our bikes north, and started the rise to the 5500m high pass of Kunzum-La.

Snow started creeping down from the mountains until it covered the banks of the road. Specks of white started to appear on the path. Soon patches of ice between the rocks. We were able to steer around most of them at first, but there soon came areas where we had to drive over them. And then ahead, a 50m stretch of snow, with two watery tracks between them where a lorry had passed. We stopped, drew a breath, and then nosed our bikes through.

A slight skid, a quick adjustment, a slip... and then we were through. The snow behind us, back onto the rocky path. The road wound higher, the steep turns occasionally glittering with frost, but no other really tricky patches. Higher and higher, until we crested the ridge, and the pass of Kunzum-La was before us.

A high desolate but beautiful place, White mountains in every direction, still and quiet. There was a shrine at the top, covered in flags. It felt peaceful and serene, and to be honest, not at all what I was expecting. There was no howling winds, no bitter gales, no vengeful traps waiting for us. I prayed at the shrine for a moment thanking her for her generosity and asking for her blessing, left a donation, and then we carried on.

The path down was easier than the ascent and we started to pull away from James and Beejay in the truck. About 500m down, the path levelled off into a river valley.

It was an eerie yet thrilling ride. Boulders everywhere, some the size of houses, some the size of cars, some smaller, football sized, as if they had been torn from the mountains and tossed randomly about. Almost as if the Gods in some ancient war had laid waste to the place. The road itself was just rubble, streams occasionally crossing it. It was a thrilling landscape to drive though, much better terrain for bikes than cars, and we sped through. The truck was left far behind as we sped through. Nothing on the road, perhaps 10 vehicles drive through each day.

We stopped twice to allow the truck to cat up. Firstly by an abandoned guesthouse, and then by a bizarrely open chai shop, 3 hours drive from the nearest habitation. Dan and I were in excellent spirits, our pain from the early morning start forgotten.

'The conversation is excellent in the truck'. James joked ruefully in his accented English, a smile playing at his lips. 'One sentence. "You staying Manali?"

We started again on the road to Rohtang. Not paved, but after our experiences of the last weeks, easy. And then tarmac appeared and our speed increased up to about 60.

A turn off to Lay and Ladakh halfway up, which called to me and beckoned me, but we had to ignore it. The pass that way is definitely closed.

And then we were at the top, and a scene that I was not expecting. Coachloads of Bengali tourists, drinking chai, riding ponies, driving along in little atv carts, some trying to ski. Vendors selling chai and roast corn on the cob. A joyful, family place.

And overlooking all of them, a shrine, seemingly proud and watchful of them, enjoying their exuberance. An atmosphere of warmth and benevolence.

James and Beejay caught up, and after a while, we continued the final 50km. Apart from a few tough stretches where they were making the road, it was tarmac all the way down. Green grass and trees, neither of which we had seen for more than a week were very welcome.

So eventually we drew into Manali around 6pm, just as the sun was setting. Decided to stay in Vashist, a tourist village a couple of kilometres on the advice of a girl we met on an Enfield.

It has an atmosphere similar to the Kho San road in Bangkok, all tourist shops, internet cafes, restaurants and hotels, with a real traveller vibe. A hotel manager found us as we were unloading, so rooms were forthcoming.

We said goodbye to Beejay, and after a shower, had a festive meal and beer together.

We had completed the drive accross the passes. In the end, it was not so difficult or as fearsome as I thought. The weather was beautiful, the roads were good for us. We could have done it easily without the truck and Beejay, but it was good to know they were there behind us.

I had heard the legend of Rohtang and Kunzum-La the day before. It seemed to me that they had learned their lessons - they were kind and benevolent on the day. The valleys are once again prosperous and holy, the people rich and happy again. From the bottom of my heart, I hope that they are soon re-united with their father
in the realm of the Gods.

Divali

It is Divali. I am sitting out on the balcony of the hotel, drinking a beer. The sun went in about an hour ago so it is starting to get dark and cold. A gang of about 5 or 6 kids, maybe 9 or 10 years of age are happily setting off fireworks, rockets, bangers, roman candles and sparklers in the car park below me. There are loud bangs from elsewhere in the town as others set of squibs, each time I jump a little.

There is a joyful party atmosphere everywhere, there has been all day. It feels amazing to be here, like I am in exactly the place I am meant to be, do exactly what I am supposed to be doing.

I spent an hour or so this morning, trying to capture some of the spirit of the village with my camera. It doesn't really do it justice, but a few scenes that caught y eye. The tables of fireworks, the tables spread with sweets, the people sitting outside of their stores - I even came across Trixie learning how to knit at a wool shop. This was particularly poignant for me, as it really reminded me of my Auntie Pat, who is 84 and still running her wool shop in Rugby.

The day had started poorly though. Dan's bike was squealing every time he applied the back break. He took the wheel off, but the break shoes seemed ok. No matter what he did; adjusting the chain, the sensitivity of the break, the alignment of the wheel, nothing worked.

Carmen was also severely underpowered. I hadn't really noticed as it was a gradual decline, but the last couple of days, motor crossing and up in Comic I have sometimes hardly had power to pull away.

After a frustrating couple of hours we retired for a cup of tea to discuss plans. The thought of having to go back to Shimla the way we had come was hovering unpleasantly in both our minds. It felt like failure, like defeat.

The two high passes of Kunzum and Rohtang were like two beasts we had to slay, two riddles to solve, two challenges to face. But the warnings of Jamaica, and the forecast, and the need not to be totally reckless also weighed heavy too. Getting stuck 60km from anywhere, in sub zero temperatures is a real risk if we attempted this.

Then I had a thought. 'Dan, you know that taxis are still doing this run?' 'yes' Dan replied.

'Well probably if taxis can do it, then trucks probably can as well. They probably are anyway'.

'Yeah, so.'

'Well how about if we rented a truck instead of a jeep. A small one. We could put the bikes in the back, and go over the passes safely'.

'Hmm, now thats an idea.' Dan said thoughtfully. 'But I still want to attempt it. I want to say I have ridden these passes. I don't want to be defeated by them'.

Now it was his turn to have an idea. 'But hang on,' jhe continued, 'We could get the truck, but we don't have to use it'.

'I don't understand'. I said.

'Why don't we hire the truck, and have it follow behind us', Dan continued excitedly. 'You know like a support vehicle. There if we need it. It could carry our bags, and perhaps another passenger'.

And so the plan was decided. We approached Jamaica, who was at the same time relieved that we were not going to try the pass by ourselves, and baffled by the fact that we still wanted to ride it. But he went to work to try and find a suitable truck and driver.

We went back to work on the bikes. Dan tried filing down the break shoes, whilst I went out on my photo expedition, and when I came back, he was beaming widely, and his breaks made no noise.

'I should have realised immediately,' he said ruefully, 'the break shoes had an oii leak on them and needed to be roughed up a bit with a file. I'm loosing my touch'.

But he wasn't, because he then went to work on my bike. He disassembled the carburettor, adjusted a needle, because he said the mixture was too petrol rich. This would introduce more air. Whatever it was it worked, Carmen pulled away up hill in 2nd gear, like Usain Bolt winning his Gold medals.

Dan is like a wizard with the bikes. He seems to know everything about them, and even just with a few tools in the middle of nowhere be able to fix any problem. I am utterly in awe of his technical ability.

James from the Canary Islands, (pronounced Hhhhhem, like you are clearing your throat), whom we had met in Nako had arrived that morning. With nothing better to do, we took him and Trixie on the back of our bikes to the monastery at Kye, we had visited two days before.

It was a beautiful day, the valley looked stunning and riding with passengers was fun. we reached the monastery in quick time, and looked round the different Gompas again. I was able to act as tour guide, as all the information from my last visit was still very much in my mind. Was able to show them the Dalai Llamas personal quarters from when he stayed here, a stupa containing the ashes of the monastery's founding abbot, and some 600 year old all hangings.

Walked to some big Golden Buddha statues (although they may have been some other supernatural beings from the Tibetan Pantheon) this time as well. They have a great view over the valley, but must get bloody cold.

We stopped by the bridge on the way back to appreciate the dying rays of the sun. The light was spectacular, and made the undulating river turn into silver fire.

Back in Kaza, everyone was in party sprit. People were wandering round happily, buying fireworks and setting them off.

It felt like we had gathered a little family around us for Divali too; James, Trixie, an English Software engineer called Mark whom we had met at the Buddhist festival and had come to the hotel and of course the irrepressible Jamaica. We ate together, laughed and talked, and then set our own fireworks off from the roof.

'Yeah man, I have sorted out your truck,' Jamiaca said over dinner. 'He is coming at 6 tomorrow morning.'

So it looks like we get to pit our wits, skill, strength, endurance and stamina against Kunzum-La and Rohtang after all. Will we slay the beasts, past the tests, rise to the challenge or be found wanting I wonder. I cannot wait.

The Legend of Kunzum-La and Rohtang

A long time ago in the Kingdom of the mountains, lived an old and good king. He ruled his lands with justice and wisdom and his was loved by his people.

There were two large valleys in his Kingdom, Kullu and Spiti. Kullu was rich and fertile, filled with fruit orchards, vegetable plantations and rivers teaming with fish. The people here were mostly farmers.

Spiti was high and beautiful, the realm of the Gods. This valley was a pilgrimage site for people from all over the world, who would come to pray at the monasteries, where devout and spiritually enlightened monks would bless their lives, families and business's.

The King was wise in all ways apart from one. He had two children, a boy and a girl, Rohtang and Kunzum-La, and loved them so much that he denied them nothing, and could never discipline them. They were not loved by the people, as they were selfish, spoiled and sometimes cruel. They became bitter and jealous of how much the people loved their father.

When the King was on his deathbed, he called his children to him.

'My Children, my time on Earth draws near, and I will soon be in the realm of the Gods. I have called you here now, so you may hear my final will and instructions.

'Rohtang, you my Son, will rule over the Kullu valley, its rich farmlands, natural resources and honest people.

'My daughter Kunzum-La, for you I give you Spiti - its holy places, venerated monks and many pilgrims that come there.

'Rule wisely and gently my children, for you will be judged on how you treat them, both in this world and the next.

Shortly afterwards, the King died, and Rohtang and Kunzum-La inherited their kingdoms.

But they did not heed their fathers advice, and each begun their rule with cruelty and harshness.

Rohtang began taxing the farmers beyond what they could pay. He demanded so much tribute that the they had nothing to grow for themselves, and began to starve. When they could no longer pay they were thrown in prison. The rich farmlands soon began to be either over farmed so they began to die, or be neglected when their farmers were unable to work the land because they were in prison.

Kunzum-La began her reign by charging pilgrims to come to the valley. Huge amounts of money to visit the monks and gain there blessings. Soon, people stopped coming. So she looked enviously at the riches of the monasteries and began to meddle in their affairs and tax them too. Slowly, the monasteries begun to shut down, as the monks moved out the valley and started to build monasteries in other places.

When Rohtang and Kunzum-La's separate kingdoms started to fall apart and the money dried up, they started looking at each others valley's with envious eyes. Rohtang thought of the riches of the monasteries and Kunzum-La at the rich farmlands. They had never been close, always jealous of resentful of each other, believing that their father had preferred the other one.

Eventually, the desire for the others lands grew so much, that each decided to invade the other. Kunzum-La rounded up all the monks and made them into soldiers, and Rohtang conscripted all the farmers, armed them and forced them to march to meet his sister in battle.

It was a terrible war. Thousands died. The farmers weak from lack of food and the monks unused to fighting forced to kill each other. The brother and sister sitting back, hating each other and their own people.

At the end, there was no victor. Both valleys were devastated, people killed, farmlands destroyed, monasteries sacked. Both valley's ruined.

Rohtang and Kunzum=La met each other in one final gargantuan battle. It was so vicious that the ground itself was torn apart, They both sustained terrible wounds and shortly afterwards died. No one mourned them because there was no one left to mourn.

In the realm of the Gods, their father, who had been taken to live with them, looked on in horror. His lifes work destroyed, and the people he had ruled over for so long killed.

When Rohtang and Kunzum-La were at the gates of heaven, waiting to be judged their father and Gods passed sentence on them.

'You have killed thousands of people, laid waste to valleys, destroyed holy places through your own vanity, selfishness and greed. There is no place with the Gods for you here.

'Instead, you are sentenced to forever look over the valleys you destroyed, and repent of your actions.

'There will be no release for you until the valleys have recovered, the farmlands once again rich and the holy places once again a destination for pilgrims.

'This is my judgement on you. Stay there, in your own prison, until you have learned your lessons'.

So the Gods transformed the brother and sister into Mountains, each at the head of their valley. High, desolate, mountains, filled with anger and hate at the Gods and the people below them.

There they stand still, exacting vengeance on anybody who tries to cross them; freezing them with ice, trapping them with snow falls, crushing them with treacherous landfalls. Still angry and hateful, still not having learnt their lessons.

Relationship Management, Dancing Llamas and the Girls playing up

Another session with Jamaica and his home boys last night in the front lounge. This time we drank local wine, although it is actually whiskey made from barley. Joined by three of his other guests, lecturers in business from a University in the Punjab. It was quite interesting to discuss and compare our different educational systems, complaints about management and students seem to be universal. They were very interested in Dan's role as a business advisor in Afghanistan.

Started earlier than usual with a service of the bikes. As we were going to attempt the 200km drive to Manali the next day, across the fearsome Kunzum-La and Rohtang passes, we wanted to make sure our bikes were in top condition.

Dan showed me how to check gear and primary chain oil - I was almost out on both. Colourful language about Rajesh in Delhi, and for me the engineer in Karsol too, were forthcoming. I am fortunate to have Dan with me, who is not only a good bike engineer but a patient mechanics teacher as well. I have learnt a lot from him in the last 2 weeks, and feel much more confident about routine checking and servicing. Also tightened my chain and cleaned my air filter whilst Dan took his to a workshop to get a bit of body work straightened out.

It felt a bit like relationship maintenance. Spending a bit of quality time with our 'girls', making sure they were all right, spoiling them perhaps with new oil and ironing out other problems. We only have them on hire, and eventually they must go back to the evil pimp Rajesh in Delhi, but whilst they are with us, I intend to try my best to treat them properly. I am of course learning how to treat the 'girl' properly, but I am very willing.

Our destination today was Comic, high up on the Eastern Side of the Spiti valley, with views to the Tibetan Plateaux. There was a festival to be held at the monastery there, and we had the chance to see the dance of the Llama's.

We were joined by Trixie, a Romanian/German girl we had met briefly the day before. She really wanted to go to see the monks dance, liked bikes, and I think enjoyed the company. She is a curator in Berlin, but is taking some time out. She proved good company today, and I know that Dan appreciated having a girl on the back of Butch.

The road climbed forever it seemed, but just when we had almost given up hope of ever reaching it, around a corner were the buildings of the monastery, and a little below them, the hamlet of Comic.

Comic is 4700m high and boasts to be the highest village in Asia. We certainly felt light headed and easily tired walking about.

We were greeted by the Vice President of Kaza, who took us to a little room and served us Chai and biscuits. As non Indians, we must have been seen as VIP's. He invited us to look round the Gompa, have some lunch and then watch the Llamas dance.

Had a quick look round the Gompa, and then went for lunch. There must have been between 450 and 500 people, so the catering was no mean feat. There was a field kitchen set up, and they gave out big portions of rice, dhal, potato curry, egg curry and a steamed bread item I have not seen before.

The dance was held in the courtyard of the main Gompa. It was enclosed on all sides, and a sizeable crowd gathered to watch them.

Firstly, 2 boys with fearsome yellow masks on came strutting out of the temple and down the steps. They danced around a bit looking scary, and then proceeded to act like bouncers, keeping the crowd in line and frightening the little children.

Next came the musicians, horns and drums. They set up shop in the corner and kept a constant din going thoughout the performance.

Then came the Llamas. Fabulously dressed as possibly demons, protectors, yoginis,
Boddhisatvas, dragons, they came out and danced round a mandala in the centre of the yard.

It went on for ages without much change, and as the sun went down, it actually got a bit cold and monotonous. But suddenly, without any warning, it seemed to be over, and people were rushing to lie down on the floor at the exit. This was so the Demons, Devils or Gods or whatever, could step over them and bring them luck or blessings or something.

The processions went on outside, down a marked path to a little clearing, and carried on in much the same manner. However, we were keeping a watchful eye on the time and the temperature and decided to head home.

Unfortunately a few problems with the bikes on the last stretch, Mine kept misfiring and Dan's rear brake started screeching terribly. We decided very quickly that the long ride to Manali tomorrow was not now a possibility. We would have to take Dans rear wheel off and this could take upwards of an hour. My carburettor would have to be drained too to hopefully stop the misfiring. It is at least 11 hours in the saddle over difficult terrain and this would not leave us enough time.

Also, we have had some reports of the road, there is ice on the road. This time lat year the passes were already closed with 4 feet of snow.

So it looks like our duel with Kunzam-La and The Rohtang will wait at least one day and possibly not at all. It is probable that we may have to go back to Shimla the way we came.

It is bitterly disappointing to have the problems with the bikes and the weateher, but it is far better to have them now, than somewhere between the two with no help of nearby. Maybe the girls are playing up, but maybe they are saving our lives.

Jamaica

'My name is Jamaica, like the rum. My real name? I think it best you call me Jamaica!

'So man, this room has nice view, but sometimes hot water shower not coming. NO problem hot water, just shower sometimes not work. But no woriries man, you can use mine.

'What you want for supper? We have chicken curry tonight. You wanna go somewhere in town? No problem, but if not find, come have dinner with me and my friends. We have a little rum, some laughs.

'Only one or two. I don't really drink you know. And no charis shit either. Changes you man, sometimes quiet, sometimes sad, and then angry like you flick a switch.

'I have German Girlfriend, but she like the black. I tried to say no, but she like, so in the end we split. No wife now. It does this to you [Jamaica his his arms in tight round his chest simulating being smothered].

'I grow up in the Punjab. Harbejan Singh, you know, the cricketer, he my neighbour, we play in cricket in the street together. Now he in Channai, big fat car!

'My family are very international. I have uncle in America, sister in London, another brother in Auckland. I go live with them for a few years each. They do all sorts. Uncle security manager, brother does gardens, sister studying law.

'I am trying to get Zealand citizenship. Take fucking years man! Another one I think and then they let me in. I will go thtere and start business.

'Hotels, I been doing this for severn years man. I think I like people, like to eat what I like when I like. This hotel I have leased for another 2 years. First season. You are 802'nd guest of the year.

'Mostly package tours. Mostly Indian. Sometimes even film crew. I have group coming on the 26th, otherwise I would close.

'Just started a place in Goa, Jamaica's in Arambol. My staff are there now getting it ready. I go down in maybe a week. You have been there, you know?

'Five six years ago, very different. Party there every night, all night. Now Police come about 11, wanting big backshish. Also, not good for workers beng woken up at all times by people wanting food.

'All sorts of people there. Israelis? Yes lots. They can be quite difficult, quite angry sometimes, they always haggle and complain about price. But can be very generous and by drinks for everyone in club. They smoke some much charis though, from lunchtime chillums you know, all come out.

'Russians too know. They are all so rich. Once came to me and said lets make partnership. He say he will give me whatever I need. But I say I need to get to know you man - maybe one year maybe two. And then I heard people say he in drugs market - LSD, pills, brown. Too much, I don't want that shit.

Lots to do here man. I think tomorrow you see Kye Monastery, Kibber too. Even village even further up, you have to go there by basket. But if yo do one thing, 1km before Kibber there is blue sign in Hindi. Is for a wildlife sanctuary. You see stuff there for sure man.

So what time you want breakfast, 8, 9 no problem. What you want? Paratha and masala omelette? No problem. Roti and jam, yeah sure. And chai when you wake? 8, I have it at your door.

Tibetan Buddhism and the Achievements of off road biking

So last nights binge with the locals went ok. We were led to a small room, with seating on the floor in a horse shoe shape. A tv showing India's humiliation of England at cricket provided a background. We drank rum, ate chicken curry, shook hands with a few locals, and mostly listened to Jamaica monologuing about himself, his history and his businesses. And how he could help his.

The rum had an excellent effect on me - I slept much warmer and happier, and was not wakened until the chai wallah banged on the door. Dan however, slept far worse. I think that this reflects better on Dan more generally - my system is obviously much happier passing out when drunk.

We started the day's tour round Spiti with some action shots of us driving the bikes around. I have deliberately not included any pictures of me so far, but have put a couple in today. Our video attempts are laughable - no doubt some of them will emerge somewhere if Dan is feeling vindictive.

We took Jamaica's ideas for the day and headed out to Kye monastery. About 11km from Kaza it is perched on a hill overlooking the valley.

Dan is not really comfortable around religion or spirituality, so whilst tried to lurk inconspicuoulsy in the courtyard, I was shown the different Gompas by two different monks, Lobsang and Thakchen (pics below). These are combination meditation/teaching/shrine rooms.

The monastery has been there almost 1000 years, and a lot of the relics and artefacts there date back to this time. Hangings of the different incarnations of the Buddha's, statues of different Lama's and teachers, mandala's, offering bowls, prayer scrolls of the Buddhas teachings, small cheda's and stupas containing relics of previous teachers.... more than I can remember or write.

It was actually very familiar to me. For several years I studied and practiced with the New Kadampa Tradition, which is a Western Interpretation of Gelugpa Tibetan Buddhism. I recognised Maitreya Buddha, Heruka Buddha, Green Tara and Je Tsongkhapa, and was able to say a couple of prayers.

There was a lot that I disagreed with and eventually rejected about Kadampa Buddhism but it felt good to go and just touch base with this part of my life and history. I am not here on a quest of spiritual discovery, but in some ways life, and living, and being really in the moment is itself a transcendental experience.

So it was back to Carmen and Butch and to experience some, if not transcendental, then very moving, very quickly moving, experiences.

Kibber, a few miles up the hill was rustic and mostly closed. The next village after that looked enticingly at us, but it was only accessible by a basket on a wire over a gorge., and the road did not lead directly there.

We decided to head back down to see if we could find the wildlife sanctuary that Jamaica had told us about. This was a track that led off the main road and wound up into the hills.

We didn't see any wildlife (although the roar of an Enfiled might be mistaken for the mating cry of a snow leopard they are actualy quite different), but I did have my first experience of true off road biking.

The track looped in wide chicanes, but there were steep shortcuts cutting out the bends. Dan roared off up them with no problem, but Carmen really struggled. Partly it was my inexperience and nervousness at hitting them at speed, but also she struggles with steep hills at high altitude.

The road went higher and higher, higher than i think I have been before, Over hills and round little valleys until eventually it ended in a little house (pic below). The path actually continued, but it was over road base layer, and the football sized boulders are impossible for us to ride over. We passed a man on a donkey who said there was no way forward anyway, so we headed back.

Overall I enjoyed my first taste of off roading. I struggled at times, got cold and nervous at others, wished it was over and we could just stick to the roads once or twice, but completed some difficult and challenging sections at very high altitude. I don't think I am going to be taking up motor cross, but I do have a sense of achievement and success right now for having done it.

Good job too as we made Kaza just as the sun was setting. Over Momos, we met a girl from Romania called Trixie, who is here for a year. Also bought some North Face knock off gillies from a very chatty man called Papu who gave us some lemon tea.

The weather is going to be best for the mammoth ride to Manali on Wednesday. So we are going to stay here an extra day, and go to a festival in Comic, another small remote village, tomorrow.

Tonight, it is dinner with Jamaica and chums again. He has promised to bring some local wine, so I am anticipating another good sleep.

Why I am here Part 1

It is 1993 in Brighton. I am home from University for the deliciously long Summer Holidays, with nothing much to do apart from kick about with old friends.

One evening, four of us go out. Damian Alex and I have been friends since we were 11, Jann joined us in VI form when we were 16. We drink as only you can when you are 20, tell jokes and laugh like hyenas, flushed with youthful exuberance.

I cant remember the pubs we went to, but we end up in the Volks tavern, under the arches, near the pier. It is a small venue, for locals wanting to carry on drinking past the 11pm watershed.

Eventually, we exit into the balmy August evening. I remember the conversation we had by the arches as if it was yesterday.

'So what are we going to do when we finish University next year?' Damian asks.

'I dunno, get a job, come back here,' Jan says, 'Have fun like we do now'.

"I meant we should do something together, go somewhere, to celebrate', Damian said. He was always the one who needed the familiarity of old friends around him.

I already knew that I had a lot of wanderlust in me. I wanted to see the world, go on impossible adventures to improbably places. 'How about India?' I said, not thinking that anyone would be interested.

'Hey, I saw a program about that last night'. Alex said. 'It was about a motorbike company, Enfield, who sold all the machinery to India and they make them there now. Classic British bike'. Alex was into his bikes, and passed his test before the rest of us could drive a car.

A lighbulb went off in my head. "Hey, we could go out there, buy a bike each, and ride it home. The Khyber pass, Iran, Turkey. I am sure you can do it'.

'Yeah, and my Mum's a Buddhist', Jan chipped in excitedly. 'She knows loads of monasteries we could stay in up in the Himalayas'.

'I was thinking something more like Spain', Damian said a little frightened by the thought. 'You know lads on tour... the family has a villa there'.

The night ends with all of us staggering drunkenly home, very very happy. We did eventually go to Spain to stay in the Buxton Villa. 2 weeks of constant drinking in an empty resort, as the season was coming to a close. It was fun, but I knew that that kind of holiday wasn't really me.

Over the years, our group drifted apart. Jan got a job in Pizza Hut, married early, moved to Southampton and had kids. I fell out with Alex over a girl, and we didn't speak for several years. This broke Damian's heart and although tried his best to be peacemaker, he found the security he needed in his own family.

By the time we had all made up several years later, we had all moved on. They all had marriages and children, so we saw each other less and less.

The night ends with all of us staggering home, happily drunk. The future to us then wasn't something really important. But the memory of India and an Enfield stayed with me.

Childhood thrills and Jamaica's Inn

Started much more leisurely this morning. Took our time packing, having breakfast and enjoying the view. Like the day before, our hotel seemed to be a social hub - people dropping by for a chai, stopping to buy some supplies, or just coming in for a chat and to enjoy the early morning sun. The picture below kind of sums it up, the Mistress of the house is upstairs cleaning, there are a couple of people sitting in chairs outside, a man with a goat, and Dan getting Butch going.

The views were amazing in all directions; desert dry mountains, carved into fantastic shapes from millennia of water erosion. Even saw some wild deer.

We started fast and kept going that way. The road was excellent, fresh black tarmac through the barren lands, looping up high, probably to about 4000m, virtually no traffic. On the down hill, our speed increased to above 60km in places, keeping a racing line through the miner twists.

When we are young, we have an innate thrill of speed and acceleration - we seek out the stomach clenching toboggan run, the home made go-kart rushing down a hill, or a funfair roller coaster leaving our hearts in our mouths. Even when we are really young, the pleasure of being tossed seems to be an essential part of growing up. This seems to die out as we get older, but today, on this road, the excitement and adrenalin was almost overwhelming.

When we hit the valley floor (still over 3000m), the road deteriorated a little, but there was a line of trees, poplars I think, their leaves yellow and fading, and a dry stone wall to make it very quaint. Several herds of sheep and goats, leathery but friendly shepherds, and a few donkeys added to the rustic charm.

Our permits were checked at an army point, and a very small man came up. 'Hello, I am introducing myself. My name is Manuell. What is your names and professions? You are christians? Where you go now?'. It was felt quite surreal to find an Indian called Manuell, and we tried hard not to giggle.

Joey had suggested we stop in Tabo, but we made the town just after mid day, so we stopped for lunch at cafe with a nice rooftop and make some plans. We decided to push on to Kaza where we could refuel, and use it as a base for day trips gomorrowtyo visit some nearby small villages.stop there. We had the option of going onto a town up in the hills called Comic, but decided that after 3 nights in villages on the edge, we would try a different experience in a town.

Met a nice Swedish couple, who were coming from that direction, and drained some fuel from Butch so they could light their Primus stove. There was also a huddle of guys playing with dice, coins and shells. It looked quite complicated, like a circular chequers, but was obviously enthralling as in the hour and a half we were there, they scarcely looked up.

The clouds were drifting overhead, looking a bit threatening, and without the sun, it was cold. We headed back to the road.

The landscape changed once again - The valley turned almost into a flood plain, a pebbly and shale floor, the river in wide lazy cirls, like it was about to empty into a high dead sea. There colours had changed to, now it was slate and battleship greys, charcoals and leads. It is difficult to describe with such a small palette of colour words, but it was stark and majestic.

The road was no longer the oily black of newly laid tarmac, but mostly gravelly. Our pace did not really slow much though. My confidence and skill on Carmen has increased a lot, over all the surfaces I have ridden on. It has become less of chore, more of a challenge, even a pleasure to test myself on these roads. It was cold, and looked like rain, so we were keen to get there as soon as possible.

I expected Kaza to be a regional town like Rekong Peo, but it is very much a tourist centre. Every other building was a hotel, homestay or restaurant. Still with a lot of character though - adobe buildings, painted white, crumbling in places, mud floors, lots of livestock wandering around. Unfortunately though, it is now really out of season, and everything was shut.

We circled the town, and eventually found a homestay right on the river, with extraordinary views of the valley.. 'Jamaica', the garrulous owner, was very used to Europeans, and was very helpful. He took us for Chai, and explained that he has a hotel in Goa too, and will shortly be heading down there for the season.

Found an internet place, and checked in with a couple of people. I do worry that everything falls apart without me there, but all was ok.

We retired back to 'Jamaica's Inn. We are having Chicken Curry tonight and apparently rum. I think we are expected to act like hard drinking hells angels, but we are too old, too cold and too middle class for that.