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.