New shoes and Clinging to the Edge

There was ice outside when we awoke, but the sun burst over the mountains at seven and very quickly warmed up.

The light was beautiful, streaming straight down the valley and illuminating the village. We walked a mile or so and took some photos. Then settled up our bill, saddled up our horses, and headed back down the valley.

Dan was carrying all the luggage today for two reasons. Firstly, we had found one of the struts of my rack had sheared off - any more wright on it might have wrecked the entire subframe. Also, I was right at the end of my tank, and needed to lighten the load as it was at least 50km to the nearest petrol station.

For some reason, I was really much more unsteady on the bike. Dan speeded a long way ahead of me. The lack of weight and the tightened chain made the bike feel unstable. Almost skittish, like a colt with a new saddle or unfamiliar bridle on.

However, when I led, Carmen felt much happier. I know they are only bikes, but they do seem to have personalities - Carmen prefers to be riding shotgun for some reason, and is much more assertive in traffic, and likes to use her horn a lot more. 'Butch', as I have started to call Dans bike (its an Enfield Machismo) is much better over rougher surfaces, more powerful uphill, and likes to race on smooth flat surfaces.

Perhaps its just me, projecting our riding styles. but I like the thought that our iron steeds really have a their own characters. They are out in the paddock right now grazing together.

The clanking was still there, although not as bad, I needed the frame welding, and Dan needed a new air filter, Our itinerary meant that we had a stop in Recong Peo, the largest town on our trip for at least a week, so we made our repairs there.

Ashish from Lucky Motors, the last Enfield Mechanic before the Rohtang Pass, sorted my bike. He was perched cross legged on a bike when we first met him, smoking a cigarette, muttering casually into a mobile phone, and looking quite cool, in a way many motorbike riders appear to be. However, he replaced the chain in about 10 minutes, put a new nut on my rack, and sent me off to the welders whilst he and Dan wiggled the thrust plate on his bike. Or replaced an air filer or something.

The welder did my rack joint, in about 5 minutes. No safety goggles, or protective clothing, for 20rps. After all the work, Carmen felt a lot happier. No noises of complaint at all. Felt like I had taken her to the farrier to be reshod.

Over a thali lunch in a little shack by the motorbike shop, we got chatting to a man who was a trekking guide from Manali, but he was heading down to Rajasthan for the start of the season there. He asked where we were staying that night. 'In Kalpa, not far from here'.

'Its a pretty place,' he agreed. 'But you know there is a village higher up you can get to. Roghi, There is a guesthouse there. You could stay there. I will call him for you'.

So on such a recommendation, we found ourselves carefully picking our way along a narrow road cut into the mountainside. There was a drop of at least 1000m to the river valley below. There have been countless roads we have been on so far where should we, but for the grace of God, gone over then it would be curtains. But with this road, one slip and we would not even bounce before we hit the bottom.

Perched on the side of this road was Hotel GungaRam. The owner was waiting for us, and ushered us in to the courtyard. The hotel was unfinished, and the only two habitable rooms were hurriedly being cleaned. The corridor outside was bare concrete, the electrics were exposed, the paint was peeling, the plaster cracking and there was mould on the bathroom ceiling. Still, there was an amazing view over the steep valley to the snowy peaks on the other side, and a raised verandah with some nice ironwork, so we decided to stay. For some reason, it felt French. I could imagine old men drinking pastis and playing chess in the grimy dining room downstairs.

The rest of the village was clinging as desperately to the side of the hill as the hotel. And it seemed just as self consciously ill prepared for tourists. No shops, restaurants or cafes.

However, I quite warmed to the place. It had a very different atmosphere to Chitgung, which seemed to know that it was an attractive destination, and only tolerated tourists on sufferance.

I visited the temple, which was much smaller, but more welcoming. Boys were plying football in the enclosure, and the God in his throne room seemed almost to look out a little apologetically. A bit like an eccentric, awkward, but gentle and kind uncle suddenly having rich relations come and visit. Different to my experience in the temple last night.

I nodded my respects, thanked him for his hospitality and complimented him on his village. Then walked around the rest of the houses - many of them old and traditional, but all so precariously close to the void.

To work up an appetite, we walked back to the road and marvelled out how they could have built it. In several places there were supporting walls that could only have been made by dangling men over the edge. Gave me a strange and unpleasant feeling exposed at that height.

Dinner of dhal, cabbage and rice and then retired to our room to watch the paint and mould and listen to the tap dripping.