Driving in India and Nepal, you get a lot of practice doing this. The speed is not great, but all the time you have to be aware.
A little voice inside me gives a running commentary; 'Surface getting bumpy in metres, drop a gear, slow down', or 'motorcycles joining in from the left. Modify speed, look for the gaps', or 'bus belching fumes ahead. Pull out, see if there is space to overtake. yes, accelerate now', or even 'oncoming tractor slowing down. Expect the unexpected'.
Almost all of the time this is really helpful. It keeps your focus on the road, constantly alert, never allowing you an instant to switch of concentration.
But sometimes, the little voice that gives the commentary goes a bit too far.
In Bandipur the sun was shining down when I left. A clear blue sky, a crisp feel to the air. I carried my gear up to the bike, loaded up, and kicked her awake in one go.
But when I rounded the ridge to descend back to the main road, a blanket of obscured everything but the distant mountains. Almost like in a plane when you break through the cloud layer, and you see an infinite carpet of cotton wool stretching before you.
'This is a weather inversion'. The little voice remembered something from a geography lesson a long time ago. 'It is clear on the top of the mountains, but foggy, damp and rainy below'.
I took a few pictures and carried on down the road. 'Sharp turn to the left, watch that patch of moisture, make sure you are upright', said the voice. 'Road dry for twenty metres, then looks slippy. Drop down a gear'. After all the driving I had done, this was no problem. Much easier than anything in Himachel Pradesh.
When I got to the main road, the mist was not as bad as I had feared. Visibility was a good fifty metres, traffic was light and the road was mostly dry. A milestone said 'Kathmandu 146km'. I started off.
'Road a bit wet ahead. Slow down drop a gear'. 'Town ahead, be careful of people running out, slow down'. 'Two lorries, not room to overtake, stay behind them'. Twenty minutes later, I passed another milestone, Kathmandu 135km.
'Still a bit wet. You could easily come off here, keep speed down'. 'There is no kerb on the left here. If you hit that bump, you could easily slip down the slope and crash on the rocks below'. 'If you loose control on this un-tarmacced surface, you could slide the bike straight under the wheels of that oncoming lorry'. Another twenty minutes later the milestone said 127km.
'Wouldn't it be ironic to crash right now, just before you put the bike away for two weeks', the voice whispered as I took a bend. 'Just imagine if you had a little accident and bruised your leg, you wouldn't have to climb up Everest', it added. 'You still have 120km to go. At this speed its going to take you hours. You'll never get there'.
What was wrong with me. This little voice wasn't some angel or demon in my head. It was me, talking to myself, commenting on the road.
'You haven't had an accident in ages. Surely the chances are you will have one now'. 'Those buses could easily pull over and knock you over'. '115km, you'll never make it'.
'STOP IT!' I yelled, my voice drowned by the engine. I pulled over.
'Shut the fuck up', I shouted at myself. 'You are speaking shit. Fucking shut UP!' I was really upset. Why was the voice, normally so calm and helpful putting these poisonous thoughts into my head. Was it fate, would I really not make it to Kathmandu? I had heard from guidebooks and guides, that the road up was really twisty and windy, and Kathmandu a gridlocked and choked with traffic.
'I will not have you speak like this', I began lecturing myself, as I would a child. 'I will NOT put up with it. This is MY head, and these are MY voices. I will NOT let you put nasty thoughts in there'. I was beginning to get warmed up now.
'And furthermore, I WILL make it to Kathmandu. I have driven over 5000km on roads worse than this. I can handle this traffic, I can handle Kathmandu, I can handle YOU! I will get there, and if you cannot say anything helpful, then you can just sit in SILENCE!'. I roared the last sentence, now in quite a rage, scarcely noticing the small crowd that had gathered to watch the strange European shouting at himself.
I got back on the bike, kick started it aggressively and started off. There was a fierce determination inside me now. I would make Kathmandu, I would not crash, I had not come all this way for it to go wrong now. If it was fate for it to happen, well fate could frankly go and stick it where the sun don't shine, I was not going to let anything bad go wrong.
The milestones started coming quickly now. 104km, 85km, 61km. I drove confidently and assertively. 48km, 36, 23. The road or traffic hadn't deteriorated too much.
Eleven Kilometres out, some roadworks started and the traffic flow slowed. A few more lorries appeared. I was still the most powerful bike on the road, easily able to swiftly overtake them even on the steep slopes.
And then Kathmandu was before me, opening up as I crossed a ridge. The mountains were clear in the distance, it looked close enough to touch. I drove into the centre, looking for the congestion. Sure, it was busy, but nothing like even small cities in India.
The GPS on my phone had started working, so finding the hotel was easy. 'That'll show you' I muttered to the voice as I parked Ambliss up for the night and unloaded.
I am still not quite sure what to make of this little episode. Part of me thinks that it was a triumph of will over fate, but another part of me thinks it was a a depressive reaction to all the rum that I had consumed the night before.
Whatever I was in Kathmandu, safe, strong and ready for the next adventure.
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