It's Cold In Them Thar Hills!

The road from Leh to Manali is about 450km.

For 350km there are no petrol stations.

For 200km the road is above 4000m.

It's October.

The road is officially closed from 31st October onwards - There's a reason!

It's cold!

The road ascends pretty quickly from Leh to the second highest motorable road in the world. Tanglang La at 5338masl. (The highest Kardung La 5602m, is actually north of Leh. I got confused and thought we would be riding it. Hence why I excitedly bought a T-shirt - bugger it I'm still wearing it! Aparently there are higher passes in Tibet but none are 'motorable roads')

As I may have already pointed out, its cold up there. So cold in fact, the water in my camel pack on my back froze.

The air is also thin. At one point I got off the bike to walk 400m to see where Marc had gotten to. I was physically shattered. You literally have to gasp for air - so does the bike which suffered from a lack of power but kept going none the less.

The thin air makes the landscape appear more vivid though. Either through lack of polution or lack of oxygen to the brain.

We spent the entire day above 4000m. The landscape is incredible. The only people who seem to inhabit this region are those who maintain the road - and they are few and far between. We probably saw no more than 20 other vehicles all day.

Sometimes the road was good, mainly it was bad. An icy pothole got the better of me and both Marc and I had to push and pull the bike out. We were exhausted!

The final pass after 10 hours of riding was very snowy. Ice on the road was dificult to navigate, especially with very numb hands despite having heated grips and thick gortex gloves.

On our way down the sun was setting when we met a couple on a Royal Enfield on their way UP! They said they were going to camp on the other side of the pass, which was colder than the side we met them. Guy's, I hope you've made it!

We trudged onwards into the night in an attempt to get to Keylong, the first place with hotels since Leh. By the time we got there all the hotels refused to open their doors so we pitched our tent in the middle of the village square and settled down for the night. It was still cold, but I managed to sleep despite numb feet.

COLD!

Today we had an easy ride to Manali. Over the final pass of 4000m we found hundreds of Indians on holiday in bright shellsuits being shown what it's like to be cold in the snow.

There were so many of the going up and down a single lane road it was blocked for a couple of km in each direction due to a small avalanche.

The Indian method of dealing with any obstruction in the road is to drive as close to it as possible to prevent it from getting away presumably. Then honk your horn a lot to scare it into submission. It was quite amusing seeing hundreds of 4x4's in stationary traffic just honking, but luckily there was enough room for a bike to squeeze past.

The obstruction meant that we had completely clear roads on our way down to Manali. Here the roads were once again perfect tarmac.

When we got to Manali I had to take some clothes off since I was so warm now. Only 2000m altitude.

We bathed in the hot springs in front of our hotel. When the owner announced that the room is only 150 Rupees a night (about £2.50) we didn't even bother to haggle the price down as we usually do. Most places announce that a room is 1000Rs which we can mostly get down to less than 500.

A couple of nights are due here to recover from our ordeal whislt I plan what to do next...

From The Taliban To Tibetans In Exile

Howdy,

The last few days have been rather exciting.

Last I wrote, I was in Lahore.

A few days ago, we were sat on the roof of our hotel eating breakfast and chatting. Marc, who I had last seen in Istanbul had arrived after his mammoth mission through Syria, Jorden, Egypt, Saudia Arabia and Iran and so had John and Bev who I last saw in Erzurum.

Snipers!

Whilst chatting away about nothing in particular we heard 'pop pop pop'. Automatic gunfire. We had heard it before in Quetta so thought nothing of it. Sometimes the Pakistanis get a bit excitied and fire into the air. Suddenly there was a 'whoomph'. That was a shotgun. It was close. More gunfire and explosions followed, only about 50m from our hotel. We clambered to look over the walled rooftop terrace and could see smoke. This was serious. After locking the hotel door and keeping our heads down to avoid the police swat teams moving across the roof we turned on the TV to find out what was going on.

At first, some people had apparently tried to run from the police and had been shot at... this didnt make sense? Why use grenades? Shortly the truth came out... some men had "barged" (term used by the newsreader) into the Police station down the road. Still this was not the truth. Eventually we learnt that several men and women had attacked the police station wearing suicide vests and carrying kaleshnikovs. Lahore was no longer the safe haven it was supposed to be. The worrying thing was that the Taliban had apparently cells in the supposedly safe haven of Punjab. It was time to leave Pakistan and forget about the Karakorum Highway, which is apparently in bad condition anyway thanks to the Chinese, and run to India.
Marc and I had visas but the other guys didn't so we had to go our seperate ways. Hopefully you are all keeping safe and I'll see you in India!

So Marc and I left for the border. We were through rather painlessly and after buying beer and whisky from the duty free - our first allowed alcohol we were in India.

After celebrating with said beer we headed for Amritsar and the Golden Temple, a Sikh Pilgramage site where free accomodation was on offer. When we arrived we were ushered with the bikes into a central courtyard filled with pilgrims trying to settle down for the night. To our surprise the guys in charge forced a lot of these guys to move out of the way, some of whom were crippled, just so that we could have somewhere safe and secure to park our bikes. They didnt seem to mind since a big bright orange KTM causes a lot of interest, especially since orange seems to be a holy colour. They might have thought we were gods.

We wandered around the temple and what a difference it was to the Muslim countries. I could wear shorts and women walked around without headscarfs. Everything was so relaxed and so friendly. It was incredibly relaxing with music playing from a live band in the temple. We went inside with the pilgirms and tried to mimic whatever they were doing, which included touching the doorstep before entering and leaving.

Everything at the temple is free, including food and accomodation especially for backpackers. We ate with several hundred other people on the floor of a large hall. The sweet rice was fantastic, the dahl not so. Stupidly I drank from a bowl of water that had been provided, not thinking since I was thirsty. Big misake. I would pay for that a couple of days later.

The next day we set off early, after being surrounded by another curious crowd of onlookers who just try to get as close as possibly and just stand there staring at you, even if you're just sat on the bike looking back at them. A surreal experience.

Our plan was to make our way north to Jammu and Kashmir to attempt the worlds highest motorable road from Leh to Manali before it closed because of the weather since it passes over 5000m+. Word was that it was already closed, others said it was still possible for private vehicles.

We tried to get to Srinagar in one day. The roads started flat and boring filled with trucks and the usual cows and rickshaws before getting twistier and twister. Suddenly monkeys appeared on the road to add to the chaos with the trucks. The roads were fantastic, it was like the Alps all over again. The KTM handled fantastically now I had fully working suspension again.

It took 2 days to get to Srinagar, the capital of Kashmir. The road was brand new with almost all the way there and before passing into Kashmir valley we travelled through a tunnel, only one vehicle wide for at least 3 or 4 km. It was like travelling into a mine.

Marc makes a friend.

In Srinagar we were hassled by touts trying to get us to stay on a houseboat on the lake. They literally ran down the road after us but we found a hotel out of the way with secure parking.

That night the water from Amritsar caught up with me... it wasn't pretty. I spent the next day in bed. Marc spent the day making some woolen gloves up from wooley hats he bought. They look ridiculous.

Feeling better the next day we set off to Kargil. The scenery got better and better. Words cannot do it justice and pictures cannot show the beaty and majesty of the snow capped mountains.

From Kargil we went to Leh, and suddenly from Muslim Kashmir, we were in the land of Buddhists. Temples adorned the landscapes and faces changed from asian to oriental.

Children held their hands out to us as we passed for us to high five - much better than the stones they apparently throw on the Karakorom Highway.

The road to Leh is possibly one of the best I've ever ridden. At times the surface was aweful, but we flew over it on our rally bikes.

Along the way signs from the road building agency have little slogans like if married, divorce speed' and 'this is a higway not a runway'. Almost as if they had employed Master Yoda to write them. Some were quite spiritual, such as 'If you can dream it, you can do it'. After stopping to take a photo next to this fitting one I noticed I had a flat front tyre. What fun it is to change a tyre at 3000m altitude.

We went over a pass of 4096 meters. Higher than anything the alps have to offer. At one point a brand new road had been built, complete with road markings! Nowhere in India has road markings! It was literally like a racetrack.

We made it to Leh just as the Sun was setting and found a decent hotel with parking. At a restaurant last night I had chicken chowmein and dumplings. A wonderful change from curry.

Anyway, I'm off now to look at the monastry and to get news about the road onwards. Hopefully it's still open but we're really pushing it, it's very late in the year and snow is due any second. Hopefully not for a few more days.

Love Thy Neighbour

Now that most of the nagging little things on the bikes have been sorted, we could spend the day relaxing and decided to take the bus over to the Indian border at Wagah to have a gander at the infamous border closing ceremony. It was worth it.

Every night, about 1 hour before sunset, each side fills a small stadium with devotees to cheer on their countries border guards as they make a rather spectacular show of shutting the gate and saying "Fuck You" to the other side, but politely of course.

It starts with music. As the crowd piles in (men and women separated on the Pakistani side), each country tries to outdo the other by attempting to play tacky patriotic pop music as loud as possible to drown the other out.

Whilst waiting for the ceremony to begin, a car arrived from the Indian side and got the most raucous welcom to Pakistan by a couple of thousand people. I don't think they were expecting that.

Then some flag bearers, one an old man about 90, come and wave their flags about, dressed in Pakistani flag clothes.

Papa Pakistan

The ceremony begins with each side then howling like dogs at each other, I think the objective here was to howl the longest on one breath, which Pakistan seemed to win the most.

During all this the crowd goes wild with chants, applause and shouting.

Then the guards appear to do their stuff. The Pakistanis dressed all in black with a black head dress type thing, and the Indians in Khaki with a red one. They quick march up to the gate then back again and stomp around a lot in preparation.

Then they open the gates.

The guards stomp up to the gate from both sides and begin to engage in what can only be described as the most ridiculously choreographed show of taunting ever.

They kick their legs so high they almost break their own noses.

At one point two Indian guards and two Pakistani guards appear to do bear impressions at each other after a fit of stamping.

More howling ensues.

The crowd goes wild.

Eventually they prepare to take down their respective flags.

After undoing their ropes they appear to throw the slack at each other before lowering their flags in unison in an attempt to show that each side is equal. The Pakistani flag seemed to stay slightly higher than the Indian however...

Once the flag is lowered it is quickly folded and marched back to the guard house for safe keeping.

The captain of the guards from each side then approach to shake hands. It happens so quickly that if you blinked you'd miss it. I'm sure they must mutter something to the other side as well.

After some final kicking and stomping the border gates are closed for the night.

A job well done.

Till tomorrow...

Pakistan; Sponsored By Pepsi

So, We've been living in Lahore for the past week.

Its a typical sub-continental city. Dirty, noisy, dusty and full of weird and wonderful experiences but also so westernised at the same time, possibly due to remnants of colonial rule.

As usual in big cities, the first thing I do is to find a decent mechanic and workshop (David - who speaks both English and German!) where I can get all those naggling things on the bike sorted. This included sourcing some decent oil - fully synthetic shell helix car oil seems to be doing the job nicely. I also want some decent aluminium boxes, since the plastic ones are a bit on the small side for belongings due to the double skin for water which after much field testing is rather pointless. I would rather carry a big water container that can be disposed of. Also one of the boxes no longer locks onto the bike thanks to my tumble in the Iranian desert.

I've nicked one of Morgan's 45 litre Touratech boxes and have instructed some metalurgists to construct me two exactly idential ones from aluminium. The quoted cost is 13000 Rupees, or £100. So if theyre exactly the same they should be a complete bargain when compared to over £500 for a pair from Touratech.

I also ordered a load of new fork seal from Redline in the UK on Monday and was surprised to find them on my bed this morning after a shower, so I took the opportunity to spend the day rebuilding my front suspension to stop the leaking and get some decent damping back. Thankyou Darren in the UK for getting them sent out so quickly.

After 4 or 5 hours I had figured out how to take one fork apart, replace the seals and change the completely black old oil for fresh Mobil ATF fluid. It then only took me 1 - 2 hours to do the second one once I knew what I was doing.

David is pretty knowledgable but the problem with a lot of the Pakistanis who seem to randomly turn up at the workshop is that when I encounter a problem and stop to think my way round it, they imediately jump in, usually with a screwdriver and a hammer, to solve it. Not the best way but I hold myself back from screaming at them since I may require their help at a later time and don't want them hindering my work.

Yesterday Mark (www.theotherway.de) and I went off to explore the city for a change, and found our way to the old city where we munched many a samosa whilst wondering the tiny roads towards the fort. Everything happens on the street here, dentist, hairdressers, butchers, mechanics, and every shop had Pepsi or some sort of western brand name muraled on the ouside.

We had great fun on a couple of borrowed CD70 bikes. Seriously, the ultimate bike for travelling around the world is a Honda CG125. They can be fixed ANYWHERE! The drum breaks are crap, so much so I set off and promtly rode into another bike, and the gearbox is the wrong way round, but theyre awesome for getting around a city. Theyre also handy when I want to park my bike. I just pull over, lift up a couple of bikes that are in the way and have preferential parking, safe in the knowledge that no one will be able to lift the KTM out of the way.

At the fort and the adjoining mosque we were able to view the remnants of various items of sundry from the Prophet Mohammed, including his hair, teeth, clothes, staff and even a footprint - he had pretty big feet.

We were given a pretty decent tour thanks to a group of college students who turned up with their English teacher and were coaxed into practising the language with us, so I used them to my advantage.

Yesterday evening we went to 'food street' or one of them, where I had a fantastic chicken jalfrezi and garlic naan bread. It was possibly the best curry I've ever had but could have been even better if I was allowed a pint to wash it down with.

Roll on India!

Speaking of India, there will be women there. And monkeys, and elephants, and tigers. Woo!

Long Road to Ruin Part Deux

After making it to Quetta and servicing the bikes we wanted to make our way to Multan in the East. We were told that we should go down to Sukkur, 2 days ride, then up to Multan, another 2 days ride. We didn't like this idea since it would be a huge detour meaning less time for the KKH on our visa. Instead we hatched the plan to attempt to take the direct road East, which you apparently need a permit for.

We left the city late, at about 11am after hanging around for police escorts which never turned up and attempting to get fuel. For this stretch of the journey we had a support vehicle, and were joined by Jorgen and Helga, driving their bright orange VW camper van to Australia. How thankful we would later be to have them.

The road North was good, if slow due to the unorganised police escorts who we had managed to take by surprise in our escape from the city. They let us continue mostly and we made it to Lorelay by about 5pm where the police led us to the most unsecure secure compoud for us to camp for the night. Apparently it was safe in this police compound but literally anyone could walk in or climb over the wall to say hello, and they did.

After faffing around giving all of our details to various unorganised policemen, including, name, passport number, visa number, fathers name, favourite toothpaste and bloodtype we retreated to the safety of the camper van where we could close the doors and hide from the constant questions. Friendly, but incessant. Where are you from? Where are you going? What is your name? Then someone new turns up and the questions start again.

We awoke the next morning at sunrise, planning to spend the day getting to Multan, only 350km away. An easy day we thought... how wrong we were...

Soon after leaving the town and getting petrol the road descended into chaos. Gravel, dirt, dust, trucks and bumps. At first we could make fast progress on our offroad bikes, with Deutsch VW support trundling along behind. That was until George took a bump too fast and SNAP...the hydraulics of his uprated White Power rear shock absorber literally snapped in half. Bugger.

We were literally in the middle of nowhere. The possibility of getting a pickup to carry the crippled bike was an option, but everyone we spoke to didn't understand what we needed. Thankfully, the VW could carry George's luggage and he could limp the bike as far as possible, since the spring was still holding the back wheel up. Only problem was that if he hit a big bump, it could jump off what little support it had on the ruined cylinder.

We crawled along the remaining 60-80km of bad road, at times averaging only 20kph or less. Eventually we made it to decent roads and the border of Balochistan with Punjab. Sadly we met Laurel and Hardy at ta checkpoint. One of them let George through, the other one stopped us, then let us through after an argurment with the other. On the other side of the town there was another checkpoint who, because we had skipped the last, sent us back to the police station to write all of our details on a scrap of paper. This would ensure we were protected against the Taliban.

Finally we were allowed through, and at about 4pm with 3 hours of light, had another 160km to make it to Multan. Now the problem was that we had a mountain range to traverse, with some incredible scenery, good and bad roads and lots of twisties. On the other side of the mountain we were stopped by yet another checkpoint. Here, after much arguing about not needing escorts, we were allocated a Toyota pickup filled with elite Punjab police commandos. Compared with previous escorts, these guys could have fought off an army of Taliban zombies with their bare hands. Their official t-shirts had "No Fear" emblazoned across the back.

The problem now was that it was still over 100km to Multan, with fading light. We made it as far as DG Khan along the banks of the Indus river where we told the police that we needed to stop, since we had been riding for 12 hours, had not eaten, it was getting dark and the traffic was literally out to kill us. We tried to get them to let us stay in Muzzafucka (real name!) but they told us that the only 'safe' place from the Taliban was Multan about 60km away and refused to let us camp in a police compound. We had no choice, we had to break the cardinal rule of overlanding... don't ride at night.

After graphically attempting to explain that the traffic was much more dangerous than the Taliban, and recieving lots of smirks we were led off into the fray.

For what I said about the Iranians, I am sorry. The Pakistanis are worse. They will gladly overtake and force other cars off the road. At night, defensive driving doesn't work. During the day, it sort of does, just, but only if you're really bold. Even the gutter isn't safe as people still try to undertake. Thankfully the traffic can't go fast enough to cause serious problems. India doesn't bode well.

The police were fantastic. When it got busy they jumped out of their truck, stopped traffic, then let us ride through. For us it was safer to undertake slow vehicles on the hard (gravel) shoulder.

We were still only averaging about 40kph so stopped about halfway at a service station. For the first time in days we were in civilisation. They had icecream and crisps and redbull and air-conditioning since we were now at about 100masl in a very humid climate wearing full motorcycle gear. Sweaty is an understatement.

Eventually we made it to a hotel in Multan where I was sent out with the police to get numerous photocopies of passports and visas for some file somewhere whilst we had our first proper meal in over 24hours, KFC and Dominos pizza, to celebrate our triumph at having finally crossed Balochistan.

That night our bikes were possibly as secure as they would ever be, since they were watched over all night by 6 police officers armed with AK47's.

They next day we set off on our final leg to Lahore, once again with a police escort. This time they were the most efficient they had ever been, radioing ahead to men stationed at cross roads to stop traffic for us. I felt like royalty and I'm sure the Pakistanis were wondering who the 3 idiots on bikes who deserved so much attention were. The escort switch overs, usually completely hopeless, were as smooth as silk, with a new pickup with armed guards slipping ahead and the old one pulling off.

About 30km from Lahore they waved us on and we attempted to make our way through the fray to our desired hotel. Once again road rules don't apply.

The hostel is a fantastic little place, the Regale Internet Inn, and after dropping off George's luggage, Jorgen and Helga made a run for the Indian border. Thankyou so much for your help guys and good luck!

Last night we went out for a curry and for less than 100 rupees I had a beef keema, vegetable curry with ochra, limitless supplies of chapattis and a pepsi. The vegetable curry was possibly the best curry I've had, so simple yet so tasty. To finish off I had an icecream for 50 rupees. I was pretty much stuffed for little over £1!

We will need to spend a good week or more here awaiting the delivery of parts from England and doing yet more motorcycle maintainance. I am going to get hold of some fork seals and stop my leakiness once and for all as well as make sure the engine is happy and attempt to get someone to make me some nice metal panniers.

Almost anything seems to be available here, they even have Heinz baked beans!!! The only problem is that it's hot and humid with no aircon and rolling blackouts. Not good for a supposedly nuclear power. The city feels much more like somewhere in India. Today I saw a bloke with a monkey on a lead and people were quite happily playing cricket in the street whilst busses trundled past. Sadly Pakistan lost to New Zealand last night so I'm glad im not a Kiwi!