Day 11: Thorong Phedi to Muktinath via Thorong La Pass

An early start with a light breakfast of honey porridge (the best so far) and jam toast. We choked back our Diamox, packed our bags and began the slog to High Camp, making it there in just under an hour. While this first section was too rocky to ride, a more pressing concern was the tingly pins-and-needles sensation that robbed my digits of their function. A documented side effect of the Diamox formed a tag team with the frozen air, dropping a painful body slam on my ability to grip and forcing me to push me bike upwards with only my palms.

While waiting for Michi at high camp the pain grew to an excruciating degree, as if my digits were about to explode. Hastily retrieving Cactus SPG gloves from my pack I swapped out riding gloves for these toasty numbers and with extensive use of spirit fingers the pain started to fade. By the time we were pushing again my fingers had returned to normal and I could focus on the challenging but and occasionally rideable trail to the pass.

Michi soldiers on to the pass

Surprisingly, breathing was not too laboured, although the fact that a yak train following the same route dropped me was a humbling sign that I couldn’t match the blistering pace of these large Nepalese mammals. An hour in the riding got really good, as I was able to follow the narrow bench that had been compacted into the scree by so many trekkers and porter trains.

Yaks leading the charge to Thorong La

Spinning the final gradual climb to the pass and as I crested the summit a tangle of prayer flags signalled I’d made it. Clearly a celebratable accomplishment as flags were a metre deep in places, filling the barren pass with a vibrant and joyful energy.

Clumps of prayer flags signal our arrival at the pass

Michi was some way back, battling with the altitude and recent case of the runs, but when he finally made the top we celebrated with a block of chocolate and a call to both our families on the Speck’s satellite phone. Both families seemed pretty surprised to hear where we were calling from.

Ollie calls home from the pass

Gathering extensive photo evidence of our feat, we rugged up and dropped into the biggest gears our Rohloff’s could muster to begin the 1600m vertical descent. Growing in a crescendo of gnarl, the trail was never more than 2 feet wide and always littered with jagged scree ranging from toaster to kidney bean sized. Periodically we would stop and swap position in the train, primarily to give searing brake pads a chance to cool, but also to allow the other person to get photo and video footage capturing the feats of riding bravado against the immeasurably beautiful backdrop.
 

Michi shreds it down to Muktinath

  

Jaw dropping mountains were never in short supply, with Dhulghiri (7th highest in the world) forming a perfect triangular icon, and the rapidly expanding villages still a thousand metres below giving culture to the gnar. To my great surprise all of the trail bar two yak affected switchbacks were rideable, so as we buzzed into Muktinath at 1PM the stoke level was pretty high.


Ollie hooks a turn above Muktinath

Such an intense and draining descent was of course followed by a nap, then a stroll around the temple that gives the town its name. Water played a large role at this holy site, powering prayer wheels and a 108 spout fountain where we watched a strange cleansing ritual.

Some of the 108 fountain spouts at the Muktinath temple

On the cards tomorrow is another 2600m descent, but the 62km it is stretched over should be easier on the nerves and braking fingers than today’s memorable ride.

Day 10: Manang to Thorong Phedi

We pre-ordered a proven winner in the Yeti Hotel’s set breakfast, which made for a lightning fast 7:30AM getaway. In no time we were riding the smooth rocky steps out of town, with liberal bell use required to scatter the morning donkey trains.

Michi rides skyward from Manang

The skyward ride was surprisingly and enjoyably very ridable, only the odd gravelly pinch requiring a bit of extra grunt and an associated fit of puffing on completion.

Yak Yakara was where we spied our first of the woolliest of Himalayan mammals, the Yak. They were sunning themselves on the grassy slopes and posed non chalantly for photos.



Yak poses at Yak Yakara



We also witnessed a battle royale between mountain goats, clashing horns in a war for supremacy over the stinky herd. Michi and I placed bets on our favourite but the battle ended in a draw as they fled the scene.

Goats clash for herd supremacy

This high up there was a significant drop in trail traffic, with only the odd porter. A coke now costs eight times what it did in Kathmandu so porters that do make the effort are hopefully rewarded.

Big wheels monstering the trail to Thorong Phedi

We had planned to take the whole day to get to our destination but rolled into Thorong Phedi at 11:30AM, deciding to settle in with a game of chess over a pot of lemon tea.

The quality library at our guest house had clearly been established by people with time to kill acclimatising and was stocked with everything from Stephen King to Seven Years in Tibet (the book). I even garnered some sneaky tips from a guidebook for the Annapurna Trek.

One rather alarmingly reported that at least two days acclimatisation was the norm for this final section of the trek. Still feeling fine apart from the odd tingly appendage; a side effect of the Diamox we are taking to keep altitude sickness at bay.

Mist shrouded cliffs at Thorong Phedi

In the afternoon I braved the chill mountain air to get some pictures of the amazing cliffs and ranges surrounding us. One especially awesome use of prayer flags had them strung over a 100 metre canyon, and one could only speculate what combination of extreme rockclimbing or explosive devices had put the flags in place.

Guest lodge at Thorong Phedi, note insane prayer flag string in top right

We hit the hay early for an early breakfast and 6AM start to push for Thorong La pass then Muktinath arguably our biggest day so far.

Day 9: Acclimatising in Manang

In a first for the trip, the day began with an epic sleep in (almost till 8:30AM) when the sun’s rays bearing down o us from down the valley proved too powerful for our room’s feeble curtains.

Breakfast was a similarly laid back affair, toast with peanut butter and jam, an omelette, Manang potatoes and lemon tea.

A typical guest house in Manang complete with flowering potatoes out front

A young man we befriended yesterday informed us that Manang is famed for the quality of its potatoes, which are carried by donkey to fetch a high price in Kathmandu. A fried potato concoction at lunch confirmed the pedigree of the spuds beyond doubt.

We set off on a leisurely trek to a nearby viewpoint that gave even more gawk to the already literally breathtaking vistas. Up a steep series of switchbacks we passed strings of prayer flags that had just begun to flutter in the morning breeze.

Prayer flags flutter above Manang

Rather judgementally these flags had seemed like a bastardised cultural icon embraced by alternative lifestylers looking to add some Tibetan chic to their decor. But in this mountainous setting, and with the sun illuminating their greens, blues, whites, yellows and reds, I began to grasp some of their deeper meaning.

Ollie in hiking mode admires the view

Topping out at a curious grove of papery barked trees we sat in reflection before beginning a sedate descent back to Manang. Originally we had hoped to explore some caves at nearby Bakra, but a closer inspection of the map revealed they were back up at 4000m!

Instead of this we opted for a nap, then unburdened our steeds for some riding on the steep loose switchback of this morning’s walk.

Armed with Michi’s Fujifilm and my Sony Cybershot dodglily converted to a helmet cam, I played riding model for the afternoon, pushing then riding sections multiple times to get the perfect shot of shredding the scenic gnar.

Ollie shredding the gnar down to Manang

Riding downhill back to Manang was a cruisy way to end the day before we returned to the Yeti Hotel to get gear and bikes sorted for our climb to Thorong Phedi (the foot of Thorong) tomorrow. We are both feeling well rested and ready for whatever the mountain can throw at us.

Day 8: Timang to Manang

The day kicked off in spectacular fashion, with a rideable descent followed by a ridable climb, a combination of length and ridability we’d not yet experienced on the trail so far.

Super Sherpa and friends

On crossing a swing bridge between descent and climb we came across a porter that set the ‘hard core’ bar at a new level. His load was no less than four single mattresses and at least 40 cans, all perched precariously on his back. The complaints we had made about the weight and awkwardness of our loaded bikes seemed trivial in the company of this super Sherpa.

Michi gawks at mountains

As far as riding went, the trail just kept getting better. Always climbing towards the ever present peaks, lush rain forest gave way to conifer forest and then onto barren plains and eroded cliffs reminiscent of the South Island’s Molesworth station.

Ollie on a rocky section of trail

Finally arriving at Chame (only two days behind schedule) we came across a game of volleyball that had captured the attention of the entire town, allowing us to sneak through in relative obscurity.

Ollie crossing a bridge before Pisang

At Pisang, a beautiful hamlet perched beside a mountain river, we spied locals using mountain bikes for the first time. Clearly the changing trail made bicycles the preferred mode of transport, trumping even the mighty donkey.

Lunch in the sun allowed me to discover yet another gustatory delight in the form of the Tibetan Momo. These miniature crescent shaped pastries were filled with vegetables, eggs and delicious sauce. Steamed or fried they were sure to become the preferred source of calories.

The high altitude architecture of Pisang

As our elevation crept higher, the architecture also changed. Makeshift corrugated iron cladding gave way to hand hewn stone and planed timber milled using jigs not seen in New Zealand for almost half a century.

Finishing the day in Manang at 3450m so far the altitude has treated us kindly. The only ill effect to report so far is a severe shortness of breath when I attempt something silly like mashing up a particularly steep section.



Ollie cresting a climb close to Manang

The mountains surrounding us now and visible right outside our window are all consuming, with 8000m + peaks seemingly within a stone’s throw.

Manang sports its own quaint cinema complete with squashed yak rug. We watched the movie adaptation of J Krakauer’s ‘Into Thin Air’, and this served as a grim and chilling tale of the folly of mountain climbing. Our plan is to spend a day in Manang acclimatising before pushing for the highpoint of Thorong La the following day.

Day 7: Chamje to Timang

Setting off bright and early at 7:30AM, the guest house’s lack of toast forcing us to discover the greasy wonders of Tibetan bread. A pan-fried dough which is very satisfying if slathered with sufficient jam.

Michi tucks into a Tibetan bread for breakfast

Unrideable stairway climbs gave way to nuggety descents that proved beyond our ability. While I’m kicking myself for not riding some of these sections, my desire to ride was tempered by the lack of emergency medical treatment. Hospitals seemed as readily available as a spinner hub-cap kit for your donkey train (i.e. not very accessible.)

A donkey train without spinner hub-caps

Crossing a swing bridge we stopped for a curry lunch, using the sun’s glowing rays to dry our soggy clothes and fuel a post lunch nap.

Back on the bikes the trail took a turn for the better, the stretch to Timang being the most ridable since yesterday morning. For what seemed like hours we spun away up the climbs, which were a refreshingly consistent gradient and free from the bane of our forearms; steps.

Ollie rolls up a rideable section of the trail

The elevation robbing undulations of earlier had vanished and we clawed up almost 1000m of climbing by the day’s end.

When in a sweaty and oxygen indebted haze one particular charm of the small villages is beginning to grate. The constant donkey and buffalo traffic plasters the trail with dung. This attracts flies and a rancid stench that make some sections sickening. Fortunately it usually clears up outside the villages, and clear mountain air is usually only a few pedal strokes away.

Michi crosses a swingbridge, a river raging below

Midway through the afternoon at Danakyu we met an Austrian engineer tasked with advising a local team on a 150 Megawatt hydroelectricity project. While geographical and resource constraints were profound I couldn’t help picking up on some complaints which wouldn’t be out of place at the consultancy where I work. It seems the lack of a detailed scope especially is an issue the world over.

Michi endures a final carry section before Timang

We realised today that our 1000 Nepalese Rupees per day budget is at odds with our ambitious distance goals, so have made the call to err on the side of full stomachs lest we waste away. Part of maximising value has led to a new found passion for tea drinking, something the Nepalese take seriously. Lemon tea is a particular favourite and we can’t seem to order a meal without a steaming pot of the good stuff to wash it down.

We are still yet to make Chame which we had hoped to do on the first day, but all reports are that the sections to the pass are all rideable so we retired to bed in Timang with spirits as high as our elevation.

Day 6: Besi Sahar to Chamje

Today’s start was slightly delayed as the ferocious appetite of yesterday clearly carried over. Part of the blame can go to miscommunication as the waiter misunderstood our egg request & brought us 2 omelettes each. Extravagence.

Hitting the trail with only a brief stop to get permits checked and the road immediately became nuggety, a great relief after two days on the ‘road’. Straight away we started reeling in fluro-clad trekkers, my bar mounted bell proving a boon for subtly alerting them to our presence.

Ollie crosses an axle deep river with a grimace

Michi braves the monsoon fed torrent while a local stares

Stopping to get permits stamped again we descended a set of stairs leading to a swing bridge, the gathering throngs of villagers giving Michi some dutch courage to ride a set of stairs with great gusto. Unfortunately he lost is front tire on a slippery step and took a dirt nap. A less than ideal start.

Michi adopts the carry

Crashes aside, after the plain sailing of the first section, we were shocked to discover that the proceeding morning would be filled with steep stairs that forced us to shoulder our steeds and grovel up the hills. Come lunchtime it was wearing thin, but a plate of vegetable fried rice and a rousing downhill set the tone for an upbeat afternoon.

Not even a malfunctioning Rohloff (which reduced Michi to one gear) or a slit sidewall on my rear tire could quash the buzz of the views and trails we were being treated to.

Michi gets a push from some friendly locals

In an enduring theme of friendly locals, we befriended some children who gave us moral and physical support up one of the steepest pinches. We also met a young Iranian on holiday who induced cross cultural hysterics when he imitated the sleeping pose of a trail side dog.

Our Iranian friend mimics a trailside dog

One the darker side, the litter and trash of both locals and tourists still seems to mar the vistas, and the pushy demands for candy or money from some children is starting to wear thin.

Our final stop was about half our planned distance, the sheer undulation making our blind plans too ambitious, even after 9 hours of riding. Chamje however is amazing. Perched atop a cliff opposite a 100m waterfall whose sheer thunderous flow causes resonance of our room windows.

We are using sleeping bags for the first time, with plenty of insect repellent to keep the bloodthirsty at bay.

Day 5: Kurintar to Besi Sahar

All smiles as we hit the road

Breakfast of porridge, toast and pancakes gave way to a slightly delayed 8:30AM departure, some bike fettling required to install a rear brake pad that had been overwhelmed by the road gunk of yesterday.

Off on the road we were setting a cracking pace, taking advantage of the morning sun which cast a warm light on the tropical vistas surrounding us.

Michi rides past luminous rice paddies

Some foliage was so luminous that it was almost as if it had been freshly painted and was waiting to dry. This was a sure sign that the recently finished monsoon season had done wonders for the local crops. We’d timed our trip to perfection as attempting the route we’d chosen during the monsoon would have been akin to riding our bikes across a fire fighting equipment testing field.

The first time through Dumre we rode straight past the unmarked turnoff, only it wasn’t until the wrong side of a 600m climb that we realised our error. Back tracking 13km we made the turn, but by now the heat had become oppressive.

A pale skinned person of Swiss origin, Michi was more at home in the cool mountain air rather than the smothering heat blanket of the jungle, and began to melt into the road mirages. I too was suffering, a curious tingling in my feet spreading to my face, perhaps an early symptom of heat stroke.

Along the road we befriended a group of Nepalese high school kids who offered us a Sherpa style push up a steep section of road. We were stoked to learn they knew of Ed Hilary, and discussed what they had learnt today at school while we filled our water bladders from a roadside hose.



Our school age sherpas after their generous push

Stopping at a river to cool off feet and heads, I saw a snake, lizard, ants, dragon flies, spiders and a cow, all in one shady nook of the river. The sheer diversity of life in a small section of this tropical region was dazzling.

A dragon fly joins us to rest in the cool beside the river

Fortunately the Nepalese had revised their minimalist road signage policy to include distance markers, so counting down the kilometres it was with great relief when we pulled into Besi Sahar, booking a room at the Tukuche Peak hotel, the first clean lodgings we found.

An epic dinner ensued and the days ardours melted away in a mist of Fanta, fried rice, burger and naan bread. It was a hard day on the road, and tomorrow we begin the trail proper. We’ve a 2000m difference in height between Besi Sahar and Chamche, with hopefully not too many undulations in between. Today we made the error of skipping lunch, and 8 hours of riding on three Mountain man bars brought me to within a gnat’s whisker of the dreaded bonk. Dinner was however that much sweeter!

Day 4: Kathmandu to Kurintar

I awoke to Kathmandu’s curious dawn chorus. Barking dogs gave way to screeching birds then the occasional howl of monkeys, all set to a gradual crescendo of blaring car horns. The soundtrack of Kathmandu.

We fought jet-lag with a solid sleep in, which seems to have knocked my man flu on its arse. Breakfast of porridge, toast and tea filled in the time while we waited for our permits. The minutes and hours ticked by as our impatience grew, itching to escape the din. The 10AM time got pushed back to 11, and only by 12 did we have permits in hand and could finally hit the road.

Ventanas ready to roll.

Ollie waits (im)paitently

The delay had pushed our schedule back so we frantically set off through the hustle to Besi Sahar, some 170km away. Leaving the city, buildings thinned and the stench changed from the exhaust of vehicles  to that of animals as we climbed a hill signalling the edge of Kathmandu.

Trucks and busses appeared to be backed up so an intense game of bicycle tetris ensued. Riding across the centreline or ducking through handlebar wide gaps in the queue when trucks came perilously close.

Jammed for about 10km, traffic appeared to only be stopped for a single work crew collecting gravel from the roadside. I couldn’t help thinking that such whimsical traffic management would cause some highly strung kiwi to flip out in violent display of road rage. The Nepalese were content to sit in their vehicles and chill, smiling and waving as we rode past.

Ollie smiles despite the dampness

Rain fell but the air was warm so we continued to clock up the miles, stopping only to secure a floppy dry bag to Michi's Freeload & removing a screeching brake pad spring.

About 3 hours in to the ride Michi began to fade so we reassessed our ambitious distance goal.

Michi during a dryer section of the ride

As luck would have it, about 5:30PM just as dusk was settling we came across a dry oasis in the rain, the Riverside Springs Resort. Rooms were luxury and the promise of hot showers and dinner made the exorbitant room rate seem reasonable.

Dinner was rice themed, with fried rice and rice pudding washed down with a banana lassi. A brief scout for after dinner entertainment proved fruitless, so we retired to our rooms for a deep contented sleep, joined by the local reptilian population who clung to the inside of the window screens.

Lizards on the windows at the Luxury Riverside Spirngs Resort

Day 3: Singapore to Kathmandu

Waking at 4:30AM in a fit of coughing, we struggled through the jet-lag induced haze to board the MRT for the airport. Even at this ungodly hour we were sweating like sieves 10 minutes in, loaded to the gunnels with bike boxes and packs. The train didn’t arrive for 30 min, so we wiled away the time in air conditioned comfort.

Changi airport is the best I’ve come across so far in my travels, with a full range of services and some great architecture. Our flight was on Silk Air, and with none of the high class trimmings of Singapore Airlines I scalped a copy of the excellent Financial Times newspaper for entertainment. Inflight entertainment consisted of soundless repeats of funniest home videos which kept Michi in stitches.

Bikes dwarf our taxi from Kathmandu airport

On trying to pass through immigration we were informed that our money was no good for buying a visa, and only the almighty US dollar was valid. Sneaking ahead Michi enlisted the assistance of a tourist police officer and a trekking guide who kindly offered to lend us the visa money. Given I’d recently been the victim of a taxi scam in Chile, I was acutely aware of our vulnerability. No such scam eventuated in Nepal and our friend helped us out of the kindness of his heart. He even covered our taxi fare, found us a hotel after the place we’d booked denied our existence and sorted us out with permits for the trek. We’d be staying at the Hotel Blue Diamond, one of Kathmandu’s finest at $20 USD a night!

Ducks, dogs and children get down in the Kathmandu garbage

Arriving in Kathmandu and the contrasts with Singapore immediately hit us. While sterile is the word I’d use to describe where we departed from, filthy came to mind in Kathmandu. A raucous cacophony of honking horns and hazy smog greeted us in Thamel.

Traffic chaos and the web of a giant electrical spider

The streets blended foot traffic with cars scooters and bikes with no designated lanes making for an initially harrowing experience. Once we learned to hold our line and emit an air of staunch, walking about was pretty trouble free.

Stocking up for the trek we scored some sweet Foakleys and a genuine Mammut puffer jacket for $5 and $60 respectively, but not without some cut throat bartering with plenty of use of the threat to walk away. They are going to send us the warrantees. We also sourced a box of muesli bars and a roll of TP each from the supermarket, both western luxuries which we’d struggle to find on the trek.

A frenetic dusk ride on the bikes fulfilled our thirst for adventure; some of the scenes put NY’s famously reckless couriers to shame.

Our first Nepalese meal was a curry from the dodgy hotel restaurant, and with 170km on the cards tomorrow we hit the hay, stoked to finally be escaping civilisation.

Day 2: Chillin’ in Singapore

Our day began with a strange (but complimentary) breakfast of corn, cornflakes, pasta bake and ‘chicken’ sausage. We left the cool cocoon of our hostel and entered the city, already sweltering at 9AM. Walking around the high tech shopping district to source some computer parts for a family member, it struck us that nothing really happened before 11AM. We amused ourselves by trying to locate a store selling graphics cards, starting from the top of a 15 story tower and working our way down. We were unsuccessful but vowed to return to complete our quest later.

A walk to Singapore’s latest architectural monstrosity; The Marina Bay Sands, was next on our agenda. Effectively a stylised boat resting atop three gigantic towers, inspiration could have come from biblical tales of Noah, the flotilla of merchant chips discharging bilge in the adjacent bay, or just the Las Vegas financier’s desire to have a massive boat on top of massive towers.

The Marina Bay Sands in all its boat/towery glory

We paid our $20 to ride a lift to the boat for a breathtaking view of the skyline, and it was easy to see how Singapore packed so many people into such a small space, with high rises stretching into the haze.

Singapore skyline from the Bay Sands

When we grew tired of gawking at the view and watching the wealthy families indulge in the endless pool, we decided to find some water for ourselves as the heat had now become crippling. We’d heard that the Sentosa Island Resort was the place to head to, so boarded the MRT for the end of the line. Here we were confronted with a mall on roids, a muzac playing beast whose sole purpose was to fulfil the consumerist urges of seemingly everyone in Singapore.

Stopping for lunch we were tempted by a sushi train offering all manner of Japanese treats. Spotting a flyer for a buffet we hastily took a seat and began indulging. By the time we got to 25 plates we felt we had definitely got our money’s worth and could hear the chefs complaints as they struggled to keep the train stocked.

Michi feels the cumulative effects of 25 plates of sushi

On receiving the bill we were shocked to discover that the buffet didn’t apply at this particular restaurant. Eighty dollars later we had learnt to read the fine print, and vowed to return to an applicable restaurant to have our delicious revenge.

Only to discover it wasn't actually a buffet!

Negotiating the mall melee we boarded a monorail for Sentosa which turned out to be resort based on hyper reality, complete with Segway rides and inflated ice-cream prices. Our need for water cooling overcame our concerns over water quality with the previously mentioned flotilla (the world’s largest) visible only a couple of hundred metres off shore.

While swimming we observed a couple of metal detector wielding weirdoes prowling the beach. Michi was convinced they were searching for the lost treasures of the orient, while I was certain that they were the resorts defence against sharp metal objects discarded on the beach, a relic of some previous PR disaster.

A day full of walking in the heat had left us sapped and dry. We both hope that Nepal will be a tad cooler and are amping to saddle up in Nepal and get out into the wilderness.

Day 1: Christchurch to Singapore

Our plane ready for action on the Christchurch apron

Our departure from the autumnal chills of New Zealand went off with only minor mishaps. Michi had left behind our itinerary and schedule but quick thinking and even quicker response from our driver Nick meant we could relax. Travelling on Singapore Airlines, I was impressed by the plushness of the cabin space. While an aircraft cabin is as far from the most desirable place to be, good leg room and extensive inflight entertainment system quelled my desire to get up and jump about. It was quite a surprise when the pilot interrupted Charlie Wilson’s war to report with ear bleeding volume that we had begun our descent.

Our entry to Singapore was probably the easiest I’ve had to endure, the authorities putting our boxed bikes in the too hard basket and waving us through, a response seemingly at odds with their policy ‘death penalties for drug smugglers’ printed in red ink on the entry card.

Michi smiles through the travelling personal space violation that is the MRT

Boarding the MRT for downtown began as a quiet affair with only a dribble of airport commuters, but by the time we had reached the main line we were crammed in like sardines, our personal bubbles clearly violated by the sheer volume of Singaporeans. Their chagrin was evident as our bikes occupied the same space as approximately 6 metric persons, but we played the ignorant tourist card and felt their glares go right through us.

While Ollie zones out...

Up till now we had the pleasure of air conditioned carriages and buildings, but on departing the train we were flooded by the full sweaty reality of Singapore’s equatorial position. With no maps we set about lugging our bikes around the streets, eventually arriving at our hostel (complete with air conditioning) an hour and a bit later.

A quick shower and straight to bed, the cumulative effects of man flu, our slow roasting walk and jet lag taking their toll.

New design!

With a bit of time to reflect on the joys the blog brought me over my time in Patagonia, I decided to treat it to a webular extreme makeover. The result can now be seen before your very eyes!

In other breaking news, Cactus Equipment have generously decided to support our Nepal expedition which leaves next Monday. Preparations are well underway, and we'll be carrying a heap of gear in Cactus' awesome Henry pack from their 'fast and light' series.

Mountain Pedaler out...

Week 11 Patagonia – The final countdown...

To ensure continuity with the dreary theme of last week, we were again battered with the most appalling weather that Northern Patagonia could muster. Spirits were at an all time low during the week, but rather than bore you with verbose descriptions of the multitude of miseries we were put through I thought I’d share some entertaining sidebars that have helped us pass the time.

Speaking of time, it seems that our proximity to departure has conspired with the weather to slow the passage of days down to a crawl. Although I’ve been sans watch for the entirety of the trip the time keeping monkey residing deep within my hippocampus has slowed his cymbal banging to a once a minute thud. A stark contrast to the staccato beat that has till now underscored my time here in Chile.

Roof manjar in all its terrible glory

With the new crew well and truly settled, the crowded rooms have given rise to a sickening phenomenon which can only be described as roof manjar. Named for its resemblance to the Chilean delicacy first described back in week 5, this disgusting ceiling dwelling scum seems to grow overnight, achieving full coverage by the morning before shrinking back during daylight hours. The source of this phenomenon has left our crew’s best biological minds baffled, and the speculation over its origin has filled many hours of the working day with entertaining banter.

Perhaps the most exhilarating part of track building is rock rolling, which has always been the default option for extreme trampers looking to add some ‘pow!’ to their hike. This past week we have been working under bluffs, which pose a risk of rock fall but also a plenitude of roll able ammunition. We justify the destructive and exhilarating rolls by setting out to only roll rocks which pose a threat to the long term safety of the trail. The hard graft to dig out the boulders only serves to build anticipation, and with some brutal persuasion from rockbars, picks or spades, rocks finally topple end over end. They build speed before launching off rocks and careening off bluffs to the fields below, trees crashing in their wake. Rolling rocks awakens a primal amusement and it is usual to see the whole crew cease digging in favour of gawking at the destruction in morbid fascination.

Preparations to roll Behemoth are well underway

Last Friday while clearing a slip from a river side trail we happened the largest rock rolling candidate we had yet encountered and duly dubbed it the Behemoth. It took the best part of a morning to uncover the full girth and our best estimates put its heft in the order of four tonnes. It then took four good men with spades to edge it over the brink where rather than roll it slid, gaining momentum before a final lurch into the air and a splash into the river below. The demise of Behemoth was even captured on film, so all can relive the destruction in vivid multimedia colour.

Those who know well of my bike obsession will know I’m particularly fond of a certain fully suspended trail monster by the name of El Terremoto. He has performed flawlessly here in Chile and this past three months has topped off almost three years of good times shredding the gnarlier trails around NZ. The business running things here in Chile is buying up crew member’s bikes and offered a good price to part ways with the ‘moto. So the least I could for its faultless service was give it a solid scrub behind the ears removing the accumulated scum of 3 months of Patagonian winter. It’ll be sad to see the tail end of this awesome bike  but his spirit will live on in a new bike based around an El Chucho frame. Combining the look-at-me rollability of a big wheel in the front with the tight wheelbase and ginga-whipping abilities of a 26er in the rear it should make for a deadly trail machine to rival the huckability of the ‘moto.

Accumulated gunk in the 'moto's chainrings.

Safe to say life in Chile had been far from easy!

This will be the final report from Patagonia but keep your eyes peeled for some adventures in the mountain bike meccas of Moab, Fruita and Winter Park, USA. Even more adventure is likely instore after that with a three week cycle touring mission along the Nepalese Annapurna circuit on the cards. Thanks for following my adventures so far and I hope to catch up with you all when I’m back in the relative warmth of New Zealand!

Mountain Pedaler out...