DownTheRoad.org RoadNews NewsLetter

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2012-03-20T08:10:16Z

DownTheRoad.org's RoadNews Newsletter
A Decade Down the Road: My ten year anniversary reflections
March, 2012 (Sent From Rajasthan, India)

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Hello Friends

March 30, 2012 will mark my 10th consecutive year of bicycle touring the world. A whole decade has passed since I started out. It's far longer than I originally expected when I left Arizona in 2002. A decade is a long time for anyone to dedicate their life to any single thing. I have been on a continuous bike tour longer than most people stay at a job, earn a college degree, or stay married. And I am not done yet.

Here is where I have been:

Arizona, Mexico, and Central America - March 2002 to April 2003
South America - June 2003 to June 2004
SE Asia / China - Nov 2004 to Sept 2006
Australia - Sept 2006 to Sept 2007
New Zealand - Sept 2007 to May 2008
Alaska / Canada / USA - May 2008 to April 2010
India, Nepal and Neighbors - May 2010 to present

When I look back through the trip pictures I can see myself age. I was a young 35 at the start. Now I'm a road weary 45. I've certainly grown older on this journey, body and mind. The aging process is documented in the thousands of pictures on my website, the journals, and my published books. Indeed, the website and books make up the bulk of the material possessions I've allowed myself to accumulate in a decade of bike travel.

(LEFT) Friend see me off on the very first day in 2002
(RIGHT) Making friends in Guatemala during the first year

Pictures from last month 2012 in Rajasthan.

Another good indicator of how times have evolved as I've been adrift is the changes in technology. The internet was still in its infancy when I started out. I used to get online every few weeks via dial-up phone system. Later came internet cafes where I could connect with a network cable, then came the freedom of wifi. Now I can connect anywhere using a USB data stick. I've watched ATMs replace Travelers Checks, Skype and cell phones take the place of long distance phone kiosks, film made obsolete by digital cameras.

I consider myself very fortunate to be able to live in this extraordinary way for so long. I work for myself. I get to combine my three favorite activities: riding my bike, traveling the world, and camping. I imagine that thirty years from now, sitting in some hard luck bar, I'll listen to other old men talk about life�s lost dreams, the years wasted on chasing careers and money. I think I'll just smile and keep my mouth shut. I will always treasure my memories of vagabonding around. I'll never feel like I wasted my life.

I am proud that I made my life the way I wanted. No luck involved. No trust fund, lottery, or inheritance. I'm a self-made drifter and few people can say that. I could have used these past ten years to build my career and my retirement account. Instead I chose to live on a US$100 a week and lots of bad weather. The hard fact is that if/when I ever move back to Arizona, I will be materially poorer than had I not traveled. I will have substantially fewer assets compared to others in my age group. Basically, I'll live at the same level as the recently graduated college student (minus the loan debt). No material luxuries like a car, a hot tub in the backyard, or a redecorated kitchen. I blew my money and youth on traveling � and I have no regrets.

When I was a teenager I vowed I would never follow the herd. No 2 � kids, no white picket fence. Call it idealistic, immature, unrealistic � but I kept my promise. I'm still living the only life that appealed to me as a rebellious and dreamy young man. This is not a conventional life choice but it is the one I was meant to live. I would not trade my traveling life for being an upstanding adult any day of the week. Money cannot buy the experiences I've had. I've lived the life of an adventurer and for that I have not a single regret.

My Sophmore year in High school1983 standing in front of my van. I am the one in the black Campagnola bike hat and had already been racing bikes for many years

I have sent many of these anniversary letters through the years, so many that they seem redundant. Traveling on a bike in a distant country is magical. Reading back through my anniversary letters, the magic never seemed to fade. This anniversary is more complicated, as there have been some sad times recently. It seems that despite my perpetual motion, the drama that I thought only touched other people has finally caught up with me.

See all of my anniversary letter here http://www.downtheroad.org/LETTERS.htm

The biggest hardship the road has thrown my way was losing Cindie in India. After being together for 15 years, married for 12, and bike touring for 8, Cindie and I divorced. This was not my choice. I did everything I could think of to win her back. I offered to stop traveling and settle down in India or back at our home in Arizona. In the end, I failed. This was not about the long years on the road. It was about Cindie's decision to reinvent herself. Her new life didn't include me, no matter where we lived. Last I heard, Cindie sold her touring bike and remains in Dharamsala, India studying Buddhism near the Dalai Lama. I have described more on my web site http://bit.ly/GAmOiu. Don't worry, I am not mad at her and did not trash her. There are not many women out there with Cindie's accomplishments on a touring bike and I salute her as I say goodbye. We had a good 15 years together that I will remember fondly. I hope you find what you're looking for.

Will I ever go home?

I have been considering this more since the divorce. Ten years is a long time to live with just three pairs of socks. I am no longer an idealistic college kid looking for the wonder life. I found it, lived it, loved it but I don't think I can do this forever. The day will come when one of these roads leads home. I had to fight to keep my house in Arizona in the divorce settlement and that effort made it more valuable to me. It's still rented but all my stuff is stored � locked in a shed untouched since the day we left. Everything I need to set up house, down to the dish drainer.

But I predict that it would bore the hell out of me.

For now, I plan to ride into a new chapter of my life. The page has turned and I am still on the road. Gretchen, a beautiful and intrepid touring cyclist from California, has been riding with me through three countries for several months. What a relief to know there are still people out there interested in a life on the road, that I don't have to be alone to keep living this way. I'm still too raw from the divorce to get tied down. Luckily Gretchen has vowed to be eternally single. Our only solid plans revolve around the limitations of the Indian tourist visas that force us to be out of the country for a minimum of two months. In early June we're going back to Nepal to wait out the monsoon in Pokhara. Nepal may not have the most stable government, but they do have a very reasonable visa system. None of this application business at the embassy, not knowing what length of time you'll be issued. I can cycle up to the border, pay a standard fee, and suddenly there's another stamp in the old tattered passport.

Gretchen on the road in Bangladesh in Dec 2011

Recent pictures from Rajasthan, India

In November, after five months in Nepal, the plan is to ride south and tour southern India�s famous beaches, Sri Lanka, and possibly an extra tour through India's big northern mountains. Sometime in the summer of 2014, I will fly to the USA for a good two year meander around my own country. This is a journey I cannot help but look forward to. My last tour in America was full of speaking obligations and book promotions, not at all relaxing, no time to reconnect with old friends. This next American tour will be strictly on my own terms. One small comfort of being divorced is no longer having to compromise about routes and time schedules.

After that: who knows? I feel a slight urge to settle down and plant a tiny root. But there are still so many places I haven't cycled through yet: Europe, the Middle East, the African continent. Would I really be able to leave those places unexplored? I doubt it.

Many thanks to my faithful readers. I know I met many of you on the road and I appreciate all those who offered shelter, kindness, and company to this bicycle drifter. I wish you all good travels and adventures where ever your journey takes you.

Tim Travis

Bikaner, Rajasthan, India

One of our first dates in Katmandu, Nepal in April 2011

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DownTheRoad.org RoadNews NewsLetter Notes from Bangladesh

2012-01-19T22:22:20Z

DownTheRoad.org RoadNews Newsletter:
Notes from Bangladesh
January 2012 (Bundi, India)

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Greetings again from the road! Although I�m now well into the next leg of my journey in Rajasthan, India, this newsletter tells the story of my bike tour through Bangladesh with my cycling partner Gretchen. Bangladesh is a fascinating country, beautiful for cycling, and far off the regular tourist radar.

We dropped into the northwestern corner of Bangladesh at the end of October, into a flat land of rice paddies and bicycles and people everywhere. I know that bicycles can carry just about anything a gasoline vehicle can, but it�s still amazing to see the idea in practice. We saw cargo bikes carrying long loads of cut bamboo, woven baskets of ducks and chickens, towering heaps of hay or banana bunches. Bicycle rickshaws have become an art form here. Every town has a street full of bicycle shops full of parts and mechanics.

I have a lot of respect for the guys here who make their daily living with a bicycle. We rode alongside hundreds of other cyclists everyday and most of them were pulling heavier loads than mine. The land in Bangladesh is almost completely flat, making it perfect for cycling. But even without hills, we had plenty of challenges. Bangladesh sees few visitors so there isn�t much infrastructure for tourists. Also, it�s an extremely crowded country. With roughly half the population of the United States crammed into an area the size of Ohio, it�s no surprise that we were surrounded by large staring crowds of curious locals wherever we went. As Bangladeshi women dress very conservatively and largely stay in the background in this strict Muslim culture, Gretchen especially attracted many eyes, slightly uncomfortable at times.

Language was one of our main obstacles. We�d come to take for granted the ease with which Indians speak English. Not the case in Bangladesh. There was no such thing as a street sign in English script. Still, people in Bangladesh are amazingly kind and helpful. On the many occasions when we were lost, all we had to do was pause at a corner. In the crowds that quickly closed in, one or two more educated people, eager to communicate and help us out, would materialize. Often our rescuers would guide us to our destinations and stick around to help us negotiate a fair price. From our first day to our last, nearly everyday we had people offering to help us find hotels, order at restaurants or get on correct train.

Navigation by map alone was tricky business in Bangladesh, so we were lucky to get so much help. Especially during our attempts at riding off the main highways, we frequently found ourselves on roads that bore no relation to the lines on the map. We pieced together a zig zag route across the northern half of Bangladesh to the tea plantations of Srimongal, the only hills of our trip. From there we loaded the bikes on a train to Chittagong and then cycled south to the beach at Cox�s Bazar. After a small break, we took a bus back to Dhaka to meet Muntasir Mamun, a local cyclist who hosts many touring bikers passing through his country. Waiting for me at his house: a package sent by my parents in Indiana. Replacements for all the gear I�d lost along road in the last few months. After the stolen bag in Sikkim and various breakdowns, it was a huge relief to replace my most vital equipment and tools.

Although we spent an unhappy chunk of our last couple weeks in the country dealing with frustrating bureaucracy, (Always get an India visa in your home country whenever possible!) Muntasir and his family looked after us like royalty. We met an exciting group of outdoor adventure enthusiasts and social businessmen. When we finally picked up Gretchen�s new Indian visa, we only had a short time left on our Bangladeshi visas. On the day we cycled out of Dhaka, a cold snap fell over Bangladesh and parts of India. In the much chillier than normal temperatures, locals bundled up in blankets and scarves and we pulled out our cold weather gear from the bottom of our bags for the first time in months.

We took a shivery ferry ride one morning across the Ganges River and back for a final pass through the Bangladeshi fields and farmlands. The flat countryside here is beautiful riding and I love interacting with local bike riders on their rickshaws and cargo bikes. But our visas were running out and we had to cycle hard for a few days. As a Christmas treat, we stayed at a hotel with hot water and the next day crossed the Indian border. Although we were a few days passed our expiration date, the passport officer forgot to add up the exact number of days when he somehow became convinced that my wife was pregnant. I don�t know how he got the idea that I was married or anyone was pregnant, but in the excitement of congratulating me, he neglected to fine us for overstaying.

After a few days of navigating the surrounding sprawl, we peddled into the heart of Kolkata. Third time�s a charm. This time around we found much to enjoy in this mega-city as we celebrated the New Year with an international crowd of backpackers and travelers at a rooftop party. Although I rang in 2011 with a similar crowd in Pokhara, Nepal, the circumstances couldn�t have been more different. As anyone who�s gone through divorce can attest, things look a lot better after a year to recover.

We wanted to begin the next leg of our tour from Jaipur in Western India. Rather than cycling for two months through the fattest chunk of India, we decided to take a 24-hour train ride across the country. Checking the bikes and packs on the baggage car involved having our possessions sewn up in burlap and tarps and hoisted around with hand-held hooks. A bout of food poisoning did nothing to improve the ride, as vomiting and diarrhea are even less fun on a long train ride. But soon enough it was all over. I�m excited about this ride through the Rajasthan desert. We will head southwest to the westernmost Indian state of Gujarat to the Arabian Sea Coast, then circle back northeast towards the Himalayas and Nepal. It�s not easy to plan a bicycle tour in India with the monsoon rains, winter and summer weather, and visa time restrictions to take into consideration. I think I�ve got a trip worked out that won�t require any planes, buses or train travel for a good long time.

For anyone considering a trip to Bangladesh, whether by bike or other transport, know that it is harder traveling than India and Nepal, but still a rewarding place to visit. It�s an interesting glimpse into Muslim culture. Bangladesh is probably the poorest country I�ve ever visited. It�s one thing to hear in the news that there are people in the world who live US$1 a day, quite another thing to see it in real life. Although sometimes heartbreaking, it was an eye-opening experience for us. I�ve posted Gretchen�s day by day journal with photos here if you�re interested in a much more detailed description. Once again, I thank all my readers for your continued interest in my travels. Please visit www.DownTheRoad.org and use the links to support travels and help keep me on the road.

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DownTheRoad.org RoadNews NewsLetter Earthquake, Robbed, and All Day 18% Grades - Sikkim, India-A place to remember

2011-10-17T05:33:02Z

DownTheRoad.org's RoadNews Newsletter: Earthquake, Robbed, and All Day 18% Grades - Sikkim, India-A place to remember
October, 2011 (Sent From Calcutta, India)

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Read the full story of the robbery: http://bit.ly/r17tBM

Donate to my gear replacement fund

Not such blissful days of riding in the mountains to report, I'm afraid. Yes, Sikkim, India has fantastic scenery and challenging roads, but we've had to contend with natural disasters, a string of mechanical troubles, and now, a robbery!

In case you missed the news, there was a 6.9 earthquake centered in Sikkim on September 18th. At that time, we were in the capital city called Gangtok, staying in a rickety old hotel, five stories up. Gretchen, my California girlfriend, grew up on ground that regularly shook. She was pretty calm when the walls started rattling and urged me to stay put. The noise was incredible, and down in the street we could hear screaming. Fortunately the damage at our location was minimal, but landslides up north killed many people and shut down the highways. Our plans to cycle north of Gangtok were immediately off the table.

For the next couple weeks we instead toured West Sikkim. The monsoon rains lingered a bit, stranding us a few times, and the combination of rain and earthquake damage shut down a few small roads we tried to travel on. We did a loop of West Sikkim, which included daily steep climbs and views of the glaciated slopes of Kanchenjunga (third biggest mountain in the world) and her Himalayan sisters.

Just after the tiny town of Tashiding, our mechanical troubles started. First, the rail of my Brookes saddle snapped in half one hot morning. I've probably ridden on it a total of six months. It's still under warranty, so I can get a replacement. The next day, my new Continental Travel Contact tire developed an unexplained rip in the sidewall. Gretchen brought that tire out for me from New Zealand just last May. I tried to patch and boot it, but the tire continued to give me trouble for the next few days. Finally I put on my folding spare.

Camping under Sikkim India's majestic snowcapped mountains.

We came out of the mountains, minds already switching gears to our coming trip to Bangladesh, when the next disaster struck. While we checked into a hotel in Jorethang, one of my rear Ortlieb panniers went missing! We're still mystified as to how it happened. We were alert and careful as usual, but there was a tiny window of time (less than a minute) when the bags were unwatched in the hotel lobby. I think we were victims of some crazy compulsive kleptomaniac. The police inspector was eager to help, but he seemed to think the affluent citizens and Christian missionaries at our hotel were above suspicion and refused to conduct the room-to-room questioning we thought appropriate. He was certain that the bag had dropped off the bike without my noticing somewhere back on the road. That's just ridiculous if you know anything about how well Ortliebs attach to the rack and how a missing bag would throw the whole bike off balance.

The bag contained my tools and spare parts, my precious tools that I've been collecting since middle school. Although it could have been worse (computer, passports, money), it's a tough loss to take. I'm very worried about not being prepared for breakdowns, and angry about having to replace my belongings. If I break a chain or a spoke, we'll be stranded on the side of the road. Back home it would be an expensive search to replace them all, here it's a mountainous task. You can read a more detailed description of the event, and see a list of the stolen items, here: http://bit.ly/r17tBM

Despite all the setbacks, the tiny kingdom of Sikkim has been a fantastic journey. The mountainous terrain is clean and green, the people are curious and kind, and the ride was challenging. As we continue on to the hot flatlands of Bangladesh, I will miss the cool hills and crashing rivers of Sikkim. I refuse to let the loss of my beloved tools keep me from continuing, although I will do my best to replace what I can. I've set up a donation page if you'd like to contribute to my tool fund. I appreciate immensely all the help and well-wishes I've received from readers, and I hope you all will keep working towards your own cycling dreams.

Green Grass and High Tides
Calcutta, India
Tim

Our touring bicycles loaded up in downtown Gangtok, Sikkim, India. A few day after we arrived, there was a 6.9 earthquake that shut down all water and power service and closed many roads. Gangtok didn't suffer too much, but some villages in the north were mostly destroyed. Sadly, many people lost their lives in this quake.

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DownTheRoad.org RoadNews NewsLetter Darjeeling, India was Great for Monsoon Season.

2011-09-12T06:57:19Z

DownTheRoad.org's RoadNews Newsletter: Darjeeling, India was Great for Monsoon Season.
September 2011 (Sent From Darjeeling, India)

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Greetings from Drizzling Darjeeling! For the past three months, Gretchen and I have been holed up at the Revolver, a cute little Beatles themed hotel tucked in behind the Unity Christian Church. The hotel is built on a hillside, surrounded by schools. Every morning we awaken to the call to prayers from the mosque, followed an hour later by a round of �When the Saints Go Marching In� as sung by the Christian school students next door. The Hindus and Buddhists make their own music the rest of the day. Our hotel is crammed full of Beatles memorabilia and, best of all, offers fast reliable wifi internet, perfect for filling the soggy days. Monsoon is non-stop rain up here in the Himalaya mountains. The spectacular views of tea plantations and sweeping vistas are constantly hidden behind clouds and we don't dare venture outdoors without raincoats and a sturdy umbrella. It is supposed to end any day now and we hope to be riding in the sun next week.

Darjeeling is a sweet mountain town (about 2000 meters or 7000 feet) that lacks all the hassle and craziness of most Indian cities. Although the majority of foreign tourists have all headed off for dryer spots, Indian tourists regularly drive up to escape the heat and humidity of the Kolkata summer. The lively market streets are still full of walkers hiding under umbrellas, visiting the clothing vendors, and posing for pictures on ponies in the Chowrasta (the town square). For exercise I had a (nearly) daily hike along a ridge road, which led passed a colorful Buddhist monastery and a friendly goose who soon had me trained to bring slices of bread. Darjeeling is full of hidden staircases and narrow passage ways, making for some lovely exploring. Gretchen found the main marketplace, a rabbit burrow of tiny shops and stalls full of spices and yak cheese and tea. We found our favorite restaurants: pretend Chinese food at a tiny place run by a super friendly family; a passable Thai place with interesting metal art; hot soup and momos (dumplings) at the Tibetan place that's full of foreign monks; pots of strong coffee and bakery goodies at Glenary's; art and pasta at Petrichor Art Cafe. Sweta at Petrichor even made me Shepherds Pie and chocolate cake for my 45th birthday party.

We weren't the only foreigners staying in town for the off season. Darjeeling is a nice choice for professional travelers seeking refuge from the monsoon. We fell in with a number of interesting people who have artfully turned permanent travel into a lifestyle. Hans from Germany translates online video game dialogue from English to German. Fernando left banking in New York to study Sanskrit, Tibetan, and Buddhism. Milt, British, builds and promotes websites. Gary from Arizona writes and sells online ESL courses. Part drop-outs, part entrepreneurs, part nomads: it's fascinating to see what people with determination, wanderlust, and wifi can accomplish. I have been noticing recently a growing number of international tele-commuters who have found a way to make a living online and call the road home and I am proud to be among their ranks.

At the moment our plans are to leave Darjeeling in mid September and ride north to Sikkim. Once again, we'll be using Laura Stone's book, Biking the Himalayas as a guide. After three month of no bikes, this route is ambitious, to say the least, and the climbs will certainly be a challenge. At least we'll still be in the cool mountains. Once October comes around, we'll be rolling back into the plains of the Ganges delta region to Bangladesh. As Gretchen's Indian visa will expire in October, we'll spend at least two months traveling Bangladesh before returning to India. This all depends on the winds of bureaucracy and what sort of Bangladeshi visa we'll be granted in Kolkata.

We made one premature visit to Kolkata to apply for Bangladeshi visas. After a sickening ride (I get really carsick) down the mountains and an overnight train ride, we arrived in the sweaty chaotic city. We found the Consulate and were informed that 1) they only issue visas to be used in the next 30 days and 2) we won't know how long a visa we can get until the interview. We fled the city that evening and hightailed it back to cool Darjeeling with a new appreciation for the rain. Now we have a month to figure out how to convince our interviewer at the Bangladeshi consulate that he should issue three month tourist visas to a couple of grungy bike tourists.

We had a companion for some day rides around Darjeeling. Cheapskate Nate, recent Humboldt California State University graduate and water project volunteer, has been biking the area on a cheap Indian bike while waiting for his Bhutan work visa. With a large backpack tied by rope to the rack and the bike practically falling to pieces beneath him, Nate's already ridden some impressive distances into the mountains. He bought Gretchen's old single person tent and constructed an alcohol stove out of old cans. Hopefully we'll meet up again for some real touring later on down the road.

You may have noticed some new pages and editing on the DownTheRoad.org website, including new pages about economizing on a bike trip and stealth camping. Currently I'm working on a page about what tools to bring on a bicycle tour, which is turning into a big project. Gretchen has been correcting the spelling errors and grammar mistakes on my previous pages, hopefully making them more pleasant to read.

If you're looking for more reading material, my three books are now available in print and as ebooks for Nook and Kindle. Once again, I thank everyone who has used the links on my website to shop at REI and Amazon. Your support makes it possible for me to stay on the road. This has been a hard year for me financially and all of your support helps.

See more about the books here http://www.downtheroad.org/Publishing/


REI - Camping, Cycling, and Traveling Gear Recommended	Direct Bicycle Parts: A huge selection of all things bicycle	Bob's Bicycles: Good deals on complete bicycles and parts
REI Outlet Store: Great deals on camping and bike gear	Very good prices on hard-to-find bicycle touring panniers, racks, and more.	Altrec outdoors and camping equipment and online gear shopping

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DownTheRoad.org RoadNews NewsLetter Message

2011-07-20T06:10:54Z

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RoadNotes: Bicycle Touring Daily Journal
Nepal May - June, 2011
written by Gretchen Howell

April 29, 2011 50 km(31 mi), 5km passed Naubise

It took us a few days to get out of Kathmandu. Not the ride itself, but just getting started. Tim had been off the bike for 6 months and I'd been sedentary for at least 4 weeks and I suppose we were both intimidated by the prospect of battling Kathmandu traffic. After a few weeks of hotel life, my gear takes on new dimensions, migrates into all the wrong bags and becomes suddenly impossible to fit into previous arrangements. It took us awhile, and a couple mornings slipped away when we would gaze helplessly at the piles of touring gear and the honking traffic in the streets and agree, �Tomorrow.�

Luckily Tim did get out on the bike one day and scout out the route leaving Kathmandu. That saved us lots of hassle on the road. Our actual departure time was by no means early, probably after 11 am, and traffic was already cooking when we bumped down into the narrow street outside the hotel in Thamel. I set off after Tim, my legs wobbly with anticipation, and cautiously picked down the alley. Immediately we came to the turn that would shoot us out into real city traffic and Tim darted out without stopping. I'm okay, I told myself, trying to ignore my violently shaking knees I've done this a hundred times before. Still, I was more than a little terrified while I wheeled next to a stinking bus and aimed down the dusty hill. I followed Tim slowly down the hill, keeping well to the left of traffic and navigating around pedestrians. At the next turn we pulled up together, breathing a sigh of relief. So far, so good!

Kathmandu would be heaps easier to navigate early in the morning. The Nepalis don't seem to be early risers, and the roads don't start cooking until 9 am or so. The price we paid for a little sleeping in was a hard ride through snarling crowds of buses and trucks, edging along the bank of a profoundly stinky river and breathing clouds of exhaust. I could feel dust and oily bits coating my exposed skin, and the cloth mask I wore over my nose and mouth made me extra hot. After years of riding bikes in Asia, I'm a huge believer in wearing a mask, but I couldn't find one big enough for Tim, so I'm sure he sucked in piles of pollution. I don't think I would have been able to talk him into one anyway.

The road heading out of Kathmandu Valley was clogged with idling trucks, painted like circus trucks. I expected them to be full of elephants and clowns. We rode with the motorcyclists, dodging around the stalled traffic on the muddy edges of the road. Some of the hilly bits were too rough for me to ride so I slipped off and pushed. Tim didn't, of course, but he wasn't much faster than me. We were both coated with a fine layer of grit when we finally pulled up at the lip of the valley. We drank a triumphant orange soda at one of the dusty shops, watching the trucks lining up to pass the police checkpoint. As each truck slowed, a disheveled skinny kid would pop out to run up papers to the officials or buy a snack at the store.

We resumed our voyage over the edge of the ridge and started a long series of switchbacks. For the next few kilometers, we sailed down through villages along the riverside, until we stopped for lunch at a tiny roadside restaurant run by a smiling round-faced woman. I washed off the gray coating of sunscreen and shmeg that covered my skin and we ate big plates of daal bhaat and rice. I haven't yet got the hang of eating with only my fingers without looking like a messy toddler in a high chair so we asked for spoons.

It was early afternoon and having gotten through the escape from Kathmandu it seemed like a good time to start looking for a hotel. Both of us had some bike muscle acclimating to do, having been so long off the road. The gentleman at the hotel in Thamel had said there were lots of hotels on the road, but of course when you're looking for one, they're not so easy to find. I worried that the sign would be in Nepalese script and unreadable to me. At the crossroads of each little village we passed through, I scanned the buildings, looking for clues of a hotel. �Let's ask here,� I called at a pullout with a snack stall. A wide minivan was parked there and as we pulled in a crowd of distinguished Indian men swayed towards us. I let Tim head them off and pulled up to the little store. A Nepali girl, delicate and pretty, waggled her head at me and told me there was a hotel �One in 10 kilometers and one in 5 kilometers.� I thanked her and turned to Tim's crowd of Indian pilgrims, smiling seriously and silent. �They all want to help, but they don't know where the hotels are so they don't say anything.� Tim explained to me later. I took a few photos and we pulled out again. In about 5 km we came to a truck stop restaurant with a sign saying Hotel. The man behind the counter chuckled when I asked about rooms. �No rooms, this is restaurant,� he told me as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. The same thing happened at the next place. Hmmm. So hotel means restaurant here. So what's a hotel? We stopped in the next town and I waited while Tim gallantly leaped across a sea of mud to ask a pharmacist. In all we rode about 12 kilometers looking for a place to stay and there's something really exhausting about all that searching around.

The place we stayed had a sign that said Hotel and Guesthouse so apparently that's the name of an actual hotel. It had a sweet little garden, a waddling line of ducklings and a few small fuzzy rabbits bouncing around, sort of like a Disney movie set except that all the cute little animals would someday be eaten. The room cost 200 rupees(US$2.80)and our chicken and rice dinner was also cheap but took so long to cook over the open fire that we drank four beers while waiting. Beer is a real budget killer in Nepal.

April 30, 2011 22km (13.7 mi), Malekhu

Very peaceful morning until Tim noticed the fourteen year old boy whose mother ran the hotel peeking through the curtains of the window. Cheeky little bugger.

It seems that Tim and I share the habit of laziness in the morning. We both take far too long to get going but I suppose that's better than the speedy partner getting frustrated and the slow person feeling rushed. Neither of us want to ride big mile days anyway, as we have plenty of time to get to Pokhara. Much more sensible to have short days to ease our muscles back into riding mode.

Lunch was at an upscale place where the tourist buses stop and it was fun to watch people gaping over our loaded bikes.

I'm sure there was a really good reason for us to stop in the first biggish town we passed, even though we'd barely ridden 20 kilometers(12.4 mi). It seemed like a nice town, we wanted to take it easy, the hotel was obviously a hotel and not a restaurant. The room was 250 rupees (US$3.50)and tons roomier than our abode from the night before. There were a few tiny spies peeping in the window but they didn't make any attempts at hiding. It's hard to read a book with 5 little kids chirping �You give me one chocolate?� outside the window. We wandered around town scoping out restaurants and one brave young lady came darting out from her shop. �You come please visit my shop.� Unable to escape her determined urgings, we sat down at her aunt's little shop to drink a Fanta. Our hosts were extremely shy, often answering questions with silence and that funny little head bobble motion. I suppose it must mean different things in different circumstances.

The open air restaurants all had displays of little dried river fish curved on a stick. There were shrimp too. Where do the shrimp come from? We asked for vegetarian meals, Tim because he doesn't eat fish, me in solidarity. We got the standard rice and daal. I may get tired of daal bhaat someday but it seems a healthy and safe enough meal for now.

May 1, 2011 33 km (20.5 mi), Cheres

We spent the day following the river down the valley. The road is quite a bit higher than the river and there were a few rope bridges strung across the gorge. I don't know how wide those bridges are, but they barely look wide enough for two people to squeeze by each other. I wonder what happens if you go in the middle and jump up and down? There were a few cable ferries that looked plenty dangerous. The river is shallow and wide and rather lazy looking, although there are a few river rafting companies along the way.

Following rivers downstream should be a downhill journey, but there were a couple of long gradual uphill rides. Tim usually rode behind me. I suspect he was drafting off me and my little wind shadow. I don't have a clue about drafting, and whenever Tim rode ahead of me I usually let the space between us lengthen until I lost sight of him around the curving road.

May 2, 2011 34.6 km(21.5 mi), Bandipur

We stopped for lunch at a truck stop As we parked outside, I could hear the sounds of rowdy boy play inside. I peeked my head in to make sure that it was open. Four ragged boys danced around the tables shouting at each other. They all hushed immediately as a neatly dressed man approached across the parking lot. One stood shyly at our table to take my order, his face dirty and hair shaggy, an orange knotted string around his neck. �Is he your son?� Tim asked the owner. The man shook his head vigorously, as if the idea were a little repulsive. The four boys, it seems, were his employees. Ten years old, goofing around every time the boss ducked out and hard at work serving food to bus passengers. I wanted to whisk them all away into a classroom and make them do lots and lots of schoolwork.

At Dumre we reached the confluence of two rivers and the turn off for Bandipur. �The hill's probably not that bad.� Tim guessed. �Probably not that steep.� Incorrect, it turned out. We rode 8 kilometers (4.9 mi)up, straight up it seemed in places. The disheartening kind of hills that stretch out forever in front of the bike. Each time we came to a likely pass, another long uphill presented itself. Tim cheerfully called out slope gradients while I grumbled and sweated. We shared the road with a few brand new tractors pulling loads of firewood and old jeeps stacked full of people, teenage boys hooting from their perches on the roofs.

Bandipur is a sweet little mountain town and well worth the effort. At the town entrance, a gate blocks cars from entering. The car-free slate streets are lined with old-style wooden buildings. Although tourism has definitely arrived in Bandipur, there are no touts, no tee shirt sellers and that laid back atmosphere that every traveler seeks.

A boy ran out from the hotel, maybe 20 years old. �American yes? You are American? I hear on the news today your army kill Osama bin Laden. Very good day for America,� he told me happily, obviously pleased to discuss American news with an actual American. Tim and I had a similar reaction. �Well, that's �.. good, I guess.� For the first time in a few days we had access to wifi so we could check.... yes, it was true and still didn't know what to think. Does this mean the wars are over? That would be good news.

May 7, 2011 Kurintar 45 km(28 mi)

Spent another lovely morning in our breakfast nook, watching a bank of fog obscure the entire valley floor. It was warm but the air around us turned white with water vapor. We waited long enough to ensure we wouldn't be headed down the long steep hill in a downpour, then loaded up the bikes and said our goodbyes. There was a little traffic jam at the entrance to the village, a few tractors and overloaded jeeps trying to squeeze around each other on the narrow road. A cluster of backpackers sat on top a small bus and shouted down encouragement as we rode by. I thought they were much nervier than me. I would never be brave enough to sit on top one of those crazy buses!

The ride downhill was loads easier than coming up. I recognized all the torture hills from five days before. Bandipur is definitely worth the ride up that hill. I would have been a little furious if it wasn't. We whizzed down, dodging potholes and swerving around hairpin turns. Lovely view, which I hadn't noticed before in my hill-climbing haze.

We got to Dumre and turned back on the main highway. Immediately there was another long uphill, not too steep but steadily climbing. Nice scenery, tomato plants, goats, rows of corn, rice paddies, interesting little houses and the occasional bushy marijuana plant. On the other side of the mountain we pulled into the first city, which had plenty of hotels. Stay or go? We were less than half the remaining distance to Pokhara and stopping too early today would mean a long hard ride tomorrow. On the other hand, there might be another big hill, the next town might not have hotels, blah, blah, blah. We dithered for awhile, neither wanted to be the decider who might be proven wrong.

In the end we kept going. It was a terrific ride, smooth roads and nice views, little on traffic and big on country scenery. Then we got to Kurintar and no obvious hotel. Tim asked around and we were directed to a funny little indoor mall building. No English sign, so it took awhile to locate. For RP300 (US$4.20) we could have a room with a shared bathroom. The room was gross, condom wrappers on the floor and worse in the shared bathroom. No thanks. For just RP100(US$1.40) more, we got a much bigger room with a private bathroom with hot water. Both of us being practiced travelers, we both usually opt for the cheapest rooms. Might need to rethink that strategy.

What a strange little town Kurintar was. Sort of gave you that Twilight Zone feeling. We couldn't find anyplace to eat. Finally sat down at a dirty little place with some fried food on display. I thought he would heat them up again, but he served us cold samosas and some sort of spicy tempura veggies. Very greasy. Seemed a good place to pick up the stomach cooties so we left after just a nibble. We bought some chalky bananas and snack food instead, had a little picnic in the hotel room. Not so nutritious but better than getting sick. Sometimes international bicycle touring is all about knowing how to deal with travelers' diarrhea.

May 8, 2011, Pokhara 12km (7.5 mi)

Feeling just a little crabby on the ride yesterday. There was no place to eat breakfast and also a big stupid hill, long gradual uphill that makes my bike feel like it weighs a thousand pounds and I'm running into a headwind. But the traffic was easy, maybe there's another gas shortage. Every petrol station was either closed or had a great big line of cars and motorcycles, even though the pumps were closed. I read in the Kathmandu English newspaper that Nepal gets petrol from India, and there is some problem, they can't afford it, India has cut the shipment, something to that effect. I don't pretend to know the intricacies of petrol distribution. I only use it to heat my coffee water in the morning.

Took us forever to find a place to eat. Finally found a nice little place, with a cute little girl doing her English lessons. After some chow mien, we kept going into Pokhara, streets getting busy, gas lines, wandering buffaloes sniffing their big dumb noses at us from the middle of traffic. It wasn't too hectic and the directions were easy enough, just keep going straight. Pokhara has some round-abouts, not nearly as orderly as the ones in New Zealand. Then we saw ads in English for wifi and trekking and then the lake. Back in Gringolandia! Nice wide streets, walking paths around the lake. Our first hotel pick was full so we tried another, the Wood Pigeon. Four hundred rupees(US$5.59) for a big tidy room, lovely private bathroom. I'm sold on the private bathroom. Especially at that last place. For a mere US$1.40 more, we had a private bathroom with hot water and didn't have to sleep on the nasty sex bed or suffer a bucket shower in the tiny poo-splattered bathroom. I'm afraid I was quite rude to the woman there, complaining about the dirty bathroom. I suppose she hadn't noticed the clump of crap smeared down the back of the squatter.

May 11, 2011 Syanja 38.6 km (24 mi)

Best day possible to leave the city. There were no cars! Not a one! It was like a street party, everyone walking around, four abreast and or just standing around or riding bicycles. We thought it might be only in the tourist section but the rest of Pokhara was equally car-free. Lots of women were dressed in their best red silk saris and some men in suits. Weddings? Maybe an auspicious day, good luck for weddings and bad luck for driving? A couple of the main intersections were manned by groups of soldiers, armed with bamboo sticks and wearing baseball umpire-like padding. A strike? Some political action? Nepal is relatively stable now, but the Maoist Uprising is fresh on everyone's minds. Maybe a really good day to get out of town.

Taking the Siddhartha Highway out of town, we meet a blue amphibious camper van, driven by a Swiss guy and an American woman. We all stopped for a long chat in the middle of the road. They said there were road blockages later on, so they suspected a strike or political action. I would have loved to see the inside of that van and what sort of homemade contraptions were inside. Later, we also met a French motorcycle tourist who rode here from France across Pakistan. Big tough BMW. I'm sure it goes very fast.

Lovely road, good-sized hills, long climbs but not too steep. Met some kids on homemade skateboards riding downhill. The wheels were old ball-bearing sets jammed onto a triangular frame made of sticks. Not a very smooth ride but they had a nice long hill to ride down. A couple of kids starting chasing alongside us as we were climbing up a hill. All boys, so they weren't so interested in running with me, but glommed all over Tim. One of them hopped up onto the back of Tim's panniers, clinging to a strap and hoisting his chest onto the duffel. Tim decided he'd had it and stopped to shoo his little pranksters away. They looked a little terrified. I'm sure they've never been shooed by anyone so big before.

We got into Syanja a little unsure as to whether there would be a hotel. The clouds were massing in worrying black bunches and thunder grumbled in the hills. We needed to beat the downpour. Everyone on the streets laughed and namaste-d when we rode through the streets. �Hotel? Guesthouse? Puhuna Ghar?� we asked. The reply was usually a wave in the direction we were headed. A fellow cyclist rode up, asked Tim a few questions and decided to lead us to the hotel. Thanks to that guy, we got inside before the rain hit us. It was terrific little room. Upstairs, great view of the valley, lots of windows, hot water and cable TV. TV! Skimming through the jumble of Bollywood and guru channels, we found BBC and watched the same four stories about the Middle East over and over.

May 12, Galyanbhanjyan 44km (27.3 mi)

Written on the side of a Toyota Land Cruiser - �GeMSIP: Gender Mainstreaming and Social Inclusion Program�. What the heck is Gender Mainstreaming? I went to Berkeley and I don't even know. We saw the truck parked on the side of the road when we pulled in at the end of the day.

Man, what a road. No wonder they recommend it for motorcyclists in the LP.

A lot of our hotels could probably collapse pretty easily if there was an earthquake or a landslide. Especially this one since it's hanging off the edge of a big steep slope.

We got an early start today, no later than 10 and that's early for both of us. So we stopped earlier too. It's been raining every evening, big wet messes of rain that squirt down half the night.

Animals I saw today:

Monkeys � playing in big bamboo overhanging the road. Only two, and the one I saw was clinging to the bamboo and looking kind of fuzzy and cute, not mean and attacking.

Baby baby goats � probably just born, barely bigger than cats, standing in the grass with their mama goat. One had some funny stick thing on its hindquarters, maybe to tie the umbilical cord. They're so little when they're just born.
Suicidal Lizard � with an orange head. Running so fast it looked like he was on his hind legs, pumping his little scaly fists to make it under my tire in time. I locked up my brakes and just missed him. Tim had to lock up a little too, but at least I didn't squish the lizard.

Guy who showed me the rooms had three fake fingernails painted fuchsia. Wonder if he's involved in the gender mainstreaming. Our room is rp400 (US$5.59), a little steep for no attached bathroom, but the view of the valley and the convenience of the stopping point more than make up for it.

These little towns are better for electricity than the cities. Pokhara had no power for at 24 hours, it finally came on an hour before we left town. That could have been part of the mysterious no-car day event, or it could have been a mechanical problem, who knows. It's certainly less of a hassle to find petrol in the little towns. No lines.

May 13,2011 8.6 km (5.3 mi), some little town

We started riding and nearly got caught in a thunderstorm. Just outside of town the sky got all ominous and gray. When the rain started, we hid under a tree for awhile to wait it out. A few turns down the road, there was a hotel and restaurant. Now I see that riding in the most torrential downpour would have been better than stopping there. But it seemed like a good idea at the time. We had lunch, talked with the family a little and watched the gushing rain. Why not just stop for the day, wait out the rain? We weren't in a hurry. Good idea, right?

May 14, 2011 Tansen (Palpa) 36.2 km(22.5 mi)

I am so itchy.

I can't believe I climbed that big ass hill, over 1000 meters up, while I was so completely covered with bites. Red itchy bites.

We thought they were mosquito bites at first. I woke up on that horrible moldy mattress and I was all covered with red dots. Big swatches across my back, the bottoms of my feet, my toes, all the worst places. The skin on my upper right arm has turned all lizardy and swollen. So after I spent the morning madly scratching myself, digging through my pill pack for antihistamines (apparently I used them all up in Australia when that horrible ant bit my eyelid) and then madly trying not to itch myself, we rode up a big ass mountain. And that at least was enough to distract me from itching.

I should say a little about the ride and not just about my itching.

The road was fantastic. Big views around every bend. A river canyon, water crashing far below, highway clinging to the side and carving up. Long steady climbing, not too steep, a little lacking in shade. I listened to podcasts (good thing I had a couple StarShip Sofas saved up) and Tim listened to music. Every time we stopped to rest, my itchiness came flaring back, so it was better to keep riding.

The last couple klicks were pretty hard. We knew Tansen was at 1387 meters, but our altimeters each showed different altitudes. The last bit into town is up a huge steep hill, endless switchbacks. Finally we pulled up next to the bus stop. There were plenty of signs advertising �Lodging and Fooding� which gave me hope for a nice clean room for the night. A place where I could wash my itchy skin in hot soapy water. I left Tim and the bikes at a little restaurant and went on my quest for lodging. And fooding.

The first place had an attached bathroom but the room was coated with dust and cobwebs. The second was clean but down a set of rickety stairs that would have been impossible with the bikes. The third looked clean-ish and had a balcony, not great but do-able. Hot and itch-crazed, I took it.

Tim mostly carries everything up the stairs now. You know, since I find the hotels. Sooner or later, he'll realize that it's not a very good trade off.

When I tried to take a shower, I found the water was off. Silly me, should have checked. I fell asleep instead. Later we went for dinner at the hotel restaurant, still wearing the sweat and dust of the day. The hotel boys started the water pump for us when we went back up and I managed to sponge off a little before going to bed again. I fell asleep with the lights on, reading a Nick Hornby book.

A few hours later, I got up to turn off the light and saw a moving black speck on the white sheet. I squished it with my thumbnail. Blood. I found another and another, dozens of little bugs, baby bugs and big bugs, all full of blood. �Tim! There are bugs everywhere! Bed bugs! Bwarrrgh!� I squished them frantically, till the sheet was speckled with blood. A tiny crime scene. �They're my little buddies.� Tim mumbled, still asleep. I think I laughed a little, but really it wasn't very funny. The bed was swarming with families of bedbugs. How would we sleep?

Tim saved the day by pitching his tent on the bed. It hung off the bed a little at the end but besides that it was good enough fit. �It's made of latex,� he told me. Perfect, since what I really wanted was a body-sized condom to protect me from the army of little vampires in the room.

The next morning I found a pharmacist and bought antihistamines and a bottle of the magic pink lotion. Calamine lotion reminds me a million poison oak rashes when I was a kid. As usual, I put on too much so everywhere I go I leave a smudge of pink dust.

Obviously, I didn't really notice the town much, being in the depths of itch misery and crawly bug paranoia and all. But walking around later on, I decided that Tansen is a cool little town. It's on a hillside so there are some really steep little paths you can walk up, and narrow alleyways full of interesting shops. Every morning a platoon of uniformed soldiers goes for a stompy run passed our hotel.

I bought a copy of The Himalayan Times, an English newspaper, and finally learned more about the car-free day. The headline of the editorial section is �The bandhs are back again.� A bandh is a general strike, called for by one of Nepal's many new political parties. This one �was called on by Nepal Federation of Indigenous Nationalities (NEFIN) to 'generate pressure' to finalise the constitution and to press for inclusion of their rights.� The article also complains that the other parties failed to oppose NEFIN's call for a bandh, proving �how unreliable they can be and that promises are only made to be broken.�

During the bandh, vehicles must stay off the street and shops close �due to threats of violence.� I wonder where the threats come from? The owner of a previous hotel said you can drive �if you are a brave man.� The rare cars that are on the streets carry a banner, a red cross for medical necessity or red hearts for wedding necessity. There were an awful lot of weddings that day by my count. Possibly they weren't all weddings, just people who really had to get somewhere. The bandh doesn't seem to apply to self-propelled tourists. We travelled without hassle that day, as did the couple in the van and the French dude on the motorcycle. But I think tourists who need to take the public bus can end up stranded and that would really suck if you had a plane to catch. I've seen some minivans with big signs saying �Tourist Only.� Maybe you could hire one of those, but I bet they get dear with the public buses out of action. It must put a real strain on businesses, but I suppose that's the point of a strike. There might be a �threat of violence� but as far as I can see there was no violence. And it's easy to understand that Nepalis might be feeling frustrated by the political process. The same newspaper also carries an interview with the Prime Minister Jhala Nath Khanal explaining why the Constitutional Assembly needs an extra year to finish up the peace process and the new constitution. All that was meant to be finished by the end of May.

Man, my skin is itchy. You know you're really itchy when rubbing your skin off with a cheese grater sounds like kind of a good idea.

This bit of Nepal we're in is home to the Magar people. One lady at our lunch stop proudly pointed at a movie poster on her wall and said this one was �Bahasa Magar �and the other was �Bahasa Nepal.� Bahasa means language in Indonesian, and here too, I guess. I saw a big sign in one town proclaiming we were entering the Magar Autonomous Region. There was also a hammer and sickle and pictures of Marx and Engal, Lenin and Mao. The Lonely Planet says Magars are excellent soldiers and make up the largest number of Gurkhas.

The school kids here wear little neckties, boys and girls. I watched a tiny brother and sister, holding hands while walking to school with their little backpacks and pigtails and neck ties. So cute.

I've got to do some serious research on bed bugs. Are they nesting in my hair? Laying eggs under my skin? Am I going to explode like that guy in Alien? How hard would it be to heat enough water on my camp stove to wash all my clothes in hot water? Do bedbugs carry any diseases? How come I have ten million bites and Tim has two, which might be mosquito bites? Would it be rude of me to capture a little jarful of bedbugs and then throw them on the hotel owner? Where can I buy some DDT?

May 17, 2011 Butwal 38.7 km (24 mi)

I imagine Nepali people must get tired of eating the same meal day in, day out. As much as I agree that daal bhaat is a tasty and healthy meal, I'm quite ready to mix up the menu. Maybe we just missed the restaurant in Tansen that served something else. I did find a sweet shop that sold little doughy goodies. One is called barfi. Delicious, despite the name.

Our ride out of Tansen was glorious, all downhill. Hopped up on antihistamines and Calamine lotion, I ignored my various itches and made the most of the ride. We floated down for most of the day, got some spectacular views of the valley. It really is a splendid road to ride on, bicycle or motorbike.

Our stop for the evening was Butwal. We renamed it Butt Wall. No offense if you are from there. It's a funny joke if you've been riding in the sun all day. Butwal is dusty and sprawly and the Lonely Planet has nothing kind to say about it. We settled for a hotel on the expensive side (RP$600 or US$8.39) since the room was on the ground floor. Cyclers know: ground floor rooms are golden as you don't have to carry the bags upstairs, you can just wheel the bike straight into the room. Mornings are so much faster when you leave everything attached to the bike.

May 18, 2011 Poo Hill 48.4 km (30 mi)

It's funny how a map can trick you into thinking about your ride. If you see all one color, you assume that means zero elevation change, that the road will be absolutely perfectly laser flat. If I had been more attentive, I might have noted the multitude of tiny blue lines crossing our path. Blue lines that mean streams, streams that are not spanned by large level freeway bridges, but rather cause you to turn uphill as the road heads towards a shallower crossing point. Each rise in altitude feels like a personal insult when you are expecting a flat day, each hill a confounding surprise. �Where did this come from?� I asked myself a thousand times. �This is supposed to be FLAT.� We'd made plans to pedal much further today, but all these darn hills kept getting in the way.

For lunch we ate daal bhaat. At least it's cheap.

Our map showed one climb for the day. A long light green finger crossed the highway, pointing south to the border. It was a grizzly little climb, hot and jungley. At the line of roadside restaurants at the top, we collapsed into plastic chairs and guzzled sodas, both feeling a little queasy and out-of-sorts. We tried getting back on the road but the sky was clouding up and we soon decided to call it a day. Tim asked a well-dressed man at a banana stand where a hotel might be and in sparkling clear English he gave us directions to a tiny roadside restaurant. The very startled waiter showed me a tiny little room downstairs. As we entered the hallway, a women came out of another room buttoning her blouse. She blushed when she saw me and scurried into the bathroom as a man followed her out of the room. Aha. The room we got was mostly taken up by the bed but the window looked out onto a wall of jungle.

The waiter had to make a phone call in order to serve us dinner. In a few minutes, the owner showed up. His English was great, and he sat with us while we ate. Besides owning this hotel, he also runs a small contracting company. He said the petrol shortages were killing his contracting business, as he frequently had to run his equipment on expensive black-market petrol. He also told us that the new government had already extended the constitution writing process by two years beyond the original two year deadline. No wonder people are pissed!

May 19, 2011 Friendship Resturent & Ludge
32.2 km (20 mi)

Rough, rough night. Evidently we ate something bad, both of us are in bad shape, me much worse. What a night. The thought of food was totally gross so I ate nothing today. We rode off the little hill and down to the flats, moving slow and taking lots of breaks. It was pretty awful. Bedbug attacks and now my guts in revolt. We gave it a good shot but after just 30km (18.6 mi) I was done for. We stopped at a funny little place in a cornfield. The rooms all had corny airbrushed posters of naked white babies and fictional beautiful nature scenes. One had a fancy white mansion sitting in a field of blooming tulips next to a majestic waterfall that spouted out of a grove of green trees. They all had inspirational thoughts in bad English like �Wishing you to good blessings and good supply.� There were a bunch of young men there, fellow guests or residents I'm not sure. They all slept together under one big mosquito net like a pile of puppies. We set up the tent on top of the bed again. After the power went off in the middle of the night, killing our fan, we spent the rest of the night sweating. Tim's tent is now pink on the inside from my Calamine lotion.

May 20, 2011 Saurara 65 km (40.4 mi)

Another Car-free Day! I mean, a strike, I know it's a strike now, but still, I can't help but enjoy the day for the pure bicycling bliss of a nice country road with no cars. And loads of bikes! The first thing you notice is the quiet. Before we'd even left the hotel, while we ate breakfast, we noticed the non-presence of truck sounds. Only one car passed, bearing a flotilla of flags. We pulled out onto a road full of bikes. The bikes were mostly Hero and Atlas brand from India, one gear and clunky, with a fat rack on the back suitable for carrying crates of vegetables or a few small siblings. And it's a very friendly atmosphere, everyone says Namaste and smiles. At the edge of a town, we came to the first roadblock and Tim told me to stay a little behind. A few big rocks blocked the road and a crowd of men and boys milled about importantly. But no worries, everyone just wanted to ask where we were from and gawp at the bicycles. �We like no cars.� Tim told them and got a round of happy cheers. We passed through and rejoined the bicycle parade on the other side. Lots of old men, dressed spotlessly for the day, tootled around on brand new Heroes, bits of bubble wrap still wrapped around the frames. Along the edge of road sat long distance trucks, parked with doors open and feet thrust out open windows, all caught unawares in the sudden strike. One truck carried a load of water buffaloes, and the beasts were staked out in the sun near a farmer's haystack. On their way to slaughter and extremely miserable looking. At the center of town, a crowd of people gathered under a shady tree. Music and laughter beckoned. �Come on.� Tim headed towards a small shelter full of old men who were waving us over but I dragged him back towards the family section under the tree. �Welcome please. You want cold drink?� A young man ran off to fetch us some sodas and I found myself engulfed by a tide of small girls, all big eyes and dirty faces. �Hello! Namaste!� They giggled behind fingers, the braver ones edging closer, some pulling a small brother or sister with no pants. The young man who brought me a cold Fanta explained that the strike was not meant to stop tourists from traveling, that we and any other tourists were welcome in Nepal. The men pounded hand drums, the women sang songs and the children danced. The songs were protest songs, our new friend explained. The people are tired of waiting for the new constitution. So on these days, the trucks will stop, the businesses will stay closed, the schools are empty.

Tim getting a shave with a straight razor and Gretchen getting mobbed by kids.

Continuing on, I can't help but notice that not all the stores are closed. Not by a long shot. And the ambulance zips back and forth much more often than can be medically necessary. So while the storms of change brewed in the countryside of Nepal, we enjoyed a perfect cycling day on a road transformed by patriotic fervor. On one little hill, we were joined by four Nepali teenage boys. They were out riding bikes to local Hindu temples and offered to give us a tour. Being a boy himself, Tim had to have a few races with them. To the boys' immense delight, they managed to beat him up a hill. After that, they rode around us in a little herd, jostling and joking and having a great time. We went with them to the Hanamunan Temple and between the four of them they managed to convey that this statue of the monkey god was carrying a mountain to help his friend cross a river. �Very strong monkey!�

Soon after parting ways with our little entourage, we came to the town of Bharatpur, the turn off for the road back to Kathmandu. We came over bridge and saw.... cars. Cars and trucks and a haze of pollution in the air. Evidently, the strike only affected that small region. We passed a roadblock and long line of busses full of lingering passengers and suddenly we were vaulted back into the world of traffic and horns and dodging collisions and burning exhaust fumes. Bummer.

By this time we'd had a fairly long ride in the sun and the return to real traffic made us both extra tired. We missed the turn off for Chitwan, understandable as the only sign in English read �Everest�. After retracing our steps, we found the turn off and headed out towards the National Park. Each intersection was marked with a jumble of hotel signs, arrows pointing in all directions. In a somewhat hazy state, I believe we managed to find the most roundabout way possible of reaching Sauraha. But we did find what I really wanted. A nice clean room with a clean tiled bathroom. Emphasis on the clean. Emphasis also on the working bathtub with steaming hot water. I may find time to go on a jungle walk and look at rhinos and elephants. Or I may spend a few days taking long luxurious baths.

Tim truing my rear wheel and inspecting his crank and bottom bracket for the source of a strange noise that turned out to be loose chain ring bolt.

May 24, 2011 Hetauda Hotel Avocado 71.5 km (44.4 mi)

After a few days of relaxing at our fancy hotel with its lovely bathtub, we finally had to roll out. Tim has a week left on his Nepal Visa, which means we have a week of flat-out, run-for-the-border type days. Should be a blast.

A little breakfast in town, a few last minute purchases and we headed back up to the main highway. Once there, it was obviously another car-free day. A waiter at the Chitwan restaurant where we frequently ate had said there would be continuous strikes till the deadline for the new Constitution passed at the end of the month. I saw something online about big demonstrations in Kathmandu, but my connection was too slow to read the complete story. Even though there is some tension, I don't think there is the slightest risk to tourists beyond being inconvenienced. Really the reception we get is very positive, and there's no denying how fun it is to ride down a highway filled with people-powered transport.

The road we're on is the Mahendra highway. Super flat in these parts, it borders a wildlife buffer zone. The forests lining the road are well-used by locals for firewood and fodder. At the end of the day, we reached the intersection with the Tribhuvan Highway, which runs north/south between Kathmandu and the Indian border. Hetauda is a largish town with busy tree-lined streets. We considered a few downtown hotels (too many stairs) and finally headed out to the Lonely Planet recommended Hotel Avocado. Even though said avocados were sadly out of season, it was a great room. First floor with no stairs, decently clean and eager room service. The grounds were garden-y and green, and some strange animal romped in the grass. Sort of a big slinky white ferret. I've no idea what it was.

May 25, 2011 Chandranigahapur 69 km (42.9 mi)

This morning we took off south on the Tribhuvan Highway. Right away it was obvious that today was not a car-free day, or maybe just not this stretch from Kathmandu to India. Farting big trucks rattled and honked by constantly. The road surface was rutted and potholed in places. We had a big climb immediately after leaving town, climbing around 400 meters. It was a nice little climb, especially knowing that this would be the last significant climb in Nepal. On the map, it looks like we've got half the country to go till the border, but it's completely flat.

Near the top of the hill, we found the destination of the Nepali Oil Corporation (NOC) trucks that were swarming passed us. At the gates to the NOC there was a clusterfuck of smelly trucks gunning impatiently in nothing resembling an orderly line. Feeling like a couple of mice in the elephant yard, we zipped around the parking lot of hulking beaters and emerged on the other side. Possibly the strikes have affected the Nepali petrol supply, and all these truck drivers are making up for lost time. The petrol must come up from India and get distributed from this point.

A short downhill later and we were back on the plain, flat for the next 400 km (249 mi).

The villages here are a glimpse of primitive life: oxen pulling carts, huts made of hardened smooth red mud, women carrying loads of fodder in cone shaped baskets on forehead straps. It's not unusual to see a shriveled little old man wearing a sarong, leaning heavily on a staff and hobbling along behind a muddy water buffalo. There were also plenty of Armed Police Force (APF) bases and machine gun nests along our route. The soldier/police always waved us on with a friendly enough smile, but the presence of so many guns was a little scary. Especially when we passed a sandbag fortress with a 50 caliber machine gun (this according to Tim, it just looked like a BFG to me) mounted on two ropes and pointed directly at anyone and everyone passing by on the street.

We found a hotel surrounded by corn fields. It's funny seeing corn and rice growing side by side. The kid at the hotel that spoke the most English had a sweet face, shaved head and sported a sideways hip hop red baseball cap. In his quest to make sure we were comfortable, he knocked on the door nearly constantly to present us with room deodorizer, bug spray, water, sodas, a tablecloth and our dinner.

May 26, 2011 Bardibas, 70.3 km (43.7 mi)

Tim has invented a new way to make coffee. His instant coffee cooked and congealed in its ziplock bag and turned into a big coffee jawbreaker. He saws off hunks of it with a knife every morning. It makes a huge mess. Then he left the coffee lump in a cup with his Leatherman tool, and now they're all molded together. We both fairly obsessive about our morning coffee. My system is no less weird. I used to carry around coffee gadgets until I went to Indonesia. There I saw people making cowboy coffee and decided that was the simplest way to go. Together we carry far too much coffee makings, but at least we're properly caffeinated.

We stopped at a super sweet shop today. Little cakes made out of some kind of nut fudge stuff, saturated with honey. A little too sweet actually, but sometimes that sugar burst is just what you need. There was also some kind of fruit samosa thing that tasted a lot like a Hostess Fruit Pie.

This area seems dryer, with less agriculture and more animal farming. Herds of little bleating goats and cows and water buffalo. A couple donkeys today, along with some little baby donkeys that I would love to take home. There are hay stacks outside every hut. Ladies and girls trudge beside the road, carrying baskets of fodder or water jugs made out of hammered brass. Cattle teams pull simple carts with wooden wheels. I don't know that I've ever actually seen a wooden plow behind a team of oxen.

We passed through one village full of loitering truck drivers and soldiers, the roads blocked with rocks and branches. Just outside of town, we took a break in the forest and watched a convoy of trucks pass by, led by a jeep full of armed soldiers.

Occasionally we crossed over bridges spanning great wide stretches of sand or rocks. I suppose they fill with water during downpours but at the moment they're all dry. Small trucks and tractors pulling trailers were out in the dry river bed, people struggling to fill the trailers with sand or rocks. All the bridges had neat art deco signs announcing that they were built in 1972 by the USSR. Commie bridges!

We rolled into Bardibas just as it was getting dark. There were two hotels: one okay and the other completely out of the question. I found myself sharing the shower with an extremely large cockroach. I managed to ignore it until a huge gecko came along and snapped at the cockroach, causing it to start flying back and forth in a blind panic. Tim heard me scream (just a little one), then I came rushing back into our room wearing only my skirt, my shirt clutched to my chest. A few minutes later I returned to find a happy gecko and a smattering of cockroach wings and nasty little legs on the floor. Go Gecko! Dinner was the standard. We were joined by some little smarty pants school kids that brought their English General Knowledge book to read with us. I was pretty impressed by this book. Published in Kathmandu, it contains a pile of information about Nepal: history, geography, famous people � all written in spotless English. The kids seemed to have memorized most of the facts and figures and spoke outstanding English.

May 27, 2011 Lohan 60.6 km (37.7 mi)

Man, we battled headwinds all day long. We had plans of making it about 10 km further but in the early afternoon Tim started feeling really sick. We pulled into a stinky town and found a hotel, not my usual choice as out front there were a few nasty boars eating piles of garbage. We got dinner in the room (why have a menu when you only have one thing available?) and watched some HBO. Some invisible bug nibbled on my arm all night. Not mosquitos, not bedbugs. I'm going to say it was no-see-ums.

The only bright spot of the whole day was lunchtime. We passed through a dingy little town, each restaurant looking dirtier than the last. Finally we found a tiny place, run by a stunningly gorgeous lady. The other customer was a woman in military officer uniform. A couple kids came out, one 13 year old boy with decent English and his shy sisters. I handed my notebook to a teenage girl and she hunkered down with her pencil to draw me some awesome pictures. I wish I could draw that well.

May 28, 2011 Inarawu 87.2km (54.2 mi)

We woke up to rain and thundershowers and a crippled old donkey heehawing in the street. Both of us were tired and rundown but got going anyway. The showers took care of the heat but we were still riding into gusty headwinds. After a few kilometers we pulled into a very muddy little shack restaurant and drank some soda. While we waited, the sky cleared and the headwinds thankfully died down. The rest of the day was quite lovely, especially as it was another no-car day. The wide flat streets were bike avenues. We had a good giggle over all the boys riding along together holding hands. You never see men and women being affectionate, nor pairs of women. But Nepali men are all over each other in an eyebrow-raising sort of way. Tim had a little race with some boys on rattley old bikes with brass water jugs strapped to the sides. The asphalt would occasionally disintegrate into rubble, causing our whole bike parade to line up single file to bump over the path of least resistance.

We wanted to make today our long day, as Tim only had a few days left on his visa. Lucky us, during the afternoon a glorious little tailwind sprang up. We sailed east, then jogged south where the highway fish-hooks around the Koshi Tappu Wildlife Reserve. We rode over the top of a dam, wide still water stretching out to the horizon. Lovely to see that much water. I do miss the ocean.

I had hoped we might make it 100 km to Itahari today but we ran out of daylight. We were directed to a hotel that bore no sign, English or otherwise. The owner wanted 500 rupees since the fan was connected to battery system that would keep it turning all night, but Tim talked him down to 400. One of the beds had a mosquito net, good quality, and I hung mine over the other bed when I saw that there were wasp nests plastered to the ceiling. We were both exhausted by the long ride and a few nights of bad sleep, so we conked out early.

May 29, 2011 Damak 63.1 km (39.2 mi)

I've finally figured out that the red splotches on the hotel walls are not evidence of a crime. Nepali men chew tobacco like crazy and I've been noticing some beetle nut stands. When I lived in Taiwan, beetle nut was sold in little baggies by sexy underwear girls. Here, it's sold at the ubiquitous gum, cigarettes, candy, shampoo sachet stalls. It's made to order and there seem to be different flavors. I wonder what the flavors could be? Mint? Chili? Sour cream and onion?

This region is more crowded. There seem to be more people walking along the road, more herds of cattle and goats. The towns seem more prosperous, less dust and more pavement, trash in bins rather than piles to be nibbled on by strays. The houses are more modern, less red mud and thatch, the occasional patch of green lawn.

We came upon a little traveling amusement park, packed shoulder-to-shoulder with people. The Ferris Wheel was completely crazy. Each car held at least 4 people, with a few brave lads clinging to the outside of the cars or climbing in between! I guess if you're used to clinging on the roof of a bus, unsafe use of fun park rides wouldn't be a big deal.

When we pulled into our goal town of Damak, it took a little while to find a hotel. The first was fake-full. They said they were full but we suspected that they just didn't want to deal with weird sweaty foreigners with humongous bikes. The second place was deserted. As I wandered around looking for someone, Tim got into a conversation with a Dutch NGO worker outside. He was there to help Nepali refugees from Bhutan resettle into first world countries. We finally found a decent hotel with a restaurant downstairs and fruit carts out front. This place had an attached bathroom with hot water, cable TV, a broken telephone and fancy hole-filled mosquito nets. The electricity was temperamental and the hotel boys knocked on the door several times with lame excuses to take another peek at us. After a couple of awkward situations, we've learned to keep the door locked all the time, as people tend to just walk in without knocking whenever they feel like it!

I saw something interesting on TV. One of the channels had subtitles and commercials in Indonesian. Why would Nepal get Indonesian cable when India is just a day's bike ride away?

5/30 Indian border town 51.3 km (31.9 mi)

We got out early (for Tim and me) and without the usual headwind made it to the border in decent time. Changing money was a bit frustrating, as the banks and money changers all have different rates and commissions. I ended up doing half at a bank and half with a dude on the street. And which do you think gave me a better deal? The slightly sleazy dude on the street who asked if I might know of any jobs for him in the US.

As far as border crossings go, this one was very chill. The Nepali immigration official was relaxing on the front step when we arrived. He was very friendly and cheerful, curious about the bikes. After we checked out of Nepal, we crossed the border area along with hundreds of cycle rickshaws. Judging by the cargo and shops we saw, Indians come to Nepal to buy produce. Nepalis cross to India to buy consumer electronics and bicycles. We got to the Indian side and searched out the immigration official. Now, I don't want to start any rumors about Indian immigration officials, but that guy seemed drunk to me. And he had a tedious amount of paperwork for us.

Once we entered India, we were off the map and out of the guidebook. I made a random left and finally found a �Hotel Cum Restaurant.� (Any other totally immature people think that's funny too?) Tim and I were both feeling a little celebratory and had a couple of Kingfisher beers with our lunch, then tried to check into the hotel in our buzzy state. That poor waiter kid. He told us the price, then said they were full, then showed me all the empty rooms in the place. I think his boss, smoking and watching ear-splitting Bollywood in one of the backrooms, was probably changing his mind over and over, and this poor kid didn't have the English to explain that his boss was crazy. There was also a stage in the back, full of enough musical instruments for two bands. That should have clued me in to what was coming next. Around 8pm, the drum machine started booming away. I walked out to check out the band and found a bunch of oldsters on stage banging away at the instruments and taking turns on the microphones. It was extremely loud and hysterical, but it did stop at a decent hour. The room cost 500 Indian rupees, about US$12 and twice as much as any Nepali hotel. Hope they're not all like this.

May 31, 2011 Siliguri 30.5 km (19 mi)

Weary as we were from the week of running for the border, we set out the next morning to get to Siliguri. We both wanted a few days off but we also wanted stores, internet and a hotel that didn't host a nightly sing along for retired people. So, off we went.

Okay, let me say this about cycling in Indian traffic. It is insane. It is not for beginners. People speed like crazy and play chicken when they pass and it was a little terrifying. Tim is really good in traffic, and I realize now that I am not. I may have been cycling in crazy Asian traffic for years now, but I haven't ever been to India and this is a whole nother ball game. And I'm pretty sure that I'll never get used to seeing great big lazy cows just laying about in the midst of traffic.

Siliguri is a hefty sized town with hotels everywhere. We had a bit of a time picking one. I won't go into detail. Let's just say there was some drama. After a week of hard hot riding, it was bound to happen.

June 4, 2011 Some little village 33.2 km (20.6 mi)

It may be hard to believe, but we left pretty early today and rode till it was nearly dark and still barely made it 33 km. Plenty of stops, of course, as the road is near vertical! The route we are using to Darjeeling comes courtesy of this awesome book Tim's been carrying around: Himalaya by Bike by Laura Stone. The routes she describes are enough to put any cyclist into dreamland, that is, until you actually try to tackle the roads! She describes today's route as �short but all the more brutal for it with gradients of up to 16%.� Even though her suggested first day was a mere 47 km to Mirik, Tim and I knew full well we probably wouldn't make it that far. I'm sure there's been a day in the past when I climbed 1500 meters in one day, but neither of us was feeling up to it.

It was a giant relief to cross the highway outside of Siliguri and suddenly find ourselves away from traffic. India sure is noisy! We twaddled along some foresty roads, passing through a big army camp. Nearly all the signs were written in English. I am getting spoiled with all the proper English in India. There did seem to be another road leading to Darjeeling; one passing through Mirik and the other going through Keosung. We decided to assume that Laura Stone was directing us towards the better route and stayed on the road to Mirik. We stopped for lunch in Dudia, passed over a bridge by an army shooting range and began the hours of never-ending heinous climbing.

It is all rather beautiful: tea plantations and big trees and moss and fog. And lots of switchbacks. The roads are so narrow that there are no buses. Everyone gets around in taxis, mostly 4x4 trucks with personalized decorations and awful exhaust. There was a bit of rain, not the slightest bit cooling since riding in raingear makes me instantly covered with sweat. We took a lot of breaks in some nice little shelters that seemed especially made for exhausted cyclists. Tim is having a lot of stomach problems. I think it must be some kind of amoeba infection.

We crept along a ridge top, getting occasional glimpses through the clouds of Siliguri far below. Towards dusk we came upon a two-store village and I inquired about a place to sleep. Tim was leaning towards pitching the tent in a bus stop but I was fairly certain we could find something nicer. The old woman at the store called for her son/nephew/cousin to come translate for us and this very polite young man offered us a room at his house. I offered to pay far too much money (RP300 or US$6.67), which made his eyes get all round. I don't know what I was thinking, but I think they all assumed that included food so someone immediately ran out to get a freshly plucked chicken for our dinner. We locked our bikes in a little shed and had a splashdown in the shower shed. Our young host, Abhisek, took us to the kitchen platform which had a lovely view of the valley. I was really intrigued by the stove his mother/aunt cooked on: a handmade earthen hearth. She said her mother had made it the year before. The balcony of the kitchen was lined with big stones. Abisek said they were for tossing at monkeys, which liked to come and steal laundry. He also told us that he goes away to boarding school where he studies math, lots of science and learns his excellent English. When dinner was ready, he invited us into the dining room but none of the family ate with us. That part was a little uncomfortable but okay. We slept in a skinny little bed with piles of warm blankets and a good mosquito net.

June 5, 2011 Mirik 14.3 km (8 mi)

Who knew 8 little miles could be so brutal?

We had eggs and roti for breakfast and said thank you to our lovely hosts. Then began our long slow painful ascent. The road was broken in some parts, plenty of little school children walking along at about the same speed as we rode. There were more than a few Indian families in private cars, on vacation from Kolkota, stopping to pose for photos in the tea fields. We stopped for noodles at a little lookout point (view was completely obscured by clouds) and met a couple of magazine reporters. They seemed really eager to interview us for an article in the travel section. We goofed around for a couple of photos and that was pretty fun. After that the road wasn't quite as steep and we got into very cool cedar forests that smelled fantastic. Tim was feeling pretty low but it wasn't long before we rolled into Mirik. I left Tim guarding the bikes and ran around checking out hotels. Laura Stone's recommended hotel has upgraded considerably since publication, completely out of our price range, but I did finally manage to find a super room at a nice discount. Quiet, roomy and piping hot water, it was just what we needed. Mirik is a pleasant little town, full of Indian tourists. There is a grungy little lake with nice walking paths and plenty of interesting little food stalls. A pharmacist sold me some antibiotics for Tim's mysterious stomach ailment so he's now on the mend.

June 8, 2011 Sukhia 27 km (16.8 mi)

A few days of rest and Tim is feeling better. Now I have it, whatever 'it' is. And man, do I ever feel like crap. Light-headed, headachey with hot and cold chills. Visions of malaria dancing through my head. Sure wish I could enjoy this beautiful ride but my body and the weather refuse to cooperate. We wound up plenty of switchbacks and stopped at a tiny store to wait out the worst of the rain. Tim played chess with some locals while I guzzled coffee. Actually we are very close to Nepal right now and if it weren't so cloudy we would be able to see into Bangladesh from some of the viewpoints. The mountains and forest are pretty spectacular. This is a popular tourist route, evidenced by the mounds of plastic garbage on the sides of the road.

We stopped for momos and some lovely hot soup at a little town called Simana. On a clear day you can see Kanchenjunga, third highest mountain in the world, but it was all gray mist today. We asked about a guesthouse and were told to continue on 5km to Sukhia. What a relief to find this bustling little market town. The guesthouse was overpriced and the owner was a little grumpy but still a relief. Directly across the street from a colorful monastery and the food wasn't half bad.

June 9, 2011 Darjeeling 20.6 km (12.8 mi)

I wanted to take a shower but I skipped it because I didn't want to get my hair wet. After last night's chill, I may never wash my hair again. The woman at the hotel insists that Tim knocked a chunk of plaster out of the wall while he was carrying the bikes upstairs. He says there was nothing on the floor when she first told him, no plaster dust. We were woken up by some little mischief makers knocking on the door and running away with a trail of giggles.

I felt a lot better riding today, probably because this is the last day of riding for a long time. With monsoon breathing down our necks, bicycle touring will soon be out of the picture. We'll have to find a longterm room and store the bikes for the season. So, enjoy it while you can. We got to Ghooma and had some momos at a cliffside restaurant. Why build a city dangling off a mountain like this? The little toy steam train tooted by, its tracks criss-crossing the road. Let's see these crazy drivers play chicken with a train!

Laura Stone mentions a left turn to a fun shortcut to Darjeeling. We completely missed it. (Possibly it's meant to be a right turn.) The road we took followed the train tracks, cutting across the hill face, mostly heading downhill. After a few majestic monasteries, we entered Darjeeling proper and pulled up at a gas station. A glance at the Lonely Planet map told me that it was completely useless. This town is three dimensional and a 2D map means absolutely nothing to me until I've walked around for a few days. We decided the most logical thing was to go uphill, since that's undoubtedly what we would end up doing anyway. A few ridiculously steep zig-zags later, we finally came (the long way, of course) to Tenzing Norgay Road, where the budget hotels live.

The rest of June

After a week or so of looking and asking, we moved into a long-term hotel for the monsoon season. It's called the Revolver and it's full of Beatles memorabilia. Besides being clean and cool, it has hot water and wifi. Monsoon started suddenly at 4am one night, a giant gush of rain that lets up occasionally for an hour or so at a time. Tim and I have been using this time to work on the website. Well, he does the work. I mostly read through our hotel's massive collection of old Agatha Christie and Sherlock Holmes. Tim goes hiking, I go running, our bikes are getting moldy locked in a shed downstairs. We've made some friends, locals and travelers. I found a good doctor and dealt with my gut full of little buddies. Pretty soon we will take a trip down to Kolkata to get visas for Bangladesh. It's nice to take a break, but we'll both be glad when the rain stops and we can get back on the road.

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DownTheRoad.org RoadNews NewsLetter Up The Road to Darjeeling, India With My New Travel Partner

2011-06-30T20:05:42Z

DownTheRoad.org's RoadNews Newsletter: Up The Road to Darjeeling, India With My New Travel Partner
June 30, 2011 (Sent From Darjeeling, India)

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Previous letters can be found at http://www.downtheroad.org/LETTERS.htm
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Greetings from Darjeeling, India - 2000 meters up in the Himalayas. The monsoon has started and I have settled down in an apartment to wait out the rains. I will write more about Darjeeling in a later newsletter, after I walk around and get to know the area better . I am working on reinventing www.DownTheRoad.org, especially toning down the presence of my ex-wife. This is a touchy subject, yes, but seeing 'we' and 'us' all over the place doesn't seem right anymore.

The ride from Katmandu to Darjeeling was hard because my health has been run down by the months of stress and inactivity. Negotiating the divorce and finances took its toll on my well-being. But, as it has always been in my life, riding the bike breathed new life back into me. Sitting in the saddle is the only place where everything makes sense these days and riding again has brought me back to my old self.

I have another reason for my happier outlook these days, and that is my new travel companion. The time has come to let the cat out of the bag. Not that my girlfriend is a cat, nor do I keep her in a bag. Some sharp-eyed followers on Facebook (http://bit.ly/90xo0b) may have noticed the presence of a little white bike in my photos and more pictures of me, obviously not taken by me. Truth is, I have a new travel companion, and not the platonic sort. I wasn't sure when to break the news. What is a respectable amount of time to wait after a divorce? It's not as if I can date in a normal sense. The type of woman who's attracted to my bicycle drifter lifestyle isn't so easy to find.

I'm afraid I had to go completely new-age to meet my new companion. Gretchen was already cycle touring in New Zealand and we were corresponding on Facebook with growing regularity. It started with a few random comments, some tidbits of advice, and somehow grew to regular Skype conversations. How shocking it is for me to be so modern and sucked into all these new-fangled ways of communicating, but there you have it. It even happens to us old folks, embarrassing as it is to admit.

Somehow I talked her into coming to join me in Nepal. Just to give us some private time, to make sure we were good at traveling together, I kept it quiet. Not that we had anything really to hide: I was thoroughly divorced before we got involved and Gretchen was completely unattached. In May we left Kathmandu together, our first trial on the road. I will admit, I don't like traveling alone. Besides the logistical difficulties (having no one to watch the bikes while I shop for food), it's just more fun to share the experience. And what better way to see if we were compatible: 600 km of hot hard riding through Nepal and a steep four day climb up to Darjeeling! I'm glad to say that we get along fine. I hope she'll stick around.

Here's a little more about Gretchen. She grew up in California, and moved to Taiwan to teach English in 2004. After shorter cycle tours around Taiwan, Bali and Vietnam, she decided to take a year off to cycle full-time. In 2010, she took off for Singapore and pedaled through Malaysia, Indonesia, East Timor, Australia and New Zealand. She's riding a touring bike she bought in Taiwan, is shockingly inept at bike repairs and rides uphill faster than she rides downhill. She's kept a journal of our ride through Nepal, which I will be posting soon.

So that's the big secret and now you all know. I've never been one to live my life according to what anyone else thinks I should do, and I'm very happy to have another weirdo to share my journey with. Although parts of our journey through Nepal passed through the tourist delights of the country, the majority of our time was spent in tiny towns and villages where no tourists tread. Off the beaten path is never as romantic as it sounds, as we spent numerous nights in bedbug-infested rooms so filthy we had to set up my tent on the bed to keep the bugs away as we slept. Nepal was experiencing some political unrest at the time. In the Eastern Terai region, we witnessed day after day of general strikes. These were never aimed at tourists and we were greeted kindly everywhere. The strikes kept all trucks and buses at a stand-still and I cannot describe the joy of cycling on car-free streets, surrounded by locals on bikes.

We entered India near Siliguri and started up into the hills. Riding up 2000 meters took us a good four days of hard riding. The hot plains gave way to cool forests of spruce and cedar. Following the excellent directions given by Laura Stone in her book Cycling the Himalayas, (http://amzn.to/ignx3Z) we finally arrived in Darjeeling, a hill station of the old British empire. Surrounded by fog and tea plantations, the distant whistle of the toy steam train and the chime of bells from the Clock Tower, this town is a moss-covered reminder of olden days. Already we've made some solid friends: the artsy couple who run the Petrichor Art Cafe, our excellent host at the Beatles-themed Revolver hotel, the kid with a dozen businesses at the Adventure Travel Internet Cafe, not to mention the many idealistic, wide-eyed backpacking students we've met. This is already shaping up to be a fine time, despite being grounded by the ceaseless monsoon rain.

I will try to put out more regular newsletters, including one that will outline my revised travel plans for the next two years. You can always catch my updates on Facebook. http://bit.ly/90xo0b I wish everyone well and thanks for sticking around to catch my continuing adventures.

Tim Travis
Darjeeling, India
http://DownTheRoad.org

Riding Backwards: Troubling times on the road

2011-04-17T05:11:43Z

Where do I start? This is very difficult to explain – especially since I do not understand it myself.

My last newsletter was written back in October (http://fb.me/tD3yptvt). I wrote that Cindie was taking a break to stay near the Dalai Lama, and we had plans of reuniting in three months. This is what she told me and I fully believed it until a few weeks later when I rolled into the small Nepali village of Limbini where I received an email from Cindie saying that she had flown to Arizona, hired a lawyer, and was pushing through a divorce as fast as she could.

To say I was floored would be an understatement. I never saw any of this coming. We never had a fight, no hitting, cheating or anything else to explain this. I was very happy and content being married and I thought Cindie was as well. I believe that marriage should be forever. I tried everything to save my marriage – offered to stop traveling and settle down, stay in India, marriage counseling – I was ready to do anything she wanted. But Cindie's mind was made up and finally I had to accept this.

Our divorce was complicated and very emotional for me. We have no children but we owned a house that we both loved and each wanted to keep very badly. We also had our online business to split and all the copyrights and royalties for our books to divide. We also had the normal things to divide like retirement plans and the few possessions we have in storage. The process was long and hard and sent me into a tailspin of depression, anger, and sadness for weeks. During the time I was so freaked out I could not eat and lost a full 50lbs.

I apologize that I can only tell one side of this story – my own skewed impression. I wish that I could bring you Cindie's side as well. She is staying in Dharamasala to help the Tibetan people. I will always truly wish her well. She is a very smart and talented woman and I'm sure she will be a great help to the Tibetan cause.

During this ordeal, I was truly moved by all the support of my family and friends. I'm especially grateful to my sister, who poured out her unconditional love for me by rolling up her sleeves to help with the nightmare of negotiating a divorce from overseas. I felt like I was 18 again, standing on a beach in Florida with my backpack, calling my sister collect on a payphone to ask for advice.

I have been traveling most of my life. I made it work out that way and have no regrets. It started with living in my unheated van almost my entire senior year of high school. This is where I learned I can be tough, resourceful and survive all the difficulties that an uncertain life on the road can dish up - and even make it fun. The day I graduated from high school I departed on a hitchhiking trip that was as crazy as an 18 year old with a backpack could make it. My university years were spent bicycle racing but once I graduated I was again adrift. I rambled around on a bike solo, picking up temporary work from town to town. I settled in Arizona for awhile, but after a few years I was back on the road again with Cindie. The years we spent touring the world together are priceless to me. I wouldn't trade them for anything.

There are four things necessary for a traveling lifestyle - income, time, bike/equipment and being excited to see the next place. The first three items are usually the most difficult but I have had them for years. The fourth item is troubling me now. The big unknown at this point is if this rambling lifestyle will still be fun without a partner. I would be lying if I said I didn't seriously think about just giving up and going back to Arizona. The thought of moving back to my home in Prescott, is very comforting. The road is not always a kind companion and when things turn miserable I let my mind wander to Prescott and know I can have that whenever I want. I also thought about settling down to teach ESL for a year in a country like Taiwan or South Korea.

But as I write this from my rooftop bar in Kathmandu, Nepal, I realize that there is still so much of this part of the world I want to see. The Indian subcontinent is not easy to plan for because of the visa restrictions and the three month annual monsoon that shuts down travel. I'd like to be in Darjeeling for the monsoon, and time is short to make the ride. I'll stay on the road for now. Who knows? There are other wandering bicycle drifters around – maybe the road holds more surprises for me.

Either way it is just me now. I hope all of you will keep following.

Tim Travis
Kathmandu, Nepal
www.DownTheRoad.org
Traveling Since 2002 + No Plans To Stop

Tangled Up in Blue: How I found myself on the road alone.

2010-10-17T07:21:32Z

Tangled Up in Blue: How I found myself on the road alone. Comments (http://fb.me/tD3yptvt) As you can guess, by the Bob Dylan song reference in the title, I hit a rough patch of road. Cindie abandoned the trip and went back to McLeod Ganj and I, uninvited, continue alone to Nepal. It is a bit of a long story which I try to explain below from my perspective So, here I sit in Rishikesh, India, 300 kilometers from the border with Nepal writing all this down. Rishikesh was made famous in 1968 when the Beatles stayed in an ashram here to study with a yogi. Ever since then it has been a center of Indians and foreigners doing yoga and meditating. It is a very spiritual place and many believers tell me magic happens here every day. What a strange place to type this but here goes. Before we started cycling in India we stayed several months in McLeod Ganj to wait out the monsoon season from June to September. I tend to like anywhere we go but this was the first place Cindie absolutely loved. She quickly made friends and began to do volunteer work. Everything went as expected. Together we wrote and edited the India and neighbors bicycle touring plan, (http://on.fb.me/9l8xzp) the rain stopped, we packed up our bikes, and said goodbye to our friends at a little gathering when we rode out of town. We had several great days of cycling together through the mountains. The traffic and living conditions were not as bad as we expected and the scenery was breathtaking. Surprisingly, after a long slump, I was riding well. I guess all that hiking and some time off the bike did wonders for me. When we reached Rewalsar Lake I felt like we were getting back in the groove but in the morning, after coffee, Cindie asked me to take a walk around the lake with her. Half way around Cindie became real serious and told me she wanted to go back for the next series of Dalai Lama teachings. I offered to download the English translations but she wanted to go back – TODAY. This was new territory for us; I naturally thought I would go back with her until I learned I was not invited. She also wanted some time away from me as well. Cindie and I like to hash things out and have time to think about things before we make decisions. When she sprung this on me I was shocked beyond belief. Anyone who has ever spent time with Cindie and I know we travel together like a well oiled machine. Instead of deciding everything by committee we divide all the work and don’t step on each others toes. So, the next day, when I rode away from Rewalsar Lake solo I felt like I was returning from a time out with only half my team on the court. I had to pack differently, learn a lot about internet banking, and bad Indian maps. My sister reminded me that I had spent years traveling alone before I met Cindie, and I can do it again. “Tim, you are professional. Go do what you do.” After some time traveling and camping alone I realized: although half the team was missing I had finally been promoted to team captain and found myself moving through the world efficiently by making decisions quickly and rebuilding a routine. Figuratively speaking, I have been down this road before. After my first couple solo weeks I see how this time apart is good for the both of us. Remember, we had been together 24/7 for the past several years and a break seems natural and healthy. Maybe we should have scheduled time apart a long time ago. I hope that when we reconnect we both have grown from the experience. It should breathe new life into our relationship. As the days past Cindie and I slowly began emailing and sorting out what happened and our future. We came to the agreement that a few months apart would be good for the both of us. We have a firm plan of meeting up in mid January in Varanasi, India and cycling together to the south. Apparently I have a few months to kill. I can go anywhere and do anything I want which is exciting to think about but all my instincts tell me is to just keep on trucking. It is what I do. Tim Travis Comments (http://fb.me/tD3yptvt)

DownTheRoad.org RoadNews NewsLetter Our 4–5 year “India and Neighbors” Bicycle Touring plan

2010-09-24T20:34:24Z

Goodbye Mcleod Ganj, India – we will return And
Our 4–5 year “India and Neighbors” Bicycle Touring plan

(see pictures for this Newsletter at http://bit.ly/90xo0b )

Hello from Mcleod Ganj, in the mountainous north of India. Both bikes are built and in pristine working order. We are ready to start pedaling to Nepal and all points south but the rain just won’t stop. The monsoon rains were supposed to end last week but apparently Mother Nature doesn’t read the guide books. Some of the downpours are harder than anything I have ever seen before. We need to leave soon because we have to be out of India by Nov. 1st and estimate it is 1000 kilometers (600 miles) on our non direct mountainous way to the Nepali border. This newsletter list is huge and takes several days to completely send out (750/hour) so hopefully we are on the road when you receive this. Either way we will post almost daily updates on our Facebook group page which you do not need an account to view. http://bit.ly/90xo0b

During the past few months we found a US$160/month apartment and settled in. I worked on updating months of our web site and Cindie converted our books to ePub files so they can be read on varies eBook readers including Apples new iPad. There will be an announcement when they are available. She also updated all of our Amazon Kindle books which are available now.

Despite the rain we still manage to take 2–6 hour morning hikes on the pine tree protected mountain trails several times a week and Cindie goes to regular Yoga classes. The best part is volunteering to teach English to Tibetan refugees, very fulfilling. I have written a long story about this that I hope to send out in another newsletter.

We have been told that Mcleod Ganj is an expensive place compared to other parts of India we will soon be cycling through but there is no convincing us. It’s all relative. Last summer we were riding across the USA and could only afford a campground with a shower twice a week. The rest of the time, once we got east of the Rocky Mountains with its abundant public lands, we were hiding in city parks and stealth camping in questionably legal places. This may sound romantic but it gets old.

Here in India, even the expensive part, we can afford hotels, US$2 upscale restaurant meals, and ride a taxi wherever we want. India has been one of the least expensive countries we have traveled and we no longer feel poor on our modest income. One of my favorite pastimes is hanging out in the groovy coffee shops and discussing deep topics with locals and other foreigners from literally all over the world – everyone can afford incredible India.

We have cycled through many places I considered nice to live or retire but Cindie was never sold. But here Cindie loves the Tibetan culture and the beautiful setting and I like the great hiking and mix of cultures and religions. In short, we both love it. So far, in the over 8 years of our tour, we have never returned anywhere that didn’t have family but I think this place is so special we will be back. But there is the world to visit first……

Our 4–5 year “India and Neighbors” Bicycle Touring plan

I have planned bike trips on several continents but India has been the most challenging due to several factors explained below.

We have a 10 year tourist visa which is an unusually long time for most countries. The longest travel visas we received were twelve months in Australia, nine months in China and New Zealand, and I think we can stay as long as we want in Canada with an entry stamp. Contrast this with the typical 30 – 90 day visa we get for most countries. This super long Indian visa opens up a whole new world of travel possibilities because it increases the most important ingredient to any successful bike tour; flexibility. We have no plans of just staying in India for the next decade but believe it will take four or five years to see this area on our bikes. The ten year visa means we can find our favorite spots and return anytime we like for an incredibly cheap paradise. I already know Cindie’s pick; Mcleod Ganj.

The catch to this generous visa is we have to exit India every six months for a gap of two months before we can return to India for another six months. This is why I am calling this the “India and neighbors” leg of our tour; we will have to ride into the neighboring countries every half year to make this work. We plan on visiting Nepal at least twice, Sri Lanka, Bangladesh, Tibet, and possibly a summer in the UK to ride and give several presentations. Flights from India to the UK are surprisingly cheap. Pakistan is also on this list but we are putting it off until the end of our 4-5 year tour in hopes the political climate and stability improve.

Another big factor that complicates making a travel plan for India is the weather. During the summer the low subcontinent plains are very hot and we want to be in the higher and cooler mountains. In late summer the subcontinent experiences a monsoon with heavy rains; we are at the tail end of that as I write. This means we will have to find cool mountainous locations to hang out and let the rain pass. I think of the monsoon season as the “off season” and a time to lay low.

A lingering concern in any international travel is political unrest. Once we arrived and started reading Indian newspapers we have learned political unrest in the area including violence. From experience we know that traveling through such areas is possible but when these unstable areas have elections we stay away. Usually when a place is having political tension an election will bring it to a head and is best avoided. After all, we are in this to have a good time not increase our risk any more than necessary. This put traveling through West Bengal and the Darjeeling areas on the back burner, where they are gearing up for elections, and already experiencing violence.

With the same logic of avoiding places when they are having trouble I believe it is best to visit troubled areas when they are experiencing peace. Sri Lanka had a civil war for years but has cleared up in recent times and is open for tourists. Who knows how long this peace will last, I hope forever, but we want to get our visit in within the next year. Sri Lanka has some great sounding old British hill stations that are likely spots to wait out the next summer’s monsoon.

So, below is what we plan to do from here - Mcleod Ganj, India:

The heavy rains should be finished any day and we have until Nov 1st to leave India (first 6 month gap) by crossing into Nepal. We estimate this to be about 1,000 mountainous kilometers with side trips. After a two or three month bicycle tour in Nepal we can cross back into India for a six month tour visiting Varanasi, Goa, around the southern tip. Then we head to the ferry crossing to Sri Lanka for our next two month gap. Sri Lanka sounds like a great place to tour and a place I never thought I would visit as a kid. Once we have been in Sri Lanka for our minimum two months gap we are back in India. I am not sure what route we will take through India from there but we will have another six months to bike our way to Bangladesh for our third six months gap out of India. After that we hope to visit the mysterious state of Sikkim and probably another rainy season in the mountain hamlet of Darjeeling, India.

From here our plan gets real fuzzy except we have to visit Rajasthan, Kashmir, Punjab, Ladakh, and more. Many seasoned travelers have told us no trip to India should be without experiencing these gems. Beyond that Cindie has her sights set on touring Bhutan; a country that usually requires a US$200/day/person tourist visa. That’s right – for us to travel Bhutan it looks like it would cost Cindie and I US$400 bucks each day! Now, I have given into her every travel whim during our eight years on the road but this one I may not be able to deliver. Neither Cindie nor I like the idea of only flying in for a couple days just so we can say we have been there and show off the visa stamp in our passport. If we go we would need at least a month to feel like we got a taste of this Himalayan country. Of course if we multiply 30 days by US$400 we get nauseous. But Cindie has been emailing away with contacts that took interest in our web site and believes she has a shot of getting in cheaply as a volunteer or something. I think it is a long shot but when Cindie gets something she wants to do stuck in her head she is persistent. No matter what she comes up with I could never tell her no.

Bhutan or not we can tour more of India and cross back into Nepal for another two month gap. At some point I want to ride through Tibet for six months but Cindie starts feeling sick at 4,000 meters. She said I should go and she could find a place to do yoga in Nepal or India. Splitting up like this would be a first for our trip but I want another tour of Tibet and Cindie doesn’t.

Last but not least we want to spend a lot of time in Rajasthan and India’s Himalayan north. If we can travel in Pakistan for a couple months or fly to the UK and/or Japan and back for a three month gap in the summer we could spend a full year in these two very interesting areas and still leave India every six months.

Wow, that was a lot of planning laid out and writing all this down really helped me picture our future. The funny thing is we seldom stick to our plans so you can expect our next few years cycling in this area to not be exactly what is written above.

See Ye DownTheRoad www.DownTheRoad.org

Tim

DownTheRoad.org's RoadNews Newsletter: Greetings from India.

2010-07-12T01:50:49Z

DownTheRoad.org's RoadNews Newsletter: Greetings from India. July 12, 2010 (Sent From McLeod Ganj, India)

This letter with PICTURES = http://downtheroad.org/Alaska-Canada-USA/letters/b1_New_Delhi_1india.htm

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The short flight from Cincinnati to New York and then 14 hours to New Delhi, India was cramped and uneventful; one of our better flights. Our bikes and luggage arrived safely with us which kicks this part of our tour off with positive news. I find it stressful to land with only one bike or missing one of our boxes.

New Delhi, India, population 15 million, is one of the most chaotic and densely crowded cities we have visited. To add to the confusion the entire city was ripped up due to the incredible amount of construction that goes with a booming economy. The badly needed commuter train is being expanded and many streets are seeing makeovers. I noticed a lot of new schools where students learn engineering, all things computer, and medical professions. The better schools boast UK accreditation and easy grade transfers to international schools. The boom in education is needed to train the workers in the new industries.

We stayed in New Delhi a month which was much longer than expected but we had to take care of a lot of medical things. The private hospitals here are excellent. Their patients consist of India’s growing wealthy class and foreigners. Most of the doctors had spent time working in other countries, especially the USA and UK. The hospital staff including the doctors and nurses could speak English well although their Indian accent threw us some times. Everything looked and smelled like a top hospital in the USA, that sterile smell is unmistakable.

We had extensive medical checkups and dental work done, including all the modern X-rays, ultrasounds and EKGs. The cost is about 10 – 15 % of the same medical treatments in the USA. The drug prices are unbelievably less as well. We met people getting skin cancer removed, having heart surgery, and a hip replacement. The foreigners sought any treatment that wasn’t so pressing they had the time to fly to India for US$1,200 to save US$50,000+ off their bill.

Everything in the hospital technology wise looked the same as home but the wealthy in New Delhi came from a variety of backgrounds. Hindu women floated across the room in colorful saris, a Muslim man in his special white hat stared at reports with daughters wearing scarves, a Catholic held rosary beads hoping to avoid bad news from the doctor, a Buddhist prayed at the little shrine of Buddha, and a Sikh wore an impressive turban.

After watching all this I decided it is much better to be in the hospital when no one in your family is actually sick. Many of the locals were dealing with urgent problems which caused unexpected somber family reunions. No matter what religion or ethnic background all families act the same when faced with this kind of a crisis. In the waiting room we saw an obvious family leader gather everyone together to discuss their situation. This is where the universal human bond of love in ones family is on display. We have seen it all over the world. It is the very thing that makes us all human.

Free public hospitals are available for Indian citizens but the waits are suppose to be huge and the equipment about 10 years old but to most poor Indians this care is very welcome.

One day we walked over to the train station to see what it would take to get our boxed bikes on the train. The station was jammed packed with bodies. Scam artist tried to make us believe the ticket window was closed, broken, or some other lie. They wanted to take us to a place where we would buy an expensive ticket through a travel agent and they would get a percentage of the sale. We were approach by a dozen such scammers before we found the international ticket window and knew it wasn’t closed. I could not imagine all this confusion while we had big bike boxes and gear in tow. We agreed that it would be wiser to buy our train tickets ahead of time, without our luggage in tow.

The next day we read the headlines in the local newspaper “Two die in stampede in New Delhi train station” http://bit.ly/d4DlKe After reading about the seasonal surge in people riding public transportation we decided to hang out in New Delhi a little longer.

Both of us made good use of the extra time. We had filed an extension for our USA and Arizona taxes so Cindie was able to finish and file electronically. Our business taxes are complicated; to say the least. I feel very lucky to have a smart wife who does this for us. Cindie Travis is again awarded the Down the Road Publishing’s employee of the month. She seems to win every month. I had the easier job of preparing our 3rd book to be sold in PDF eBook version. (see http://www.downtheroad.org/Publishing) We are working on versions that can be read on Amazon’s Kindle and Apple’s iPad.

But really, all these excuses about keeping us in New Delhi would not have stopped us if we really wanted to leave. The real problem was we did not know where in India we wanted to go first.

We usually take a lot of time to research an area before we land in a new region or continent but we were so busy publishing our new book and preparing our bikes/gear that planning our multi-year India and neighbors trip had to be put off until we were sitting in our New Delhi hotel room. Here we poured through our guide books trying to figure out where we would like to go.

India is hard to plan for but at least we have settled on where to start and therefore where to ride the bus. Why didn’t we just cycle out of New Delhi? We are in this to have a good time and cycling in New Delhi’s crazy congested traffic, with 110F – 120F summer temperatures did not look like fun to us. So, for US$16 we jumped on a bus to a small town high in the cool mountains called McLeod Ganj near Dharamsala.

The 14 hour bus ride was one of the worst in my life. I was dazed out on motion sickness medicine. The road was full of bumps and holes and the bus rocked from side to side even on straight flat stretches. The worst part was when they insisted our two boxed bikes had to be tied on top of the bus instead of inside with the rest of the luggage. At an early morning break I inspected the bikes and found the rope dangerously loose. I asked the baggage man to readjust the ropes. He felt how loose they were and chuckled while he said in English “One more hole and your cycles would have littered the road.” It was a good thing the driver wanted to stop for tea.

Mcloed Ganj and Dharamsala are famous because they are the home of the exiled Dalai Lama and what is left of the free Tibetan government. We chose this place because it was pleasant and with the coming monsoon season we wanted a cool retreat where we can do some hikes in-between rain storms. We were here a couple days before we found a basic apartment for $160/month and plan to stay until mid September when we start riding through the Indian Himalayas towards Nepal.

We do have plans to attend several of the Dalai Lama’s free talks and his birthday celebrations (July 6). Cindie has signed up for several Yoga classes (more on that later) and I plan to tie up a bunch of loose ends for our business. The day hiking is excellent with many trails going up into the pine covered mountains and connecting villages. This feels like a much needed vacation from our trip.

Let it rain!
Tim Travis
Mcleod Ganj, India

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DownTheRoad.org RoadNews NewsLetter

DownTheRoad.org RoadNews NewsLetter Message

DownTheRoad.org RoadNews NewsLetter Notes from Bangladesh

DownTheRoad.org RoadNews NewsLetter Earthquake, Robbed, and All Day 18% Grades - Sikkim, India-A place to remember

DownTheRoad.org RoadNews NewsLetter Darjeeling, India was Great for Monsoon Season.

DownTheRoad.org RoadNews NewsLetter Message

Read this journal with pictures as a web site. http://bit.ly/n10Jrq

RoadNotes: Bicycle Touring Daily Journal Nepal May - June, 2011 written by Gretchen Howell

April 29, 2011 50 km(31 mi), 5km passed Naubise

April 30, 2011 22km (13.7 mi), Malekhu

May 1, 2011 33 km (20.5 mi), Cheres

May 2, 2011 34.6 km(21.5 mi), Bandipur

May 7, 2011 Kurintar 45 km(28 mi)

May 8, 2011, Pokhara 12km (7.5 mi)

May 11, 2011 Syanja 38.6 km (24 mi)

May 12, Galyanbhanjyan 44km (27.3 mi)

May 13,2011 8.6 km (5.3 mi), some little town

May 14, 2011 Tansen (Palpa) 36.2 km(22.5 mi)

May 17, 2011 Butwal 38.7 km (24 mi)

May 18, 2011 Poo Hill 48.4 km (30 mi)

May 19, 2011 Friendship Resturent & Ludge 32.2 km (20 mi)

May 20, 2011 Saurara 65 km (40.4 mi)

May 24, 2011 Hetauda Hotel Avocado 71.5 km (44.4 mi)

May 25, 2011 Chandranigahapur 69 km (42.9 mi)

May 26, 2011 Bardibas, 70.3 km (43.7 mi)

May 27, 2011 Lohan 60.6 km (37.7 mi)

May 28, 2011 Inarawu 87.2km (54.2 mi)

May 29, 2011 Damak 63.1 km (39.2 mi)

5/30 Indian border town 51.3 km (31.9 mi)

May 31, 2011 Siliguri 30.5 km (19 mi)

June 4, 2011 Some little village 33.2 km (20.6 mi)

June 5, 2011 Mirik 14.3 km (8 mi)

June 8, 2011 Sukhia 27 km (16.8 mi)

June 9, 2011 Darjeeling 20.6 km (12.8 mi)

The rest of June

DownTheRoad.org RoadNews NewsLetter Up The Road to Darjeeling, India With My New Travel Partner

Riding Backwards: Troubling times on the road

Tangled Up in Blue: How I found myself on the road alone.

DownTheRoad.org RoadNews NewsLetter Our 4–5 year “India and Neighbors” Bicycle Touring plan

DownTheRoad.org's RoadNews Newsletter: Greetings from India.

Read this journal with pictures as a web site.
http://bit.ly/n10Jrq

RoadNotes: Bicycle Touring Daily Journal
Nepal May - June, 2011
written by Gretchen Howell

May 19, 2011 Friendship Resturent & Ludge
32.2 km (20 mi)