Bay of Pigs

It's Sunday afternoon. I'm sitting in the lobby of the Bello Caribe Hotel, about 15 miles outside of downtown Havana. It took about an hour to find this place. The cabby had no idea how to get here. None of the pedestrians along the way did either. It's a nondescript property tucked into the modest neighborhood of Miramar.

Upon my arrival, I was met in the lobby by Jeff and Daniel, the Proactive Sports Tours agents that I had been communicating with the past couple of months. They seemed tense, quite different than the way I was feeling after a week of challenging exercise, enjoying the beauty of this exquisite island and bonding with new friends with whom I shared an exhilarating adventure tour.

Jeff had just been told that the hotel was overbooked by ten rooms and that part of our group would need to sleep elsewhere for the first night. Not a good message when 103 Northeastern administrators, coaches, student-athletes and family members were about to arrive.

When I went up to my room, the TV was blaring, the beds were unmade, and there was smoke billowing about. A staff member was sitting in the chair, a cigarette hanging from his mouth and a look of surprise on his face. I turned and went back down to the front desk to swap rooms. Jeff couldn't believe the mixup. I thought he was going to have a heart attack. I think for my benefit, he declared to Daniel and to the clerk that he wanted to inspect all 50+ of our booked rooms. I almost told told him to take a deep breath. Instead I merely uttered, "Don't worry Jeff. We're in Cuba. It's all good."

I've always hated goodbyes and this morning was no exception. After having breakfast with the early risers, I shook a few hands, exchanged a couple of hugs, promised to stay in touch and made my way to the door. I've learned that a quick exit is best for me in these situations.

I ventured out to explore Old Havana. I wandered off the beaten path, meandering down back alleys, stopping to soak in the neighborhoods and to take a few photos. I eventually made my way to the San Jose Warehouse in hopes of picking up a couple of a Christmas gifts. I didn't last long. The place was overwhelming. I dislike shopping in normal times. With hundreds of artisan shops and people accosting me at every turn, I left. As always, the shopping could wait.

Last night we had dinner at the San Christobal Paladar, a restaurant a couple of miles from our Havana hotel. We were seated in the same private room where President Obama and his family ate a few months ago during their historic visit. Some tourists came through wanting to take photographs. Back in the states we might have resisted, but here, in our post-trip calm, it was the opposite. We welcomed all comers.

We ended the day in the hotel lobby listening to live music. It was a fun way to wind down. We had a final drink, chatted and even sang a bit.

Earlier in the day we had completed our final few days of biking in paradise. 150 more miles of riding through farm land and coastal roads, from Trinidad to Cienfuegos and the Bay of Pigs. We rode by mango groves, onion and rice fields, banana and coffee plantations, avocados, sugar cain and more. I couldn't have been happier.

Dan, our tour operator, has developed relationships with many Cuban families over the years. We've stopped at places we otherwise would never have found it it weren't for these relationships. Thursday's lunch was a couple of hundred meters off the road at a private residence where we were served charcoal-smoked lobster, red snapper, plantains, rice and expresso. I'm not much of a sea foodie but this was good. Really good.

Friday's ride ended at a beach club about ten miles south of the Bay of Pigs where we swam, sunbathed, ate and nursed Pena Coladas. It was a relaxing way to spend a couple of hours after a challenging stretch of riding.

I had ridden particularly hard Friday, wanting to see how much I could push myself for a sustained period of time. I searched for that optimized state, starting by pedaling to the point of quick, gasping breaths. I then backed it off just enough to regain long, deep ones. From there It was all quads and hamstrings. I stayed in that zone for many miles, tackling hills and flying through strait-aways. It might have been my best biking ever.

There were times this week when Katrina and I, and sometimes Marc, rode together and it got competitive. Katrina, a part-time yoga instructor is sneaky fit, able to maintain speed for long stretches. She is also crazy fast on the downhills. Fearless. My strength is the uphills. There are enough of them here to give me the edge. We brought out the best in each other.

When we checked into our hotel in Cienfuegos I was able to get a fleeting wifi signal. I received a Facebook message from a colleague of 25 years ago. Seeing that I was in Cuba, he alterted me to the fact that another colleague had sailed to the same town and was there for the night. Amazing. I took an early morning stroll to the Marina next door and low and behold the Dockmater's log showed that he was there. Unfortunately, his boat was anchored 250 feet offshore and I could see no movement on his deck. It was too early. So I wrote him a note. I would have loved to have caught up with him. A real shame.

Today I surpassed my goal of riding 7,500 miles this year. To honor the moment, Susan, Taz and Katrina emptied their water bottles on me, much like football coaches get drenched with Gatorade after winning big games. A proud moment shared with new friends. Thanks guys.

The following won't mean anything to most of you. However, to people like my cousin Michael, it will sound heavenly. Thursday Dan allowed me to ride the first 20 miles on his mountain bike. It's 2015 carbon fiber Rocky Mountain Thuderbolt MSL 799. It's XTR-DL2 equipped with hydraulic disk brakes, electronic shifters, a Rockshock Reverb dropper post, full suspension and tubeless. It's a $10K mechanical purring marvel. I loved every second of it.

After enjoying the beach club on Friday, we boarded the bus for the three hour ride back to Havana. Along the way we past through the Bay of Pigs. Jose provided a terrific history lesson of Cuba in the fifties under Batista, the revolution under Fidel, the repatriation of land and the fleeing of 1.5 million middle class Cubans to Miami and beyond. Jose's lecture provided a detailed account of the CIA backed Cuban exiles bungled invasion, the rise of Fidel as a national hero, leading into the Cuban missile crisis in October of 1962. Fascinating stuff.

Jose then loaded the 60-minute documentary "Peak Oil" into the VCR. It focused on how Cuba survived the economic crisis after the USSR left in the late 80's/early 90's. They call it the "special period" around here. The economy suffered a deep free fall and the country did some deep soul-searching and went to tremendous lengths to deal with it. Crisis has a way of forcing you to better yourselves. We could all use some once in awhile.

We meet for a huge group dinner tonight and then a series of events tomorrow. I'm looking forward to the new stage of the trip.



- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Location:Avenida 51,Havana,Cuba

The Ancon; where the pool is dry and the rooms are wet

I never would have guessed that I would arrive in Cuba a mere two weeks following the death of Fidel Castro. With its history of both revolutionary triumph and widespread oppression, the country is struggling to digest his passing; a little bit of sadness, a sprinkle of joy, lots of uncertainty. People aren't talking about it much but the concern about the future is palpable. It's fascinating to witness.

Our tour continues to be wonderful. What I like about about it is that we've got people with a wide variety of biking abilities and interests but they mix well together. Despite the athletic differences, it all works. Some are fast, some slow and some make lots of stops along the way. It doesn't matter. Whether biking alone or with others, we all meet at prearranged spots along the way for snack breaks and meals.

Because of the intense heat, we start early each day and finish around 1:30. I like to ride additional mileage; one, because I love the daily meditation of it and two, to work off the three big meals, beer, wine and rum we consume each day.

Yesterday I rode 50 miles and today another 40. There were some moderate hills along the way and both days the temperature was in the mid 90's. That kind of riding kicks the crap out of you. I consume gallons of water, lather on sun screen and wear my hat whenever I am off the bike. Margot taught me well.

The last two days we've been staying at the Ancon "Resort" on the southern coast of the Island. It's a tired property, even by Cuban standards. It's of Russian architecture, was built in 1986 and looks just like you would expect, poured concrete and no charm or luxuries.

I'm not a foodie but some in the group are and they are very critical of the Ancon's meal offerings and quality. Today's lunch was supposed to be at the Ancon but a unilateral decision was made to go to a restaurant in Trinidad instead, despite the fact that the Ancon lunch was prepaid.

The sandy beach is beautiful and relaxing. Because we are on a peninsula, I was able to watch last night's sunset and this morning's sunrise over the water. Spectacular!

Unfortunately, for whatever reason, the large swimming pool has been drained. A few of us have leaky air conditioners that have flooded our tile floors. Stan coined a marketing phrase for the place; "The Ancon; where the pool is dry and the rooms are wet." I got a big belly laugh from that.

Monday night, after a late dinner, Taz, Scott, Marc, Katrina and I walked down to and across the bridge to the 24 hour pharmacy. Taz had to repay a debt to a customer who paid for her purchase when she realized that she only had the tourist currency (the CUC) and not the local peso. Pharmacies are one of the few places where everyone is required to pay with the local peso. On the way home, oddly, we walk passed Jose, our tour guide, who was standing by himself on the sidewalk in front of what looked like a random store. He had a guilty look on his face when he saw us. We'll never know what he was up to but it was no good, I'm sure.

A few minutes later, as we passed our bus, I peered in the front window. I didn't realize Javier, our driver, was in there until after startling him he jumped up from the second seat. A woman was in the seat with him. Jose and Javier are doing a terrific job at supporting us. Whatever they do on their own time is not for me to judge.

Tonight, we are heading into Trinidad for dinner and then to listen to some music. I'm told that we can take salsa dance lessons if we want. A couple of rum drinks and just maybe...


- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Location:Trinidad, Cuba

Most fascinating were his stories about sea kayaking

I left the hotel early this morning in search of a place to watch the sunrise. It was an unsuccessful journey. The only high perch in Sancti Spiritus is the steeple of the church, built in 1680 and situated at the top of a curved street leading down to the bridge and out of town.
I love this church. Its beauty lies in its simplicity. There is nothing complicated or ornate about it. It is painted a rich pastel blue, has a rectangular tower with a clock about three quarters of the way up and is capped by a modest rusty red steeple. So simple yet so elegant. Unfortunately, it is only open from 9-5. Not good for watching sunrises or sunsets.
Instead I went to the bridge down the hill. Though it was overcast and had no view to the east, I still shimmied myself up on the guard wall and watched as the daylight emerged and the town stirred to life. A couple of men came along sweeping the streets with oversized palm brooms. Uniformed children, on foot and on bicycles emerged heading to the school behind the town square. It wasn't long before horse drawn carriages, motorcycles, bikes, taxis, cars and buses started coming through. It was a growing bustle that you would expect to see on a Monday morning throughout the Caribbean.
After breakfast, Katrina and I, joined by Dayan, one of the trip leaders, jumped on our bikes to get a head start. We wanted to ride some extra miles before joining the group at a gas station ten miles outside of town. After linking up with the others, we headed west for a 30 mile round scenic journey to San Jose Del Lago. It was a wonderful ride, past an assortment of different farms, mostly sugar cain.
I rode most of the way back with Steven. Steven is an older Canadian gentleman who worked for years with the indigenous population north of Hudson Bay. You have to be a hearty sole to live up there and that is a fair way to describe Steven. I was mesmerized by his adventure stories. He has trekked in Cambodia, Vietnam, Thailand, Nepal, India, Bhutan and beyond. He has cross-country skied all Over Canada. Most fascinating were his stories about sea kayaking around Vancouver Island, up in the the arctic and in the fiords in Greenland. Really amazing stuff.
Having had two hip replacements and having a couple of physical limitations, I'm increasing mindful that my body is not going to serve me too much longer. I can't help but wonder about retirement and experiencing similar adventures before it's too late. Something to think long and hard about.
After returning to the gas station, everyone got back on the bus except Jose (our tour guide) and me. I wanted to ride the ten miles back to the hotel. It was 90 degrees and I could tell that Jose wasn't thrilled about riding further. However, a staff member is required to stay with a client that wants to keep riding. It was his turn to do so. I felt bad about it but not bad enough. I'll make it up to him at gratuity time at the end of the week.
After a quick shower, we met near the town square for a terrific Cuban lunch. I had chicken and rice, vegetables, fried bananas, an expresso and a piece of the bread pudding cake. Wonderful. I tried to resist the Mojito but a gentle nudge from Danny is all it took. Of course it only acted to make me sleepy. I tried to rally by climbing the old rickety stairway to the church steeple. That was fun and had a 360 degree view that was to die for. It didn't dampen by fatigue however, so I headed back to the hotel for a well deserved respite.
In a little while we will meet for an 8 p.m. family style meal at place behind the hotel. It will be another opportunity to share stories, listen to music and maybe, just maybe, attempt a tango lesson. You know, "When in Rome".
Stay warm everyone. I am.




- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Location:Boulevard, Sancti Spíritus, Cuba

Saturday night was wonderful, until I got home that is.

Our eight hour bus ride yesterday to Sancti Spiritus flew by. Eight of us, four bikers and four staff, with bikes in tow, drove in our old Chinese-manufactured bus (with a recently added Russian engine), to meet up with the other four riders in this 500+ year old town. Along the way we passed sugar cane fields, mountains, livestock, people on horses, old American cars, vendors selling cheese, live turkeys and onions and so much more. Our tour guide, a former English professor, lectured us on Cuban history, its economy, culture, government priorities and many challenges. Of course we had lots of questions and he adeptly answered them all.
We made a stop in Santa Clara for a 13-mile bike test ride and a visit to the resting place and museum for Che Guevara. Fascinating. I knew of Che's Motorcycle Diary ride through Argentina and his significant role in the Cuban Revolution but was unfamiliar with his close relationship with Fidel Castro and the extent of his involvement in other parts of Central American politics. Yet another piece of world history that I need to brush up on.
Sancti Spirits reminds me of an old European village; a town square, families mingling about, groups of men nursing drinks at cafe tables, an ancient church, and people feeding pigeons in the park. What is different about it and other towns in Cuba is the wifi hotspots. Because internet access is new to the island, those lucky enough to own smart phones gather around these hotspots to Skype family members abroad, surf for updates, text and email. It feels like a modern day version of a town crier, people gathering around to learn of and share in the news of afar.
Last night we had our official kickoff dinner. I'm with a great group of people. As is usually the case with these organized trips, the folks love to explore, are fond of adventure, enjoy meeting new people and easily forgive the many trip details that often go awry. The group is made up of a neo-natal pharmacologist, a journalist, a major metropolitan newspaper editor, an industrial engineer, a movie set designer and two retirees. The dinner conversation was full of interesting stories, laughter and lots of beer and wine.
Saturday night was wonderful, until I got home that is. Then it got a little awkward. Nothing too bad. Just an uncertain dynamic with the eighty-something year old woman; my host for the night. More on that in a minute.
Earlier, I had walked along the beach back from the "internet hotel" in the dark and the light rain. An occasional car whizzed by, conveniently spotlighting the path leading back to the main road and the Italian restaurant that was recommended to me at the hotel. It took me about 20 minutes to get there. I was wetter then I would have preferred to be while dining but given my excitement for being there, it was easy to brush it off.
I had told the person at the hotel that I wanted to eat Cuban food and he assured me that the Italian restaurant served great local cuisine too. Unfortunately, that was untrue. There wasn't a single Cuban dish on the menu. I ordered the pasta which was terrific. It was mixed with pesto, garlic, some other herbs and topped in olive oil. Accompanied by fresh local bread, it was perfect. I ordered a Cuban beer and nursed it as I people-watched and listened to a Mariachi band serenade other diners. I was a tired but relaxed and contented and so happy to be there.
When I got back to my place, the awkwardness started immediately. My host, who lives by herself, had been waiting up for me. I was anxious to take a shower and go to bed but she motioned for me to sit down at the kitchen table. She then brought out some forms and repeated, passporte, passporte. I started to protest wanting to wait til morning. But she would have none of it.
The forms were in Spanish and I could decipher only a few words. She stood behind me getting a little too close. She then put her hand on my shoulder. Maybe it was innocent. I couldn't be sure. It seemed as if she giggled a little too often, as if trying to impress. Oh dear! As she looked at my passport she kept repeating "Massachoooseeets." When she did she let out a big laugh. "Massachoooseeets, hahahahah. Massachoooseeets, hahahahah."
After filling out what I could, I put my hands together and laid my hands on them, signaling I was going to bed. She got the message, thankfully. I expressed my gratitude, went into my room and locked the door. Phew!
In the morning it was as if nothing had happened. She served me a wonderful breakfast of ham, fresh fruit and coffee. A great way to start the day.
Today, Monday, the group will meet in the lobby for breakfast at 7 a.m. After that we begin biking in earnest. I can't wait.


- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Location:Sancti Spíritus, Cuba

Nothing went as planned. It was wonderful.

I can't remember the last time I was this excited. After all these years, I've finally made it to Cuba. Starting Monday, I will be biking the central part of the island with seven others, four Americans and three Canadians. I've never met any of them. All I know is they range in age from 46 to 73.
On the 18th I return to Havana to meet up with a large contingent of Northeastern student-athletes, coaches, administrators and parents. Our baseball and volleyball squads will be competing against local university teams and participating in a series of cultural exchange events. We will return to the states on the 23rd, plenty of time for me to do my Christmas shopping the next day.
This morning, back in Newton, my 3:30 a.m. wake-up call came earlier than expected. I thought it unwise to bring my Apple Watch to Cuba so I got out my trusty old Timex Ironman instead. One problem, I hadn't used the Ironman in awhile so it was set to Eastern Standard time. So instead of 3:30, the alarm went off at 2:30. I lied there for awhile, my mind racing. I began wondering if I had overpacked, if I had made a mistake not purchasing extra medical insurance and whether I should have abandoned my staff during a couple of critical work projects.
Enough of that. After a few minutes of snuggling, I whispered a few things into Margot's ear, hopped out of bed, made a quick pitstop in the bathroom, wolfed down a bowl of yogurt and called for an Uber.
Five minutes later, I was chatting with Merouane in his Toyota Camry, on our way to Logan. The thermostat read 19 degrees. I was Merouane's pivot ride, his first "morning passenger" of the night/day. Until then he had been taking evening revelers home, many of whom had gone out following their company holiday parties. Merouane and I laughed as we wondered how the the partiers would explain their regretful behavior when they return to work on Monday.
After a four hour layover in Newark, the United Airlines flight departed on-time and arrived in Havana at 2:45 p.m., right on schedule. Over the next five hours nothing else went as planned and it was wonderful. I was so happy to be there that the disorganization and slow pace didn't bother me a bit.
On the plane I sat next to an American woman, Emily, who had been living in London for the past ten years. Emily's plan was to link up with a friend (who was flying in from Miami) at the airport, head into the center city for the night and then travel the island for a week. Unfortunately, when we got to the terminal, her friend was nowhere to be found. My arranged driver was missing in action too. We spent nearly an hour searching, texting (at a dollar a text) and calling. No luck.
Though our accommodations were far apart, we finally decided to share a cab. On our way the driver pointed out Raul Castro, who was sitting in the black sedan just in front of us. Pretty amazing. Earlier in the week I was watching him on TV eulogizing his brother and now there he was, driving down the street just like any other Cuban citizen. Amazing.
I was dropped off first, which I immediately regretted. I worried about Emily being alone with a stranger for a long time in search of her Airbnb. I really hope to hear from her. I want to know that she made it to her place OK and that she was able to find her friend.
My place was tucked into a nondescript neighborhood. Unfortunately, after lugging my hefty bag up three floors, I was greeted with surprise by the people in the private apartment. Through our language struggles, it became clear that they weren't expecting me, even though I had pre-paid the room. It was quite comical, them serving me coffee and me showing them photos of their apartment. I was in the correct place. Somehow however, the booking agent had screwed up and never communicated it to the apartment owners.
As luck would have it, the elderly woman across the hall, who had witnessed the commotion, had an empty room. The room had a bed, a pillow, a roof and running water. What more did I need. I took it.
I am now in the lobby of a hotel about a mile down the road. It's the only place with internet in the area. I'll probably get a quick bite to eat on the way back and then head to bed. I've got an early start. I need to meet up with the bike outfit to begin the 300 kilometer drive to Trinidad where we will start next day. I can't wait.


- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Location:Havana, Cuba

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Thursday, Wednesday, Tuesday and Monday

Thursday, April 7th
Random observations as I wait for the airport shuttle to arrive;

This morning I saw a man wearing a shirt that said "More Respect, Less Attack". I'd like to nominate him for President.

A young boy on crutches; in the states, he spends four weeks in a cast. In the mountains of Nepal, he's hobbled for life.

I saw someone smoking a cigarette while riding a motorcycle yesterday. Are cigarettes that addictive?

They must use different kinds shock absorbers over here. American vehicles could not possibly operate on these roads.

I learned early on to extend a loose fist to welcoming village children rather than an open hand. A firm grip from any sized person can pull you off your bike.

I frequently see young boys walking arm in arm in Nepal. Nice.

Where is the foreign aid? These people needs the world's help. Don't other countries know there was a 7.9 earthquake over here that killed 9,000 people and injured 21,000?

If Coca Cola can assemble a countywide distribution network in Nepal, why can't it be done for health care and earthquake reparation?

The women seem to do all of the hard work in this country. They lug huge weights (water, wood, straw) up steep hills on their backs, they toil the soy fields most days, they herd goats and much more. The men sit and watch. What's up with that?

A goat darts into the busy road. A baby does the same. A motorcycle with a infant sitting on the gas tank and a toddler hanging on in the back. No one is wearing a helmet. Such is life in Nepal.

A driver lying under a bus next to an extended tire jack fixing a flat while people are hopping on and off. Yikes.

Give me a white line on a divided road back home road and I can straddle on my bike for miles. Put me on a three foot high 20 inch wide wall above a rice paddy and I can't last five feet.

I got a shave, haircut and shoulder massage at the local barber. I'm now ready. Homeward bound.




----------------------
Wednesday, April 6th
Exhilarated and grateful for the amazing trip


Imagine thousands of cars operating with no rules of the road. Every bus, truck, car, motorcycle and scooter vying for the same space. Every man for himself. Further imagine half-paved roads, crater-sized potholes, blaring horns, dust, smog and toxic diesel exhaust blowing in your face. Those were our riding conditions for the last five miles today after coming down the mountains and onto the streets of Kathmandu. Crazy!

This morning we crossed the rim of the Kathmandu Valley. It involved a challenging climb, with 5,000 feet of ascent on a newly improved tarmac road. 15 miles and at times a difficult gradient, this 'Vertical Mile' climb took around 4 hours. I was in my element. My road biking and my decent fitness finally came into play. It was difficult but I felt strong. Finally something for me to feel good about.

At our Kathmandu hotel, we ordered food, ran in for showers and then game back for our food by the pool. Tonight, we went out to dinner with Promod and the General Manager of the Himalayan Tours. He is a great guy. Though we were tired, we were exhilarated and grateful for the amazing trip and for making it back to Kathmandu in one piece.

I'm now looking forward to my first night's sleep on a mattress in a week. 😊💤



----------------------
Tuesday, April 5, 2016
The motorcycle lost control and it went down


On this nearly 100 degree day and 36 mile uphill stretch on difficult terrain, I decided to ride with the staff in the Land Rover. I had promised my family I would "make good choices". Staying off the bike today was definitely a good one. It allowed me to heal while providing the others a chance to tackle the trip's most difficult segment unencumbered. They later concurred that my decision was the right one. When they finished they were completely wiped. I doubt I would have made it.

My ride in the vehicle was eventful. About two hours in, we arrived at the small city of Dhading. It was loud, crowded and hectic, a place without order, much like Kathmandu.

Halfway down the main street, for whatever reason, our driver decided to turn around. In the single lane road, he pulled up behind a truck, backed up and began a three point turn. As he accelerated towards the other side of the street, a small Suzuki 250 motorcycle with two people on it came darting past the other side of the truck. We slightly grazed the Suzuki, completely startling the driver. The motorcycle lost control and went down. We jumped out of the jeep. The passenger laid on the ground while the driver quickly got up, pulling his bike up with him.

Immediately, dozens of people crowded around; an instant jury.
I didn't need to understand the language. They were clearly arguing about fault. It got animated, in a muted way. No imminent fisticuffs. Just a lot of back and forth, airing it out. All the while the bike passenger lay on the ground, holding his left leg. We later heard that his X-ray was negative. Thankfully.

The bike wouldn't start. The engine bar was bent. The headlight was broken and the right directional signal and mirror were in little pieces on the ground.

As our staff and the biker driver walked the Suzuki to one of the many motorcycle repair shops along the main street, I went behind the bus station in search of a bathroom.

A woman demanded money when I exited. How much for a pee? I had no way of knowing. I gave her five rupees; about half a cent. She seemed content so I moved on.

There was music and news blaring from a rooftop speaker. I sat on a stoop eating a snack while the others bartered about the repair cost. All in all it took about an hour. Everyone seemed satisfied. We were then back on our way.

This all after a harrowing descent down the mountain pass. There's nothing like passing a bus on the outside of a single lane dirt road with no guard rail and looking over a cliff. Sitting in the front passenger seat, looking out and seeing the tire two inches from the edge is a sight I hope to never see again.

We stopped for lunch at a roadside shack. They ate from the "menu", a selection of fried stuff sitting in a pan on the ground by the side of the road. I can only image what contaminants had settled on it. Thankfully the chef had packed me a bagged lunch. Delicious.

Six hours after we began, as we were crossing through a river to our campsite, we got a flat tire. Thankfully, we were still able to make it to the other side. All of the luggage and supplies had to come off of the roof in order to access the spare tire.




It was quite a scene as lots of people gathered to watch. In front of an adoring audience, the staff changed the tire in a jiffy. They are really good.

At the campsite we waited about an hour for the bikers to arrive. They peeled themselves off their bikes. There grueling day was complete. I joined them for our nightly riverside washing ritual. We drank beers at a little shack just down the road and then headed back for dinner. Our cook had gone overboard this time. In addition to a selection of chicken, vegetables, potatoes and bread, he had made a terrific chocolate cake. I now know why one of the helpers was cradling a dozen eggs all day. The cake was a special treat for our last night of camping. Impressive and delicious.





----------------------
Monday, April 4, 2016
Such is Life in Nepal

I wrote briefly about Nick the day he and I arrived. He is 36, grew up in Shrewsbury, England and went to school outside of Oxford. Nick is a nomad. He lives and works in Kuwait after spending a year in Qatar same. Nick is an engineer, at least by title. That's what they call him in his role in remediating the Kuwaiti oil left behind by the Sudam Hussein and his army 20 years ago.

Nick is bright, gregarious and enjoyable to be around. He regularly shares bits of knowledge, much of it scientific in nature. Whether it be the unintended consequences of new hydroelectric plants or how airplane wings affect trailing wind vortexes, Nick knows a lot about a lot of things. How, I don't know, but he does.

Nick travels the world mountain biking and scuba diving. In the last couple of years he's been to Austin, the Pyrenees, Egypt, Jordon, Malaysia, Shri Lanka and Oman. Nick says that he has no interest in moving back to Engalnd. He loves exploring and simply finds England "too cold." Now that Nick and I are Facebook friends I intend to enjoy his worldly travels vicariously.

On a somber note, nearing our campsite at the end of today we passed a dead man lying by the side of road. Earlier, we came close to losing one of our own. Now, lying alone in my tent late Monday night, I am battered, sore, physically depleted and psychologically spent.

It didn't seem to affect the others much but I was shaken by the death scene down the road. As we cycled in along the riverbank we saw an ambulance up ahead. We approached. The ambulance was idle, no driver or attendant nearby. A middle aged woman was sitting on the ground weeping while leaning into her teenaged son's arms, her dead husband lying on the ground before her. He had fallen from the tree, broken some ribs, punctured his lung and bled out.

Promod casually described this as part of life in Nepal. We are 100 miles from the nearest hospital. The tretirous roads are slow going. There simply isn't the infrastructure to provide fast emergency care. Promod must have realized that I was upset. He put his arm on my shoulder and said in his strong local accent, "George, such is life in Nepal." Sobering and so very sad.

Also sobering was an incident that occurred earlier in the afternoon. After passing through a series of rice paddies, we took a sharp left turn down a steep track towards the river and a suspension bridge. The path was rocky, was 30 inches wide and had a 200 foot drop off to the right. Tim went first followed by Promod, Nick, Stepen and myself. About 50 yards down, Stephen's front tire slipped. He tried to gain control but couldn't. He was launched over his handlebars and part way down the embankment. I screamed out "Promod". By the time I approached the spot where Stephen went over, he was climbing back out. Thankfully, he had been stopped by shrubs about ten feet down. He stood for a moment, dusted himself off and hopped back on his bike. His left leg was scraped and it had swelled as if someone had pumped it with helium. No sweat for Stephen. Just a blip on the radar.

When we got halfway across the rickety bridge, I looked back at the cliff. 30 feet before where Stephen had fallen it was entirely clay. If he had fallen there instead, he would have gone head over heals down to the bottom. He would not have survived it. Yet here he was, bombing across a dangerous tenth of a mile span above a dried up river bed, embracing the next challenge as if nothing had happen. This 69 year old, as Tim said, "is one tough cookie". Such is life in Nepal.

For me, I continue to average three falls a day. It's tough to complain given the previous two stories but in my little world, I'm beaten and the spills are taking their toll. In 90 degree heat, jungle humidity, thick dust, rocky steep trails, I struggle to get back on the bike with the conviction necessary to finish the daily grind.

One fall today was particularly bad. We made a relatively rapid 4,600 foot decent from Gorkha, mostly on jeep roads. At one point we entered an area of road construction.




Thick dust permeated the air and the section of road was submerged in six inches deep, fine grain dirt. Without enough transition speed, sandy terrain brought me to an immediate halt. I flew off my bike landing face first. When I got up I was covered from head to toe. The dirt was in my ears and nostrils. It was in my mouth as well.

Ordinarily it would have been funny but this was my third spill in what was the most grueling day yet. Unbeknownst to me, Promod had opted for a more challenging route because he felt we were a strong group. Unfortunately for me, he was considering the average, not the weakest link. I was struggling. I felt like I was in the 10th round of a 12 round championship fight.

Like a good corner man, Tim spent the day providing me instruction, adjusting my bike and forcing me to drink. At one point, he opened his melted Cadbury chocolate bar and held it out. Depleted, I scraped some into my mouth with my top teeth as he cupped the blue wrapper with two hands.

Nick provided encouragement too. I could tell he was doing it judiciously, not wanting to appear condescending. I appreciated that. Nick was also kind enough to apply ointment to the wounds on the back of my legs and on my lower back.

Good cornermen are essential on days like these. But, I had two rounds to go and I had to take my opponent head on. It became a mental game. I set mini goals of getting through hundred yard stretches. I also distracted myself by thinking of O'Hara's pepper and onion pizza, my favorite ipa's, Sunday mornings by the wood stove and of course my family and Laura and Luke's upcoming wedding. Pleasant thoughts to occupy my mind.

Between the three of us and with Promod's steady hand, we made it to the campsite around 4:30. A dunk in the cold river was rejuvenating. We had another nice dinner and then to bed.

Promod ads that tomorrow's ride up to Gorkha is the hardest of the trip. Should I ride in the Land Rover with the staff? Oh no. Shutter the thought.



- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Location:Hotel Shanker, Kathmandu,Nepal

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Sunday, Saturday and Friday

Sunday, April 3, 2016
I travelled solo today

At first blush, Tim would not strike you as a super-athlete. He is a soft-spoken, pensive and thoughtful. Tim is married. He and his wife live in Bristol, England where he works for Rolls Royce. He is a lead engineer, redesigning RR airplane engines into turbines for large ships. A big job.

Tim grew up in Lancashire, a short distance from England's Lake District where he would spend weekends and summers visiting his grandparents. That's where he developed his love for the outdoors. Tim rides mountain bikes and road bikes. He cyclotrons, cross-country ski's, rows, is a marathoner and a tri-athlete. He commutes on his bike 17 miles each way. The list goes on. Tim doesn't merely participate in these things, he thrives in them. He is skilled and fearless. Here in Nepal, he tackles inclines and declines with wild abandon.

As I write, I am in Gorkha where I am sitting atop a hill at the Hotel Gorkha Bishuni conversing with some missionaries from Arkansas, Indiana and Oregon, waiting for my mates. For four days we have been riding mostly off-road on jeep trails and challenging single track. Though the others have been patient with me, there is no question I have been holding them back. Today, they took the 3,500 six-mile uphill single-track to Gorkha. I opted for the 10 mile paved road. I'm so glad I did. It was a challenge. The slope and the humidity had me dripping in sweat. Nonetheless, I was at peace, going at my own pace, greeting locals and daydreaming. I didn't even notice that the missionaries had waived to me on the way up. Later they commented about how I appeared to be in a biking "zone". Right they were. They are here for two weeks helping with the massive rebuilding efforts. God's work.

We woke up this morning to our first sunrise. Watching the sun emerge over the Himalaya is one of the world's great experiences. Here near the top of the world, I am struggling, unsuccessfully, to conjure the words to describe it.

A shoutout to my friend Bob Baumwoll. Bob is a retired doctor. I had my monthly breakfast with him the Sunday before I left. He strongly suggested I bring some hydrocortisone cream, triple antibiotic ointment, my Epipen (last night I tutored the others on how to use it on me), electrolyte replacements, an assortment of stomach medicines and a host of other things. I'm a bit battered, physically and psychologically. Bob's suggested concoctions have really helped. Thanks Bob.



---------------------

Saturday, April 2nd
The most challenging day so far

Stephen is 69 and might be the fittest of us all. On our steep tarmac inclines, he is always tucked in behind Promol at the front. Very impressive. Stephen is also a cross-county skier.
15 years ago Stephen had a horrific skiing accident. He went off a cliff, fell about the "height of a house" and landed on his face. Others thought he was dead. He was unconscious and his teeth were shattered. To this day he has no recollection of the event. When he returned to work he had to relearn e knowledge and skills it took him 30 years to develop. He faked it as best he could, relying on his talented staff to get things done.

Stephen worked for many years as a town planner for the local community with a staff of 70. He decided to go out on his own and worked the last ten years as an consultant, drafting legislation and traveling the country lecturing on various aspects of town planning. He now thoroughly enjoys retirement.

Stephen and his wife Wendy live near Portsmouth on the south coast of england across from the Isle of Whyte. His daughter, her husband and their 10 month old daughter live nearby. Wendy's retirement took effect yesterday, while her husband was here with us. She had been a town librarian.

One of the reasons he came to Nepal is that his daughter lived here for a year in 2006. She loved it. Another interesting tidbit,
Stephen's black and white tv broke 35 years ago and he hasn't owned one since.

Today was the most challenging so far; eight and a half hours, 35 miles, 3,500 feet ascension. The part of these rides I find most difficult is coming off of a steep down hill and transitioning into an ascent. It's critical that you use you momentum to then take the uphill. This is where I keep screwing up. I don't come out of the downhill with enough speed, throw the bike into low gear, my front tire starts spinning and then comes off the ground. It's worse when the rocks are wet. I inevitably fall on my back or side. My bruises are accumulating.

An easier today tomorrow, thankfully.



--------------------

Friday, April 1, 2016
Today's class; riding steep hills in the fog and on wet rocks.

Besides Promod, we are supported by a driver, a cook and two helpers. That's a ratio of five staff to four guests. Such is post-earthquake Nepal. What regularly has been a trip of 12-16 guests is now down to the four of us. That's makes for a special experience for Stephen, Tim, Nick and me but for the staff that relies on tips, Himalaya Explorations, the tourism industry and the economy in general, it's devastating.

The staff is terrific. The language barrier makes it difficult to mix but I am grateful for their hard work, constant smiles and positive attitude. While we ride the trails, they take the Land Rover the long way around on the main roads. They set up our tents, cook our food, set up the latrine, transport our bags and much more. Last night they served us water buffalo dumplings, rice, vegetables and cole slaw. They then brought out canned peaches and tea. Marvelous. We all had seconds of everything.

After dinner we sat chatting for an hour before heading to the tents at 8:15. As best as I could tell, all flashlights were out by 8:30.

I awoke today, Friday, at 4:30 in the pitch black. I cobbled a few of my things together and quietly, so as not to disturb anyone, tiptoed to the setup where we had eaten last night.

As I had feared, two of the staff were there asleep. I couldn't see them but both rustled as I slipped by. Before sitting I took inventory of my body. I massaged my shoulders, did some twisting and turning, stretched my quads and hamstrings and then sat on the thin low back chair.

I sat there in the still for about 30 minutes, star-gazing and reflecting. This trip has been a stretch to my comfort zone, but I'm glad I'm here. It's a once in a lifetime experience, the landscape is dream like, I'm learning new skills and I'm making new friends. Pretty good, don't you think.

It was extremely quiet until 5 a.m. or so. Soon I was joined by a single chirping bird. Before I knew it, hundreds, maybe thousands joined in. There was a cachaany of tweeting, singing, cackling, crowing and pecking almost in chorus. Geckos scurried in the trees letting out their occasional mating calls. The jungle-like scene was almost mystic. I always cherish my morning time but today was particularly special. I'll remember it for a long time.

The cook was the next to rise. He didn't see me as he passed by to pee. I was surprised and pleased that he soaped and scrubbed his hands so well afterwards.

The rest of the staff was up by 5:30. Their first ritual is to bring hot tea to our tents at 6:30 followed by hot water basins at 6:45. Breakfast is at 7 and we depart at 8 sharp.

My real-time mountain biking lessons have been increasing daily in difficulty. Today's class; riding steep hills in the fog and on wet rocks. About 30 minutes into today's ride, while going up a very steep hill, my front tire skidded on a rock. I lost my momentum, couldn't regenerate my speed and fell backwards. I landed on my backpack which contained my camelback. The water blatter cushioned my fall but it exploded on impact. A half gallon of water drenched the other contents.

There were a couple of teenage kids who witnessed it. They burst into glorious laughter. Ordinarily I would have been humiliated but today I was grateful I could provide them such entertainment. The lives in these villages are monotonous. The natives take great pleasure is seeing us ride by. To wipe out was an added bonus, one they thoroughly enjoyed. I'm glad I could offer it to them.

Later in the day, immediately following lunch, we entered a single track path through a series of rice patties. Nick hit a ditch, went over his handle bars and shattered the brace holding his Garmin GPS. It's a shame. It was fun to track our distance, altitude, time, temperature and more. No longer.

Nick also got a flat tire. It's the group's four flat in two days. It's no surprise. High speed and sharp rocks do that kind of thing. Flats are a way of life for these trips.

There is a certain ethos amongst mountain bikers, or maybe it is Englishman, where complaints about injuries are forbidden. There is some talk about prior injuries but in a competitive sense; a sharing of tales about gashes, fractures and shattered helmets. Only in writing will I admit to my soreness, scrapes and bruises, which are plentiful. I think a two hour massage back in Kathmandu will be well in order.

Late in the day I took my camera glasses out to capture some video of the folks greeting our entry to their village. I discovered the glasses were water damaged by my earlier mishap. I was so bummed. When we arrived in camp I asked the cook to emerge the glasses in the huge rice sack for a couple of days. He was happy to oblige. For those of you that read Eric and my motorcycle blog you will remember that the rice trick worked on my iPhone in Yellowstone National Park a couple of years ago. Let's hope it works again.

Tonight's spectacular camping setting is along a river in Kalasti on the east side of Modi Khola. When we arrived we quickly jumped in the water to cool off, bathe and do some laundry. A half dozen young girls stood up on the slope watching and giggling. What a scene it was.

Go OU Sooners! Thinking of you Elliot and Molly.

George



- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Location:Gorkha, Nepal

What a difference a day makes

A pleasant surprise. We are camping in the yard of a tea house and took a walk to small mountain hotel


that has wifi. So I'm offering this special edition of the blog. I doubt I will post another one until next Wednesday.

Promod, our leader, is a wonderful man. He is 42 (he says he is 16 when he rides 😊), has two children, a boy three and a girl almost nine. He has worked at Himalaya Expeditions for 18 years. His wife Sujata must be a saint. Promod does six trips a year, some two weeks long, some three. In addition to this Pokhara to Katmandu trip he leads one Lhasa, Tibet to Kanthmandu. Part of that trip goes to Everest base camp. It's not for the feint of heart. It's not technical but you have to be strong and incredibly fit and able to handle very high altitudes.

Promod also occasionally leads trekking trips. Management just asked him to do Upper Mustang in a few weeks. Amazingly high altitude and steep terrain. Incredible. The online reviews about this trip are all very positive about Promod. Dersvingly so. He is terrific.

Today Promod led us from the hotel on a busy paved road for seven kilometers east out of Pokhra where we turned left on a obscure dirt road and then headed up a steep hill that continued for many kilometers. It was a challenging test to our fitness, but with a few stops along the way, we made it up the 4,000 ft. incline without incident.

The decent was about 15 kilometers, mostly on dirt roads and single track. There was one kilometer stretch along a newly paved winding road which was a great change of pace and provided something more within my comfort zone. I really flew in that section and enjoyed it immensely. The accompanying vista was to die for, so to speak. Miles and miles of different shades of green dipping into valleys along a bunch of placid lakes and peppered with colorful shacks and shanties.

We traveled through a number of small mountain villages, all with little children waving and yelling to us. Their excitement doesn't get old. These villages never have western visitors, certainly none on high-end mountain bikes. I feel like a celebrity when all the yelling begins. Hi, or I should say hiiiiii, echoes through the streets when we arrive. I return with a hi every time, without fail. I love it. Such joy in the kid's faces.

What a difference a day makes. I was so much more comfortable on the down hills today, even the technical ones. Tim provided a number of helpful tips. Lower my seat, sit way back, keep my eyes further in the distance, relax my body, let my bike do the work. I was even enjoying it. I kept my pace at a comfortable one, rattling over the rocks like a skier does moguls, letting my body rise and fall to the rhythm of the bike.

There was one segment at the end when Promod announced again that we were entering a tricky technical section but this one had stairs. He mentioned it so casually that I thought I would be able to do it. Well, only Tim could follow him and even he couldn't do the whole thing. It was a rocky decline that finished off with a steep 200 meter set of stone stairs that took two 90 degree turns, the first one right and the second one left. Promod is a fit (you should see his calves), fearless wild man. He had done this trip 40 plus times. In fact he spend four months specking it out himself. He know every nook and cranny of the 250 mile route. He is a wonderful man but he needs to be reminded that he is in a league of his own. I would think few people on this earth could take the route he just led us down.

Thanks it now. Namaste!

George



- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Location:Nepal

What a difference a day makes

A pleasant surprise. We are camping in the yard of a tea house and took a walk to small mountain hotel that has wife. So I'm offering this special edition of the blog. I doubt I will post another one until next Wednesday.

Promod, our leader, is a wonderful man. He is 42 (he says he is 16 when he rides 😊), has two children, a boy three and a girl almost nine. He has worked at Himalaya Expeditions for 18 years. His wife Sujata must be a saint. Promod does six trips a year, some two weeks long, some three. In addition to this Pokhara to Katmandu trip he leads one Lhasa, Tibet to Kanthmandu. Part of that trip goes to Everest base camp. It's not for the feint of heart. It's not technical but you have to be strong and incredibly fit and able to handle very high altitudes.

Promod also occasionally leads trekking trips. Management just asked him to do Upper Mustang in a few weeks. Amazingly high altitude and steep terrain. Incredible. The online reviews about this trip are all very positive about Promod. Dersvingly so. He is terrific.

Today Promod led us from the hotel on a busy paved road for seven kilometers east out of Pokhra where we turned left on a obscure dirt road and then headed up a steep hill that continued for many kilometers. It was a challenging test to our fitness, but with a few stops along the way, we made it up the 4,000 ft. incline without incident.

The decent was about 15 kilometers, mostly on dirt roads and single track. There was one kilometer stretch along a newly paved winding road which was a great change of pace and provided something more within my comfort zone. I really flew in that section and enjoyed it immensely. The accompanying vista was to die for, so to speak. Miles and miles of different shades of green dipping into valleys along a bunch of placid lakes and peppered with colorful shacks and shanties.

We traveled through a number of small mountain villages, all with little children waving and yelling to us. Their excitement doesn't get old. These villages never have western visitors, certainly none on high-end mountain bikes. I feel like a celebrity when all the yelling begins. Hi, or I should say hiiiiii, echoes through the streets when we arrive. I return with a hi every time, without fail. I love it. Such joy in the kid's faces.

What a difference a day makes. I was so much more comfortable on the down hills today, even the technical ones. Tim provided a number of helpful tips. Lower my seat, sit way back, keep my eyes further in the distance, relax my body, let my bike do the work. I was even enjoying it. I kept my pace at a comfortable one, rattling over the rocks like a skier does moguls, letting my body rise and fall to the rhythm of the bike.

There was one segment at the end when Promod announced again that we were entering a tricky technical section but this one had stairs. He mentioned it so casually that I thought I would be able to do it. Well, only Tim could follow him and even he couldn't do the whole thing. It was a rocky decline that finished off with a steep 200 meter set of stone stairs that took two 90 degree turns, the first one right and the second one left. Promod is a fit (you should see his calves), fearless wild man. He had done this trip 40 plus times. In fact he spend four months specking it out himself. He know every nook and cranny of the 250 mile route. He is a wonderful man but he needs to be reminded that he is in a league of his own. I would think few people on this earth could take the route he just led us down.

Thanks it now. Namaste!

George



- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Location:Nepal

Today Things Got Real

Today, things got real. We did a 30 miles up into the hills and returned mid day to Pokhara. I had thought that it would be a breeze given that I do more than than on my road bike most Saturdays and Sundays. Well, not so fast.

We left the hotel at 8 a.m. After stopping to buy me a water bottle (yet another thing that i forgot to bring), we headed out of town on the busy road north. For and hour plus we fought the heavy traffic. The motorcycles, scooters, trucks, cars and assorted jury rigged vehicles all jockeyed for the same space without much respect for who should be in the left or right lanes. Navigating through this was us, trying to predict driver behavior in an entirely unpredictable setting.

Around 9:15 we turned off of the main tarmac road onto dirt path and spent most of the next two hours tackling a steep incline. In total we biked for five hours and climbed 3,300 feet. On a mountain bike, it's the uphills that test your fitness and the downhills that challenge your courage. I found the ascent to be manageable. The descent was uneven, rocky, jarring, bone rattling terror. At least for me it was. The others blasted down over the boulders, roots and rocks. Their years of experience made this a dream thrill ride for them.

After a particularly frightening stretch, we came to a rest for a banana and water. Then Promod announces "Now we are entering a very technical section". 'Technical' is one of those mountain biking euphemisms. Translation; scary as crap - steeper, narrower, bigger and sharper rocks - you get the picture.

I emerged from the technical section well after the rest with lots of humility and with a flat tire. Silly me. I didn't know to hang my butt off the back of the seat to lessen the risk of going over the handle bars but also to take my weight off of rear wheel. Thankfully, Promod replaced the tube in a jiff and we were back on our way.

We pulled back into town by way of my bus incident yesterday, stop at a restaurant to order lunch, zipped back to the hotel for shower and then returned for a relaxing lakeside respite. I had a Greek salad. Tim offered me a glass of his water. It was a glorious spot to regain my equilibrium and to slowly nature my confidence for tomorrow. Because tomorrow, it starts for real.

After lunch the others returned to the hotel for some rest and relaxation. I went in search of an ATM that would recognize my six digit PIN. For whatever reason, most of the machines around town cap out at five digits. I finally found a place towards the end of town. I withdrew the daily max 10,000 rupees. Since there was an fun lakeside, bohemian looking coffee shop next door, decided to go in, use the wifi and maybe chat with a few people. With little notice, a violent storm, somewhat like the one in Kathmandu on Sunday, came whiping across across the lake; intense winds, hail and torrential rain. I captured the beginning of it on time-lapse video. A bunch of people crowed around. Time lapse was alien to them.

The storm lasted nearly an hour. I whiled the time talking with a German and a Brit. The German was there for a meditation retreat. The Englishman was in search of an adventure. He seemed to like the sound of our mountain biking. He said that he will research it and maybe give it a go.

As I was sitting there I remembered that I had left a bunch of clothes on my hotel balcony. The rain was so heavy it made little sense for me to rush back. Instead I pondered a bit. First, I was grateful that I hadn't convinced the shop owner to let me paraglide at this very moment. Second, i wondered whether the hotel would have some plastic garbage bags that I could put my wet clothing in for tomorrow's travel.

As I made my way back in the rain, I stopped into a couple of shops; first to look at sunglasses and then to check out some bike shorts. I could use another pair. I came away empty-handed. Nothing caught my fancy.

After picking up my laundry at the Busy Bee, a cold drinks - beauty spa - massage parlor- room for rent - laundry place across from our hotel (maybe I should open one of these in Boston), I returned to my room. From the courtyard I could not see my clothes on the balcony. I wondered whether the intense winds had blown them away. Low and behold, when I entered my room, there they were. The staff had graciously brought them in. They were all dry. What a nice touch. I had wondered whether my karma would be lost after the old lady incident at the airport. Apparently not. Phew.

Tonight is our last night in a hotel. Tomorrow morning we start our seven day bike journey to Kathmandu. We will be riding jeep roads, "technical" single track and a little bit of tarmac, camping along the way.

You can see our route for today in the adjacent map.


If there are any wired villages in route, I will try to blog. If not, I'll do so next Wednesday in Kathmandu.

Have a great week everyone.
-g.


Sent from George's iPhone

A Little Mishap

Yesterday was a long but rewarding day. We caught an early flight from Kathmandu to Pokhara. On the way to the airport Promod instructed us to board the tarmac shuttle bus last so that we would be the first ones off and in the best position to board the 25 seat Yeti Airlines puddle jumper. The best seats are on the right-hand side and would give you unobstructed aerial views of the Himalayas








and more specifically, the Annapurna Circuit. I couldn't miss that.

Promod's advice worked like a charm. He got out of the bus first. I was second. While waiting at the base of the stairs to board, an elderly woman walked up to the front of the line wanting to get ahead of us. At that moment the flight attendant waved us up. So intent on getting a choice seat, we blasted up the stairs leaving her behind. It was a horrible thing to do. I was guilt-ridden the entire flight, so much so that after retrieving our bags in Pokhara, I had Promod join me in approaching the woman so that he could translate my apology to her.

In the airport I met a father and son team (see photo)








who were going to spend the next 60 days climbing Mt Everest. They had planned to do it last year and had made it nearly to base camp when the earthquake hit. They were lucky to escape alive. Now they are here to try again. God speed fellas. You are brave soles.

After arriving in Pokhara around 8:30 we went straight to the hotel where we dumped our bags and ventured off to go white water rafting. We jumped into a rickety old bus, with a tour guide and a few helpers and drove about 45 minutes up towards

















the mountains where we jumped out, donned our wet suits, received a brief training from our guide Min, and launched the boat. We were accompanied








by a guide in a kayak whose sole job was to drag us to safety if we fell into the water.

What a marvelous two hours





it was. Along the way we saw a lots of little kids waving to us, men and women farming boulders and rocks and loading them on to dump trucks, a river bank funeral where a body was being cremated and spectacular views of white capped mountain peaks unlike anything I had ever seen. Spellbinding!
See video link for a brief look at our paddling; http://youtu.be/TPK_DyNGLeg

We got back to the hotel in the early afternoon, got dressed into our bike gear, set up the bikes and headed out for a 15 mile test ride.






It took awhile for me to get used to the bike but I started to get the hang of it after an hour or so. Of course the others were bombing through the streets moments after we left the hotel. As feared, these guys are accomplished mountain bikers.

I did have a little mishap on the way back. A bus packed with people, some hanging out of the windows and doors, was approaching us down a very narrow road. I assumed the driver would take the extra couple of feet to his left so that I could pass. No such luck. He continued to hug our side of the road. By the time I realized what he was doing it was too late. He squeezed me off the road. There wasn't time or space for me to clip out of my pedal. I went down, my bike half sliding under the bus. The bus was able to abruptly stop. Thankfully. I got away with a few scrapes and a bruised ego. It could have been much worse.

I think the incident was a good thing. It acted as a good reminder for me that this place has its own culture and different rules of the road. It also reminded me that I shouldn't try to exceed my riding limits. I'll do my best to adhere to this.

I now know why they told us to bring extra inner tubes and tires. After we got outside of town, the roads were all dirt and covered with rocks; large and small. Some were sharp and pointed. At first I tried to dodge them but that proved fruitless. There were way too many. Instead I learned to relax, take them head on and let the bike's suspension do the work. It worked. It was a ton of fun.

We are going on a 30 mile loop this morning into the low mountains and then coming back to Pokhara. I begged the adventure shop owner to take me paragliding in the afternoon.








He refused. He said the winds are too gusty and unpredictable in the afternoon. I offered him double but he said no. 😢

I've included some photos from the bus ride to the rafting. Enjoy!

G.

Sent from my iPad


- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

Location:Pokhara, Nepal

A Change of Plans; White Water Rafting

We just had a wonderful dinner at the Killroy, a nearby place recommended by the locals. We were joined by the owner of the tour company, Bikram Pandey and Pande Shikharr, one of his senior employees. It was great of them to join us. Bikram is one of the leading voices in Nepal in trying to get post-earthquake tourism back on track. He expressed his gratitude to us (I captured it on video but the wifi isn't good enough to upload it) and said that we were pioneers in jumpstarting the Nepal tourism recovery. This country really needs Pete to start coming back. It's a magnificent place. If you enjoy challenging hiking, trekking or biking, Nepal is for you. Please come. Bring your friends too.
Shikharr was telling us about Mt. Everest and the effort necessary to get to Basecamp and then Camps 1-5. The physical toughest, the mental strain, the time, the money; it's insane. About one in five dies trying to reach the summit. I'm all for adventure but I'd prefer something with a little better odds than that. Shikharr organizes trekking and biking trips all through the region. He does an amazing job. There were many other stories told at dinner and we shared a lot of laughs. It was a marvelous night.
Now I'm packing in preparation for an early wake up call and a short flight to Pokhara. We've changed out plans a bit. We are going to spend the day white river rafting, rather than exploring the town. I can't wait.
Today, after a morning of sightseeing, a nice lunch and a trip to the bike shop to check out our mountain bike, we returned to the hotel. After dropping stuff in our rooms, we went to the pool to relax for a bit. Awhile later I was half asleep on my cot when I heard Stephen say, "The only good thing about being bald is that you know it's raining before anyone else." I opened my eyes as Nick added, "Oh yeah, it's starting to rain. Holy shit, look at that cloud. Pretty ominous." It wasn't ten second later that a violent wind gust blasted us from out of nowhere. Cushions started flying, trees were bending, the hotel's construction canvas was shredding, workers scrambled and the other poolside guests sprinted for shelter. I'd never seen anything like it. It was completely calm one minute and 80+ mph winds the next. I could tell by the workers demeanor that this was unusual for them too. I was a little slow in taking video but I did capture a few seconds towards the end. See link; http://youtu.be/fFoTxV6S9qY
Th accompanying rain is just what was needed around here. It knocks the smog and pollutants out of the air, at least temporarily. The dirty air really takes a toll on you. Besides the sore throat and coughing, a film of soot covers you. After taking a shower this afternoon, the water left in the tub was a reddish copper color.
Our sightseeing tour took us to the Monkey Temple (named for all of the monkeys running around) and Dubar Square, the site of the Royal Palace built in the 1400's. Unfortunately several of the buildings in the square collapsed in the recent earthquake.
That's it for now. Time to sleep.




- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Location:Kathmandu,Nepal

Nepal needs Your Help

We just had a wonderful dinner at the Killroy, a nearby place recommended by the locals. We were joined by the owner of the local tour company, Bikram Pandey (see video) and Shikharr, one of his senior employees. It was so great of them to join us. Bikram is one of the leading voices in Nepal and India in trying to get post-earthquake tourism back on track. He was genuinely grateful for us coming on this trip and recognized us as pioneers in jumpstarting the Nepal tourism recovery. This country really needs your help. It's a magnificent place. If you enjoy extreme hiking, trekking or biking, this is the place for you. Please come and bring your friends.
Shikharr was sharing stories about Everest climbs and the effort necessary to get to Basecamp and the Camps 1-5. The physical toughest, the mental strain, the time and the money are insane. Shikharr organizes trekking and biking trips all through the region. He does an amazing job.
There were many other stories and a bunch of laughs. Now I'm packing in preparation for an early wake up call and a short flight to Pokhara where we will start the day white river rafting. Fun.
Today, after a morning of sightseeing, a nice lunch and a trip to the bike shop to check out our mountain bike, we returned to the hotel. After dropping stuff in our rooms, we went to the pool to relax for a bit. Awhile later I was half asleep on my cot when I heard Stephen say, "The only good thing about being bald is that you know it's raining before anyone else." I opened my eyes as Nick added, "Oh yeah, it's starting to rain. Holy shit, look at that cloud. Pretty ominous." It wasn't ten second later that a violent wind gust blasted us from out of nowhere. Cushions started flying, trees were bending, the hotel's construction canvas was shredding, workers scrambled and the other poolside guests sprinted for shelter. I'd never seen anything like it. It was completely calm one minute and 80+ mph winds the next. I could tell by the workers demeanor that this was unusual for them too. I was a little slow in taking video but I did capture a few seconds towards the end. See link.





Th accompanying rain is just was needed around here. It knows the smog and pollutants out of the air, at least temporarily. The dirty air really takes a toll on you. Besides the sorest throat and the coughing, your body gets covered from head toe. After taking a shower this afternoon, the water left in the tub was a reddish copper color. Gross.
Our sightseeing tour took us to the Monkey Temple (named for all of the monkeys running around) and Dubar Square, the site of the Royal Palace built in xxx. Unfortunately several of the buildings in the square collapsed in the recent earthquake.
Hindu has 32 million gods and 27 million people in Nepal.



- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Location:Kathmandu,Nepal

I think I am in trouble

Happy Monday. I'm sitting by the pool waiting for the sun to rise. Crazy sounds all around; crows and dogs close by and motorcycles in the distance. A strong smell of smog and smoke is hanging in the air. There is a hotel worker keeping close watch. He clearly is waiting for me to ignore the sign that says "Pool open from. 8 a.m. to 6 p.m." Someone must have warned him about me.

The group got together for the first time last night. I think I am in trouble. I mentioned in my prior post that Nick owns three mountain bikes and travels to different countries to race. Tim and Stephen, also Brits, are avid bikers too. Tim was on a trip here ten years ago. On that visit he rode for 21 days and on some days surpassed altitudes of 17,000 feet. 17,000 feet! That's a few thousand feet higher than the highest point in the Rockies. I think the only part of the United States higher than that is Mt. McKinley in Alaska. Yikes! I have only been on a mountain bike twice in my life. What have I gotten myself into?

Our trip leader's name is Pramod. He's been doing these adventures for 20 years. He does about ten a year and leads people through the Himalayas in Nepal, Tibet and Bhutan. Many, like the one that Tim was, require that you acclimate for a couple of days before proceeding past 14K feet. On some you need to carry your bike across jagged, icy and otherwise unridable paths. Maybe next year.

Pramod's English is a bit difficult to understand. I'm hoping that it will get easier? If you want to read about the small family-run company that Pramod works, see http://www.himalayaexpeditions.com/home#mountain_biking .

Here in Kathmandu the signs of April's earthquake are everywhere, including at our hotel, the Shanker. The hotel is a palace-like place that occupies many acres and is accessible only through a long driveway from the major road. Unfortunately the facade


is covered with construction canvas. A team of people is repairing the structural earthquake damage to the front of the building.

Beyond the obvious infrastructural damage, the Nepal economy has also been hit hard. This country is reliant on visitors and since April, tourism has all but evaporated. There are only four of us on this trip. Normally there would be two to three times that. We have Pramod as our leader and two other people driving our support van. It's difficult to imagine how they can make it financially viable with only four of us.

I spoiled myself with an hour massage yesterday. My most significant challenge of the day was trying to decide what type to get.
From the menu;
AYURVEDIC MASSAGE
TREKKER'S MASSAGE
SPINAL MASSAGE
DEEP TISSUE MASSAGE
AROMATHERAPY MASSAGE
SWEDISH MASSAGE
HEAD AND SHOULDER
REFLEXOLOGY

Each is available in 60, 90 and 120 minutes. I didn't know what any of them were so I winged it. I asked for the 60 minute Swedish. It was terrific. No better way to get the muscles ready for ten challenging days on a bike. When we return, I just might opt for the two hour one.

Today we have our formal tour of the city. It will be nice to learn a few things about the place rather than just wander and soak in the environs.

Looking forward to it.

G.






- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Location:Kathmandu,Nepal

"Trump is an asshole"

It's Easter Sunday here in a country that's almost entirely Hindu. No church bells, Easter eggs or families in their Easter finest. Just me, watching the orange sun rise glowing





through the smog, waiting for breakfast to begin and for another day of exploring this manic city. I'm a tinge sad not to be with family on this holiday. All the more reason to get out and going. The distraction will do me good.

Yesterday I awoke early, had a quick bowl of oatmeal and a cup of coffee and then ventured out into Kathmandu. Oh my goodness. I knew the pace here would be different but wow. It's crazy. Absolute chaos; buzzing scooters, barreling trucks, ceaseless honking,








left-driving traffic (for those that choose to follow the rules), dirt, smog, shrieking vendors, impoverishment, aggressive and endless beggars, deafening noise. Complete sensory overload. It was disorienting and unnerving and though I had to stop a few times to get re-centered, I enjoyed every minute of it. Every minute that is except for the pollution. The air quality in Kathmandu is a big problem.



My throat is already sore. When I blow my nose what comes out is black. Many people wear hospital masks. I'm tempted to get one too.

After wandering the Thamel district, doing some people watching and visiting a few temples, incredibly, I was able to find my way back to the hotel. I hung out by the pool for a bit watching a photo shoot for a new hotel brochure and chatting


with the young Nepalese models. I then took a brief nap before meeting Nick, a member of our group who also arrived early. He and I had arranged to get together for a walk to a guest house that I had read was a great spot to watch the sunset.

Nick and I met in the lobby at 5. Thankfully he had bought a map. The guest house was three miles away. Even with his map, it was a navigational challenge. Wandering through neighborhoods, weaving across traffic filled boulevards and frequently retracing our steps, it quickly became clear that we had mis-timed our adventure. I had thought we would easily make by the necessary 6:15. Not a chance. By 6 p.m. we had only made it half way. We continued on but with no street lights, it quickly became dark. We never made it to the guest house but we got close. Around 7, we saw a long private driveway leading up to Hyatt Regency hotel adjacent to a world heritage site. We decided to call it quits and go into the Hyatt for a beer. A good choice. A bit of luxury in a place surrounded by scarcity and hardship. As we thought about it, even if we had gotten to our destination in time, we doubted we would have seen the sunset. The smog was just too thick.

Nick is a thirty something Brit who now works in Kuwait after spending a year in Quatar. He is on a project remediating the oil spillage that still exist from the fires lit by the Iraqis 20 years ago when George Bush Sr. drove Saddam Hussein's army out of Kuwait. The project is massive. Nick showed me the images from Google Earth. The spills are the size of huge lakes and there are many of them. It will be many, many years before the project is complete.

Nick owns three mountain bikes and a road bike and races often, in Kuwait and in other countries. Oh boy. I pray I don't hold him back on our trip. I dread the thought.

After a couple of Nepalese lagers at the Hyatt, we hailed a cab back to the Thamel district where we went to Ship Restaurant and Bar, a place ranked high on Trip Advisor. We had a couple of more beers along with a great Nepalese meal of rice, mixed vegetables, spinach, curried sauce and crispy bread. Delicious. During the meal I abandoned Nick for ten minutes to introduce myself to the large group of folks, mostly Americans, who were sitting at a nearby table. It turns out that as part of Habitat for Humanity, they were on a mission to help rebuild a missionary in the mountains. The devastation from last year's earthquake is everywhere in Nepal. Organizations like Habitat are here to help. It's going to be a long, slow process of recovery. I admire this group's dedication and willingness to assist. I enjoyed chatting with them.

My flight on Friday from Dubai was mostly routine. The only incident of note was my interaction with the airport security agent. When I showed him my U.S. passport he muttered, "Trump is an asshole". A bit surprised I made eye contact and he added; "He's a racist jerk". No argument from me. I told him "if Trump wins, maybe I'll move here to Dubai." He seemed to like that. He nodded, stamped by passport and waived up the next traveler.

I've matured. In previous trips I might have engaged him in a little debate. I can't stand Trump either but I do enjoy a spirited discussion now and then. However, this was not the time. This guy was fired up and the United Arab Emirates is a strict place. I wasn't about to risk a verbal spat, not when my long awaited adventure was so close.

Later this morning Nick and I will transfer to another hotel to meet up with the rest of our group. Our first formal gathering will be for dinner tonight. Tomorrow we take an organized tour of Kathmandu together before catching a small plane to Pokhara on Tuesday morning.

Happy Easter everyone.


- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

Location:Thamel Marg,Kathmandu,Nepal

Hindu Festival

I'm not sure if it really is a Hindu festival or whether I just got conned.  I'm good either way.

Namaste.

Location:Amrit Marg,Kathmandu,Nepal

I changed my mind

It was a great flight. I didn't sleep a wink but it doesn't matter. For $1.00 I had all the wifi i wanted. I wrote a couple of student recommendations, caught up on email, cruised Facebook a bit and learned about all the pre-trip vaccinations I was supposed to get back in Boston but didn't. Oh well.

I had the entire left bulkhead row to myself. Heavenly. The best part was that I met Jana, a Swedish flight attendant that was strapped in facing me during take-off and landing. Jana was beyond kind, giving me tips on how to spend my day in Dubai. Mid-flight she brought me handwritten instructions on how to find the Metro, where to take it to, where to have lunch, where to explore and what to do. She was sweet and thoughtful and interesting and convincing; so much so that I changed my mind about the malls.

I'm now at the Dubai Mall drinking coffee at Cafe Barbera. This place is mammoth and it is packed. There is an indoor skating rink, a huge aquarium,







a waterfall and every conceivable high-end retailer that you can think of with prices to match. My coffee was $8.50. Just a plain old cup of coffee. Yikes.

I had hoped to go up to the observation tower at Burj Khalifa,






the tallest building in the world. Unbelievably, the next available tour is at 10 p.m., ten hours from now. Instead, I'll nurse my coffee for a little while, catch lunch at the outdoor fountains and maybe take a stroll down to the beach. It's a great place to people watch. What better way to spend a 80 degree day killing time in Dubai.

To save me some headaches, Jana gave me one of her personal Metro cards. If only I had thought to pay her for it. I'm sorry Jana. I'm very grateful for your generosity.

The only hiccup was that the Metro didn't open until 10 a.m. It's Friday. Weekends here are Friday and Saturday and everything opens late on weekends.

Not to worry. I ran into Ted, a recent immigrant from the Philippines. Ted escorted me to the bus station. He instructed me to get on the C5 bus for a 30 minute ride and then switch to the F11 bus.

Easy, or so I thought. Unfortunately Ted was confused. There is no F11. I hung out for 20 minutes at an industrial park outside of town waiting for the 29 bus instead. The 29 dropped me off 40 minutes later at the Burj Khalifa. I would have been better off waiting for the Metro to open. 🙂

Customs at the airport were wild. It seemed that overnight flights from around the world converge in Dubai at the same time.

There were thousands of people


waiting to get through. I didn't mind much. I was still running on adrenalin. I filled the time by starting this blog entry and looking at all the bleary-eyed multinationals. Given the recent events in Brussels, it was comforting to see so many people of different colors and faiths hanging out together. The world needs more of that.






Chatting with Jana whet my appetite for more travel. She talked about her adventures in Namibia, South Africa, Botswana, Thailand, Scandinavia, New Zealand and Australia; all places on my bucket list. Coincidently, this trip was originally supposed to be to Namibia but was cancelled because no one else registered. Next year, perhaps.

I'm off to Kathmandu in a few hours. So excited.

Happy weekend everyone!

G.





- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

Location:Dubai,United Arab Emirates