A Disfunctional Diary of India - Recong Peo to Jalori Pass: DAY 33

We left at 7:00am sharp and skipped out on the dinner bill. Trust me, they deserved it. We were eager to wind up somewhere in the Banjar Valley by the end of the day. Once again we gunned it, as safe n' smooth as we could. Some serious road work with explosives and huge falling boulders being moved by heavy machinery delayed us by about an hour. We made two stops, outside n' inside Rampur. Another welding job for Laura Jean- this time it was the carriage rack. And then an internet stop to make contact with one Mr. Vishnu Helper, our man in Nepal. We'd been informed by the Israelis, who'd just come from there, that the monsoon season was on the way and that our plans to trek the Annapurna circuit may be thwarted. The city of Rampur was rampant with hot, bustling action. We had to park our bikes a distance away from the internet place, so we bought a big half of watermelon from a street vendor and asked him to watch them for us.  Jon got locked into a conversation with a guy that seemed like a waste of time at first but payed off in the end. He provided directions by a smaller, more secluded way to our destination. It was all ours; a narrow, but smooth road that slithered rapidly through the mountains, progressively enfolding sunspots of greenery. By late afternoon the cold, snow-capped landscape was behind us, and we felt as if we were driving through the fresh forests of B.C. again. Jackets came off and sleeves rolled up. It was camping country, and we drove with eyes open wide for a place to set up as we kept on toward Banjar. Finally, we reached a high point, where the road leveled off to a shelf of seven chai shops and a monastery. We stopped there for a meal, knowing it would likely be the last modest place before hitting the lowlands touched by tourism. The shop owner was as friendly as they come. He dressed like a bartender of a wild west saloon, with a mustache that curled slightly at the ends. He cooked us cheap, hot, delicious food and then offered us 10 grams of charas for 200 rupees, which re-up'd our supply to last for the remainder of the journey. It was another 30km to Banjar and once again there were thunderous dark clouds advancing on us. There was one spare room available at the side of one of the chai shops. It was perfect, in the most haggard sort of way, with yellow newspapers and faded posters as wallpaper. There was a floor board in the center of the room that shook the entire place when stepped on. I will forever compare this small living quarter with every place I sleep from now on. The shop owner came to have a smoke with us once we were settled. We got acquainted with the small cast of locals and spent the rest of the evening playing chess in a smokey chai hut, with a storm that sounded like dinosaurs fucking outside. 

Read day 34