I got high as hot heaven and slept like a baby last night in that shack. Then felt like the first man awake in the whole world this morning. Even though Jon had been up for hours, hangin' out over at one of the other tea huts. I sat down and had a drink with him while he caught up on some writing. For the first time in a long time I didn't finish my breakfast. My stomach was talking to me again and it was about to start cussing n' yelling so I passed the plate over to Jon who was rather surprised. We set out on hike to a small lake where we had planned to wash our clothes and ourselves for the first time in over a week. On the way we both stopped to take truly magnificent shits behind two giant boulders about 15 feet away from each other. It was a great moment of conversation between us, and nature even paused to listen in.
The lake was more like a big pond, nestled into a bright clearing of the woods, with a rocky cliff that overlooked it like the Lion King's perch. The water was too stagnant to clean anything so we climbed up to the perch and basked in the sun while vultures with beautiful markings soared overhead.
Jalori Pass was surprisingly crowded with students on a field trip when we returned from our hike. They gathered around and stared with curiosity as we loaded up our bikes to depart for Jari. By now we were used to this sort of attention. Jon pulled out his camera to snap a photo of us with our shopkeeper friend and it haphazardly domino'ed into a series of pictures with all the students and pretty much everyone present there on the pass that day. It took us a little longer to get outta there than we planned but it was a good scene. We rolled down the mountain trail into the city of Bhuntar, where we found ourselves in a ridiculous traffic jam. Fuck it. We shifted into neutral and watched the clock tick, while the anarchy of Indian road "etiquette" sorted itself out. The rain clouds made their daily afternoon appearance as we finally exited Bhuntar with many kilometers remaining. I didn't want to do it, but I knew we had to keep riding into the storm ahead. We were completely soaked to the bones in no time, and after that nothing mattered but getting to our destination in one piece. We entered a tunnel that was hollowed into the center of a mountain. It was a long, dimly lit and dusty venture with an increase in fast traffic and decrease in visibility. But just like every dumb fairytale, we came out into a whole new world on the other side. The darkness of the harsh rain clouds was non-existent. There was only sun and colorful people everywhere. For a brief second I almost thought I'd been killed in the tunnel and was now riding through the after-life. The transition was that different. Where we were was the Kulu Valley- a seasonally tourist area of India that is infamous for cream of the crop charas and a large population of Israelis ( I should also mention the mysterious disappearances of people due to the drug culture here). The atmosphere had changed drastically and we were competing for the road with many cars n' trucks again. On a long swinging corner Jon's clutch cable snapped, so we had to pull over, where we were almost instantly greeted by a pack of young Indians with frat-boy swagger. They took a solid gander at the Enfield named Golden Macenzie and then shouted down the street to a kid who came running like he'd been waiting for us all day. He was up inside that bike faster than a sex fiend. It was disgustingly impressive. He installed a new cable and then found more problems; the spring on the kickstand had busted and the wiring for the electrical part of the bike was loose n' hairy. To get all that shit repaired we had to ride to the city of Kulu itself. It was a frustrating go for Jon, but we were lucky enough to find a kick-ass mechanic shop run by a bunch of young cats who took pride in repairing Royal Enfields. It was also the most enjoyable time I've ever spent at an auto shop. The youngest dude, Ari, reminded me of my old Vancouver roomie n' British brother, Benjamin Wise, in both looks and personality. We hung out and ate and bullshitted until the sun went down and the bike was fixed. Then, for the second time that day, we did something I didn't really wanna do, but knew we should. We drove in the dark all the way to Jari. It was just about and hour's journey up and around the mountain roads, with nothing but the moon and the occasional flash of lightning to provide a better perspective of the road. I sang 90's tunes loud inside my helmet to keep my wits about me. We arrived in Jari behind a herd of sheep and three shepherds taking up the entire road. The town was already asleep. There was a light on in one un-appealing guest house. I was prepared to sleep on my bike before that. We were so tired we had almost forgotten about Matuera, the micro-village above Jari, with rumored cheap lodging. We asked and received directions from a local who strictly re-iterated that we follow a narrow path up the hill in first gear. His instructions: "Go up, only first gear, the whole way. Not second gear, only first gear. Don't stop. First gear, all the way up."
I gotta admit I felt the fear when I heard him say that and then I imagined how treacherous this path was going to be in the dark. But there's always a motivator if you look for it. If you really want it. The challenge of maneuvering up this last stretch to reach some holy grail of a guest house was what it was all about. And fuck me, was it ever a challenge. The road was only about 7 feet wide with tight turns, steep inclines and deep grooves that could swallow a tire. This required all senses at full capacity. We did as we were told- first gear all the way. Somehow I knew we would make it safely as soon as we started and that put me in a giddy mood as if I was playing a video game. The Enfields climbed with the confidence of a mountain goat. Although I really don't know shit about motorcycles, I would stand behind the performance of Laura Jean and Golden Macenzie that night.
Matuera was a quaint little village with wheat and marijuana growing everywhere. The Village Guest House was the first light we saw and we were greeted by one of the owners who waved us in through a gate where we parked and walked to the main house within a flowery courtyard of plants and furniture. It didn't matter how much the room was, we were gonna take it. It was only 75 rupees each (under $2.00- the best deal yet). From there, things just got better. The room had a couch, two chairs, a table and a screen door. Cloud fuckin' nine! Tunes, charas and chess until 1:00AM. All's well that ends well.
Read Day 35
The lake was more like a big pond, nestled into a bright clearing of the woods, with a rocky cliff that overlooked it like the Lion King's perch. The water was too stagnant to clean anything so we climbed up to the perch and basked in the sun while vultures with beautiful markings soared overhead.
Jalori Pass was surprisingly crowded with students on a field trip when we returned from our hike. They gathered around and stared with curiosity as we loaded up our bikes to depart for Jari. By now we were used to this sort of attention. Jon pulled out his camera to snap a photo of us with our shopkeeper friend and it haphazardly domino'ed into a series of pictures with all the students and pretty much everyone present there on the pass that day. It took us a little longer to get outta there than we planned but it was a good scene. We rolled down the mountain trail into the city of Bhuntar, where we found ourselves in a ridiculous traffic jam. Fuck it. We shifted into neutral and watched the clock tick, while the anarchy of Indian road "etiquette" sorted itself out. The rain clouds made their daily afternoon appearance as we finally exited Bhuntar with many kilometers remaining. I didn't want to do it, but I knew we had to keep riding into the storm ahead. We were completely soaked to the bones in no time, and after that nothing mattered but getting to our destination in one piece. We entered a tunnel that was hollowed into the center of a mountain. It was a long, dimly lit and dusty venture with an increase in fast traffic and decrease in visibility. But just like every dumb fairytale, we came out into a whole new world on the other side. The darkness of the harsh rain clouds was non-existent. There was only sun and colorful people everywhere. For a brief second I almost thought I'd been killed in the tunnel and was now riding through the after-life. The transition was that different. Where we were was the Kulu Valley- a seasonally tourist area of India that is infamous for cream of the crop charas and a large population of Israelis ( I should also mention the mysterious disappearances of people due to the drug culture here). The atmosphere had changed drastically and we were competing for the road with many cars n' trucks again. On a long swinging corner Jon's clutch cable snapped, so we had to pull over, where we were almost instantly greeted by a pack of young Indians with frat-boy swagger. They took a solid gander at the Enfield named Golden Macenzie and then shouted down the street to a kid who came running like he'd been waiting for us all day. He was up inside that bike faster than a sex fiend. It was disgustingly impressive. He installed a new cable and then found more problems; the spring on the kickstand had busted and the wiring for the electrical part of the bike was loose n' hairy. To get all that shit repaired we had to ride to the city of Kulu itself. It was a frustrating go for Jon, but we were lucky enough to find a kick-ass mechanic shop run by a bunch of young cats who took pride in repairing Royal Enfields. It was also the most enjoyable time I've ever spent at an auto shop. The youngest dude, Ari, reminded me of my old Vancouver roomie n' British brother, Benjamin Wise, in both looks and personality. We hung out and ate and bullshitted until the sun went down and the bike was fixed. Then, for the second time that day, we did something I didn't really wanna do, but knew we should. We drove in the dark all the way to Jari. It was just about and hour's journey up and around the mountain roads, with nothing but the moon and the occasional flash of lightning to provide a better perspective of the road. I sang 90's tunes loud inside my helmet to keep my wits about me. We arrived in Jari behind a herd of sheep and three shepherds taking up the entire road. The town was already asleep. There was a light on in one un-appealing guest house. I was prepared to sleep on my bike before that. We were so tired we had almost forgotten about Matuera, the micro-village above Jari, with rumored cheap lodging. We asked and received directions from a local who strictly re-iterated that we follow a narrow path up the hill in first gear. His instructions: "Go up, only first gear, the whole way. Not second gear, only first gear. Don't stop. First gear, all the way up."
I gotta admit I felt the fear when I heard him say that and then I imagined how treacherous this path was going to be in the dark. But there's always a motivator if you look for it. If you really want it. The challenge of maneuvering up this last stretch to reach some holy grail of a guest house was what it was all about. And fuck me, was it ever a challenge. The road was only about 7 feet wide with tight turns, steep inclines and deep grooves that could swallow a tire. This required all senses at full capacity. We did as we were told- first gear all the way. Somehow I knew we would make it safely as soon as we started and that put me in a giddy mood as if I was playing a video game. The Enfields climbed with the confidence of a mountain goat. Although I really don't know shit about motorcycles, I would stand behind the performance of Laura Jean and Golden Macenzie that night.
Matuera was a quaint little village with wheat and marijuana growing everywhere. The Village Guest House was the first light we saw and we were greeted by one of the owners who waved us in through a gate where we parked and walked to the main house within a flowery courtyard of plants and furniture. It didn't matter how much the room was, we were gonna take it. It was only 75 rupees each (under $2.00- the best deal yet). From there, things just got better. The room had a couch, two chairs, a table and a screen door. Cloud fuckin' nine! Tunes, charas and chess until 1:00AM. All's well that ends well.
Read Day 35
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