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Mountain Biking in the Indian Himalaya

What do Bikefax owners, Sue & Jim Savege do on their holidays? Why they go and get trashed in the mountains on their bikes of course. On an epic trip to the Spiti Valley, Bikefax joins up with Out There Biking and takes a 350km journey from Manali to Kaja on the Indian/Tibetan border.

It wasnt an auspicious start to the trip. First our flight from Heathrow was cancelled when the baggage conveyer systems broke down and BA decided that with all the recent security threats, they couldnt cope with thousands of people milling around the airport!! And then when we did manage to get on a flight the next day, the crew discovered a fuel leak just as we were about to take off. I tried not to panic as the plane was surrounded by fire engines and men fully togged up in white fire retardant suits and breathing apparatus climbed up on the wing.

Never mind here we were finally, in the heat and humidity of Delhi airport trying to wrestle our luggage back from the crowds of young boys eager to earn a few pence by carrying our bike bags the whole 50 metres to our waiting taxi. With one of them still firmly wedged in the taxi door trying hard to get a few more pence out of Jim, the taxi took off and baggage boy was finally forced to remove his foot from the door or risk losing it.

Even as we drove through the city at 4.30am, Delhi was still busy, but it wasnt really until the next day after a few hours sleep in a simple hotel in the middle of town, that we wandered out into the streets and got the fully Delhi hit. Yes, there really are cows in the middle of the street, surviving on eating the rubbish of the hundreds of little markets that thrive on every street intersection. As well as the cows, to walk up the narrow streets by the railway station where we were staying, you had to negotiate bicycle rickshaws, motor rickshaws, taxis, mopeds and oxen with fully laden carts. This was the Indian equivalent of wandering around the streets surrounding Victoria Station in the middle of London.

In the market stalls we bought all the little things we needed for our trip, checked out the bicycle repair shops (just in case the bikes hadnt survived the trip from the UK) and then went to meet our next challenge; finding the bus station and the bus that we were booked onto to take us the 16 hour drive up to Manali in Himachal Pradesh in Northern India and the start of our journey by bike to the remote and little visited Spiti Valley.

This was when we discovered that our bikes really were people (we knew that all the time), when we were told that for them to travel on the bus we would need to buy them a seat each. I trudged back in to the ticket office ready to argue that two bike bags didnt really take up that much space, not really. I must have been convincing as the ticket man and let me off with buying just one half price child ticket for both of them. So now I know that my bike is not only a real person, but is just a little child too!

The sixteen hour bus journey really did pass quite quickly, watching the city go by, eating Aloo Jeera and Dahl for supper and breakfast in local service stations, and finally gazing at the awesome river and mountain scenery of the Kulu Valley as we entered the cool and green town of Manali. By now we were 2000 metres up in the foothills of the Himalayan chain.We stepped of the bus to be greeted by Cara. This was the first time we had met in the flesh and with all of our early delays and the problems of communication, it was good to finally arrive and Caras relief at our finally arriving was obvious. We unloaded the bags and jumped straight into a taxi for the short ride up to Old Manali and the Sunshine Guesthouse were we hooked up with the rest of the team and spent a pleasant couple of hours on the terrace reassembling our bikes and talking shiny bits.

More used to organising our own expeditions from scratch in the past, the criteria for this one was simple. We wanted a trip that wasnt too commercial, had some challenging mountain biking and took us somewhere remote and interesting in good company. Surfing the net for inspiration Jim came across Cara and Casss website; out-there-biking.com, and was inspired by their beautiful photographs and the idea of a small semi supported trip into a isolated area only recently opened up by the Indian Government to outsiders.

The plan was to ride out of Manali up the road towards Leh and over the Rothang Pass. On the other side we would turn off the main road and follow the road to the Kunzum La Pass to drop down into the start of the Spiti Valley, then follow the valley via several high mountain villages and Tibetan style monasteries to finish at Kaja. We would be totally self sufficient during the day and then met at our camping spots by our jeep and driver in the evenings. And believe me you really didnt want to be pulling a trailer with all your kit for two weeks over those high passes.

After a traditional breakfast of porridge and omelette at Johnsons Café, we rode through the narrow streets of Manali, dodging tourists and rickshaws, passing teahouses galore, and settling into a steady pace up the tarmac road towards the Rothang Pass. There was no hurry; the road took us from 2000m at Manali up to 4000m at the top of the Pass, and after a stern warning the night before from Cara about the dangers of altitude sickness, the slower the better. It started easily enough, a steady grind to warm up the legs and nowhere near the granny gear until we reached about 3000m. By then the altitude was definitely kicking in and any excuse for a photo or a tea break was widely welcomed.

Four o clock in the afternoon and 1,400 metres of ascent later, we arrived just below the pass at the small settlement of Marhi. Consisting of little more than around twenty cafes and teahouses and a tiny Buddhist temple, the Dabha as these settlements are called, was full of activity, as a truck stop and tourist rest. At Marhi we met up with Phuntchok our driver and Norbu our cook for the trip. The tents were already up and the boys were making a start on dinner. Finally it really felt like we were on our expedition, and for the first time we had a real chance to look around us and relax.

The next day we were up at 6am for an alfresco breakfast and an early start on the ride up and over the Rothang Pass. As we continued to climb the 16 km of tarmac to the pass, the road gradually disintegrated into potholes and dirt with the occasional sliding tata truck to keep you on your toes. Lucky with the weather, it was cold but clear at the top, and unlike the Indian tourists from Delhi, we didnt need to hire one of the gaily coloured coats or pairs of welly boots to keep warm, though Jim just couldnt resist the temptation to try on one of the leopard skin prints what can I say?
 
Dropping down the other side of the pass we headed straight off-road. Why take the road when you can cut off the corners on fantastic alpine style singletrack. We started with an eyeball jarring race down a rocky path followed by a sudden plunge through a small stream. At the back I watched as Casss bike disappeared over the hubs in water. Miraculously he survived without a dunking, but I chose discretion and scouted out along the banks for a slightly tamer crossing.

As the road dropped dramatically down into the next valley, the shortcuts too got steeper and steeper and there were a few comedy moments as Dan and Andy both had their over the handlebars moments. Judicious choice of line was the order of the day. Following goat tracks and locals short cuts, the trail wasnt at all safety conscious and this definitely wasnt Glentress. At one particularly steep section with a yawning drop to my right I unclipped my upper foot from the pedal. Situations like this I have no pride and would rather dab than fall. I admit it Im a big wuss.  On from here and we danced down the last narrow section of short drops and small boulder chokes to turn up back at the road and a small dabha.

Back down to 3000 metres at Gramphoo, looking back we had just descended a 1000 metres and almost all of it on singletrack beat that! It was obviously time for tea again. Replenished we were ready for the long trek along the valley to another idyllic campsite at Chatru. The following day was another gruelling climb along a long unpaved road following the impressive Chandra River. By now, we were riding at 4000 metres and with everyone feeling the effects of altitude, a general weariness was creeping into the group as we arrived at the high meadow campsite near Chandra Tal.

Cass offered a semi rest day with a short optional ride up to the lake for a walk and a swim if anyone wanted it. Good job too, as Jim was looking a bit crook and had woken up with funny gurgling noises in my chest. Now I used to work as high altitude mountain guide, and when someone says that to you, it generally only means one thing Pulmonary Oedema, a very serious form of altitude sickness. Jim wasnt showing any other of the usual symptoms though, so we decided to see how he was with the opportunity to rest and acclimatise some more.

Whilst Jim rested, the rest of the team of Cass and Cara, Dan the Aussie traveller and Andy, part time Iron Man and full time chicken farmer, headed off to the lake. Half an hour later, happy that Jim was OK for the time being; I decided to catch up with the others for some of the sublime singletrack on offer at the lake. Cutting the corners on the road, I rode steeply up dusty singletrack to arrive at one of the bluest lakes ever seen. By the time I got there everyone was chilled out in the sun soaking up the ambience. The ride back was as promised, sublime. Kicking up dust from our wheels, you either had to ride just about blind or drop back far enough to be able to see the ground through the dust again. Under the dust, hard packed earth offered fast playful riding with any number of line choices. We rolled the last steep section into camp and arrived laughing like children after such an effortlessly fun descent.

By the early hours of the morning it was obvious Jim wasnt getting any better. I could hear the funny gurgling noises without even putting my ear to his chest, his pulse was over 100, a sure sign of respiratory distress and he was feeling just crap. I woke Cass and Cara up at 5am and suggested that we go back with the jeep to the hospital in Manali whilst the others go on. The next six hours were almost the most worrying of my life, checking Jim every few minutes to make sure he was still conscious, with him improving as we dropped down from Chandra Tal back into the valley only to deteriorate again as we had to re-ascend to 4000 m to cross the Rothang Pass.

By the time we got to Manali and the oxygen rich environs of the valley, Jim was up and walking about again. At the hospital they took x-rays of his lungs, checked his blood oxygen levels and gave him a variety of tests. The outcome of all this just confirmed what we already knew, he was very sick, his blood oxygen levels were at 60%, dangerously far below the normal 95% for that altitude, and his right lung was full of fluid. It was obvious that Jim was not going to be getting out on his bike again on this trip. Pumped full of drugs and hooked up to oxygen, we booked into a private room for the night so that I could stay with him. In the morning all the doctors at the mission hospital including three British medical students came to see him, so fascinated were they all to see real pulmonary oedema in the flesh.

With Jim safely in recovery, Cara, myself and Phuntchok headed back to meet the others. Whilst we were away they had ridden up to a small mountain village and without the jeep to support them had stayed in a local house and eaten with the family. For Andy this truly local experience was the highlight of the trip. We caught up with the team again in Kaja, the main village in the Spiti Valley, at a comfortable Tibetan style guest house and made plans for the last couple of days of the trip.

The following morning we took off early, and as usual it was straight up and out o the village, at first with the luxury of a tarmac road and later once into the high hills again, back onto rough dirt tracks. We were aiming for lunch at the small village and monastery of Komik and then on over the mountains on a broken jeep free road to spend the night at what must be one of the prettiest villages on the planet Demul. At 4500 metres, Komik claims to be the highest village in India. We spent a long lunch there, and having missed a couple of days of the trip and a couple of days of acclimatisation I have to admit that the altitude was catching up with me.

On from Komik the road continued to climb to another high pass. At the top the others were waiting for me, as I staggered to the top feeling like death. Cass had talked about mouth-watering singletrack on the way down from here, but with my head pounding like a jack hammer, I couldnt think of anything except down and quick. Whilst the others set off down fabulous singletrack, I just continued on the rough doubletrack with my head banging every time I hit a bump. By the time we reached the main road again, what seemed like a life time later, someone had finally switched off the jack hammer and I was once again able to think rationally. Unfortunately we had to go back up the hill to get to a camp, and not wanting the jack hammer back I opted for a lift in the jeep.

The next morning when I woke up and stepped out of my tent in the high mountain pastures of Demul village at 4200m, the view that greeted me was simply stunning. In front of me a small collection of square Spitian houses perched on top of a series of rich agricultural terraces hung precariously at the head of a steep gorge. Our planned ride for the day, a thrilling switchbacking 800m descent headed straight down that gorge. The local were a little surprised to say the least, shouting at us as we passed that there was no road that way and the road was broken (meaning that the road was blocked by landslides). We smiled and carried on anyway.

The next couple of hours were filled with switchback after switchback followed by steep stony runs and impossibly tight singletrack. What a way to finish the trip, I was thinking. The trail was changing its character from moment to moment. One minute the corners would be straightforward, then just on a bit they would suddenly become tight and technical with tricky little drop offs right on the apex of the bend. On one of the more daring switchbacks, trying to ignore the hundred metre drop to my left, I realised mid-move that it was all going horribly wrong. I was picking up more speed than my brakes could cope with in such a short distance and I decided that the only way to stop this becoming messy and spilling blood all down the mountainside was to throw myself and the bike onto the ground whilst there was still ground around me. I came to a painful sliding stop with my bike hanging over the void, still held on to me by my feet in the clips. Looking around, nobody had seen me, thank god, pride, bike and body still intact, I gave the trail a little more respect after that.

At the bottom of the gorge, we crossed the river on a narrow bridge and continued along on wheel wide singletrack to a short hike up and then more narrow trails to arrive on a wide truck road heading up to Lalung Monastery. I was keen to see at least one monastery during my visit. We were now just kilometres away from the Tibetan border and Buddhism was all around us. At the monastery we took off our shoes and covered our legs and shoulders as a sign of respect and entered the inner temple. Lalung monastery is almost a thousand years old and the walls were covered in paintings and carvings designed to both inspire and put fear into the devout. Leaving the temple we were asked if we would like to visit the Lama and take tea. I felt privileged to be part of this ancient ritual of giving tea to strangers and sitting on the low benches of the lamas room took a moment to reflect on the uniqueness of this region. I hoped that I wasnt the first of an influx of tourists that would change all that.

For the riding, the scenery, the unique culture, and the people it would be hard to beat a trip like this. For the ascents, the altitude and the Delhi belly, it would be hard to ignore the pain, but for anyone wanting an out there experience it was worth it all. Even after two weeks on the trail with two people who knew the area pretty well, I came away thinking that we had only just scratched the surface of what was possible in terms of riding. Everywhere we rode, we saw yet more interesting looking singletrack snaking off to who knows where in the distance. For anyone wanting an adventurous trip be that heading out to explore on your own or as part of an organised trip the area has much to so much to recommend it.

Photos: Sue Savege, Cass Gilbert

Story by: Sue Savege

Websites
www.out-there-biking.com

Info
Best time to go: Mid July to end of October. September is the driest month with temperatures ranging from pleasantly summery in the mountains to goddamn hot in the valleys.
Maps: As the area has been closed to visitors for quite a long time, its hard to get hold of decent maps. The Trekking map of Himachal Pradesh issued by Indian Government 1976 is the best one we could find.
Getting there:  Fly to Delhi, take the tourist bus to Manali then hire a jeep if you want to go straight to Spiti or ride there yourself if you want to enjoy the area.
Language: With so many languages and dialects being spoken across India, English is now the most widely spoken language and even in the mountain villages, you could always find English speakers.