India Bike Tour

Everyone knows that travel in India can be fraught. There are certainly “landmines” that can derail, inconvenience, and challenge one in the most humiliating of ways (more on that in a moment).

Travel by bike can expose one further. Most times, it’s “street food” or nothing. But I’m pleased to report that bottled water is now available everywhere, even at the smallest crossroads for $.25 a liter. I’m carrying three liters on the bike and going through it by 2:00 PM in the 85-90 degree temperatures. I can do without many things, but cycling without clean water is a non-starter. I carry multiple systems in case the next province is not as well supplied: Sawyer filters, glass viles of fresh bleach (bleach expires with UV light or in one year’s time), and lastly, Iodine purification tablets. All have their place and don’t take up much space.

Leaving at 6:30 AM with a headlamp to illuminate our exit from Patan, we had high hopes of replicating our successful small-road navigation. A quick 48 miles we thought, having ridden a joyful 62 the day prior. How hard could that be?

Well, where to start…only five miles out of town, with the sun rising like a fireball through the morning smoke and haze, I had my first puncture in the rear tire. No big deal. Unload the bags, unpack to find the tools, strip the tube, patch, and reassemble. Every cyclist can do this in their sleep. But now add a Greek chorus of helpers appearing out of nowhere. They were literally trying to take the tire out of my hands. With Matt running interference, I rushed the job, reassembled, and we headed off…about two hundred yards before I got a second puncture. Same tire. I found the culprit the first time, but failed to confirm there wasn’t a second. What are the odds? With a new batch of helpers, I prevailed with a new patch the second time. This time we rode almost three hundred yards before—wait for it—THE THIRD PUNCTURE!

Now we’re in a dry riverbed, covered with thorns. We’re afraid to push the bikes off the track to make the repair; thorns are everywhere. I sit on my pannier discouraged while Matt makes jokes at my expense. Many, many jokes. Mind you, they were, in fact, hilarious. But WTF? I tried to warn him that in the land that invented Karma, this might not be the best idea. It did little to discourage his snickering.

A new crowd of helpers appears but I’m getting smarter. “Chai?” I ask. The man’s eyes light up. At last, something he can do to help. He sends several of his many children to run back home and get us tea. This reduced our sidewalk supervisor crew by 50%, and I pushed it hard to get it all back together before the crowd returned. The tea was perfect, piping hot and a bright spot my morning. I counted his seven children, opened my handlebar bag and pulled out my roll of American flag stickers, counted seven and handed them to Dad. The kids eyes were wide with wonder at this unexpected gift—until I handed them to Dad. Matt and I both agreed that there was no way Dad intended to part with those stickers. No way in hell. It was obvious in the children’s eyes as well. I won’t make that mistake again.

Back on the bike we immediately encounter sand. Deep sand. Sand that would derail my morning and challenge me physically in every way. Matt’s 56mm tires (2.2”) were barely adequate. My 37mm tires a disaster. I was constantly brought to a halt, sometimes almost falling, the danger of twisting a knee always present. At times I pushed my way forward with my left leg, keeping the right one clipped into the peddle, other times I had to simply walk. Twenty-five miles on the sandy camel track and I was spent. My back was screaming from the torque of pushing with one foot. I took my first Tylenol of the trip and hoped the damage would prove short term (it did).

We bailed on our countryside route and headed for the dreaded toll road. It was now noon, we had yet to eat and had made only minor mileage. Matt knew I was suffering but his eyes went wide when I insisted on eating at the first place we encountered. It was “bloody awful” and Matt refused to join me. He was right, of course, but I was on “tilt” and beyond discussion. I wolfed down a one-egg “omelet” that was sinister looking, felt the sense return to my body and pushed out of there to find Matt, only 75 yards further on. His lunch spot wasn’t much better. So we both swallowed hard, got on the bikes, and faced the toll road to Rajasthan.

Of course, by this time the heat was fully blazing and radiating upwards from the pavement; hot enough that the sweat would run down your forehead and sting your eyes. I told Matt I needed to do a deep internal dive to make the next 20 miles. I dug out my new birthday present from Danielle, a pair of ultra light (2.8 oz.) headphones called “Shokz.” These don’t cover your ears but send sound through bone conduction. Amazing. One can still hear the traffic but my Bluetooth soundtrack from Spotify soothed my way forward as I rode in my own movie to the accompaniment of Indian classical music. I’ll share my playlist here:

After riding to no fewer than four hotels listed on Google that don’t exist, we decided that they must be using AI now since these ghost hotels were clearly hallucinations. It wasn’t the first time we’ve had this issue. But patience wears thin at the end of such a day. I was missing the humor.

We finally landed at the “Krishna Hotel” where we sat staring blankly at each other for an hour until the snacks revived us. I enjoyed one of my first beers of the trip since Gujarat doesn’t allow them. I can’t remember a beer tasting so good. Matt’s not drinking as of January 1st, but I could tell that in this moment he was deep in reconsideration; he held fast.

Fast forward to the next day when Matt knocks on my door after our alarms at 5:00 AM to say he is really sick. His sore throat of the last two days had now blossomed into a full fledged flu; chills, sweats, body aches, and dizziness. Yikes. He said he would take meds and we decided to sit tight and check status again at 7:00 AM.

I had slept a solid 9 hours and yesterday’s trauma seemed far in the rear view mirror. I was feeling great, until I started to pack and was forced to spend 45 minutes on the toilet. “Aren’t we a pair?” I thought to myself.

At 7:00, Matt looks like death warmed over. Neither of us can imagine staying another fifteen minutes in this “hotel”, so we decide that we need to be on the road by 10:00 AM at the latest, or start to make truck transportation plans. The goal is the famous Hill Station Mt Abu, a 45 mile ride but up a 3000 foot / 1000 meter grade the last seven miles.

At ten, we head out on the bikes. Matt is digging deep to get this done but he is non-conversational.

My gastric distress has passed and I feel in good shape to shepard us forward. Luckily, the road is not too busy. There are beautiful granite outcroppings of considerable scale that dot the landscape. I’m in stone heaven with new geology to consider. Surprisingly, there is significantly less trash lining the road and fields and when we stop to rest and take chai, we’re not mobbed. We are being observed, of course, but the Rajastani’s are decidedly more circumspect; all welcome changes.

Heroically, Matt rides 28 miles before he starts hallucinating. This is not good. I park him in the shade under a small stall and refresh his water. He passes out. Riding the 3000 foot climb to Mt Abu is no longer an option. I make the call and track down a jeep that will take us to the top.

The grade of the climb was impeccable with excellent vistas at every turn that would have made this ride a joy. But the afternoon traffic was significant with the usual combination of top-heavy buses lunging around tight turns. To attempt this climb on a loaded bike you would need your wits about you.

Even in our loaded jeep, it took 45 minutes to reach the top, despite our driver passing others on every blind corner. I wondered briefly if biking or traveling by car was more dangerous. Hard to say.

I found us a “real” hotel on a pedestrian section of Nakki Lake. It had all the comforts of home including toilet paper, hot water in the shower (our first), and sheets and towels that were clean if not spotless. I put Matt in his own room and announced a rest day to recover. He slept 18 hours.

Unfortunately, his condition improved only modestly the next day so we’re taking a second day and hoping that does the trick.

We did manage a slow two mile walk to the Jain, Delwara Temple complex, built in marble a thousand years ago. Unfortunately, no cameras are allowed but you can find photos online. That being said, it is hard to describe the complexity and sophistication of the carving. An inscription reports that the main temple took 1500 masons and another 1200 laborers fourteen years to build. All the marble blocks came up the 1000 meter grade by elephant. No wonder the road was so well graded! If anyone knows of a client that needs something similar, I’m ready to build something on this scale 😝

So, to complete this run of poor luck, I must relate a humiliating, if predictable experience. Within 30 minutes of arriving at the temple complex, deep in the “bowels” of the marble columns and carving, my stomach performed an expected flip flop worthy an Olympic diving champion. It stopped me cold. It then happened again, this time concurrent with a flash of sweat breaking over my entire body. “Not good.” I said out loud to no one in particular as I headed for the exit. I found a nearby guard who insisted I would need to fully depart the complex to find the public restroom. I walked only 40 feet before accosting another guard. He too pointed me toward the distant exit. I looked him square in the eye and said “not possible, Emergency.” Thankfully he grasped the gravity of the situation. My daughters call this my “Daddy voice,” and I know from experience, even in a foreign language, the tone leaves no room for equivocation.

This kind man escorted me down a series of back stairs to the guard’s washroom…I almost made it.

Shit happens.

Thirty minutes later I left the crime scene. With my rinsed shorts hidden under the scarf they had provided to hide our naked legs (short pants and menstruating women are not allowed in Jain Temples), I found Matt, and announced my plan to spend the rest of the afternoon moving slowly snd sketching the temple. Luckily, my momentary illness passed as quickly as it came. I didn’t eat the rest of the day and feel fine this morning. Whew. What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, I hope.

PS: It’s end of the second rest day and Matt has mostly recovered. We both think he might be strong enough to descend the grade and head to our next stop. Fingers are crossed!