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also with a couple of MLA adventures under his belt, jumped aboard. With MLA founders Bob and me, we had a full tour.
Mustang is largely dry and arid. Lying in the rain shadow of the Annapurna Massif and Dhaulagiri Range, annual precipitation is between 250 mm and 400 mm. Travelling in November, we expected dry riding and mild temperatures. The plan was to kick off in Kathmandu, ride through the equally busy and entertaining tourist city of Pokhara, then follow the valley of the Kali Gandaki River, crossing the Annapurna mountain range to arrive at Lo Manthang, the northernmost village of Upper Mustang, four days later. The return route dropping from the plateau would be equally challenging.
Arrival at a new destination is always exciting. It means a new group, a new country, a new culture, and new cuisine. Before any adventure, I tell riders to leave their expectations and anticipation at home. If they do, they’ ll never be disappointed, only enlightened.
We flew into Kathmandu, a sprawling city stretching for kilometres, its maze of streets lined with everything from modern buildings to shanties. After dropping our bags at the hotel, we wandered through the city square, surrounded by alleyways, main roads, and an endless array of eateries to suit any taste. After a night swelling our bellies with local food and beer while being entertained by Nepalese belly dancers, we were ready to hit the sheets for an early start. After months of planning, the adventure was finally underway.
We hit the road with the hearts of the little 410 cc Royal Enfield Himalayans beating in unison as riders jockeyed for position among heaving, diesel-belching Mahindras. We hadn’ t gone 20 kilometres before being stopped at a military roadblock while a roadside car bomb was detonated. That made for an interesting start to the day.
Things got even more interesting about three kilometres from Pokhara, when I learned firsthand how the local road-accident system worked.
Traffic was particularly heavy, and when I spotted a gap along the off-side of a lorry, I gunned the Himalayan, approaching a T-intersection and veering left.
“ Oh, shit,” I thought, as a local on a step-through with a pillion appeared from nowhere, cutting across in front of the truck.“ This is going to hurt.”
The rider’ s eyes bulged as 21 inches of Himalayan front wheel T-boned the Chinese bike, sending both rider and passenger sprawling. Local police arrived in seconds
TRAVERSE 87