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and confiscated my key until it was agreed, after some heated discussion, that our Nepalese sweep rider would take the injured man, who had a suspected broken wrist, to the local hospital. Thankfully, neither I nor the RE was damaged, though the offender’ s step-through was totalled, its mid-section now shaped like a V.
When we finally arrived at Pokhara’ s White Pearl Hotel, we were“ black-faced” from dust and had inhaled litres of diesel soot, but everything was peaceful. Pizzas and beer eased thirst and hunger as the sun set over tranquil Phewa Lake.
Leaving Pokhara marked the transition from bitumen to dirt. The traffic was no less but somehow less of a problem, and we quickly threw caution to the wind, gracefully slaloming between billowing, groaning four-wheeled obstacles. Only the occasional squeal of dusty brake drums distracted us from an
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