There is foggy and then there is really foggy. This morning in Lamahi was the latter. Thick grey obscuring and wet. Soph has upped her breakfast samosa record polishing off five and two doughnuts to source the energy for the push over the next range and 65km to Chaunate. Both feeling saddle sore we love the opportunity to settle into bench seats if only for a while. Lamahi being a road junction town is a bus haven, but at this time, town life is easing out of the morning and not many buses are sitting at the drop off zone. The town consists of the standard main block, one side of which is the highway passing through. Standard stores line pretty much every inch of the block, many being dual story but with residences up stairs. Then on the highway where the stores are well set back from the road a second line of defense exists, the shanty stores. Made generally out of wood and tin but not picky as to overall shape, design or structure. These all tend to be either fast foods or drink stores targeting the bused through traffic. The fruit stores similar but most have not sprouted roots like the others and lost their wheels.
In the backs of our minds we ride the oncoming range as we cover the first twenty kms out of town, but the road is reliably flat as I reposition myself repeatedly seeking out the best posterior position. Finally settle on hanging part of my fleece jacket over the seat to gain an extra layer, loving the plushness and alternate seating options this provides. Soph is feeling hampered by a sore ankle so besides weary leg muscles we both are ready for a rest day.
The roadside consists of farming enclosure after enclosure, but beyond we still are unable to gather much. Concrete bridges are crossed but little water, the rock bed rivers are left awaiting their liquid company later in the monsoon and snow melt season.
With little hill yet to speak of, but several threatened in the surrounding fog we roll into a little town set on the edge of the Rapti river. A nearby temple of repute and again a road junction has attracted several hotels and guest houses to town.
On arrival we are welcomed and both given a pink tourist brochure, unfortunately all in Nepalese and when translated for us unfortunately back on the road prior to Lamahi. We hunt for a Sweet store to grab chai or milk chaya as increasingly known and hopefully some additional sustenance, earlier having picked up some ripe looking but terrible tasting bananas.. Might need to see if we can taste first, next time. Chauky but not green, it is hard when eating one in front of the fruit cart not to distort my whole face, however I succeed in minor movements in my lower face hopefully disguised by chewing. Sweet store located just before the bridge with new milk cake varieties some of which packed away in one of our pink brochures for later.
After crossing the long, straight and otherwise unexciting bridge we start climbing immediately into the foothills with gain and fall bringing interest but also some nasty little pinches to climb out of. Past wood gatherer collectors and warm little micro villages. The serious climbing begins shortly after but well placed switchbacks make the work achievable if constant. The late morning air is sun warmed even as climbing the forest density increases, fog lessened but ever-present. Scenic grass thatch and mud huts high on ridges with steep dirt paths meandering leading to fields and village centers.
We pull over to combine rest stop with photo opportunity catching up with a posse of young leafy branch collectors making their way down the road. We also take the opportunity to divest some bananas.
Finally climbing past a small village we reach the mid point saddle, signed in English and start descending, taking care to avoid the bumpier sections to be kind to the bikes, bob and panniers. Taking it easy we hit 45km/hr on the straights, at that speed panniers still creaking over either the slightest depression or bending around a tight corner. We eventually cross a bridge deep in the valley with gorgeous green forested slopes and tight cuttings through which the road runs. At one point the ridge has been sliced with both sides maintaining straight clean butterscotch edges. Nearby Soph catches up with a group of young herder girls doing what appears to be a social nit pick (literally) on the side of the road whilst watching over their herd of goats.
A final couple of twists and turns before the road recommences it's downward run back to the plains below and Chanaute. Both feeling pepped by the downward run and successful climb of the morning we push the bikes on the descending straights past a multitude of locals collecting wood of all sizes and shapes, and either carrying or cycling it back to town. Visualise ants working around a nest and you pretty much have the visual a constant stream of people coming up on one side of the roadside and going back along the other loaded up. Bikes with back pannier racks had branches and twigs neatly tied into long single bundles, other bikes with trunk sized logs balanced across the cross bar resting just above peddle height. For non bike foresters the style was either balanced on the head or slung in slings balanced like scales across the back.
Rolling into Chanaute was great as we both felt we had achieved the distance relatively painlessly and had been a joy to cover. Chanaute another junction town was similar to the last through. Standard highway town stuff going on, stalls and set back permanent shops, though most single story versus double as in Lamahi. Search around for an appealing place to eat, very different criteria when traveling this way and more gut then visual. Leave Soph with the bikes as easier to investigate on foot. When I came back however a sea of black heads and Soph somewhere in the middle, bikes impossible to see. We extracted ourselves from the crowd and headed around the corner back to the highway and a small restaurant bar dhaba on the left. The owner was a bonus as he recommended cycling a further 18km to Gorusinge as it had more Hotel options then Chanaute which had only one guest house that he believed we would not want to stay in.
Cycling on we felt quite positive. Post food generally does that these days. The road was flat and well maintained and we covered the kms comfortably. In Gorusinge there were three hotels and one guest house. It was my turn to do the investigating, and if required bartering. The first guest house confirmed our previous experiences, load setting meant that there would be no power until 7pm. The older gentlemen therefore armed himself with pocket flashlight and we confronted the dark nook of a concrete staircase. Double room, hard beds and bucket water but with this cool heating wand (like a kettle element) with a handle. 300 rup. Unfortunately no safe place however for the bikes, so that was out.
Next back to a Hotel and Bar towards Chanaute on the right. Post wandering through the deserted restaurant and bar searching for staff and then standing out front with posse of small children all trying to help call the proprietors, eventually a bleary, middled aged lump of a woman appeared on the first floor balcony. She called for reinforcements though resentfully. A girl in her twenties appeared and finally nodded to showing me a room and yes I should come up. Up the stairs I meet the partner of lumpy, reeking of alcohol and also looking a little dazed.
Relatively strong convictions at this point; still had gone this far. The girl quickly reshuffling the room, dark as no window and no light. Not great but have seen worse. Bathroom, outside but survivable. Hot water, getting a no. Then as we were heading back into the corridor she lets an absolute ripper go which I thought initially may have been something else but very soon confirmed. Now I don't want to sound non understanding, everyone has there moment in the sun and I have been there myself; plus I know what Dhal bhat (fart) can do for you but she had the same uninterested look on her face, as all the nearby wildlife had already taken to cover. I left soon after.
On the Chanaute edge of town we were guessing a hotel as no English signage, but had the look of hotel, restaurant and bar. The hotel felt new and within moments the outside inhabitants appeared friendly if curious family. The room large light and airy, sold me in seconds. Plus the bikes could go out the back of the packed dirt floor front restaurant at the foot of the stairs. Same problem as the last place if a million times cleaner, communal bathroom including a squatty and no running hot water. Still, least we would be sharing the experience with nice people. Unfortunately in the room, that was not all we were sharing it with. The last place I saw so many mosquitoes was in an outdoor art gallery near Gosford, NSW. Soph was less then impressed and we spent a solid 45mins trying to take all the little buggers out. Pillows, towels, hands all the while trying to keep the noise of our personal armageddon from alarming our hosts.
On dusk we relocated with beer and crisps to a small fire out front with our hosts and two generations of children, while one of the staff lounged playing on his Nepalese flute (bamboo like fife) with lilting melodies. Nice especially as the aeroguard and long clothing appeared to be working. The youngest generation was encouraged to sing a couple of their school nursery rhymes such as twinkle twinkle and then we settled into some Dahl Bhat and chicken. On questioning if the large restaurant ever got full they confirmed in fact very soon. Turned out every night twelve coaches stopped at the hotel for their dinner break on the way to or from Kathmandu. We had the pleasure of watching the proceeding involved with feeding two lots prior to retiring. This business is a definite cash cow. One dish, Dhal bhat and alcohol. They turn them over smoothly and though the dish comes with free top ups, like Sizzler there is only so much you can have of a good thing.
Good nights sleep in our mosquito liquidated setting. Last bus cleared out just after twelve and once everyone tucked in, the night was very peaceful.