Day 17.. Blessings in the wind

What would you try to do if you knew you could not fail? 

Recent challenges that I have undertaken have not gone to plan, either through sickness and riots in Ecuador or just being too slow on the Tour Divide... 

and yet I keep coming back for more. Why is that? If you asked me at the end of yesterday, I wouldn't have an answer and I'm not sure I will have one by the end of this journey. The persuit of something that tests my mind and body to its utmost is not something that necessarily gives me pleasure at the time, if fact mostly just suffering but that in itself gives me something to draw upon in everday life. Whatever situation I am in, I have been colder, hotter, wetter, more tired than at that point.

Anyway enough rambling... the day ahead was going to be a test for sure. 

I had not slept more than a couple of hours, in fact my body was so battered that my watch was telling me to rest, recover, go no further. It had been a VERY cold night, punctuated by not 1 but 2 trips to the toilet, which normally would not make it into a blog (well ok maybe it would) but this was something else. So bear in mind that I'm wearing every last stitch of clothing I have. There is no toilet in the room. It is very very very cold. The last thing I want to do is get outta of my slightly warmer sleeping bag and expose any body part to the cold. But after lying there for 10 minutes and coming quickly to the realisation that there really is no other way, I hop out, put my shoes on and  take off my 2 top layers.. the down coat and sweater I bought (because my trousers are ski trousers and have braces so in order to drop the trousers I have to remove the braces which are under the 2 warm layers)

With me so far? Then I grab a torch but none are working because the batteries got too cold and all the charge drained away, so I tuen to my phone which I kept in my sleeping bag to stay warm and charge. Grab the toilet paper and quietly (trying not to disturb the chinese girl) creep out of the room into a pitch black night. Down the stone steps to the outhouse. You open the door and are hit by such a stench its overpowering and you have to breathe through your mouth so you don't gag. Then up onto the raised platform to the drop toilet and realise suddenly thats it's extremely slippery as all the misses around the hole have turned to ice!! Drop the trousers, squat, do the business and then as fast as poss without slipping over, pull up clothes and escape outside again, back to the room. pull on all the layers again because now your toes are numb with cold and you are violently shivering. Snuggle into the sleeping bag and wait an hour or so to get warm enough again to doze off!

1 trip was bad enough... 2 was just unfair. 

So 1 very cold and no sleep night later, the chinese girl started packing her stuff at about 0330. She was obviously intending to go up early. I didn't see the need to set off in the dark. If I had been at Thorung Phedi, instead of High Camp, absolutely, but here I figured it would be slightly warmer and safer to set off as soon as it got light.

I had a banging headache, probably a mix of dehydration, exertion from the day before and altitude. I lay there listening to her pack her stuff up, hat down over my eyes, trying to block out the glare of her head torch. 

Eventually my alarm rang at 0400. I prised myself out of my sleeping bag and dragged myself over to breakfast. I knew I should eat. You may remember that I hadn't eaten anything the night before as I felt sick so I had to eat. I ordered an apple pancake and some black tea. I then took a concoction of pills... 2 paracetamol for the headache and today, instead of 125mg of DIAMOX, I double dosed it and took a whole pill.

I managed half the apple pancake, I just didn't feel like eating. I then settled my bill, which wasn't that much, mainly because the room is cheap but they charge more for food and drink up here and I had hardly had anything. (I'm not proud of this, just a fact)

I went and packed up my stuff with slightly numb fingers and toes and then lay in my sleeping bag until I could see the outline of the mountains as the sun started to make an appearance. The temperature did not budge from fcuking freezing but I knew it wouldn't be long before it warmed up. I put my bags on my bike and was about to set off, when I saw the oddest sight. Another cyclist, only with panniers front and back and gravel tyres! (for anyone that doesn't really get bikes, essentially bringing my bike and kit up here is CraZy but that was full blown insanity and completely unsuitable for the terrain)

I wondered what he thought the terrian was going to be like, but then marvelled at the fact that he had got it up from thorung phedi to high camp so maybe he was much stronger than he looked.

As I was standing there, and in fact throughout the trip, guides and porters often came up to me to ask if I was solo. and if I was going over the pass. Now they added, do you want a porter? 

Nope I don't thank you. I will be ok, just slow. 

Very heavy was the reply, very hard. 

I agreed wholeheartedly with this but although I projected confidence, I didn't feel it. When guides and porters are saying you should get a porter, you do listen, but in this case I wondered if it was just to get money as they charge an awful lot when you get up this high. I figured that I had got this far without one, when everyone I met along the way had been sceptical Why was it any different now.

I had enough time, yes I would be slow but even if I went at 0.5 miles per hour, it would take me 4 to 5 hours to get to the pass. I would still be there well before 1300, when apparently the winds become very high.

So off I went. The first mistake I had to rectify was changing my gloves. Within 10 minutes of setting off in fingerless cycling gloves, my fingers were numb with cold. I struggled to pull out my thinsulate gloves  (other brands are also available) and to undo the clasps of the bag they were in. I struggled to put them on but once on, my hands started to feel better quickly.

Off I went again. Up and up and up. In places, so steep that my handlebars were above my head. Slipping and sliding on the dusty shale of a path, struggling to gain traction for me or my my bike. Hands firmly on the brakes again to stop the bike slipping backwards. Every few meters, pause for breath, especially on the hardest sections. 

Even with the struggle it was hard not to to notice the beauty of the mountains being revealled by the sun rise and the morning sun gleaming off the tops in welcome to the day, oblivious or uncaring to the struggle below. 

There were no words to describe the beauty of that morning which managed to penetrate the struggle in glimpses. 

The hours slipped by... foot in front of foot... 

Then I saw the other cyclist catch me up... I was stunned frankly... but then I noticed his bike had no bags on and he was wearing a small rucksack only. That would explain it. He caught up to me and asked me if I had a pump as his tyre had deflated. No shit sherlock, they are gravel tyres, you have a puncture. I kept those thoughts to myself and handed him a pump. Did you not bring one? some tools for your bike? Yes but I sent them with all my kit on a horse to the top, he replied. Ahhhh ok. Now it makes more sense. Still not sense but more. The horse that had passed me had been carrying all his stuff! Thats why he had been able to catch me up. 

Unsurprisingly the tyre did not pump up very well. He said his porter was waiting for him at the next tea house and he would sort there. So he followed me on up, resisting my entreaties that he overtake me as he had no kit and should be faster. He still seemed to be struggling though and was happy to stay behind, annoying as it was for me! 

Eventually we reached the tea house. I went to get myself a cup of tea and he turned his bike upside down and started sorting it. I didn't feel bad that I hadn't offered to help. It wasn't a life or limb situation and frankly I was going to need all my energy to get myself and my bike up the pass. 

I was still ok for time according to my calculations of speed and distance. Well within my 1pm aiming last arrival at the pass number. 

Off I set again... the struggle did not change. Every time I looked up, it was to the sight of switchbacks or steep inclines. Is tarted talking to myself... one step at a time... get to the next bend... still plenty of time... 

One by one groups of trekkers passed me. Then came the porter of the guy on the bike... again he said to me... do you want a porter? These are mountains, serious, I can go down and get a porter no problem. 

But I felt ok, I was making progress, hard as it was. The struggle was huge but in my defense I felt it was doable as I still had time enough. I had about 2.5 miles to go. I explained this to him and we both went on, him and his horse obviously significantly faster. 

One couple of trekkers that I had met further down the valley caught up with me and the guy said they were going to walk with me. I pleaded with them not to wait for me. I was ok, slow but ok. He said he thought I was the last one heading up... I didn't think that was the case because groups I knew were in the lower camp had not yet passed me. I explained that I was fine. I really didn't want to hold them up and that I would be ok. The guy took a lot of persuading but eventually he carried on up. They were also going slowly at this altitude so I could still see them for the next hour anyway but trying to explain to people that haven't done this kinda thing, that actually it will be much worse for me and my headspace if I felt they were holding back to stay with me. I would feel pressured into going faster than I was able, leaving the possibility of utter collapse. At the pace I was going, it was manageable struggle. It was my pace. Not theirs, my struggle, not theirs. 

I had plenty of hours to get to the top amd get down the mountain before darkness. It was fine. Although doubts had surfaced yesterday in my head, today, in the presence of doubt in others, my resolve was pretty strong. My confidence in my ability to do what I had set out to do, high enough. 

I kept on plodding. 

Now in the snow line I stopped at another shelter. 1.5 miles to go. The other cyclist caught up with me again. Again his porter suggested I put my bags on his horse. He said it was at least 3 hours to the top, which was getting late. He again said it was dangerous. He wore me down. I asked if he was coming back this way after dropping off the other guys bags. If I was still struggling up, he could take them them, but he said it would be too late. 

The voices of all the porters and guides swirled round my head. They knew this mountain pass like the back of their hands. I had figured another hour or so, but he was talking three hours. Maybe the last bit was the worst bit of all that I would encounter? 

So I relented, though not fully. I paid him £12 to take my front bar bag and my seat pack. I refused to let him take my rucksack or my frame pack with my bike tools. And feeling slightly disappointed in myself headed on upwards, watching him disappear with my 2 bags around a bend. 

It hadade it easier... but not easy. The bike still heavy and difficult to get up some of the slopes but I was moving a bit faster. I lost sight of the other cyclist as I pushed on upwards. I was following the prayer flags fluttering in the wind, set at intervals on poles, marking the way. Get to the next flag... look up for the next one.... one foot in front of the other... deep breaths... 17000ft now.... 

Next flag... next incline... and so on. It became mechanical... inevitable... progress being made. 

Then suddenly I rounded a bend and saw up in the distance a line of flags fluttering atop the next rise... 

It must be... could it be? 

I went up another incline, now breathing hard, coughing fits every now and again... 

I rounded another corner.... and I saw thousands of prayer flags fluttering, tied to the central point, marking the top of the pass. It was 1130 am and I stood upon the top of the Thorung La Pass at 17769ft or 5416m. The highest I have ever been, with or without a bike. The tears came choking up in great big sobs... more of relief than joy I guess. The product of taking your body to the point of utter exhaustion to obtain a goal. 

And of course... 

A tea house at the top! 

I went over to the warmth to the bemused looking man there and asked for a cup of tea and if he had food... I was suddenly hungry. Vegetable instant soup.... best thing I have ever tasted!! We chatted a bit and he said he would take some photos for me, so I stood by the flags with my bike and then did the obligatory bike above the head photo... (I couldn't hold it there long but it had to be done.)

Finally I got the prayer flags that I hd carried from the UK. On these flags were names that people had sent me. Names of loved ones, names of loved ones that were no longer here but not forgotten... names of people that needed the blessings the prayer flags are supposed to bring on the wind... 

I tied them proudly to the flags that were already in place and watched as the wind took them, fluttering brightly... to stay at the pass in perpetuity. 

Down... I must go down. It was now gone 12 midday. I had been there about an hour. 

I hadn't seen hide nor hair of the other cyclist and wondered if the porter had suggested that he go back down the way he came. Because with no kit, he should have caught me up, even though I had been 2 bags lighter. 

I turned my thoughts to the down. I hadn't really given it any thought until now. But most accidents happen on the way down and I knew I needed to be careful. I knew that the way down was steep and likely uncyclable. there may be areas of ice to negotiate. I had 5 hours to get down before the sun started to fall. I was still ok. 

I strapped my bags the porter had taken for the last 1.5 miles (still cursing myself a bit), said thank you to the tea house guy and set off down the steep decline. You think I'd been grateful for downhill but it take long for the toes (including my already painful bashed up big left toe) to be thoroughly smooshed against my shoes. The ground was rocky and shaley all at once. My toes kept hitting larger rocks causing me to invent a new swearword fuckjibbet came out of my mouth and stuck all the way down. 

It was hard going for an already battered weary body. And relentless.  I could see far below me the town I was aiming for but it never really got any closer. Down and down and down.... until I was begging for a bit of uphill respite... which never came. 

At one point ona slightly less steep section, I tried to ride but it scared me shitless, it was so steep and my tyres skidded out at any hint of brakes... it was not sensible and my tired worn out brain and body realised this very quickly. I resigned myself to walking the rest of the way down. 

It took hours to cover the 4 ish miles. Stumbling and kicking rocks with my poor toes. There was one section that I came on that seemed pretty short but it was snow and ice. Because it was short, I descided not to waste the effort putting on my shoe spikes so tentatively inched down the ice and snow, struggling to stop my bike from. slipping and pushing me off the narrow path. It took about 15 minutes to negotiate this small stretch. And it was quite scary. At the bottom I noticed two people sitting on a rock beside one of the emergency shelters they erected after the disaster in 2014. 

If you ask me, these two people were even more insane that I am. Their plan was to camp on the mountain in their tent inside one of the emergency shelters. They were carrying a gas cyclinder and looked prepared enough but still. It was cold enough at high camp with 4 walls around me. I wished them. luck. and watch them tread slowly upwards. 

Before they went, I enquired about patches of ice further down and they said there were a couple of stretches left, so I sat down and put my spikes on my shoes reasoning that they would also help traction on the shale as well. 

Off I went again... 

It was painful now... every step but inch by inch I was getting closer to the first tea house which marked the beginning of the last stretch to the town of Muktinath. 

The mountain were now lit up by late afternoon light and all around me the snowy peaks stood. They had let me pass, quietly and with full respect for the power they had in their hands. 

I could see people in the cafe below... I had descended now to about 16000ft. Breathing was easier downhill anyway but I still had to keep stopping to gives my toes and aching legs a break from the relentless downhill. I could see trekkers walking the path towards Muktinath, heading back to civilisation. 

Not long now. 

Rocky roads took me the last bit. Large rocks, difficult and painful to tread on. Still not rideable and now my legs were jelly. I reached the path that ran under the cafe and followed it out, the gradient evening out. I tried to ride but with shakey legs, my confidence disappeared and I found it difficult to negotiate a path that I would have easily done days ago. 

So I walked... to the final suspension bridge (I hope) across to the other side of the river. Then down further past the temple into the town of Muktinath. I had made it safely up and over the pass. 

I collapsed into a nice hotel, extortionate for Nepal, but with the promise of a hot shower, the first for at least 5 days (thats first shower, not just a hot one) good food and a warm room, and not being able to take one more step, I sank into my bed, having hauled myself up to ny second floor room. 

OMG... the shower.. best thing ever. I surveyed my sunburnt face in the forst mirror I had seen for a while. Swollen chapped lips, burnt nose and cheeks (yeah yeah should have put on suncream... I will again from today!) 

Brusises and cuts all over. A red inflamed toe or two. 

Not enough weight loss!! Dammit!!! 

The food was great... another butter paneer, a bit spicy and made my lips hurt but I managed to eat it all. 

Then warm duvet and catching up on the blogs. 

There can better thing in life than succeeding in something you weren't sure was achievable for you. Which brings me back to the beginning

What would you try to do if you knew you could not fail?

Nothing! 

You wouldn't bother to try anything because the outcome was already known. The uncertainty of the outcome, success or failure is what motivates us to try. And the failures are as much a part of us as the successes. Which is why no one should be afraid to try, to step out of their comfort zone and push themselves. We can all try, can all aim high for it is the trying that is the thing! 

Thank you to everyone that supported this craZy challenge... 

but don't stop reading yet because although I have topped the pass, I still have some blogging left. 

From tomorrow I will be cycling back towards Pokhara to complete the circuit (I may catch a jeep the last bit to save time) and then I will be heading out on a jungle adventure for a few days before coming home. 

If you have enjoyed the blogs and the photos and haven't yet sponsored me, there is still time... 

https://www.justgiving.com/page/lydia-franklin-1694429224102

Love Hope Strength Foundation is an awesome charity, that swabs people for the bone marrow donor list and raises money for cancer services around the world. It is a worthwhile charity where the money actually goes direct to people and projects that need it.

I will continue to try and entertain with stories from the road for the rest of this trip... so helmet on and downhill we go!!