Here’s our chance. A twelve p.m. curfew’s been declared for today and we’re actually up--at 8.a.m.! We got our usual continental breakfast next door, packed up our old and newly acquired acquisitions, gave a moment of silence to the departed Royal Family, and got the (pardon my French) Hell Out of Dodge. As glad as Jared and I were to be leaving, I couldn’t help but imagine what a relief it was for Lisa to be finally leaving after arriving in the same city five weeks earlier. All that time and not even a complaint out of her pretty little mouth, what a gem! Finally, we were on the road and out o’ the clutches of a Kathmandu in turmoil. I will say this-- even though the massacre of the Royal Family was an horrific event, it was amazing to be able to be tangled up in the feelings and frustrations of a country in a desperate time, and in the heart of the Kingdom itself. It was experience we’ll not soon forget.

We pulled out of the valley with a lot of hootin’, hollerin’, and honkin’ only to find ourselves in a bit of a traffic jam on the other side. We steered the Enfields past the four, six, and eight wheeled vehicles wedged together and hit the open road. The weather was clear, the roads were clean and curvy, and our moods were improving with every kilometer. The road followed the westward flowing Trisuli River, which is a popular rafting river for tourists. It turned out to be an extremely nice road, with the river and road cutting through lush mountains on both sides. At Mugling, the Marsyangandi River joined with the Trisuli to eventually become the Narayani--a major tributary of the Ganges. We split off north eight kilometres past Mugling and finished the twenty-three remaining kilometres to Gorkha on a smooth, single-lane road.

After pulling into town and into the bus station to get our bearings, we were bombarded with hotel touts trying to get us to stay at their hotel. There is a definite advantage to off-season travel, as we found ourselves with a very nice room for a very nice price at the impressive Gorkha Inn. Usually 20 US dollars, our rooms cost 300R ($3.75) for both. Gorkha is the old capital of the Kingdom of Gorkha, which became famous as the home of King Prithvi Narayan Shah. Throughout his reign and until the time of his death, he transformed Nepal from a number of small principalities and kingdoms to one unified state, strong enough to be one of the few Asian countries to hold off European colonization.

Straddling a ridge above the town sits the impressive Gorkha Durbar (palace) which consists of fortification, palace, and complex. It is considered one of the finest examples of Nepali architecture with supposedly stunning views of the Himalaya to the north (not in the monsoon) and terraced mountain valleys to the west, east, and south.

We ended up spending three thoroughly relaxing days working on the site, eating, reading, and recovering from stomach ailments. Next on our endless list of cities to visit—the lakeside resort town of Pokhara and the beautiful lake Fewa. We hoped to do some swimming, which we hadn’t done since January in Thailand, because the water in these parts is usually really gross.

Chapter June 9 " Did you see that Hutt?" or " Flunk me, Flunk you"

We packed, ate, and let gravity roll us down out of town. It was a beautiful day in the neighborhood-- would you be mine, could you be mine, won’t you be my neighbor? It was partly cloudy with almost no traffic on the roads. The fantastic journey to Pokhara led us along the Marsyangandi River, crossed a series of hills, and descended into the Seti Gandaki River valley on a smooth, silky road. The serene, pastoral countryside made for a peaceful and beautiful ride. Two and half hours and 97 kilometres later, we arrived in Pokhara.

It is the monsoon season in Nepal, and so tourists are all but non-existent. The low season is wonderful, not just for the lack of crowds, but also the enormous discounts on rooms. We dealt our way into 2 rooms for 300R ($4USD) a night in what would usually be a 30 dollar-a-night hotel. Needless to say, they were quite comfortable. We spent our days in Pokhara working on the website, reading, and most importantly, swimming and boating in the lovely Fewa Lake. Pokhara is the second largest city in Nepal, and most visited after Kathmandu. It is at the base of the Annapurna Range of the Himalayas, and is the starting point for trekkers circling these magestic mountains. Fewa Lake is Pokhara’s main attraction of the town itself with tourist hotels, shops, and restaurants, choking its eastern perimeter. To the north, the white-capped Annapurnas preside judiciously over the city. We only caught glimpses of the range, unfortunately, due to the impending monsoon cloudiness. During the monsoon, rains usually come at night in terrific thunderstorms, but during the days, the mountains are still covered by a thick layer of moisture-laden clouds.

It took us two nights and one early morning of countless hours and even more countless rupees, to successfully download an FTP program, and in turn upload our site to this so-called "Internet." After a frustrating technological battle, our perseverance paid off and up she went!
At Raju’s Bullet Repair Shop in Pokhara, we found a really good mechanic after our failed attempt in Kathmandu (see Maintenance Section for Vivid Details). But Raju turned out to be a really excellent mechanic and teacher, who showed us how he did most of the basic maintenance on the bikes. It is nice to see the varied ways in which different mechanics fix Enfields. We learn little tricks from each mechanic that can make life easier on the road and avoid headaches. Raju had our bikes running like they should after a full tune-up, for the unbelievable price of 150R (USD $2.00). My bike ran great in the city without a full load, but, as you shall soon see, not too hot (strike that, reverse it) too hot, on the highways and byways. We also became friendly with the owners of our hotel, the Hotel Simrik, who are extremely hospitable people always willing to help. In return for a good deal on the rooms, we put their hotel on the map! no, on our website, so that others can see and stay there. We were welcomed back anytime to visit and stay with them again. It’s funny, in some places you remain an isolated tourist, not connecting on any level with locals, but in some places (like Pokhara) you meet really nice with whom you connect and become good friends.

Chapter June 16 "The Armpit of Nepal" or " underarm alarm"

With the six days left on Lisa’s visa (hey, that rhymes) counting down and the monsoon upon us, we decided to head back to India. The bikes were tuned and running well, the site uploaded, and our minds and bodies ready for the long haul. Getting to India required a run of about 700 kilometres through the scantly traveled western region of Nepal. I’m ready if you’re ready! We packed our shit, got some food, said our good-byes, and motored our way out of town. Due to recent heavy monsoonal rains, we decided to backtrack on the better, non-washed out road to Mugling, then south along the Narayani River for 36 kilometres to Narayanghat, and west to Butwal. There we would intersect with the Mahendra Highway, and post haste towards the setting sun, 478 kilometres along the hot, steamy, and sometimes torrentially rainy western plains of Nepal.

My freshly tuned bike felt strange for some reason, with less power then before and a tendency to overheat faster than usual. I realize that this was partly due to the heat, but there is definitely something that Raju did that my bike didn’t like: either the changed positions of the float needle, the timing, points or carb adjustment. I retarded the timing a bit, but decided to leave well enough alone 'til I got back to India --"land of the Enfield."

The road to Mugling was just as nice going east as going west and we reached the junction to Narayanghat without incident. The 36-kilometre stretch of decent road from Mugling to Narayanghat ran alongside a raging river that blasted mist in our faces. We squeezed out of the spectacular gorge 45 minutes later into the hot, humid Terai. From Narayanghat, we pointed the rubber west and made way another 93 kilometres along a nice but relatively boring road to the bustling, shithole, junction town of Butwal. Butwal was hot, crowded, noisy, and hectic—the perfect place to relax after a long day’s ride. We got an overpriced hotel along the main road, got some food, and fell asleep. One day of riding down, unknown amounts to go.

Chapter June 17 "Royal Lumpy National City" or "Ek Aur, sahib"

Arising sorely from bed, we packed up, consumed a breakfast meal, and burned out of that armpit of a town. Twisting the throttle until the engine sounded comfortable, we cruised all day over what was to be the most distance we’ve covered in one day in our journey—a whopping 354-km (approx. 210 miles). This goes to show how the driving here really is, when 210 miles is a very long day!

The Mahendra Highway is excellent condition as we made our way through parts of Nepal that most tourists never see. The countryside was untouched by modern civilization, with village after village of Tharu people living in mud walled and thatched roof huts. Women and children carried huge fishing nets on their way to and from the many overflowing streams blasting out onto the plains from the Himalayas to the north. The extraordinary scenery we’ve seen on almost every road in Nepal continues to amaze us. The roads are almost always in good shape and lined with either lush green vegetation or village life, with mountains usually visible to the north. This all makes for brilliant motorcycling.

The last 45 kilometres of the day started by stopping at a checkpoint at the entrance to Nepal’s Royal Bardia National Park. At the checkpoint we were given a time-slip, and instructed not to travel faster than 40 km/hr. At the next checkpoint, 13 km away, they checked our time-slips to make sure we hadn’t been speeding. It felt like we were part of a time-speed distance road rally (TSD.) Luckily for us the scenery was pristine, so we didn’t mind putting the bikes while keeping one eye open for tiger, rhino, elephant, panther, and over 400 species of birds. Birds, birds, everywhere. Our fatigue fell away as we simply enjoyed our surroundings.

After the park, we made our way another 26 km to the small, roadside village of Lamki which was said to have a hotel. And what a hotel it was! For 150R we got a cramped, hot, stinky triple with no bathroom. But to our delight and rescue, we happened upon a most surprisingly delicious restaurant. The Sunghaba Restaurant had just opened 6 months before by a man who learned his restauranteering in Bombay. He churned out some of the best, least expensive food we’ve had yet in Nepal. We were astounded to find such a good restaurant in the middle of nowhere. Here we ate, then drank, then became merry. We stumbled back to the room and collapsed on our rock-hard mattresses in a cloud of dust.
SLEEP!!!!

Chapter June 18 " India, again?" or " Breakin' the Law"

Next morning, yeah, you know the routine—pack, eat, roll. Tonight, if all goes well, we will sleep in India. Up to this point, we seemed to be missing the periodic monsoonal downpours; however, as soon as pulled out of Lamki we felt a slight drizzle. As if asking for it, we pulled over to put on our rainsuits and just as we zipped up—whammo—the clouds burst and the sky opened on us. Armed with leaking raingear, we forged through the stinging hard rain for about an hour or so, until we hit what was to be the first of many obstacles that day.

Rivers swelled from heavy rains, sometimes washing over bridges and roads. A section of the bridge we now attempted to cross had been eaten away by the raging river, making that section impassable to cars and trucks. Someone, or something, had built barricades of dirt and rock blocking the broken section of the bridge, and directing traffic down into the metre-deep water and back up onto the intact section of the bridge past the erosion. Since the waters were too deep for our bikes, the only option was to go up, over, and around the muddy barricades. It was worth a try, and we all grabbed my bike, with a bunch of locals joining in. Pulling, lifting, pushing, and sliding, the bike slowly made its way over the rock barricades, over the muddy hill, and onto the intact section of the bridge. Jared’s bike was next. There, not so bad. Just as we finished with our bikes, a bus blasted into the watery detour, barreled its way through the waters, and burst up onto the makeshift ramp on the safe side of the bridge, forcing spectators (including us) to scatter in every direction. As you can see, Nepali bus drivers don’t like to fall behind schedule. "Through, through, through, he’ll get that bus through…he’ll get that bus throoooouuuuuuuugh." *note -- "bus" has been substituted for "train" with permission from Cookie Monster, Sesame Street inc., 1977.

Slowly the rain let began to let up, and ahead to the west, it was all blue skies. Aaaah, India was calling us back. And we are coming. After another couple hours, we arrived at the India/Nepal border town of Mahendranagar, immediately pulling into the Immigration Office (a small shack with three walls.) A man we thought was a worker gave us departure forms, and promptly left the building. He came back to check us on us twice, saying in very broken English, that he couldn’t find the man with the authority to stamp our passports. We showed our impatience by pressing the man to look harder. After about a half an hour, an older man with glasses appeared, looking like he had the power to wield the almighty stamp.

With the ink still fresh on our passports, we made our way to the customs checkpoint at the actual gate separating India and Nepal. When we first arrived in Nepal (on the far eastern edge), we were asked to specify how many days we would spend in the country with the bikes. You see, unlike any of India’s other neighbors, Nepal allows you to bring a bike into the country without a carne de passage, requesting only that you pay 55R/day. Not knowing exactly how long we would stay, we guessed at twenty days and paid the appropriate fee, figuring that upon departure we would just pay extra for any extra days in the country. Of course we were not told at that time, that you can only keep bikes in the country for 30 days without a stiff financial penalty. We were in Nepal for 38 days. SO, customs looked at our papers, did some calculating, and gave us a figure of 5000R ($75.00) per bike!! "What the hell are you talking about?" we replied. The head customs officer explained to us about the penalty of 500R/day, in addition to the original 55R/day, for every day over 30 spent in Nepal.

The only thing was could say was that there was no possible way we were going to pay this—no one had ever explained this to us! (I do realize that a little prior investigation on our parts may have spared us this sticky situation, but I wasn’t going to admit that here.) The officer confidently busted out the Customs Handbook and we all charged into a heated battle over the intricacies of the written English language. Piecing together many different paragraphs, we realized that what the man said was true. We were in trouble. Seventy-five dollars equates to about two weeks of living for us here. We refused to pay, saying that we had no money, that we were on our way to Delhi to fly out, etc. We actually didn’t have that much money in rupees. The head guy left, saying "Sorry, these are the rules." We were all agitated and wondering what the hell to do next.

I decided to follow the head officer outside and plead our case. I put on my Help-We-Are-Desperate face, and explained to the man that we were on out way out, we didn’t know that rules, we didn’t have any money, etc. Then a light went on in my head—oh yeah, we were trapped in Kathmandu for the Royal Massacre, that’s gotta account for somethin’! I turned all my efforts into describing the details of being trapped in Kathmandu, the riots and the curfew, and how we couldn’t leave. Finally, I begged him. "Sir, you are the only one here that can help us, we do not have enough money, and we need to get to India on what little we have, please help us." He looked at me for a long while, and then finally pointed at the customs building and said, "Wait in there." Five minutes later he came back inside the building and some confusing bickering arose between the workers. After a minute or so he said, "Ok, you pay 55R/day for the 20 days you went over, and that is fine." We realized that we only had stayed 18 days over, but dared not say anything. This guy had just saved us over 50 dollars each. We thanked him profusely, quickly paid the money, and got the hell out of Nepal as fast as we could.

Smiling and sighing in relief, we continued 6 km to the Indian Immigration, where a very nice officer quickly got us on our way. We crossed a bridge over the Kati River separating India and Nepal, turned right to cross another one, finding at the far end a locked gate. We stopped and looked at the police on the other side of the gate. We pointed at the lock on the gate while they pointed behind us. What the hell was going on? The copper’s kept on pointing behind us and repeated the words "key, key, other station". We finally figured out that the police were directing to a man at the station back across the bridge who had the key. Jared decided to go back and get the man we needed to open the gate. On his way back to us, he noticed he had a flat tire. As he started pushing his bike across the bridge, the gatekeeper slowly pedaled past him, leisurely unlocked the gate, and pedaled past him back to his station. Why he is not stationed AT THE GATE is beyond us. Does he particularly enjoy riding his bicycle back and forth across the bridge all day, is it more efficient for him? It is this kind of Indian phenomenon that either tries your patience, baffles your logical western mind, or simply makes you laugh in disbelief—usually a bit of all three. Jared and I repaired his flat tire at the nearest puncture wallah, as Lisa guarded the stuff and ate mangos.

It was getting too late to make it to our planned destination, so even though Banbassa seemed a dirty, crowded border town, we decided it best to surrender to India and spend the night there. Luckily, we found the JaiLaxmi Hotel run by a jolly ex-army man who turned out to be a riot, full of useful information about the Uttar Pradesh. He took us to a local restaurant for a very good thali (a kind of Indian all-you-can-eat), and we went to bed exhaustedly content. Tomorrow we ride again, back into the mountains and into

Chapter June 19 " If Allah Wills It" or " Little Poops Floating in the Street"

We got up, had another thali, packed and rode. Before we left, the owner showed us a shortcut to Nainital, which would save us some kilometre-age. Once on the road, Lisa was finally introduced to the Indian roads we had so often talked about, and Jared and I were reminded of the hazards of Indian driving, with a few near misses, and general mayhem. The shortcut turned out to be a beautiful road. It was a very small road, one-lane, that cut through green forest and farmed countryside. It was less densely populated than Nepal, and just being in India the space felt much larger. Climbing through the foothills of the Himalayas on the final stretch of road, we eventually reached Nainital at an elevation of 1800 metres (approx. 5500 ft.) This climb out of the plains would be our last, as we plan to stay in the mountains throughout the summer. From now on—mountains, mountains, mountains.

Before arriving, we had heard that it was the busy season and Nainital would be crowded, but we still were not ready for how crowded everything was. Vacationing Indians from all over the country flowed from every crack and crevice of the city, flooding the streets in an orgy of strange noises and smells. We struggled to find a place during this high season but finally found a pad for too much money. We spent 2 days here just relaxing, doing laundry, and emailing. Highlights included a sewage overflow in front of our hotel, which brought to the surface many different people's poops and a Muslim man who (due to his misbelief that I was a fellow Muslim) offered me his daughter's hand in marriage!