To Demul and back

The next morning when I woke up and stepped out of my tent in the high mountain pastures of Demul village at 4200m, the view that greeted me was simply stunning. In front of me a small collection of square Spitian houses perched on top of a series of rich agricultural terraces hung precariously at the head of a steep gorge. Our planned ride for the day, a thrilling switchbacking 800m descent headed straight down that gorge. The local were a little surprised to say the least, shouting at us as we passed that there was no road that way and the road was broken (meaning that the road was blocked by landslides). We smiled and carried on anyway.

The next couple of hours were filled with switchback after switchback followed by steep stony runs and impossibly tight singletrack. ‘What a way to finish the trip’, I was thinking. The trail was changing its character from moment to moment. One minute the corners would be straightforward, then just on a bit they would suddenly become tight and technical with tricky little drop offs right on the apex of the bend.

On one of the more daring switchbacks, trying to ignore the hundred metre drop to my left, I realised mid-move that it was all going horribly wrong. I was picking up more speed than my brakes could cope with in such a short distance and I decided that the only way to stop this becoming messy and spilling blood all down the mountainside was to throw myself and the bike onto the ground whilst there was still ground around me. I came to a painful sliding stop with my bike hanging over the void, still held on to me by my feet in the clips. Looking around, nobody had seen me, thank god, pride, bike and body still intact, I gave the trail a little more respect after that.

At the bottom of the gorge, we crossed the river on a narrow bridge and continued along on wheel wide singletrack to a short hike up and then more narrow trails to arrive on a wide truck road heading up to Lalung Monastery. I was keen to see at least one monastery during my visit. We were now just kilometres away from the Tibetan border and Buddhism was all around us. At the monastery we took off our shoes and covered our legs and shoulders as a sign of respect and entered the inner temple. Lalung monastery is almost a thousand years old and the walls were covered in paintings and carvings designed to both inspire and put fear into the devout.

Leaving the temple we were asked if we would like to visit the Lama and take tea. I felt privileged to be part of this ancient ritual of giving tea to strangers and sitting on the low benches of the lama’s room took a moment to reflect on the uniqueness of this region. I hoped that I wasn’t the first of an influx of tourists that would change all that. For the riding, the scenery, the unique culture, and the people it would be hard to beat a trip like this. For the ascents, the altitude and the Delhi belly, it would be hard to ignore the pain, but for anyone wanting an ‘out there’ experience it was worth it all.

Even after two weeks on the trail with two people who knew the area pretty well, I came away thinking that we had only just scratched the surface of what was possible in terms of riding. Everywhere we rode, we saw yet more interesting looking singletrack snaking off to who knows where in the distance. For anyone wanting an adventurous trip be that heading out to explore on your own or as part of an organised trip the area has much to so much to recommend it.

Chandra Tal and Jim's lungs

"Chandra Tal Lake on route to Spiti"

"Jim's lungs are not looking too good at 4000m and we have to head back to the hospital in Manali"

Cass offered a semi rest day with a short optional ride up to the lake for a walk and a swim if anyone wanted it. Good job too, as Jim was looking a bit crook and had woken up with ‘funny gurgling noises in my chest’. Now I used to work as high altitude mountain guide, and when someone says that to you, it generally only means one thing – Pulmonary Oedema, a very serious form of altitude sickness. Jim wasn’t showing any other of the usual symptoms though, so we decided to see how he was with the opportunity to rest and acclimatise some more.

Whilst Jim rested, the rest of the team of Cass and Cara, Dan the Aussie traveller and Andy, part time Iron Man and full time chicken farmer, headed off to the Lake. Half an hour later, happy that Jim was OK for the time being; I decided to catch up with the others for some of the sublime singletrack on offer at the lake. Cutting the corners on the road, I rode steeply up dusty singletrack to arrive at one of the bluest lakes ever seen. By the time I got there everyone was chilled out in the sun soaking up the ambience. The ride back was as promised, sublime. Kicking up dust from our wheels, you either had to ride just about blind or drop back far enough to be able to see the ground through the dust again. Under the dust, hard packed earth offered fast playful riding with any number of line choices.

We rolled the last steep section into camp and arrived laughing like children after such an effortlessly fun descent. By the early hours of the morning it was obvious Jim wasn’t getting any better. I could hear the ‘funny gurgling noises’ without even putting my ear to his chest, his pulse was over 100, a sure sign of respiratory distress and he was feeling just ‘crap’. I woke Cass and Cara up at 5am and suggested that we go back with the jeep to the hospital in Manali whilst the others go on. The next six hours were almost the most worrying of my life, checking Jim every few minutes to make sure he was still conscious, with him improving as we dropped down from Chandra Tal back into the valley and then deteriorating again as we had to re-ascend to 4000 m to cross the Rothang Pass.

By the time we got to Manali and the oxygen rich environs of Manali, Jim was up and walking about again. At the hospital they took x-rays of his lungs, checked his blood oxygen levels and gave him a variety of tests. The outcome of all this just confirmed what we already knew, he was very sick, his blood oxygen levels were at 60%, dangerously far below the normal 95% for that altitude, and his right lung was full of fluid. It was obvious that Jim was not going to be getting out on his bike again on this trip. Pumped full of drugs and hooked up to oxygen, we booked into a private room for the night so that I could stay with him. In the morning all the doctors at the mission hospital including three British medical students came to see him, so fascinated were they all to see real pulmonary oedema in the flesh.

alfresco...

"Alfresco breakfasts and fur coats on route to Spiti Valley"

The next day we were up at 6am for an alfresco breakfast and an early start on the ride up and over the Rothang Pass. As we continued to climb the 16 km of tarmac to the pass, the road gradually disintegrated into potholes and dirt, with the occasional sliding tata truck to keep you on your toes. Lucky with the weather, it was cold but clear at the top, and unlike the Indian tourists from Delhi, we didn’t need to hire one of the gaily coloured coats or pairs of welly boots to keep warm, though Jim just couldn’t resist the temptation to try on one of the leopard skin prints – what can I say?

Dropping down the other side of the pass we headed straight off-road. Why take the road when you can cut off the corners on fantastic alpine style singletrack. We started with an eyeball jarring race down a rocky path followed by a sudden plunge through a small stream. At the back I watched as Cass’s bike disappeared up to the hubs in water. Miraculously he survived without a dunking, but I chose discretion and scouted out along the banks for a slightly tamer crossing.

As the road dropped dramatically down into the next valley, the shortcuts too got steeper and steeper and there were a few comedy moments as Dan and Andy both had their over the handlebars moments. Judicious choice of line was the order of the day. Following goat tracks and local’s short cuts, the trail wasn’t at all safety conscious and this definitely wasn’t Glentress. At one particularly steep section with a yawning drop to my right I unclipped my upper foot from the pedal. Situations like this I have no pride and would rather dab than fall. I admit it I’m a ‘big wuss’.

On from here and we danced down the last narrow section of short drops and small boulder chokes to turn up back at the road and a small dabha. Back down to 3000 metres at Gramphoo and we had just descended a 1000 metres and almost all of it on singletrack – beat that! It was obviously time for tea again. Replenished we were ready for the long trek along the valley to another idyllic campsite at Chatru. The following day was another gruelling climb along a long unpaved road following the impressive Chandra River. By now, we were riding at 4000 metres and with everyone feeling the effects of altitude, a general weariness was creeping into the group as we arrived at the high meadow campsite near Chandra Tal.