Day 108 - It's Only Illegal if You Get Caught

Today we rented motorbikes. Or rather, English and German rented motorbikes, and we chipped in on the rent and gas to ride along, as neither of us knows how to drive one, and these were persnickety old bikes to boot. Before heading out, the bike owners informed us in no uncertain terms that we were NOT to cross over to the other side of the Ganges. "Bad cops on that side. Very Bad. Take all your money and your bike." Read, "These are unlicenced bikes. Don't go over there because the cops will check."

We set a course parallel to the river, winding our way up into the Himalayan foothills. The scenery is some of the most spectacular we have seen so far, with lush green hills falling straight into the holy Ganges river. Some of the roads might have technically been closed due to landslides - we had to walk our bikes across a few patches of rubble, and some of the roads could be called paved as a technicality only, but it was all great fun. There was hardly any traffic - a few local buses, a few jeeps, and few white-water rafting operators, and us. Most of the times we had to brake were for herds of cows, buffalo, and goats.

We passed several small villages (a few roadside stalls with one or two houses), where we stopped for chai with the locals. We were something of a novelty, and noticed a few people surrepticiously taking videos or photos. We also stopped occasionally at waterfalls or tributaries to the main river where we rock-hopped and dipped our feet in the water.

The highlight of the day was lunch in a small mountain town about 70Km from Rishikesh. Perched on the side of a hill, the buildings seemed stacked one on top of the other. There were absolutely no cars - the only other vehicles we saw were about four motorbikes parked on one street and several pack mules relaxing above the town. The streets themselves were so narrow that we were worried for our knees as we rode our bikes into the town center. We think we might have been the first non-Indians up there for a while, as everyone seemed a bit surprised to see us, and genuinely friendly. With English's pidgeon Hindi (he took a week-long course in Dharamsala), and our combined hand gestures, we found ourselves in a tiny open-sided restaurant. The kitchen consisted of a mud counter with a two two-burner hotplates. One table was occupied by two men doing some sort of accounting. We shared the second table (there were only two) with a Sadu (Holy Man) and small stray dog. The Sadu spoke no English, but again English's smattering of Hindi, the Sadu's friendliness, and our combined hand gestures made for a very enjoyable experience.

The menu of the day was dahl (lentils) and a mixed vegetable dish with fresh chapati. There was also fresh water drawn from a five-gallon jug. We have been drinking tiny amounts of the local water as we go - figuring that small doses spread out over time will help steel our guts for whatever we throw at them. So far, the theory seems sound, but I don't want to jinx things...

After lunch, we turned around and headed back the way we had come. The steep hill out of town proved a challenge for our bikes, and all the old men gathered around offering advice as to how best to get ourselves back to the road. One of my favourite things we have seen so far has been the crowd of white-haired men in dhoti and Lugi (the traditional pants and man sarongs) calling all at once in Hindi and making motorcycle-revving hand and foot motions.

Safely on our way we raced the sunset back toward Rishikesh. The hills were even more dramatic in the evening twilight, but our bikes were coughing and threatening mutiny, so we only paused a few times to take photos. We were afraid that if we stopped too long, coughing mutiny would turn into all-out coup and we would be left to walk home.

We made it though, and after a lesiurely dinner went straight to bed.