Zogong to Jio Monastery
1st May 2000
to
2nd May 2000

Farewell Sony and into forbidden lands

 The snow is falling heavily as my alarm sounds (I can hear it on the flysheet), I haven't really slept, but the adrenaline helps me get up. It's a horrible exit from the warmth of the tent into the freezing dark with wet flakes slapping into my face. Numerous journeys to the shelter of the lorry and we slowly get everything packed - finally we take tents down with their covering of snow, shake them off and away they go - there's no going back now. We huddle around the stove in the back of the lorry and stuff down the small packs of Chinese Cereal that we fondly refer to as cement due to the White/Grey consistency with black lumps in. I fear we may have spent too long in the company of road builders. We say a fond farewell to Sony and Jimmy (Torjee the driver is asleep) and we set forth into the blackness. Its hard enough to find the road and as we hit the tarmac I give thanks to the fact that although the wet snow is falling in heavy lumps we do at least have an asphalt surface. Even with the tarmac its virtually impossible to spot the road. The Petzl head torches work well but the snow falls into our faces and the light picks out the fleeting flakes. My eyes can therefore only focus on the bright snow and not the dark road. It's a right pickle! Anyway, its only 3kms and the tarmac peters out, and we're onto bumpy terrain. We can hardly see the surface before us and its not too long before Andrew runs directly into a huge rock and piles off - sprawling across the road. Likewise a few more kilometres and my own front wheel finds a huge divot and I am catapulted into wet mud and rocks - I get a nasty view of my fully laden bike coming down on top of me. After more unpredictable bumping and jolting we pass through a couple of small villages - wondering whether these are the check posts. The light slowly clears our way - but it's a grey and dirty light - and not a hopeful dawn. It's a depressing view - the clouds are grey overhead and the snow is still dropping. With the early morning we find a largely shut up town. The town of Zogong has an entirely concrete main street and the most grim set of buildings - but we certainly don't hang around - nor do we talk. It’s straight through - two barriers but gladly no officials. We feel a certain sense of relief even though the road now climbs - we must have passed our first danger point.

Just up the road and we pull into a Tibetan village. Cold wet and hungry - we are in need of hospitality, which we find ('with interest'!). We hunt around for help and are soon invited into one family home. Its an incredible experience - the house is built of wood, mud and white paint - it's a masterpiece and warm from the moment we enter. The family spoil us with lashings of Tcha Suma (Yak Butter Tea) - even I have some - but the rancid farm animal taste doesn't really agree. We also are treated to our first taste of Tsampa. Its dry and difficult to eat but the tangy barley taste is welcome. In return we offer a few packets of 'Cement', some banana chips, and Nick gives some stickers from a cereal pack. These are greeted with wonderment especially when we show how they work. The father takes the stickers and places them in pride of place - in his Buddhist altar - next to his secretive photo of the Dalai Lama - we are truly humbled!

The climb up from here begins reasonably - but then the road twists and turns uncontrollably and spotting the top is impossible. Just when we think we have made it we are turned through 180 degrees and yet another hairpin bend. Andrew is feeling rough still and ends up walking - as do we all and it turns into rather an ordeal. The relief is immense as we finally hit the Prayer Flags at 5008m. We descend slowly and pass a French cyclist slowly making his way up the pass and then onwards to Lhasa. We continue and then find what seems a pleasant sunny and grassy spot. Snow however is soon to enclose us - and the temperature plummets.

Zogong La Campsite - Jio Monastry - 2nd May

As we expected we awoke to hear the patter of flakes on the tent and for the morning this doesn't relent. Now that we are without the support vehicle we decide that we should take it easy and enjoy the warmth of our Snugpak Sleeping bags and Terra Nova tents. Outside its icy and even when I step outside momentarily to sort out the stove to brew up hot water - it chills me to the bone. I return shivering. After breakfast and more sleeping we finally stir at around 11.15, and get going with frozen hands nearer to midday. The snow seems to fall ever harder and the ride is with flakes in our eyes. From an initial covering of snow on the road the surface soon becomes mud and we find a royal splattering heading up onto our clothes and faces. This is compounded by a convey of Chinese army lorries who splash and harass us. The snow turns to rain, and with the speeding descent we get colder. We race through an army camp and onwards further eventually meeting another 4 cyclists. It seems strange that no cyclists have been encountered throughout Tibet, and now we see 5 in 2 days inside the most closed part of the country! Our temporary companions are German ( on touring bikes) and Dutch (on recumbants). We swap notes and then before freezing sets in we leave them.

Not far further down and we hit a village. Ready for lunch, we chance our luck, ask around and are treated to the perfect spot. Thugkpa and Cha are rapidly prepared for us. The rain still falls as we climb away and its highly uncomfortable. I really don't want to be here. Tim gets a broken rack, and we all discover that are brake blocks are in a terrible state- indeed front brakes are virtually useless. The weather closes in around us once again. The cloud is just above us as we ride; a thick impenetrable blanket giving us no sight of the sky or sun all day. We ride past a magical island stack rising up out of the valley floor to our height (now some few hundred metres above the river). We see another river; this time of cloud as we near the pass, it spills over the ridge of hills, from one valley to the next. As it comes over into our valley it flows fast downwards, billowing like thick smoke and makes a memorable sight we ride into the cloud just before the pass and are welcomed by the multi-coloured flags of Jio La. I pray for a warm dry place to stay tonight. I am splattered in mud, cold and tired; it has been another hard day. My front brake is highly dangerous for the descent, and so I opt, following Andrew's good idea to turn my brake blocks upside down. I get much better performance as we drop. The road spirals downwards and soon we have dropped out of the thick mist, and can see our new road and valley. This time we are droping amazingly towards the Mekong, although for the time being all we can see is a tantalising is a rich brown sliver of the low and distant giant.

We can however see the small Tibetan village of Jio and its monastery, and it is here that we shall aim for tonight. Relief is unanimous when we are invited in at the monastery - the workers rebuilding it seem happy to see us and we are given a full guided tour. Without a doubt this will be a very impressive place when it is rebuilt - but in the interim we find ourselves in a dark pair of rooms; one with a makeshift communal bed constructed of rough wooden beams on a mud floor, the other a living room - once again of wooden beams, but this time assembled around a warm orange flickering stove and fire. We and the builders cluster around in a circle - faces brightened by the flickering flames and they watch in wonderment as we bring out head torches, backlit watches, mugs, spoons and pasta. For their part dinner once again consists wholly of Tsampa and Tcha Suma. The action of eating is a wonder to us. A wooden bowl full with flour is raised to the mouth with the wrong side and the tongue is dipped and licked up the side of the bowl. Nick tries something similar is nearly consumed by a fit of coughing. We circulate the whole group asking names - the only conversational piece of Tibetan I can remember ('Tuare Mila?') I can only really remember Acha, the bold figure sitting in the middle - so keen to talk to us and oh so rfustrated by the language barrier. I bid my goodnights - shaking hands with each and every one of our hosts.
'Tuchi Che - Zingano' - Thankyou and goodnight!