Yesterday I once again had to get a repair made to a snapped rack - now bringing the total to 6 failures we have had to fix. I curse these racks! We shall make sure that before leaving Kathmandu we have a stronger configuration - Tibet and China will not be forgiving on weakling equipment! The rack is snapped in a very awkward position, and the guys who I finally get to help me take a few minutes to decide on the best method of repair. 'Clamp - Clamp' they finally clamour. I nod my head - understanding that because they have no aluminium welding kit they will fabricate something out of nuts, bolts and the oddments of metal bar and sheet that litter the ground. It certainly doesn't look very promising to the untrained eye. The workshop is a patch of waste ground on the road out of Pokhara, there are no power tools, no vice or workbench, and the craftsmen seem to be grubby oil stained kids. I try on my pigeon Nepali and I notice that amongst the throng of the usual hotchpotch of different ethnic groups that characterises Nepal, there is one Sikh man. He is distinctive by his long black beard and bright turban and so I greet him with a 'Saasrikaal !' - his face lights up and he asks how I know to use the traditional Sikh welcome. I explain that we have travelled from India and via Amritsar - and we share fond memories of The Golden Temple. I have attracted more attention by now and there is quite a group assembled. The man who seems to stand out as the person in charge thrusts forward his son - and he utters some perfect English - I reply and we chatter along whilst the rack repair proceeds. The oriental faced boy who is rebuilding my rack beats and snips two metal plates - using only stones for a work area - he uses a blow torch to drive holes through the plate, and a chisel to bend the plate to match the contours of the two broken halves of the aluminium strut that he is trying to bring back together. It seems to be a futile quest - and I think back to dealing with engineers in factories in England who complain bitterly when asked to actually repair broken machinery and often resort to the excuse 'But I haven't got the right tools' - what a story I shall have for them next time they try that old chestnut!! Along the road we look back and we are met with the most fantastic view of Macchapuchre the fishtail mountain. As I look behind I see Andrew pedalling with this spectacular background, and I pinch myself again. It still doesn't seem possible so I bag another picture - really a great one for the album - here's hoping it comes out! We retrace our steps down to Mugling - enjoying our downhill. The road falls away from 900m to just 200m at Mugling - so the first portion of the road is quite a relaxing ride.

After Mugling though it climbs once again - and we follow the Trisuli river - in the sliced valley that it forms. Steep sides surround us. The sun disappears early as it slides behind the hills to our south - but we still have quite some time until darkness. We spy our first rope suspension bridges slung precariously across the gorge, with rural traffic trundling across - maybe a couple of goats and a Nepali man with a massive load weighing heavy from his forehead strap. Shortly afterwards we notice lone ropes stretching across the river, and I explain to Andrew that these are often for people to travel across the valley in boxes that dangle from a pulley wheel beneath the rope. As we approach closer, we pause to look and we find an amazing sight. Opposite us we can see a huge rockface, and we can make out men foraging in the dust - using crowbars and hand drills to bring down lumps of rock from the cliff. As they jump up and down on a crowbar there will be a cry, and a dangerously heavy lump of rock will skid down the shingle slope to the barehanded workers waiting below. They seem to try and catch the rock as it falls - with nothing for protection - if its too heavy they run for cover - seeming to delight and dance in the face of the obvious risk of injury. The huge rocks are then manhandled into the baskets that dangle beneath the steel rope and then propelled across the ravine to their friends waiting on the otherside. To imagine this operation without a single machine to help would be quite incomprehensible in Europe - but here its a way of life. We greet the workers as they knock off from another hard day at the office - and marvel at their resilience and strength - we feel quite soft - our clean hands and soft skin a stark contrast to their rough and dusty complexions! We opt to give our Terra Nova bivvy bags one last fling tonight - we shall be using a lightweight tent for the next stage - and so with the perfect pitch and a mild balmy night ahead we pull in to a small roadside food hut where we spy a great beach by the Trisuli just below.

Andrew and I sat in the twilight of the evening and awaited our dinner of noodles - 'chow-chow', eggs 'anda' and vegetables 'subzi'. The light slipped away gently and we soon found ourselves in the darkness with no more than a couple of candles to brighten the faces of our hosts. It certainly was an unexpected payday for them. What had seemed like a roadside food stall had turned out to be nothing more than somebody's house that opened on to the road, and so finding the ingredients for our dinner had turned into a major expedition for our host. Finally though our food had arrived and we sat and fed on the basic cuisine that is typical of a Nepali roadside stop.

As tomorrow we shall be in Kathmandu it almost seems pointless in bothering to maintain our cleanliness - but I make a special point of washing around the edges - armpits - smelly, face, neck and arms - salt encrusted, and feet - clammy, pungent and shrivelled from a day enclosed in sweaty moist socks. I feel better for it and I know it will help me to sleep sounder. As we descend the dirt footpath to the riverside beach we notice four pigs to one side, squealing noisily as we pass, hemmed in to their cages, but seemingly quite happy with their lot. The pitching of the bivvys is rapid as usual - not much to do - roll them out and pop in the single hoop pole, but as we bed down on to what should be the soft sand of the beach, we notice that it is heavily furrowed and in actual fact it is rather hard to find a comfortable sleeping position. The stars however arrayed above our heads are a most comforting sight and we slip off quite happily into sleep. This night is just about perfect for the bivvies - mild, dry, with a quiet, picturesque pitch, and the gentle burbling of the Trisuli alongside.

Overnight Andrew is troubled by nightmares. He dreams his bivvy is pitched in a main road and so he goes a-travelling in his slumber. At one point he is some 30 yards up the beach, and in the morning I find him some 10 yards closer to the river than my spot, back down the way. He is most confused when the morning arrives, but his consciousness slowly clears as he wakes and we have a good laugh when we realise what has happened. In the early morning we are joined by the local kids who are inevitably fascinated by our tiny make shift houses. We shoot pictures of our young friends who are delighted to be able to squeeze into our bivvys for some publicity shots for Terra Nova (hope they like them!), and we then pack up and make our way back up to the road. Whilst packing up we hear an earpiercing squeal from above back up by the road and I joke to Andrew that it must be bacon for brekkie. As we struggle to push our bikes back up the steep path to the road we pass the pig pens and notice that there are now only the three porkers oinking around - and we start to wonder. Slightly further and we find a stream of crimson red running down the hill towards us and a couple more paces and we find our fears confirmed. The pigs head, severed from its body is being tenderly stoked atop a glowing fire by one of the local men and the body is being painstakingly shaved by a four man team with razor blades. Our stomachs churn at this gruesome sight at such an early hour of the morning and back at the roadside we can only manage a cup of chia - we head out early - breakfast can wait!

The early morning is chilly - but the road continues spectacularly and we soon warm up. We are climbing only slowly to begin with - but we know today we have quite a task - a climb of around 1200m to the rim of the Kathmandu Valley. We ride for a comfortable 20km and then pause for a good breakfast - a roadside stop for tourist coaches from Kathmandu to Pokhara - and we fill up on muesli, eggs and fried potatoes - Kathmandu must be near!! We continue to climb the Trisuli, until we meet a branch and we pull away up a tributary - and our climb begins in earnest. We start to sweat seriously just before lunch and as we pull into Naubise at an altitude of about 900m Andrew asks whether we have far to climb. 'The fun bit is just beginning'. Although the entrance to the Ktm Valley is only another 700m climb it is a truly awesome sight. From just above Naubise the road unwinds above and in front of us, and we watch the zigzag spiral up before us. Our route will only carry us a measly couple of kilometres forward - but we will meander back and forth up the hillside until we reach the promised gate into the valley. We set off steadily up the hill, but as we climb we become excited and our tempo increases, the legs flying around and our minds racing. We have made it to Kathmandu - the promised destination that seemed so far away from us a couple of months ago is now here, ready for the taking - the food is ready for the eating, and the beer is ready to be drunk. Our friends and team colleagues will be here to join us shortly and we shall make our plans for the second half of our journey. In just a what seems like a twinkling of an eye we have stormed up to the pass at Thangkot and we behold the beautiful sight of the welcome gate and the green and lush fields of the valley outstretched before us. It is quite an emotional moment and I feel a shudder down my spine. If only we are capable of journeying from London to Kathmandu by Human Power, it still feels to me like a remarkable achievement - even if it is still rather hard to connect in our minds the two ends of the route - we know for ourselves that we have seen it all and we have breathed the air all the way along the Classic Overland Route - HURRAH!!!

We cruise down from the rim of the valley and enjoy the 200 metre descent. Andrew has a nasty shock as we shoot down the hill - a young child wanders aimlessly into his path and Andrew very nearly mows him down- the child narrowly avoiding catastrophe by collapsing to the ground. Andrew curses, but is surely relieved - it looked like a terrible accident was inevitable. The last few kilometres passes smoothly and we cruise into Kathmandu's main arena - Durbar Square in the early evening. We are greeted by the onslaught of hawkers, beggars, traders, drug peddlers and aspiring tourist guides that is synonymous with the city - but it is curiously reassuring - we smile to ourselves as we are accosted from every angle - we've made it - TIME FOR A REST!!!