Traveling in
Eastern Tibet

Richard's Map

The road begins to climb once again from our lowly height, and so we begin to work harder. In these humid conditions we sweat uncontrollably, and combined with the mud splatters from the road, it's a hard ride and uncomfortable. we follow a traffic jam of lorries through a deeply forested road, and marvel at the reliability of the new support truck; wading through mud, lurching wildly from side to side, and hitting misplaced rocks with tremendous crashes, and still it rolls along. This is almost as incredible as the continued operation of our Saracen Bicycles, who suffer the same thrashing, and due to the harsh conditions and tiredness of the riders receive only a minimal maintenance regime. Just before nightfall we hit the small village of Tangmai, and are relieved to discover a hostel and restaurant. Tim and Nick are only slightly disturbed, when they are forced to shift rooms due to a leak through the wooden roof during the torrential rain. At the end of this day I am absolutely shattered, and filthy to the bone, I wonder how we shall ever make it through this land of the 'Lost World', so isolated so claustrophobic and so damned muddy.

Morning gladly brings a brighter outlook, as the clouds have opened a little, and we begin our ride with a peek of sunshine. We continue to follow the upper reaches of the Juxu river, and climb all day. Sony is very concerned at the landslide area which lies before us. Indeed, as we ride through, the acutely angled slopes of mud descending from the mountain look extremely precarious, and the makeshift road that has been fashioned since the last, doubtlessly recent, slip, is a road to be worried about. The mud is thick, glutinous and cement like. It clings to our wheels and panniers as we edge through. This is not fun riding but it's certainly an adventure!

The route for the afternoon brings several welcome surprises; firstly the sun springs forth to warm us, the river flattens out greatly and finally we are granted a last 30k's of tarmac. We roll into Pomee a bunch of happy souls, glad to be hitting a small town where we hope to find a decent hotel.

We do encounter the PSB (Chinese State Security Police) at their most protective, and are met well before the town by a two man envoy. We have our passports and permit checked and are strictly instructed that photography is prohibited in Pomee and for the whole of the next day's ride. We wonder what can be so sensitive a sight to warrant this approach, but we get no answers! Within Pomee we are more or less confined to the hotel and its courtyard, so we take the time to clean up the bikes and our clothes the following morning; taking a well earned half day rest.

Our friend the smooth tarmac continues on with us that afternoon, and makes our progress for at least the first 40km's quite rapid. The Juxu river continues to shadow us, and we can mostly hear its waters frothing to our right. One of it's feeding streams that night provides us with drinking and cooking water, as we pitch our tents on a pleasant flat grassy plain. I drink rather too much coffee, too close to bedtime, and so have a little difficulty dropping off.... but my mind races as I lay awake. How lucky we all are to be here, in the heart of Eastern Tibet where most Tourists are forbidden to tread. How lucky we are to sleep beneath bright shiny stars, surrounded by snow caps, and beside gushing streams. And how fortunate we are that our Great Adventure is still alive.... We're still pedalling, and still moving inexorably towards our goal.

Shortly before Raog, our next evening stop, we sense a change in the land. We pass through proud Tibetan communities breeding Yak and growing cereals, wearing traditional costumes, and we pass locals with prayer wheels in hand. It seems once again that there may be hope for the struggling minority. We stop momentarily and hold a broken conversation with Putu a lone Tibetan cyclist making for Pomee on his 'Flying Pigeon',

Here in Roag I feel a need for a wash and so make use of the hand bowl, thermos of hot water and ladles full of cold, and take myself off to the more secluded end of the messy courtyard where we are staying. Stripping off totally to give my filthy body a proper clean down, I am somewhat put off by the four kids who surround me and stare at the strange sight before them. I try to be a discreet as possible, but the white body hunched over a bowl with soap in hand proves too intriguing. Nevertheless I give myself a full scrub. I wonder to myself how I can have stooped so low, to consider this washing routine normal behaviour, I do hope it's not permanant!

Sony promises us that from Roag that there is no pass over to the next river valley. But as we climb up through a knife cut, paper thin gorge, sneaking through with the river, I can't help but think that he must be mistaken. Certainly where we come from, a climb up to 4450m into snow and ice is considered a pass! We try to capture some of the feeling atop the pass on camera; the whiteout is dense, the snow coming in at seemingly horizontal angle, but its kind of normal now. We barley bat an eyelid, we know that we shall be heading down into the next valley soon, and into better weather. Through this descent we encounter another marked change in the scenery; that is when we can lift our eyes from the road before us. We scream along at breakneck pace, but we also see that rather than the green and lush vegetation of the last valley, we have once again entered the drylands that we had become so accustomed to on the plateau. This gladly means no rain, and we race down to our night stop in the small town of Paksho - ready for a Lhasa beer and a good feed. This is once again a PSB town and we are directed straight in to our hotel. It is rare that tourists venture here, and so we attract a lot of attention. The kids are most noticeable, but the adults are just as curious, although just slightly more distant. I chase the kids around the courtyard - roaring like a wild animal; they scream and laugh - the younger ones worried, but the older ones laugh aloud - what fun to be chased by a colourful Saracen clad whiteman.