Getting run over by a bus part3

The Possibility of Getting Run Over by a Bus (Tomorrow)
Part three

Part three of

Tim
and
a
cautionary
tale

first published
25th May 2000

At the outset, several key elements to the successful resumption of this calamitous situation were definitely not in our favour! Firstly the day was a Saturday, Nepal’s equivalent to our Sunday when all the shops importantly including bike shops were shut. The following day also happened to be the notable Hindu festival called "Holy Festival" which we were all involved in the build up to this monumental day on our ride to Barabise as children hurled water bombs at young and old alike with nobody, especially western cyclists escaping their keen eye for a likely target. This is eclipsed on the day of the festival itself by something that resembles an all out no holds barred game of paint-ball as small water balloons are substituted for bags of powder paint (mainly scarlet in colour) where everybody receives at least a "Hindu style" dot in the centre of the forehead or at most a complete covering where hair, body and clothes are swiftly transformed into a multi-coloured and matted mess! Secondly our preliminary enquiries as to the cost of a taxi back to Kathmandu were astronomical obviously I would have to pay, but on seeing my plight the price rose accordingly past rip-off proportions. Lastly the limiting factor on the speed with which I would have to return to Barabise was the activities of Maoist terrorists around the Tibetan border with Nepal which had resulted in the establishment of several armed check posts which would close an hour before dark. Fortunately Richard had managed to arrange a lift with four engineers in a Land Cruiser who were about to leave the town having been working on a hydro-electric scheme in the vicinity, to whom I paid a nominal sum as myself and my battered bike were bundled into the back, ensuring at least a rapid return to Kathmandu.

Whilst I was left to sit contemplating yet another large slice of bad luck that Lady Unlucky had delivered my way on a silver platter, Richard and the others were arranging, through Peter the HMB manager, a new wheel along with any other parts that a closer and more professional inspection of the bike would reveal I might require, before leaving themselves to climb the short but hard 26 km to the Nepalese border town of Kodari. As the engineers all nodded off one by one, I gazed wearily out of the window as the valleys and hills from which it had taken us an entire day to traverse flashed by with me quite unable, even without the detraction of the physical effort, to fully appreciate the beauty of it all in my still dazed and confused state.

Within 3 hours we had reached Nepal’s capital and having been able to give rough directions around the ring road to the bicycle workshop we had frequented on more than one occasion, upon my arrival several of the staff were already busily pulling apart one of the old Saracen expedition bikes
that had been cycled to Nepal from England in the hope that a direct transference of parts would be possible for those beyond salvation. Unfortunately the tubeless tyre and wheel combination were incompatible and they didn’t have the specific tool required to remove the cranks, forcing a rethink in the repair strategy. With little more that I could conceivably contribute than implausible possibilities or doom and gloom I borrowed a bike and pedalled into Thamel to console myself with oversize rolls, pizza and cookies from our favourite bakery for the journey to Kodari, the luxury of which I would not see again for weeks if not months. After purchasing more chocolate and sweets for the others by way of an apology at contributing even more stressfulness to an already tense and tricky situation, I returned to the workshop after less than an hour to find my bicycle bent and coaxed back into shape and though not perfect most definitely rideable with a taxi newly arrived and ready to whisk me away.

I chatted intermittently with the friendly Hindu driver about temples, festivals and his home life, distracted by the ride upon seeing places and vistas for the third time in two days as we sped towards Barabise. We stopped outside the hotel where the fateful incident had occurred only hours but what seemed like days earlier as I swiftly ducked inside to grab my baggage and pressed upon the owner a handful of rupees for his troubles before breaching the last check post to Kodari with officially only ten minutes to spare! Finally I could relax, safe in the knowledge that I would reach the border and despite random holdups and queues due to the poor nature of the road and two lots of traffic attempting to edge along uneven cuttings where there was only room for one, I was finally greeted with hugs and handshakes of relief by the rest of the group as we exchanged details of the days trials and tribulations.

From our ramshackle guesthouse the lights of Zhangmu, the Chinese equivalent border town across the Friendship Bridge and some 8 kilometres of no-mans land, shone in the distance, tantalisingly out of reach, the frontier to the mysterious and revered land of Tibet. With only one night dream and before leaving behind what had proved to be a series of nightmares in Nepal, surely nothing else could go wrong - could it?

Having previously enjoyed time spent in Nepal and looking forward so much to this return, I now couldn’t wait to leave, hoping that a change of country would bring about a change of luck!