DAY FOURTEEN - TANSEN TO POKHARA

Nothing could rival the natural beauty of our early morning vista. From the top of the highest local mountain we could see a deep cotton-cloud-covered basin, around which towered verdant green peaks, dwarfed in the far distance by the snow-capped Himalayas etched against a perfect clear blue sky. With the air temperature in the late 20Cs, it would be the ideal day for wending our way to Pokhara. Following some moody contemplative camera shoots, we climbed aboard our trusty li’l lady for the last time and set off.

If everyone could only experience the fantastic beauty of the scenery we drove through, I’m sure we would all value our natural home so much more. For much of our journey we twisted our way through a deep valley following snaking emerald green and white-water rivers. Rising several hundred metres we could see tiny individual brown walled houses dotted up and down the lush green terrain of the opposite side of the valley. Through every village we drove people smiled and children ran out of their homes to watch us put-put by on our merry way.

I’m sorry, but there is no comparison to the diverse India we have experienced and the stunning natural grandeur of Nepal. Although our final 100 or so kilometres would take us nearly five and a half hours, time became irrelevant beside the constantly changing panoramas that we witnessed. These were also the best roads on which to conclude our ‘odyssey’ – rolling corners, tight hairpins, and long freewheeling straights, all framed by perfect wilderness.

On the final approach to Pokhara when we drove past a gushing mountain spring, Katie and I thought we’d freshen up before our arrival (not sure what Shelley’s problem was : ) ) so to cool off we just stood underneath the waterfall, much to the producer’s chagrin ‘cos he wasn't there to film it so apparently we’d screwed up the continuity. So the last ten minutes of our journey as we hit the outskirts of town were spent wafting my t-shirt out of the rickshaw to try and dry it as much as possible.

Our arrival at the finish line was, to be honest, an anti-climax. After 2993km there were no fanfares, cheering crowds, bunting or ticker tape: just us and our camera crew filming our entrance at the Lakeside View hotel under the Rickshaw Run banner. 20 minutes later with beers in hand and champagne chilling, we’d handed over the keys, the tools and the rickshaw’s documents, and that was it. With darkness arriving shortly after us, we sat and chilled out in wicker chairs on the terrace – a team of 13 who haven’t always seen eye to eye or worked cohesively as a group, but who have shared some spectacular sights, experiences and dodgy hotels together. Let’s hope that the footage goes some way to doing it all justice.

DAY THIRTEEN - LUMBHINI TO TANSEN

What a night! The morning after possibly the most spectacular lightning storm I’ve ever witnessed. At 3am the sky lit up again and again as lighting bolts strobed across the sky and explosive cracks ripped through the hiss of pelting sheet rain. My first thought apart from ‘how absolutely ****ing amazing!’ was ‘ah, torrential rain and mountain drives in a rickshaw don’t usually mix too well’.

We had debated the best route to the finish line in Pohkara – of which there are only two: the safe, long 244km road, and the mountainous 150km pass. As dawn broke the drizzle was still hanging in the air and grey clouds hinted at the possibility of another deluge. We held off our decision until after our visit to Buddha’s birthplace which, we discovered after driving to the gates, was about a minutes walk from our hotel.

I’m not a spiritual person but as with Varanasi and the Ganges I hoped to feel something from visiting Lumbhini and the ruins of the monasteries built between 3 and 20AD. Even entering the very building where a case stating ‘The Birthplace of Buddha’ and in which monks and other pilgrims sat cross-legged and chanted, I was more moved by their commitment to a theology – for want of a better term – than any mystical feeling of spirituality. Maybe I’m just too cynical or rational, even though I agree completely with the teachings of Buddha.

Having bought a singing bowl and a Buddha bust for my wife (I hope this blog goes up after I get back), we reconsidered our route. Locals seemed to confirm that the mountain pass was perfectly suited to our little rickshaw, and as time was of the essence we bit the bullet and headed ever upward. We weren’t quite sure how wise that decision had been when, within the first five minutes, we were reversing up a muddy single lane track to allow a much larger bus and ornately painted truck through. Several tail slides and sections of potholed road later and like a baptism of fire, we were blessed with smooth asphalt which laced its way around the contours of the Himalayan foothills.

With just a 120km stretch to take us to the finish line, we decided to call it a day just outside the small town of Tansen, having wound our way through rocky, tropical terrain and sheer drop-offs with forests of slender trees offering a shadowy canopy to shelter us from the unadulterated rays of the afternoon sun. Through every roadside settlement we drove, we were met with smiles and waves more genuine than even on our travels through India. No tourist brochure could ever capture the warmth of these people and they have a physical beauty that is very enchanting.

We arrive at our hotel in clear, pure daylight and for the first time sit, relax, drink and eat, feeling as if we are on top of the world. But I would really have liked to share the moment of looking out over the distant mountains with my wife. But not long now. I'm counting down the hours to the finish.

We also learned – against all our information and calculations – that we would be a day late, and that the finishing party was going to be tonight. Bugger! Although given the choice of relaxing up here or getting pissed down there, I think I'd choose here. Tomorrow’s final leg is just hours away and we have a very good feeling about what the day will hold for us.

DAY TWELVE - MAU TO LUMBHINI

What a night! Our hotel in Mau was as close to a prison as you can get. The most surprising thing apart from a relatively enjoyable evening meal was not waking up covered in bed bug bites. So needless to say, we made an early start towards the Nepalese border.

The plan was to hit the border mid-afternoon to give us enough time to locate a hotel in Nepal before dark. But as usual, the last leg on India’s roads proved to be testing and slow. By now we were expecting potholes, so just a hundred yards of smooth tarmac was a real treat. We eventually approached the border town of Sonauli which, if our journey across the country was a novel, this would be the tragic conclusion. It appeared to sum up all the negative aspects of India – dirt, pollution, poverty and despair. We even drove past a drunkard lying in the road virtually unconscious with trucks weaving around him. No-one seemed to even notice or care. If I were Nepalese coming to India in the hope of making a new life, Sonauli would make me turn 180 degrees and head back across the border. But this is the sad part – much of India is beautiful. We’ve visited communities and locations that are very moving in their purity and integrity. The country doesn’t deserve an advert like this.

But it was now fading behind us as darkness began to fall while we sorted out our Nepalese visas – being bitten to death by mozzies at the immigration office – a rundown brick house. Outside the office is an advertisement for Lumbhini, the birthplace of Buddha, where there is a Scared (sic) Garden. So on the spur of the moment we chose to head there and find a decent hotel for the night. With all our papers in order crawled along our first Nepalese highway sandwiched between trucks and pedal rickshaws. Thankfully our escape came just a kilometre or so further on and we travelled the hour’s journey to Lumbhini, pulling into a Nepalese standard 5-star hotel – probably the equivalent of a European 3-star – but after Mau a pile of hay under the stars would have been bliss.

DAY ELEVEN - VARANASI TO MAU - 114km

It’s dawn. An eerie mist grips the buildings on the banks of the River Ganges and drifts aimlessly across the water. Spired, almost Gothic-style buildings and arched frontages reminiscent of Venice, punctuate the otherwise drab bankside architecture. Run-down hotels and restaurants squeeze through the gaps of stonework to peer at the holy river. In the distance smoke from wood fires mingles with the mist and devout worshippers take to the water either fully or partially dressed to cleanse themselves of their sins. Such is the scene that greeted us aboard our ‘thugging’ diesel boat as we rocked with the gentle current past various ghats (or steps) down to the river.

Our short excursion to the quayside had been through a muddy, urine-ripe marketplace with stalls that appeared to double as living spaces for their ‘holders’. Pilgrims were already gravitating to the water as we climbed aboard with our camera crew.

This is the most peculiar place I have ever visited. I didn’t find Varanasi or the rites being performed on the banks of the Ganges spiritual personally, but I was astounded at the ‘otherness’ of the scene we were witnessing. This would not have been out of place in some post-apocalyptic Ridley Scott movie, with white-faced yogis performing blessings and rituals, the occasional bloated animal corpse floating by our boat as well as bathing pilgrims, and funeral pyres roaring away at the burning ghats where the dead bodies are openly cremated and offered to the river.

The people who visit the Ganges and work here are a world and a half away from my western civilisation. This is a chaotic city of beggars, worshippers, salesmen, mystics and tourists. Remove the combustion engine from the scene and you could have fallen into cultural landscape any time from the middle ages to the 19^th century. Quite incredible. I look around me for symbols that I can reference as if I'm dreaming, but there is nothing. Yet, this place is one of the most symbolic locations in India.

Following a late morning snooze after our 4am ‘call’ to see dawn on the Ganges, we left Varanasi pondering just how different our life experiences were from those we had just witnessed. This is the incredible side to India.

With only a few hours of daylight left we headed for Mau – what appeared to be a suitable stop-over for our journey towards the Nepalese border tomorrow. We pulled up at our accommodation and located our rooms. Now, we’re all pretty easygoing, but this place was something else: within the first hour the power had gone off about four times – which isn’t the most conducive to filming our end-of-day interviews. The bathroom in our room had no bath, or shower, or toilet seat, or running water to start with. It did have a friendly cockroach and a family of spiders hanging from the ceiling. The carpet, bedsheets and pillow cases were stained with years of partial laundering and drying after partial washing. And the mattresses were bumpier than some of the potholed roads we’d driven into town on. The plan: stick it out, get to bed, leave asap in the morning. We have a long day of driving ahead towards the border.

DAY TEN - REWA TO VARANASI - 243km

Following a day of fun and frolics, today has been quite a drag. We’re in the tail end of the monsoon season but so far the weather has graced us with sunshine and light breezes, with humidity being the main bugbear of our open-sided rickshaw. Today however, showed us just what kind of downpour can come out of nowhere in just a few minutes. And we were ill-prepared. When the heavens opened we had only Shelley’s flowery water-proof coat to cover ourselves – which she chose to wear, so Katie and I got a drenching. To be fair, we did eventually cadge a spare section of plastic sheeting from the support crew and the girls wrapped it around themselves in the back while patching the hole in the roof that the roofrack had torn through with a showercap and some dodgy stitching, with varying degrees of success, it has to be said.

We soldiered on through expansive puddles and driving stair-rods of rain until we crossed into the fifth and northernmost Indian state of Uttar Pradesh, a region that revealed itself to us as we trundled carefully down the twisting mountain pass which had just claimed a victim in the shape of a truck lying on its side in the ditch. Distant hills framed the agricultural valley but we were beginning to ‘flag’ and found ourselves struggling to enjoy the greenery of the landscape.

With light fading we drove into Varanasi – possibly one of the most revered cities in India because of its relationship with the Ganges River that is an artery to the spiritual heart of Hinduism. Tomorrow we see it alive with pilgrims for ourselves but right now the chaos of the traffic-heavy streets is exhausting and our little rickshaw is also continually suffering from light fade – first the indicators, then the headlamp and then the spotlights. We’ve also noticed a slightly strange whining noise in fourth gear – yet another problem that will slow our progress? Great!

DAY NINE - KHAJARAHO TO REWA - 208km

Today I'm 43. Not many people get to spend their birthday looking at thousand-year-old porn. But some of us are just lucky, I guess. Khajaraho is an incredible if peculiar experience. Located far away from a river or any other vantage point that usually defines the placement of settlements, it is pretty remote – possibly for the very reason that to get there requires some kind of pilgrimage. There is very little known about the history of the temples but history was never my strong point. Erotica on the other hand… We were limited to filming in and around two temples and it has to be said that they are incredible. The larger of the two, the Lakshmi temple looks likes something from a Kurt Geiger drawing from a distance. Almost alien in appearance it is only when you get close up that you see the hundreds of erotic carvings adorning the exterior. These range from subtle male/female coupling to foursome shagging and beastiality. What was impressive was the detail and accuracy of the carvings – regardless of the activity they were involved in. Considering how long ago these temples were built, the artistry is extremely impressive. (I'm hoping these observations make me sound slightly less of a perv.)

What spoilt Khajarho was the street peddlers and rickshaw drivers hounding us for business and trying to flog us Karma Sutra playing cards and bead necklaces. They are so persistent that they pester you like flies and refuse to take polite hints to p**s off!

While we were taking in the porn – I mean, erotic carvings – our li’l lady was undergoing a spinal operation after we found out that she had slipped a disk. Actually, part of the chassis had broken under the hefty pothole treatment we’d been putting her through and she was listing badly to one side. In the meantime, I was treated to a birthday cake and a very thoughtful present from the crew – a keyring depicting a spit-roast threesome a la the temple carvings. Delightful!

With the welding sorted and a bag of grapes in hand, we went to pick up our rickshaw and hit the road immediately heading for Rewa. The ever-changing landscape continued to surprise us with lush fields giving way to jungle-esque forestry. We also managed to sneak a bottle of chilled Fosters into the rickshaw just to prolong the birthday mood. Don’t ask me why but as we knew we wouldn’t be having a party, we decided to liven up the ride with the girls digging out the make-up and making me look like a cross between Jafar in Aladdin and a pirate of the Caribbean.

We only had one slight problem: a couple of kilometres after our daily re-fuel we came to a spluttering halt by the roadside having seem clouds of grey smoke coming from the exhaust. Being a biker I knew immediately what it was - the oil had not been properly mixed with the petrol and a two-stroke engine can't run on oil alone. However, every man and his dog was trying to tell us in broken English and sign language that it was a gasket or the spark plug was knackered. One guy who was apparently a mechanic started to take over. It was no use arguing, so I let him, although I did start to get annoyed with him. Eventually I replaced the spark plug (because the other one was covered in oil) thanked everyone through gritted teeth and did a piece to camera about the incident - all the time forgetting that I looked like a pantomime villain. What a tit!

Once we arrived at our hotel in Rewa, I spent the next 45 minutes trying to find some way of phoning my wife, which proved to be far more troublesome than I’d expected, finally ending up using a dodgy Skype connection to speak. It was after that conversation that I realised how much I was missing her. She is an adventurous woman but like me, India was never really high on our list of destinations to explore. I am really looking forward to seeing her again.

DAY EIGHT - SAGAR TO KHAJARAHO

We thought it was time we had some good luck. Ever since we’d stuck our Ganesh sticker on the front windscreen, she had seemed to be a curse more than a blessing. But today was the day we sorely needed her to do her bit for the morale and for our continued good progress.

Beautiful roads and a landscape that changed by the minute from rugged outcrops and geological formations to jungle, to lush green fields, meant that the time just flew by. Our li'l lady was running like a dream and as a final ingredient to a smooth and delightful day, around mid-afternoon as we were rolling along past water buffalo and the occasional herd of goats, one of our cameramen – Steve Moro – got on the walkie talkie and asked if we’d seen the fort up on the hill we’d just past. A quick u-turn by our convoy and a couple of minutes later we were following a young boy on his bike and he guided us through a narrow maze of streets reminiscent of a remote Greek village, our group being scanned by inquisitive eyes and chased by laughing children. We had found Garganj and had to go the final climb up to the fort on foot. It was astounding that the whole village turned out to watch us while the men and children accompanied us and showed us round their awe-inspiring, almost hidden gem of history. With much of the stonework still in place albeit overgrown, we could climb to the battlements and look out over 360 degrees of verdant Indian countryside.

I was given the shed skin from a spitting cobra that one of the teachers from the village had just found and he explained that nine people in the area in the last six days had died from bites. Suddenly the warnings to the girls about where to pee by the roadside came into perspective. But we’re learning: pee near cows – they won’t stand near snakes and snakes are essentially timid so they won’t stay around cows.

As the fort was a bolt from the blue we didn’t know what we were looking at and in fact we’ve found it difficult to find out much online about the structure, but the teacher from the village reckons it was built in about 500AD and was the love nest for the mistress of the local landowner as well as being a strategic fortress. Back down in the village and we all had a photo taken with the children while the girls posed beside the village elder – a sort of Indian Hugh Hefner!

We left Garganj and couldn’t believe our luck when we pulled into Khajaraho in daylight with enough time to go up to the rooftop terrace of our hotel and with beer in hand watch the sun set behind the famed ancient temples. This is how we imagined every day of our journey should be. It hasn’t been and we’re now pretty sure that it won’t continue to be. But as ever, we'll enjoy it while we can and we’re up for the challenge.