"Light headwind, low pass, no problem"

25 October 2014

When I got back on the bike after a couple days off for illness (altitude, sinus infection, and fever), I tried to do it sensibly. And our Sherpa (a Nepalese) was pretty clear about what he thought I should do, though he humored me pretty well. He had very good sense of humor, and we became buddies, especially since he was often waiting around for me for the first part of the day's ride with a cheerful "You okay?" when I would wheel up to wherever it was he was hanging out for me (the others often off ahead some many kms, usually out of sight even on the expansive, arid roads). "Yes, good!" I would (usually) say..."just slow." I'm not even sure why I was so slow, except that, you know, the breathing thing.

The cold air and the breathing difficulties led to one of the many conundrums for me in biking and camping at this high, cold altitude. And it turned out that I was not alone in this...we had many a conversation that went something like this: "It was so cold I put my face mask on, and that helped warm up the air, but then I couldn't get enough oxygen" Or, "the exhaust and dust from the passing cars is so bad, I need to cover my nose and mouth, but then I can't get enough air." Or, "It was so cold last night I pulled my sleeping bag over my head..." you get the idea. A constant battle to get oxygen. 

When we started our rides, we got the low down from the Sherpa what the terrain looked like for the day, how many kms (I was always trying to convert to miles, of course, because that's what my bike computer worked in), how flat, "wavy" or uphill, how many meters we would climb that day, what altitude the highest pass, and at what altitude we would be sleeping. (By the way, "wavy" meant rolling hills, which, translated from Himalayan to sea level oftentimes meant "mountain.") So, it became a kind of running joke between the Sherpa (Kalden) and me, and then a running joke in my own head (I spent a fair amount of time riding alone, so I had time to make jokes with myself, when I could maintain a sense of humor): he would describe the day to me as  "Light headwind, low pass, no problem." And this was actually pretty all true on day six of the ride, and even portions of day seven. But it wasn't always true--almost never actually. Including one brutal day that went perfectly well for the first 38 miles, I mean, you know, except for the breathing thing. This was the day we travelled from Shegar to Tingri. When I arrived in Tingri, folks were hanging out scoping out the scene, enjoying the local market. 

Tingri and the sign for the road to Mt. Everest. It turns out the road to Mt. Everest isn't so much a road as it is a bumpy, gravelly, sometimes washed out direction. Another post, perhaps!

In Tingri, Kalden told us the campsite was (just) 10 kms further--and flat. I was feeling pretty good at that point, and only 6.2 (flat!) miles--no problem! Ha! The headwinds were so strong, the last 5k of the ride were among the most demoralizing I think I rode. I kept wondering where was the campsite, the next turn? Battling the headwinds, the cold air, the stupid, relentless cough. Eventually I washed up, windblown, at our campsite. As I stumbled into the tent where we ate our meals and hung out (and trying to look more upbeat than I felt), the rest of the group greeted me cheerfully. I announced, as much to myself as to the group, "light headwind, low pass, no problem." I could have a sense of humor at that moment, but 15 minutes earlier I was wondering, "what was I thinking?" 

This was the view from the toilet at our campsite outside of Tingri; this campsite easily won the "Best View from the Toilet" award, having (as was not uncommon) no roof, and a view of Mt. Everest.

Karel (an amazingly stalwart rider and storyteller from the Czech Republic) mused about Murphy's Law of biking (and I'll try to get it right here) which says that in biking it's almost always uphill, and that there's ALWAYS a headwind. This is certainly true in the Himalayas!

This is the fantastic chart of our ride (distances and heights), thanks to my great tent/roommate Philippa Crocker (and a seriously badass biker!):