15 October 2014
Our first day biking out of Lhasa was relatively flat, though, as I came to discover was not unusual, we had headwinds in the afternoon. While the terrain was not too arduous, riding out of the city of Lhasa was a challenge--the traffic, the dust, the exhaust--and was not particularly pretty. By lunchtime I had already proven myself to be a slow rider, a role I filled with dedication. For the last part of the day's ride one of the riders had me draft behind him, and this helped me to conserve energy and travel a little faster. He was an amazingly strong (and fast!) rider, but on more than one occasion he rode with me to allow me drafting opportunities. He earned a lot of good biking karma for his generosity with me (and others), and he also (perhaps paradoxically?) had a treasure trove of Russian jokes (he was from the Czech Republic).This day, as on many, I struggled to find a strategy of riding that worked for me--none of my sensible altitude level methods made sense at 12,000-17,000 feet, where even taking a drink of water was a challenge in terms of catching one's breath.
Approaching the campsite
The second day was a difficult day. I clearly was having sinus and cough issues, and, at over 13,000 feet, I was still struggling with the manifestations of altitude sickness (beyond the gasping for breath and sleeping issues)--I woke up with a splitting headache, and I felt dizzy and mildly disoriented, but I cheerfully got on my bike (a half an hour before the others because of being slow), and started up the first 25 km of the day--an all-uphill climb--that was actually one of the steeper climbs we had. I made it to about 23 km and could not go any further, so I took a lift in the van the last 2-3 km to the top, where I then piled on the clothes for the downhill to lunch, and a subsequent ride around the turquoise sacred lake to our campsite. You would imagine that I could make the last couple of kilometers, but at least two times before--starting at around the 20 km mark, I felt like I had hit my limit. At 20 km it started to snow--just lightly--and I wondered to myself (I still had a sense of humor at that moment) what good was it being on the "Roof of the World" if I really just wanted to jump off?
On the way up to the pass
The valley below (from whence we came)
I imagined after lunch that, even though I was exhausted from the morning and struggling with the altitude, I might be able to make the last 30-40 km, which was largely flat. It turns out, I really didn't have it in me--the strong headwinds, the cold, and my altitude and sinus troubles made it seem longer. At about 20 km from camp, I called for back up--not even drafting could help me. By the time I got to camp, shivering and increasingly disoriented, I started to doubt whether I would last the trip. That night with a fever and headache, nausea and general disorientation and slight dilerium, I wondered (again!) what I was thinking. The next day I rode in the truck to our next camp--300 meters higher than our previous night--where our Sherpa decided to send me on to the next stop--Gyanatse--ahead of the group to a lower altitude, and where I had the option of going to the hospital, should the need arise. Mercifully, it didn't and I immediately felt better at the lower altitude, though I was clearly also suffering from a sinus infection and a bad cough, both of which I nursed by resting most of the day while my fellow bikers rode into town. I continued on with the group for the rest of the trip, but I took a couple of days off the bike to recover (and continued to acclimate).
The effects of the altitude and my illness gave me the opportunity to enjoy negotiating with my ego (who wanted me to ride and get over myself) and with my (relative) reality, which necessitated some discernment and care (and which dictated that I rest and get over myself).
The view from the pass and the sacred lake below.
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