Day 12: Prostate Unwell

Fate is cruel, but just. The wind didn’t stop until dawn peaked in through the clouds over the mountains, which I could see by my feet through the bottom of the tent. Then, it was pure stillness and tranquility, nary a whisper from father wind. But it was too late, because I had tossed and turned the night away yet again. Maybe I got a couple hours in, I really don’t know. The prostatitis came back with meek vengeance, taking only a minor speaking role in the nightly horror show called Nick Can’t Sleep in This God Damned Tent. While contending with my psychological and prostatic demons, I realized I hadn’t experienced a release of the intimate persuasion since back in the states. Erectile dysfunction is a symptom of prostatitis, so for the sake of science I needed to see for myself how bad it was. By all that is good and holy I quickly achieved full strength and rigidity in my member. It was a fast and immensely pleasureful session of self love there in the tent, and luckily I had some toilet paper handy otherwise it would’ve been a sad and sticky middle school rub in job. This clearing of backed up lust and emotion provided substantial relief for my prostate, and though not a licensed doctor I was still happy I could provide myself with some natural healing. It was reassuring to verify I can still perform, and that women from Tehran to Tokyo whose lives I have yet to enter won’t be denied their spiritual Asian experiences either. But still, not all the orgasms in the world could get my stubborn eyes to move in rapid motion, and I never found the deep sleep my body needed. 

While pushing my body out of the tent and languorously sorting my affairs back onto the bike, I resolved that I’d treat myself to a hotel when I reached Kargil, which stood a mere 60km down the easy going road. I was in desperate need of a shower, and my buttocks were ready to sign divorce papers. I wearily cycled to the nearest town, barely able to move my legs or rest my underside on the saddle. It was going to be a rough one. 3 nights without good sleep and a sore body are comorbidities I can scarcely endure at my old age. I’m also suffering a raging outbreak of eczema in my inner thighs and pubic region, some in places that have never before been touched by it. Maybe these expensive wool undergarments I splurged on don’t agree with me. The session in the tent will probably be the most romantic experience I engage in for some time before I can clear this mess, it looks like 4 different STDs are at war with each other on my body. Not that the Ladakhi women are throwing themselves on me or anything. There are religious barriers in place here that prevent even a stud such as myself from receiving the kind of attention I deserve. The cycling is wonderful here in Ladakh. I still get the waves and the smiles. I get the shouts of “Where from you?” And “where going you?”. I see beautiful mosques in every village enveloped by powerful mountain vistas. I see beautiful smiling women washing clothes in the river bed, children playing around and running after me saying “hi how are you”. Life is good out here. 

On the topic of my medical conditions, let me tell you about my warts. I had this wart on the bottom of my foot for 5 years. It wasn’t really bothering me, but about 5 months before the trip I decided to go see a “professional” about it. The dermatologist tried everything: freezing, scraping, injecting with candida. Nothing worked, and it in fact grew stronger and colonized other parts of my foot as punishment for the attempted eviction. I then went to a podiatrist hoping he’d excise the thing, but no, he thought he was special and tried applying an intense acid, but that also didn’t work. In desperation I turned to the internet. I found a statistically significant amount of people have experienced success removing their warts by cutting a potato in half, rubbing it all over their warts, and then planting in the yard. So I did this, though the Philadelphia version of a yard is one of my mothers potted plants, and it seems to be yielding results! Dead skin isn’t growing on top of the wart anymore and it’s definitely in recession. I had even brought some oregano oil along just in case I needed more natural reinforcements. Not sure what to do with the oregano oil now, it’s kind of expensive so I can’t throw it out. I also bought an enormous supply of probiotics that I’m pretty sure were rendered impotent by the scorching heat of Delhi, but I’m still keeping them on standby for the inevitable diarrheic episode that is sure to occur at some point during my travels. 

After breakfast this morning I performed a splendid bowel movement. I didn’t produce any at all yesterday so I was glad to observe my system functioning correctly. I’m getting pretty good at squatting now, too. I think I can do a minute without breaks. Now that I’m on the bike I’m happily witnessing a complete disappearance of tip solicitation culture. In fact, all these people that are making me food are refusing my tips. And the food is so cheap! Breakfast was 80 rupees. I gave the man 100 and said keep the change and he insisted on giving me back 20. And to think I tipped someone 100 rupees for carrying my lightest two panniers for 50 feet at the airport and that the vagabond father who disturbed me in my tent rejected 200 rupees and demanded 500 for doing absolutely nothing. The world is such a strange place. Hard working folks settle for less and lazy opportunists shamelessly demand more. 

I had diarrhea immediately after closing my laptop at the place I was having lunch, so much for my golden bowels. I ordered an Indian curry paneer dish so maybe that’s why. Also I smelled my armpits recently and I’m starting to smell like Indian food. I guess that’s cool, wasn’t really expecting to smell like flowers. I’m a well seasoned white man now, POC community rejoice. Anyway I took every single probiotic I had after that. A little Bacillus Coagulans, a little Saccharomyces Boulardii, and of course a blend of various Lactobacilli and Bifidobacteria.  Hope it’s chill to mix all of those at once. As an unlicensed naturopath I say it’s cool. I’ve entered the Ladakhi ethnic/cultural zone. The architecture of the mosques has changed to a more Central Asian silk road aesthetic and the language has changed too, so much for my Kashmiri lessons from Asif. These people are Ladakhis but they are still muslim. In my ignorance it had escaped me that Ladakh was not a homogenous buddhist region but actually carries a substantial islamic population who are ethnically and culturally separate from the Kashmiris. The Ladakhis have slightly more asiatic/tibetan features compared to the Kashmiris, but both groups are so phenotypically diverse it’s hard even for me to make any sweeping statements. Following my diarrhea, the bike riding is just as lovely as before. I’m in the valley and the road is generous with both its uphills and downhills, giving me a fairly balanced variety of cycling styles. The harsh barren mountains give way to lush greenery down in the river valleys. It’s precisely how I’ve imagined Afghanistan and Iran looking, so I guess I don’t need to visit those places anymore. I pretty much get the vibes and aesthetic now. Muslims check, lush river valleys check, barren desert mountains check and mate. 

I got to Kargil pretty early, around 2pm, but I knew getting a hotel was in my best interest so I stuck to the plan. I ended up finding a dorm bed in a hostel for 700 rupees, not bad. And this place is an actual hostel, not a scamstel. It’s legitimately cute and nice and there’s a big lounge area and a dining room and wifi. I got to take my first ever hot shower in India which was a dream. My roommate told me he’s from Hyderabad and he just flew up here to run a marathon. A marathon. He flew up here like yesterday and ran it this morning and he was so chill about it. He told me he’s going to come back in November with his fiancee. I asked if it was a love marriage or arranged and he told me it was arranged but then he started loving her when he met her. That’s adorable and exactly how it ought to be, even though it probably rarely works out so well. I applaud them and wish them the best. I saw at the hostel that they offer some kind of rock climbing package so I may look into that, I need to keep my forearm muscles thick and avoid developing the flimsy upper body of cyclists depicted in the Triplets of Belleville. If that doesn’t work out maybe I can find some sort of day hike or just go for a run. Anything that isn’t sitting down is going to yield dividends for my sensitive and fatigued prostate. Don’t worry little guy, daddy is thinking about you. 

I’m using the Wifi at the hostel to do some more research on my little Pakistan Afghanistan fantasy. It’s not going to happen. Nearly impossible and far too dangerous if it were possible. Sometimes you just need to bite the bullet of reality. China is also impossible as far as land crossings go, so is Myanmar. I am virtually trapped in the subcontinent, which I knew going into this but I suppose it’s reassuring to see no other aspiring tourists on r/bicycletouring having any luck. I’ll be sticking to my plan then of hopping around India by train and taking either a ship or plane from Chennai to anywhere I can. It’s just aggravating how many flights I will need to take if I want to see the world in any kind of expansive meaningful way. Going through the anxious tedium of finding a box, taking the bike apart, packing it, getting it to the airport, and then doing it all in reverse is expensive and irritating and almost not worth it. It’s also making me a huge hypocrite because no matter how much cycling I do I won’t be able to offset the carbon cost of these planes. But I deserve it. I’m special and I deserve this global perspective more than almost anyone else. If fossil fuels burn, let them burn for me. And I suppose I can get used to it, it’s not so horrible. It’s easier than getting used to waking up at 8am and schlepping to a place I hate every day. Anyway, at this rate I should be in India for quite some time and anything could change. 

I’ve had a wonderfully cosy time here at the hostel. I’m rooming with a real fun bunch of folks. Another marathon runner joined us, a retiree, he’s kind of old for the hostel but I love the spirit. He says he's run a marathon on every continent except Antarctica. And there actually is a marathon on Antarctica, I asked, you have to wear micro spikes. Why would anyone do such a thing. The third guy is 23 years old and just finished his degree in economics at University of British Columbia. He’s here in Ladakh doing charity work. He and I go out to grab a bite to eat. I have my first Sweet Lassi and it’s so damned good, I’ll certainly be having more in the future. Back at the hostel we’re all chatting and having a good time. Everyone is from the south: Pune, Bangalore and Hyderabad. I’m theorizing that I like southerners better than northerners. It’s also what I’ve heard from some people, that southerners are better. Of course I’m not one to make sweeping generalizations about enormous groups of people just so that my brain can process the world more easily, I wouldn’t dare. Anyway the two marathon runners get into a row about whether or not the younger one will qualify for the Boston marathon within the next 5 years. Old head said it won’t happen unless he can get under 3:30 and he can’t. Also the younger one apparently stole the older guys lassi and so there’s just a bit of tension going on between the two. The young guy wanted the old guy to be impressed that last year he used to smoke two packs of cigarettes a day and now he’s running marathons. The old guy wasn’t impressed and he brought up how some of the earliest mountaineering expeditions brought thousands of cigarettes along with them. It was nice just to hear a couple of people go at it as a third party bystander, that gives me a warm Christmas time feeling. As a kid, I always loved watching my brother get into arguments with my parents about meaningless things. I would run around laughing about it and teasing them but they were so focused on their argument that I was just a little fly buzzing around trying to distract them. I didn’t exist and everything around me was my entertainment. That was my entire blissful childhood. Watching the world happen all around me, fascinated by how serious everyone was playing their roles, delighting in having no stake in any of it. I never wanted to grow up and become a serious person and buy into the drama of life, but at a certain point you kind of have to. Otherwise girls from New York who are frustrated with the let downs of dating app culture will accuse you of having Peter Pan Syndrome because you don’t want to settle down with them after a few dates. Maybe if I’d fought in a war when I was 14 and gotten someone pregnant when I was 16 I’d be more open to the notion of settling down, but life has been too gentle to me and I’ve never been forced into whatever we fool ourselves into thinking adulthood is.