Day 16: Forever Unclean

Today was bleak. I may be over the cycling honey moon. The exhaustion from days prior is persistent and worse. It’s hard to get on the bike and enjoy being on it. It feels like work, like a job, like labor. Even after sleeping on a comfortable mattress, my body aches. I tried on my other chamois biking underwear today and it was a bad idea. The chafing got even worse somehow. I’ll have to hunt for a cream of sorts when I get to Leh. I don’t recall having this issue in Europe. I’ve hunkered down for the night off of a small road off the highway just before a small town. I’m hoping all stays fairly quiet tonight, but I know it won’t. I found a spot behind a mound of dirt to cut the wind a little and I’m in what appears to be either the excavation site for a new home or one long since gone. 

The day started off fairly well. Yesterday’s descent continued into a canyon of epic proportions. It was good riding, even if I was a little inexplicably moody. I had also stopped off a few times to fiddle with my seat height and angle to get the perfect fit for my tush. I think I ended up with something that is closer to ideal than I previously had. We shall see. In the bottom of the canyon, with the river rushing and gorgeous, I saw a large monastery and an arch marking the beginning of the road to the Zanskar valley, nestled in a tributary in the tall menacing canyon. It looked both terrifying and mysteriously inviting, but I pedaled on. I need to get to Leh. I’m not quite strong enough or comfortable enough yet for such a challenge. 

Today’s frustrations began at my first pit stop. As usual I wasn’t fully satisfied with the amount I had for breakfast and I needed something a little more filling, my second breakfast, a daily delight. I made a mistake that I’ve been repeating persistently on this trip, which is stopping at the first place I see in the beginning of a new town. This is always a bad idea. That’s where they put the bad restaurants. This place was empty, of course, and I may have skipped it but the man looked at me sort of excitedly as I slowed down and started rattling off the dishes he could make me. He was particularly confident about his Rogan Josh. I said alright, haven’t had Rogan Josh before. He told me there’s mutton in it and I never say no to mutton. Out came the bowl of Rogan Josh, a spicy tomato stew with two chunks of the thickest driest pieces of mutton clinging on to their respective bones for dear life. To aid in the tedious extraction of this brittle meat, they gave me a spoon. After unsuccessfully trying to cut the meat off with my spoon and making a big mess in the process, I picked up the chunks with my hands and attacked it like a beast. My hands were covered in the sauce and the snot that poured out of my nose from the spice. And it was bad tough meat. And it was all in between my teeth, flossing me without my consent. I looked down at my $88 wool shirt and their were stains all over the place. It was as though Mr. Rogan Josh himself had cum all over my chest. I asked the restaurateur if I could get my hands on some dish soap. He looked at me a little confused then showed me a bar of soap. How the heck are they cleaning their dishes? No, best not think about that. I said no it has to be liquid. He said it’s only 10 rupees and refused to take it back. So I guess I bought a bar of soap. I splashed a bunch of water on my shirt hoping this could do something, but alas, the oily spice cum of Mr. Rogan put its feet up and made a sweet home for itself on my expensive merino wool. I decided to quickly pay the bill and find a store with some liquid soap. The bill somehow came out to 400 rupees, which is a whole heck of a lot for bad food and a side of stain trauma. I paid it without complaint because I’m India’s little bitch and walked myself out. I went to many stores and did not find liquid soap. My fury mounted, rage took over. As I trampled through town I purchased a bag of dried apricots which this region is famous for. 100 rupees, how dare they. I put one in my mouth. Pits included! How dare they! I looked back fondly on the dried apricots my parents used to buy. Plenty of flesh, no pits. God I loved those things. These were good too, just not quite enough meat on the bones so I had to put 3 in my mouth at the same time to satiate my hunger. I did appreciate their tartness though, it was like sour candy. Finally, I found a guy that understood my predicament and sold me a small pouch of powdered laundry detergent for 10 rupees. Not ideal but it’ll have to do. I rubbed the little blue and pink pebbles of detergent onto my shirt and splashed water on it and started rubbing it together. The guy came out of the store and tried to explain to me that’s not how you do it. I glared at him and took off my shirt and added even more water and more detergent. The hell does he know? Being shirtless definitely drew me a few nasty looks, but it was necessary and I don’t regret a thing. I put my shirt back on, soaking wet, and biked away from that god awful town of expensive Rogan Josh and expensive seeded apricots and no convenient small bottles of liquid soap. I won’t be coming back. 

I furiously ate the apricots as I pedaled. I was so angry for no reason. Before I knew it I’d polished the whole bag clean, spitting the pits all over the sides of the road, may they name the subsequent orchard after me. I had a big burst of energy and started belting that old folk song Tom Dooley at the top of my lungs quite aggressively but also beautifully as I rode. I think being in the Himalayas has somehow improved my vocal range because I was hitting some really high notes and having a good time of it. Just as soon, the euphoric bliss ended and I crashed hard. I sat down and simply did not want to get back up. My brain wasn’t happy. I just didn’t feel good. But of course I got back on it, this bicycle is my cross to bare. Before arriving at yet another pass, I decided to get more food in me. I got some chow mein and lethargically read Crime and Punishment for an hour, dreading the moment I’d have to put down Kindle and rekindle the fire in my ass bones. Still a great book. As I was preparing to leave I looked down at my shirt. More fucking stains. Incredible. Inconceivable. Intolerable. I dipped the shirt into a creek that was running out in front of the restaurant and put it back on. When it dried it became apparent that there was detergent left on it and now I have an unsightly detergent stain on my kingly merino shirt. I know there’s some kind of moral ironic tale in this but I haven’t time or will for analysis.

The rest of the day I pedaled in a sort of delirious state. Not sure of time or anything. The sun was beating down on me, and I sank deep into my thoughts and didn’t know where I was really. I started having bad thoughts. The ones you try to avoid. The “what am I even doing” kinds of thoughts. The “maybe I’m not cut out for this. I’m weak. I should just have a comfortable life in the city and be grateful” types of thoughts. I thought of the comforts of home, my family, my friends. Who am I to do such a foolish thing, what am I trying to prove? This doesn’t change anything. This doesn’t solve my problems. It’s just escapism, and expensive at that. Why did I quit New York? Things were fine. I could’ve figured it out, I could’ve managed. I’m a coward. Because things weren’t the best they could possibly be and I wanted more and I wanted everything, I decided the hell with it all. I’m no better than anyone else, I’m a sore loser and now I’m just out in this place chasing something that doesn’t exist for no good damned reason.

And then I made camp. And tomorrow I’ll be in Leh. And I hope in Leh I can get the rest I need and figure out how to be more comfortable on my bike, because I have a whole heck of a lot more challenging riding to do.