Macleod Ganj

The day didn’t start well. I was already disappointed with the lack of progress I was making in shifting out of the diarrheal state and still suffering from post-decision uncertainty after committing to the Southward route, and then just as soon as I got on my bike the chain was stuck in the derailleur. I glared at the hotel owner who had moved it, and asked if he’d bumped it on something, to which he of course said no because Indians never take accountability for things. I managed to loosen it but then as I pedaled away there was clearly something wrong with the gears as they were shifting poorly and the chain would drop unexpectedly and my foot would jerk down as the chain slipped. Luckily there was a bike shop on the way out of town. The owner was out so I asked a nearby adolescent to go summon him and went across the street for a rice and daal and tea which lifted my spirits considerably. The owner arrived at my request and fixed up the bike as I chomped away on breakfast and chatted with other customers who were very friendly as all the inhabitants of Mandi are. Finally the owner had fixed her up well enough but told me as soon as I could I should buy a new chain for the bike as this one was warped and slippery. That was fine. I put Mandi in the rearview and charged up into the valley.

I had decided to make a dramatic change to my cycling technique before leaving Mandi. Throughout the Himalayas I wore streetwear New Balances with vibram soles that clearly weren’t made for cycling or anything athletic for that matter. The whole time I felt disconnected from the bike and slow, making extra efforts to move. In Mandi I switched to sandals. I also stopped wearing my leg and arm warmers as the weather was temperate and the sun wasn’t strong enough to damage me. I even took off my hat. So here I was for the first time in a shirt, shorts, and sandals. It made a mountain of difference. I was now thumping up the hill to Dharamshala which I had so been dreading earlier. The sandals locked in perfectly with the pedals and made the bicycle feel like an extension of my legs. Grades that once felt punishing were easily conquered. I was flying. I can’t believe it took this long to figure it out. If only Adam could see me now.

The ride was picturesque. I always had sweeping views of the hills and plains to my left and I passed small towns with creative and colorful temples, old trees towering overhead, and sprawling tea plantations. I already felt quite proud of myself for choosing Dharamshala over Rishikesh. Though my stomach was far from settled, my spirits were quite high and the three day journey to Dharamshala was a pleasant one overall. The final day I had to climb maybe 1000 meters just to get to the town of Macleod Ganj. It was insanely steep elevation and easily the most intense and difficult cycling I’d done, but I didn’t hate it. I arrived at my hostel proud and covered in sweat. I met an older Kiwi fellow who’d come up from Sri Lanka and had had his wallet stolen the night before coming off the bus. He was funny to talk to, however, and had a really interesting life story. A fur trapper in the Northern part of the South Island turned yoga teacher and vegetarian but distinctly a “dont tread on me” American type who values guns and freedom and disdains wokeism. What a guy. He was balanced out by a 40-something Australian with a very gentle almost frail disposition who was squarely on the left and fed up with Australia. I had more to talk about with him, of course, and we became fast friends. MacLeod had lot’s of delicious Tibetan food, more momos and thukpa and thentuk of high quality, and some good Indian food too. I remained strictly vegetarian. The first couple of nights were a bit hectic as Dharamshala was hosting a match for the cricket world cup so all the hotels were full and traffic was gridlocked at all times. Walking could feel dangerous on the narrow streets as cars and motorbikes angrily flew by whenever a gap in traffic presented itself, just missing your toes. I went on a nice little hike with Chris, the Australian, up the mountain. Though it was beautiful in theory, there were way too many Indians and trash (the two are often found in close proximity), to fully enjoy the nature, but I was happy just to stretch the legs and maintain my hiking form which remains excellent (Chris had trouble keeping up at times and he’s quite fit himself). In the hostel we had a snorer that kept everyone up as usual, but for the most part vibes were good. Doug, the New Zealander, extended me an invitation to his home to learn to shoot which I hope I can take him up on some day.

Tomorrow I’m embarking on a different kind of adventure. One of deprivation, silence, focus, and introspection. I’m nervous and excited, but ultimately hopeful. I’ve never done a spiritual thing before, like at all, I mean I’ve set foot in places of worship but never in a genuine way, and I’ve never even considered pushing myself past the intensity required in an hour-long yoga class, but I know I need it. I’m still dealing with the post-food poisoning diarrhea, however, and I’m hoping that it won’t in any way imperil or embarrass me during this meditation retreat, where by the way I have to be absolutely silent the whole time. So if I get an emergency diarrhea while everyone’s meditating that’s probably not going to look good. I also keep putting things in my body that I know I shouldn’t. Today I was perfectly healthy and good for the entire day and then of course I had to get a slice of cake, a brownie, and a carrot muffin after dinner. None of it was even that good, and I knew it wouldn’t be. The bakeries in India that go for the western stuff really miss the mark most of the time, and I’ve had enough samples to have some authority on this matter. Their sweet shops, on the other hand, are satisfactory, but you can’t find those in these tourist towns, it’s for locals only. That’s why I loved Mandi. Ah, sweet sweet Mandi. My favorite city in India. I was the only tourist, really had the place to myself. And it was such a beautiful place. It was a holy place too, you could see hinduism celebrated everywhere with such devotion and joy. There was a temple right outside my hotel where people would sing and ring a bell all the time, I loved to watch them. And the food scene was great. They had so many sweets shops and momo stands and street food snack spots, I really put my gut through hell, and I would always go back to my room with a bar of chocolate, not caring that it’d sent me right to the toilet and right back to the start. I’m a savage really. 

I’ve been in good spirits. Ever since I set my mind on Dharamshala, I’ve been doing okay. I’m going slow, and I’m feeling great on the bike. The saddle sore is still an issue but at least I’ve got the right footwear now. I’ve been exclusively treating myself to hotels, which I know is a bad habit, but with my gut and all I just don’t really feel like looking for places to pitch the tent, also it’s hard to find even terrain here in the high country. I hope I’ll get back into it when I leave the mountains, it’s a great way to save money after all. But taking my time and not rushing has made me feel so much better overall. Without Adam I’m back to my ideal pace, and that is a slow pace. And I’m really looking forward to the next 10 days. I don’t think it’ll be easy at all, I’m expecting a proper challenge in fact. But I think I might figure out a thing or two: about my musical, about Israel and Palestine, about my ideas of socialism, about what I want to do with my life now, about the rest of my adventures. And I hope I gain the tools I so desperately need to regulate my emotions. To not let sadness turn me into an emotional terrorist. To always see people as humans and understand their complexity. To not give into anxiety and let it paralyze me with fear. To understand my depression and develop strategies to deal with it. To treat my friends and loved ones better and keep them in my lives. There’s so much growth that I can get out of this, and there are so many things I can and should do to become a better person. And I don’t expect it to solve anything, but I do hope to use it as a springboard from which to set myself on the right path. And, of course, I hope my gut gets better. That in and of itself would be clutch. So here we go, the adventure within awaits!