The only thing Tibetan here was the language. Riding amongs the Eight-thousanders means going through extreme altitude variations. Kyirong, on the other hand, was well-laid-out with symmetry, signal lights, supermarkets and stylish restaurants. Nepal just 25km to the south was definitely rural with broken roads and haphazard constructions.
The difference across the border is stark. But we had to remember to ride on the right because China, like Europe and America, drives on the wrong side of the road. Perfectly cambered and well-marked and sticky tarmac meant that we could delightfully dive into corners for the first time since we started from Kathmandu. In that distance, we gained 2,000m and the switchbacks were a motorcyclist’s delight. The 24km ride from the border to Kyirong was an absolute delight. Sabin had warned us of this and every phone had been ‘sterilised’, so to speak, the night before.Īfter the luggage had been taken across, we walked back to the Nepal side to wheel the bikes across as custom officials verified the chassis numbers with those mentioned on the permit.
YOU TUBE BROKEN ROADS MOTORCYCLE TRIP PRO
Any anti-Chinese or pro ‘Free Tibet’ propaganda on your phone can potentially get you debarred from entering China. In that time, we had to carry our luggage across security and immigration where every piece was scanned and some physically checked. So most get the letter postmarked here and then hand deliver it. There is a post office at Rongbuk but the letters almost always never get anywhere. We were stamped out of Nepal and into China within 45min. He was worried that if there was a crowd of other travellers at the border, we might get delayed and then the officials would break for lunch. And, Sabin was already getting panic calls from Tenzing, the guide who would lead us in Tibet.
We had to leave by 7am because, across the border, Tibet follows Beijing time, which meant it was two hours ahead. But the morning we started off from Dhunche towards the border at Rasuwa Gadhi, there was a definite nip in the air. Besides that, the ABS was a real comforting factor – especially on these roads where the coefficient of friction was fickle as was the assorted traffic of pigs and livestock.ĭuring these two days, our route was through Nepal’s humid Terai with temperatures touching 30deg C and the going was hot and sweaty. But not once was any jarring shock transmitted to me the front fork with its seemingly forever 210mm of travel and the compliant rear monoshock swallowed and buffered everything. On those two days through Nepal, towards the China border, I unwittingly hammered the bike because there were so many technical off-road sections along the route. Motorcycles going across Nepal’s pedestrian bridges is a common sight. Point the bike towards the best line through the muck and slush, keep the throttle steady and stay off the clutch, and it will power through like a determined donkey. I have very little experience riding off tarmac and I don’t really enjoy it, but the Himalayan, with its knobby Ceat rubber and tractor-like torque at 1,500rpm in the first gear, just piles on assurance. And it is here that the Himalayan showed me the kind of confidence it doles out. Long sections of narrow road wrapped around hillsides were no more than deep ruts of slippery and slimy slush. Nepal’s creased and crumpled topography, along with its minuscule road repair budget and the recent monsoons, meant that this route was rampant with slush and mud. Sabin, our guide with far-sighted wisdom had led us towards Batar on a route that was a shortcut to avoid the holiday traffic on the main highway. First of all, the Himalayan has negligible vibrations hence, there is just a single image in the rear-view mirror, and wonder of wonders, there are no false neutrals. Well, my Machismo feels like a handmade gun from a questionable part of Uttar Pradesh, whereas the Himalayan feels like one off the line of a leading arms manufacturer. It is said that a Royal Enfield is built like a gun. It was the most non-Enfield-like Royal Enfield I had ever ridden. To say that the Himalayan surprised me would be putting it lightly. It was in Kathmandu that I first swung a leg over the Royal Enfield Himalayan, before we made our way towards Batar, 70km to the north. Fuelling motorcycles in Tibet is tedious.
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