“Dai haru! Agadi khola bademaan ka chan. Bichha ma thula khalda pani chan. Hijo matra auta bike baga hun. Eak mahila pani bagaye. Khola taarna garai parnya cha” in his own dialect, a bhai told us just ahead of a river that ran through the road. Confused whether to cross the river or return 900 of KMs back home, with disappointed faces, we stood before the river. “Oi, wu tya tractor raicha her ta. Teslai eakchin khola cross garna help garde bhanam na.” and when Suresh went to have a conversation with the driver, it turned out to be a tractor whose sole purpose was to cross bikes across the river. We carried the bikes, put them on the back of the tractor, crossed the river, paid 500 for each bike, and rode off.
It had just been around 10 KMs of the ride after Bijay had changed his brake pad, “Oi mero ta brake nai chaina yar, thoppai lagdaina bhanya”, he says. We stopped at a workshop, fixed his bike, warmed ourselves with a hot tea, and started riding in the rain. Scared of whether the sliding earth would get us, we rode slowly through the edge of the road just above Karnali.
And another river came which we had no courage to cross and there was no tractor like the previous time. To silence our growling empty stomach, we stopped to eat at a place and asked the locals what other options did we have in order to reach Rara. They said we should take a detour and told us where to go from. When we asked some local girls where we could cross the river, they showed us a route that wasn’t the one most people took. We had to ride in crammed spaces, behind people’s houses.
“Jana ta nasakiyela jasto cha! farkida yo bato kasari farkini?” we were all questioning ourselves. We were riding through slippery boulders covered in algae, with no regard for our bikes. And to no surprise, there came a wooden bridge which was in fact just a log, people walked to cross a river. Lucky enough there were some kind-hearted strangers ready to help get us across. We were eternally indebted to their kindness and no amount of gratitude is enough for the pain they endured for some lost stupid strangers.
The river was crossed but the slush never ended. On top of that, we were gaining more altitude, and the cold breeze it brought along. ”Haat khutta yesto kathyangrya cha. yesari ta sakidai sakinna. Twaak laudai hinna paryo hai. Hya yo nachaine saman haru ni naboki jam”. We all agreed and a bit tipsy on the Signature we bought at Tallo Dungeswor, we placed our camping gears at a police station. There was one guy asking for a spare brake pad for both of his brakes had failed. Take note: If you’re visiting this place and if there are chances of rain you ought to take some extra brake pads. If you need to have it changed there, they cost you 600 each which costs around 150 in cities.
With so many hurdles, Salleri was reached, and at the entrance, they asked us if we needed a room. Okay, the shelter’s sorted out. What we needed now was food and a little bit of alcohol for we needed to numb ourselves of the aches the ride brought along.”Dai haru, aru raksi ta kai kei baaki chainan. Hamra ma baaki bhaya yei khatte hun. Yesai lai gheu ma jhanera laraidincham.”
We were drying our wet clothes over the fire when a bhai brought a hot pan full of alcohol. We poured each of ourselves a glass.”Ohho lastai kada raicha. Ma ta aja khana sakdina. Bholi khanchu baru” I said to myself and brought that glass to the room.
It was the morning. I woke up and before anything else I downed the stale alcohol that I did not have the previous night. The guys were not awake yet. And then the real fun began. This was the day that all of our hardships, that exhausting ride in the freezing rain was going to pay off. Horses were booked and good times began. Even though our plan to camp at Murma top had been to waste because of the rain, still, we were grateful for being fortunate enough to have a glimpse of the lake while those who came a day earlier were complaining, they came all the way just to see nothing but the fog.
After being back, the lunch was done, our bags were packed, some distance was ridden, belongings picked from the police check post, tanks filled with petrol bought in bottles and nearing dark, Nagmaghat reached where we stayed the night. The next morning while checking out, after knowing the hotel owner trying to scam us, he was nearly beaten up by the next group that was staying in the same hotel.
We reached Manma where I changed my engine oil and still, we hadn’t had any food yet. On reaching Rakam where we had stayed some days prior, we decided to eat and move forward. It was nearing dark and while going downhill towards Surkhet, the road was invisible with fog. Even having our pass lights on couldn’t make it any easier.”Andha dhunda ma bike nahuikako ta haina. Tei pani k bha oi yesto. Bato kaa ho? Hami kaa aaipugem?” there was a lot going in our head. “Jaso taso Surkhet pugna paye aananda hunthyo. Bistara jam kta ho” saying this we rode slow. And after a while of the ride in the blinding fog, we arrived Surkhet.
After a much-needed shower and changing into some comfortable clothes, it was time for some drinks. The guys were insisting on staying inside, while for me, being in a city that I’d never seen, staying in was not an option. Let’s explore we all agreed and went to buy some drinks. Holding a beer in each of our hands and having some occasional sips, we came across some rickshaws, to whom we asked to show Surkhet Bajar. Many of them denied and one even took us to his hotel for we needed to have another drink. We decided to ditch the guy as he wasn’t reasonable enough. Then a guy our age approached us and offered to show us around. Okay, we said and got inside of his rikshaw. He took us some places, showed us ghantaghar, Bulbule taal, and a road that went viral on tiktok but who had a care in the world about what was what and where he took us? What’s more adventurous than having alcohol in the bloodstream, in an unknown city, under the moonlit sky in the middle of the night, being guided by a stranger who could have been a psycho serial killer. We’d have enough of Surkhet for the time being and went to our room and called it a night.
It was the last day of our trip with very little excitement, lots of anxiety, and the thought of getting to sleep on my own bed as I reached home. We checked out around 9 a.m. and decided to drive to Kathmandu the same day, covering nearly 600 kilometers; we didn’t stop very often on the way back. Suresh said he’d stay in Butwal for the night because he had someone to meet there, and then it was just the two of us. Onwards it was a nonstop ride except for when we reached Malekhu at around quarter to 11 in the night. We ate there, and with very little distance to cover, it felt like we were home. Because the road was congested with heavy trucks and trippers, the ride was slow. Overtaking a sluggish truck on the Nagdhunga’s steep road would turn out to be a way to the afterlife thus we had to be gentle with the throttle. With a lot of patience, we reached Machhapokhari, and bidding farewell, with thoughts of Rara being a pain in the ass but successful, we went to our own home.
Pictures are not orderly and this is deliberate. Have fun sorting these out. :p :p :p