Around 2:30 in the afternoon I crossed the Indian border into Nepal after leaving the city of Gorakhpur under a bright glowing full moon at 4am that morning and cycling up the NH29 to the border town of Bhairahawa. The land around the NH29 is a very flat plain where rice paddies and fields full of grains are grown, and as you near the border to Nepal the beginning of the biggest mountain range in the world slowly comes into view, which can be very daunting when arriving alone by bike with the intention of
Crossing through the Indian side of the border can be confusing if you miss the tiny unmarked office on the side of the crowded, noisy, dusty, street, where you need to wait 10 minutes for a slow moving, potbellied, moustached Indian man to put an exit stamp in your passport before the armed guards will let you cross through. If you are crossing by car or bus you can expect to wait for hours in a traffic jam. I was happy to be able to roll quickly through on my bike weaving around big trucks and cars that h
A tractor came riding up behind me with 3 guys about 17-22 years old riding in it wearing rock T’s and ripped jeans. As they rode past me I grabbed on to the back of the tractor with one hand and let them pull me along at 35km/hr. When they saw me they began to laugh and cheer me on as they took me riding for about 15km before they had to turn off in another direction. After that discovery, whenever I was lucky enough to have a tractor pass me going up those steep, narrow, mountain roads I held on dangerous