1. Watch spectacular sunrise from Poon Hill
Let’s face it! You’ve either been always too late for the sunrise or you blame that giant, ungodly building in front for ruining it. Give yourself a break you’re in Pokhara next time with a taxi ride to Nayapul and a conquest to Ghorepani’s hilltop. The 6-hour trek itself is quite spectacular with innumerable waterfalls and dense moss-covered woods giving an ethereal feeling of being lost in nature. Ghorepani is the start of what will become a painful hike up to Poon Hill next morning followed by momentous views of the sunrise over the hills. Spectacular sight of first rays touching giant massifs of Dhaulagiri and Annapurna ranges takes your breath away. Speaking of which, situated at 3,210m in altitude, Poon Hill hike may lead to slight difficulty in breathing or headache, some symptoms of high altitude sickness, but we’ll take it easy on the hike and drink plenty of water. Before heading back, queue up to take a selfie with Poon Hill’s signage like it’s your best friend, with mountain in the backdrop. So next time you find yourself in bed hitting the snooze button, let it dawn on you that you’re missing out on a awe-inspiring sunrise somewhere in the Himalayas.

2. Food hop in Kathmandu
Kathmandu has secrets elusive to most guidebooks. You may be mystified by a jogi’s modern antiques in Pashupati, or take an excursion on beaten routes to the hills, and complement your siesta in a chic garden with meals that burn a hole in your pocket. Don’t get me wrong, but you won’t have lived until you’ve tried hot chhoela and chatmari in Patan’s narrowest alleyways or gotten drunk off strawberry raksi in Kakani looking at the widest stretch of mountains before your eyes – best consumed with Tamangs in their residence over a fine plate of sukuti for sittan. Or walking through Indrachowk, chug down a delicious glass of lassi or devour a plate or two of Everest momo in Naxal as you complain about prices. A spicy pani puri and chatpat marathon in Maru Galli leaves you salivating profusely but nothing that a Shreegaha’s Tang-flavored popsicle can’t beat. But if you really mean business, dip hot gwaramaris into Bhaktapur’s juju dhau laced with coconut shreddings, and there you have it – the valley à la carte!

3. Lend a helping hand
Central Nepal has been quite affected in the aftermath of earthquakes and aftershocks. Now as most parts of the country returns to business as usual, there are still countless villages in remote places where people have struggled to bring back normalcy to their lives. If you’ve ever wanted to visit Nepal, now’s the best time! Come over to see the mountains and the gorgeous culture and architecture Nepal is blessed with and take the opportunity to give back selflessly to people of Nepal who most need help. Whether in constructing schools, creating a homely environment or build livelihoods, touch lives in the most meaningful manner. Volunteer at a school as a teacher and tutor the children in any subject you feel comfortable. Help you in the farms and experience Nepal like you never could. Further, the lovely meal prepared by your host family and their hospitality in a cozy home will be as authentic a local experience as you can get. Make a memorable holiday with beloveds by mixing the passion of travelling and creating a lasting bond.

4. Take a dip in Bagmati
If you think taking a bath in Bagmati is out of question, think again. A one-hour bus from Chabil to Sundarijal takes you to the shockingly clean rapids of Bagmati River. Originating from Shivapuri National Park just above our drop-off point, the river with its verdant surrounding is nothing short of blissful. Not to mention tranquility and fresh breeze will add more punch to your nice and quiet bathing escapade. Nice and quiet if you can find a private spot, that is. More often than not, you’ll be joined by overzealous and curious butt-naked kids who proceed to show off their diving and swimming skills, splashing water hither and thither. Ignore distractions and slide into the river and let your system cool down in the fresh waters of Bagmati, which starts from Shivapuri National Park just above Sundarijal. Besides ending up with gleaming skin and refreshed spirits (and wrinkly appendages), it will also hopefully cleanse a few sins under your belt, or so goes the Hindu mythology regarding bathing in Bagmati.

5. Go Jungle Safari
Snug on an elephant’s back, embark on a jungle safari deep into the conserved woods of Chitwan. Under the dense canopy, discover a host of exotic and rare species of animals including rhinos and elephants. And if you’re incredibly lucky, face off with endangered tigers. But it’s nothing your expert Mahouts from Kasara Resort can’t take care of as you sway with your elephants swag and head back to your cottage. Spa and massage treatment as well as ad dip into the azure swimming pool after a day of exploring, boating and visiting the crocodile breeding center will soothe your muscles. The luxurious resort hosts a performance of Tharu dancers in the evening that you can enjoy with chilled beer and popcorn to top off an adventure in wilderness. To up the ante, immerse yourself culturally and ride bicycles like locals around the national park. The perfectly blended nature and modern amenities at the luxurious Kasara Resort will leave you mesmerized. There won’t be a better way to get as close to the wild as you possibly can!

While the rest of the country rejoiced in festive times with loved ones, dozens of trekkers perished in Annapurna’s avalanche in October 2014. Others lived to tell horrid tales of their survival, their fingers and limbs lost to frost bite. This is my memoir of narrowly making it through, a chilling reminder that mountains have no room for nonchalant whims and that thoughtless plans will be met with imminent disaster.

Last fall I decided to tag along with a group of friends around the Annapurna Circuit. Except they were on mountain bikes and I’d be walking the same distance every day. The skies were clear and the crisp Dashain air aplenty. I was led to believe it would be a perfect setting for our trip. But as the events unfolded, nothing could be further from the truth.

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I frantically finished last bits of codes while the restless driver outside honked deafeningly. To follow was a couple of weeks around the Annapurnas. And I hadn’t even started packing. In a haste, I grabbed anything that could come of use – a base layer, a matching downjacket, bootleg trekking shoes, warmers, earmuffs and a bunch of old, smelly socks – and stuffed them in a rucksack. A small bag of antibiotics and electrolytes went in the side pocket, medication for the gripping flu I had. I decided to take my laptop in the bag as well, hoping to get some work done up in the mountains, like that was going to happen. For the swivelling chair-bound programmer that fancied himself a photographer, the trip served only one purpose – to capture the Annapurnas in stills.

I made what I thought at the time a bold plan of accompanying a mountain biking trip, and was supposed to catch up with them on foot everyday. This meant I had to cover up to three times more than usual walking distances. Though jeeptracks were constructed more than half way up from Besi Sahar along the Circuit – a controversy in its own right – I doggedly decided to walk the entire route, whatever it took. Always boasting about my stamina from Shivapuri and Chandragiri runs, from intervals and tempo runs about a fallen palace, and from recovery days and a high carb diet, I thought I was well prepared for the mountains. The turns of events of the trek waited to dispel the fallacy.

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Here I was, somewhere near the village of Tal on Annapurna Circuit later that day, reciting the names of all the Gods I was told ever existed. The atheist wanderlust in me all but defeated. A landslide couple of months prior had washed away the dirt trails along the Annapurna Circuit and crossing over the loose soil, I lost footing. I stood there, frozen and listless, refusing to let go of a sole rock I held on to with one hand, and with the other, a borrowed tripod – my dreams of photographing the mountains and the sublime night sky just as dear. Next thing, it doubled as an ice axe and smashed the cliff face as I tried to climb my way up, to no avail.

Hanging haplessly, I held onto my dear life. My trek around the Annapurnas was about to be cut short, as was my life. After walking 35kms on the rocky jeeptracks, my feet were already tired and the adrenaline had started to wear off. The cheap shoes with little traction and the sole threatening to come off was a curse. The giant poorly packed rucksack weighing over 20kgs added to the misery. There were jeeps shuttling the route, but I was belligerent not to hitch a ride throughout the trek and foolishly marched on.

It was then by sheer luck, that after several minutes of looking death in its eye, rescue got to me – a messiah, if you will, with a smirk rather condescending notwithstanding. The unnamed hero relieved me from my predicament and after I regained my breath, helped me cross the dodgy stretch just fine. I reached Tal past dusk and recounted my plight around a bonfire only to draw laughters. A hearty meal and a few rounds of local brew helped me to a good night’s sleep in the tea house. It was easy to make light of the situation but Tal was quite a close call. Like Super Mario where you get a second life.

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I’d already started feeling lightheaded and somewhat fatigued by the time we left next morning. I fooled myself into thinking it was just exhaustion and flu, and that some snicker bars and antibiotic pills would do wonders. I let the cold waterfalls and utter greenery distract me. I would stop every hour or so to regain my breath and each time I would get dizzier, hungrier and thirstier. Stubbornly, I’d keep walking and the weight of my backpack more than ever started to drag me down by the time I reached the backbreaking climb of Danekyu. As my stock of hot water depleted, I made the mistake of resorting to drinking up from the waterfalls and springs along the way. The chilled water gave me kicks for a short while but would soon turn against my favor.

Before me the enormous wall of Swargadwari shot towards the zenith and provided brief respite, leaving me in wonders. Between a mild headache, exhausted muscles and eyes that started seeing stars, I stopped to get a glimpse of the wall. I gazed lifelessly at the unreal vegetation of alpine trees surround you and blue skies above host a spectacular show of dancing clouds. At 3,000m in elevation, it wasn’t particularly high but the strain I put my body through of the distance and weight was taking a severe toll.

Sluggishly I walked by colorfully decorated Mani Walls and chortens of Pisang to bring me before the jaw-dropping sight of Humde. The sight of gorgeous treelines transitioned to tundra and then the gigantic massifs. Indeed, a beautiful reminder of the remoteness and thinning air with an otherworldly panorama of giant ant hills-like desert formation on one side, and a forest of the fabled Himalayan aphrodisiac, the Yarshagumba, on the other. Mountains towered in the horizon. Traversing through the woods on dirt tracks for what seemed like forever, my feet shackled to the the rucksack on my back anchoring me in the forest, I inched forward.

Finally upon reaching the hotel at the verge of collapse, I darted towards the kitchen for food and water. The fireplace became best friends and hot water a savoir. It was but temporary relief. Nothing would prepare me for the night in Humde. I laid in the hotel bed, realizing something was terribly amiss, for I could not breathe, haplessly gasping and panting for air throughout the chilly night. My heart thumped repeatedly against my chest, which made me stay up all night hogging down energy bars to keep it going. I could feel my lungs were drowning in fluid. Labored breathing, wheezing sound, lethargy, and palpitations were tell-tale signs of what it was – high altitude pulmonary edema.

I feared the inevitable and knew I had made a mistake of not preparing well and taking the mountains lightly. I stayed awake all night tugging at my neck collar and thumping my chest to keep my heart beating, and feared my lungs could collapse any minute from HAPE. I had a gut feeling that I wouldn’t wake back up if I fell asleep. I’d made up my mind to call off the rest of the trip and descend at the break of dawn, if at all I lived through the night.

It was a relief that the symptoms subsided by the time the sun came up. I scraped the idea of turning back, but knew I had to take it easy from here. Though I walked out the ordeal and Humde just fine, the sound of my lungs and heart from that night still echo in my mind, quite easily the closest I’ve been to death in my life.

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Strides then became baby steps to our next destination of Manang village. En route, Chimmti – an outpost in the most amazing middle of nowhere with solitary calm and placid vibes to sedate any nerve. A glass of warm seabuck thorn juice against rippling reflection of the mountains on the tiny lake happily compensated for a night of horror. The perfect calm in this remote outpost is disturbed occasionally by revving engines of mostly Pulsar motorbikes ferrying grocery, mothers and sick trekkers to and from Manang, the last station accessible by motorized vehicles.

Then along the sandy banks of azure Marsyangdi River lies the village of Braga, tiny compared to its nearest station, Manang some half an hour away. Awe and admiration of ancient monasteries, religious caves, erratic cliffs, chortens and snotty children with a backdrop of the massive Swargadwari wall and Chulu is brought to a short halt by an armada of horsemen picking up dust in this mystical valley. “Chhyang, Raksi ra Masu ko ramro byawastha cha.” A hoarding board just by a massive entrance chorten at Manang welcomes visitors. I spent an extra day here to rest and acclimatize, exploring the maze like town famously known for its rustic vibes, bakery and yaks grazing in their hundreds.

The popular trekking stop has more recently seen a surge in mountain bikers as well. On the southern outskirt, the fantastic Gangapurna Glacier melt into its lake below. Hike up to the chorten just below the treeline. If you’re on a mountain bike, your ride back down will be nothing short of gnarliest adrenaline rush with a gorge of several hundred meters on either side – Gangapurna Lake on the left and steep gradient of loose rocks on the right.

The rest day in Manang worked in my favor. The flu was gone, breathing had improved and energy levels were up again. But strides were still baby steps and it was an effort to respire. I made a point of saving every bit of energy, making conversations with fellow trekkers rare, if not inexistent, for the dreaded Thorung La’s intense climb awaited us for next day – an ascent of over a thousand meters in a matter of hours. I headed off around 3am because the late morning headwinds were better off dodged. That combined with narrow trails and a steep climb wouldn’t have fared well.

The most spectacular scene of the Annapurna range and lesser peaks could seen as far as the horizon stretched. The climb to reach 5,416m at Thorung La was definitely a challenge. Hardened by the trek – or so I thought – I let neither the cold nor the ascent deter me and persevered to reach the top. While I was famished, the anonymous porters on the same route were not. They made it look easy – carrying some 30kgs on their back at high altitudes, striding at a pace that would embarrass the most seasoned of trekkers. They are an unsung story, one that makes the mountains possible for the mediocre like yours truly. A smile they eternally hold, on off-tourist seasons most hunt the legendary yarshagumba on the laps of Manang. The mountain-hardened troopers receive nothing but respect from this humbled one.

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The downhill trail ahead passes through Muktinath and Kagbeni, the gateway to Upper Mustang. By the time I reached Jomsom, I looked and smelled like a homeless guy, thanks to the dusty wind tunnel that Kali Gandaki turns into by noontime. It was during our final walk towards Beni, the end of the circuit that clouds started creeping in. The weather got gloomy and the sky was heavily overcast. Disappointed I wouldn’t be able to take pictures of mountains from Pokhara, I prayed I didn’t have to stay in when there were boats in Fewa and spectacular sights to revel from Peace Pagoda, or a bicycle ride to Pame. By the time we reached the lakeside city, it was raining cats and dogs. I lamented and slept in. Cut off from the media for all these days, I remained oblivious to what loomed.

My phone started buzzing on the bedside table. I picked up, only to hear a distressed voice on the other end. It was a friend from Thorung Phedi Hotel. “Three people are dead in Thorung La,” he said with a hint of panic in his tone. “Where are you guys?”

Hurriedly I turned on the TV to find out that a certain Hudhud storm in the Bay of Bengal had brewed a godless blizzard in Thorung La, sweeping away trekkers in an avalanche and stranding others. Fatality figures were not verified, but given the number of people I’d seen along the way, it could well be in the order of hundreds. We’d narrowly survived, by one day. Just one day. Among what would later be several dozens killed and missing were three young Nepali men from Chitwan, who until the chills of Yak Kharka I’d seen in black formal shoes, jeans and a shirt, no match for the power that were the mountains. Perished in the whiteout.

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An avalanche in Everest earlier in 2014 that took 16 lives had already made it the deadliest year in recent times for the Himalayas. Several folds more souls lost in Annapurna the same year only reiterated the worst in trekking and mountaineering history anywhere. The first took place in April and the second in October. While both months are considered to be ideal for trekking, it only shows that as beautiful and alluring as they may be, mountains can be equally unpredictable and the weather, deceiving.

In retrospect, my Annapurna trek was foolhardy at best, last minute preparations and packing for the mountains, the decision to carry the deadweight of my laptop immediately regretted. A crippling flu was a warning sign, and stubborn zeal to complete the circuit on foot took immediate toll. A realization I would have after pushing myself to the brink of collapse, gaining altitude more than advisable, walking distances more than plausible and carrying a rucksack of needless weight, that the mountains with their volatile temper demand respect and are a force to be reckoned with, that up in the mountains us mortals are a mere nobody.

An overnight retreat in Hetauda gives you an opportunity to laze in a pool under palm trees, embark on an invigorating bike ride and go tubing in the Rapti River. Experience the untouched and perhaps the quintessential “real” Nepal with Life Cycle Nepal, a progressive resort for a dreamy getaway.

Hetauda is really not a name you stumble upon in Lonely Planet, but a tranquil getaway in the outskirts of the city is creating quite a buzz. Life Cycle Resort is gaining prominence as an off-beat resort determined to attract vacation-goers in an otherwise neglected region. Rest assured, scrumptious food, tropical ambience, easy-going people, a host of adventure and of course, and an alluring pool all culminate into memorable moments for families and friends.

Take your mountain bike along to Balkhu sufficiently early to catch a Sumo SUV to Hetauda. (Don’t worry if you don’t have a bike because Life Cycle will arrange for one; if you are taking yours, make sure the bike is well secured on the roof rack because the road ahead is quite bumpy.) The Sumo ride will not be too pleasing as you compete with fellow passengers for leg space and air. The drive takes you via Dakshinkali and all the way across the viewpoint at Deurali, which besides sel roti, is well known for gorgeous views of Kulekhani reservoir and its massive dam. As you continue on, revel in the humbling views of the surreal hills on the other side of the gorge that drops deep down into the river below. Through switchbacks, steep climbs and scarier drops, we reach the fairly flat town of Bhimphedi which marks the start of Terai and our biking as well.

Feel relieved getting off the Sumo as you fix your bike to start riding down wide metaled roads with little traffic and a ton of beautiful scenery to grace your ride. Just put on some relaxing music on your iPod and cruise down the downhill road enjoying the sight of temples, ropeways overhead, picturesque villages, and kids chasing you on foot. Should the heat bother you, feel free to pull over and cool down in the Rapti River which follow you much throughout your ride till Hetauda. Once you reach Hetauda Bazaar, some 20 minutes riding on the highway towards Narayanghat brings you to Padam Pokhari Chowk. Taking a left turn here, we immediately reach a large suspension bridge where we pause to soak in amazing glimpses of hills in the horizon and meadows all along Rapti’s shore stretched as far as your eyes can see.

Continue on a short distance to reach Life Cycle Resort where you’re welcomed by your enthusiastic guide Shyam Limbu, caretaker Laxmi and the azure swimming pool. Give into your temptations and change into your bathing suit to jump into the pool. As the name suggests, the resort is keen on promoting cycling as a recreational sport. So after a quick lunch, we head out on our bikes with guide Limbu, who happens to be a national mountain biking athlete, to ride through perfectly serene landscapes of Hetauda’s Terai. Carefully pedal on narrow and slippery trails amidst vast greenery of Churia Hills and rice paddies. We blaze through flat trails crisscrossing farms and villages as the evening sun sets in the horizon –a spectacular sight indeed.

Before it gets dark, we head back to the resort for dinner and crispy potato wedges, by far some of the best you’ll have had. We want to limit ourselves to no more than a couple of bottles of beer because first, we’ll be jumping into the pool under the moon; and second, a peaceful morning walk about the village awaits next day. We find our tented camp next to the swimming pool and call it a night. Life Cycle has different plans if you were hoping to upload pictures on your Instagram; the internet is deliberately absent in the resort because you’re better off enjoying your vacation – and they make a valid point.

Wake up to a gorgeous sunrise next day, a rarity in Kathmandu, thanks to concrete high rises. The village here comes alive with farmers heading to the fields, women to the market and kids busy with their shenanigans. A breathe of fresh air walking through the farms and admiring the vista from the suspension bridge makes for quite a pleasant way to start our day. Top off the wonderful walk with a masala tea at bajai’s shop under the bridge where cool breeze coming through bamboo shrubs complements the seamlessly calm ambience.
Make sure to get back to the resort for breakfast prepared by Laxmi and get ready for another round of biking in the meadows! We prepare our bikes and Limbu leads the way to the river shore through several brooklets and chautaras en route. The broad jeep tracks will instantly make you go full throttle through tall meadows with nothing but adrenaline and bliss in your way. The ride today concludes with a single track ride through the woods, then back to the resort.
Followed is what has become a favorite activity for Life Cycle – uniquely so – perhaps as much as if not more than cycling: tubing! The mild Rapti current is fabulously inviting for tubing where a huge truck tube becomes your raft and all you have to do is sit on it and stay adrift. The waves are not crazy and you’ll have a heck of a time just sailing with the waves. You’re provided with a helmet and a lifejacket by the folks from the resort, and needless to say, they take safety very seriously. The quick three kilometers on the tube concludes as you float under the suspension bridge near the resort.

Drenched in the chilly waters of Rapti, we get back to our tents and dry up. Like all good things must come to an end, we prepare to leave the dreamy vacation spot. We ride over the bridge and reach the highway from where we take a right turn to Hetauda Bazaar to catch a Sumo back home. The left will lead us to Sauraha on 70kms of paved road, an adventure we’ll save for another weekend. For now, we savor Hetauda’s memories backed by a million pictures of our Life Cycle trip dying to be uploaded on Instagram.

Remember that overdue escapade you’d promised yourself? Enter Jamacho. This massive hill overlooking the valley from the west makes for the perfect hiking destination!

There is no sugarcoating this, so I’ll just break it to you: hiking to Jamacho peak involves an ascent of almost 5 km on steep steps – with no houses, shops or toilets along the way. Gaining some 800m in altitude through a dense jungle demands stepping out of your comfort zone and that – let me state the obvious – is the entire idea of being outdoors. So challenge yourself to this amazing retreat that’ll keep your mind off petty worries and eyes on your feet for leeches.

Just short of 2 km NW from Balaju, the starting point of the hike is Mulapani entrance of the army-protected Nagarjun forest, a part of Shivapuri sanctuary. The entry fee is Rs. 10 for Nepali nationals and Rs. 250 for foreigners. Don’t forget to take an ID along because you’ll be required to produce one at the ticket counter. They take security pretty seriously here and the look on the soldiers’ face says nothing differently. That means two things: i) a clean, well preserved trail, and ii) no scandalizing, shameless young couples – perfect thus for family outings.

Take the well-maintained stairway that diverges from the paved road into two hours of steep climb to the top. As you tread uphill, the deafening sounds of crickets instantly subdue roaring truck engines and howling dogs. Dust, smoke and dirt are replaced with a breath of fresh air – quite a rarity in our beloved city. Walking through the forest of moss-laden trees and a dense canopy overhead definitely adds an eerie yet serene feeling of being amidst nature.

Within the first half hour, you’ll reach an army checkpoint and find yourself being cross-questioned by a rather stern-looking, no-nonsense soldier. Be warned: your attempts to lighten up the mood with jokes will bear no fruit and won’t be too well received by a certain Private Gurung.

After being cleared for security, make your way up to soon find yourself welcomed by an open space of tall grass and rocks. Halfway to the top, this spot gives you perfect views of the valley beneath and the Jamacho Gompa above – quite a photo opportunity indeed. But it’s easy to get tempted here to exhaust your food supplies and take a nap. One word: verboten. Save both for the top.

After regaining your breath, continue along the trail that feels steeper on the second stretch. High altitude means thinner air pressure, and with that, your ears will pop and interestingly, the vegetation will change as bamboos become ubiquitous. The climb will cause sweat drops to roll incessantly down your face, washing away last remnants of beauty cream that promises a fairer complexion in seven weeks.

Rejoice at the first sighting of lungda (or Buddhist prayer flags) because this indicates you’re only minutes away from the top. As you climb the last steps, you see the rather archaic view tower and then finally, Jamacho Gompa itself. Rush to the veranda behind the small monastery and assume a position next to the Buddhist Wheel of Life guarded by a Ruru Deer missing its head. Without further ado, look straight ahead and brace to be stunned! Clouds float at your eye level and eagles soar effortlessly right below your nose. The bird’s eye view of valley south from here is nothing short of breathtaking and overwhelming, with giants like Phulchowki and Chandragiri emerge above the haze. On a clear day, enjoy the splendid views of Himalayas to the north. Feel the fresh gust of wind blowing across your face and in the sound of the fluttering Buddhist prayer flag, savor the moment standing still with otherworldly sights of the valley. The city appears so hopelessly tiny from up that the only landmark you’ll recognize from up here is probably Swayambhu.

Wandering about the Gompa will be a stoic caretaker who identifies himself as Jyapu, likely his nom de guerre. The middle-aged gentleman is a man of few words and your attempt to draw any information about the Gompa may prove futile.

After some stretches, a plentiful lunch and an elaborate photo session, pack up, say goodbye to Jamacho Gompa and retrace your steps back to Mulpani gate. After the easy and quick way down, it’s time to reward yourself for a job well done! Treat your sweaty, smelly self to cucumber and noonchhuk (chili paste) from a vendor right outside the Mulpani gate. Then walk back to Machapokhari, or if you’ve run out of juice, hitch a ride to the bus stop. Some five hours of exhausting and rewarding hiking comes to a full circle here.

Mangal Dhun, cheesy Bollywood numbers and dohoris dominate airwaves in ornately decorated party palaces. Newlyweds tirelessly greet guests that come in hordes with bouquets and gifts. Young ladies in scant designer blouses defy the winter chill. And the free booze, the fat reason why I’m here, comes with an upsetting realization and a haunting past.

It’s that time of the year… the entire town is getting married. Close to half a dozen weddings of cousins and friends came with joy and merry brought on by an onslaught of beer, wine and whiskey drunk to old times and a happy future. An occasion to indulge without trepidations – that of blacking out or of a beer belly. Nothing came between me and the free flow of beer. Even grandpa’s well dreaded look of disapproval failed to deter me from celebrating, my already tarnished image brought on by my drinking habits notwithstanding. Receptions came as a godsend to break my budget-induced drinking hiatus. And with that, my liberty in revelry knew no bounds in a series of weddings.

Except this particular one which, like a mentally stigmatizing experience, like a splinter in the back of my mind, shook my foundations.

I’ve always had a thing for wedding receptions. I remember years ago during my teetotal high school days, I’d given my old bicycle to a party palace guard. The alliance was forged for a rather strategic reason: to crash weddings at the venue. He’d call me whenever there was a fancy party going on and I’d waste no time in getting into the guard jacket and queueing up in the buffet line. I was young and the thrill of conning my way to free food was all lighthearted, all in good humor.

Fast-forward a decade, and I stood there at the party by the bonfire, tipsy, downing one glass of Belgian beer after another. I socialized with the people around the fire, half of whom I didn’t know. Perhaps they were from the dula side, I wondered, but under the influence, I wasn’t even a little hesitant to brag about my drinking capacity to whoever I could. As I got more drunk, I lost focus of what the others were saying and just stared into the flames, unwary of the conversation.

Like a freight train, without a warning, it hit me – Nothing was lighthearted anymore! Folks I played guccha and hide n’ seek with were getting married. I was growing old. The burning realization that time had gone by in a jiffy was simply unbearable. I cringed and a small part of me silently died. I had to clear my mind. In a single gulp I bottomed the glass and, trying not to stagger, made my way through the crowd to the bar for a self-medicating round. I distracted myself by watching a couple of inebriated gentlemen take the lead to set the dancefloor on fire. Lungi Dance had gotten their bellies and bums to shake uncontrollably, which got a good laugh out of me and fellow spectators.

This was an instant fix I felt, and just when the fiery show seemed to put my drunken ponderings to rest, as if things couldn’t get any worse, out popped an army of gossip aunts from the crowd. A session of pulling my cheeks later, they got right into business: “Now it’s your turn! We’ll find a nice girl for you. Or have you already found one? What’s her caste?” Kill me! It was neither the best time nor the correct state of mind to be harassed and pestered. They were adding insult to my injury. I needed solace from this misery and stormed away for dinner. Even as I darted away, along came their intimidating last ditch cry, “Coming Mangshir!”

My system was now precariously hanging at the edge of being smashed, perhaps just a glass away from joining the Lungi guys. I knew the dinner was my last chance to pull myself together. Seated alone in a corner, I started hogging down everything I could fit on my plate, and went for more servings – the second as big as the first, and the third as the second. I couldn’t afford to skip the dessert so, still with some space for Gajar ko Haluwa, I stood in line for a plate.

I noticed someone familiar in front of me in a designer blouse and, in what was the most awkward of moments, came face to face with my ex-girlfriend (who I wasn’t on speaking terms with)! It hadn’t ended on the best of notes, for she had called off the wedding that was the supposed reason for our break up. Before I could even react, in an unprecedented psychological trauma to befall on me, the group of gossip aunts appeared once again and, pointing to my ex, said, “Anuj, have you met [name redacted]? She’s your age.”

So the party ended for me with a cold reminder: Beer is a diddly squat of a solution when time catches up and your hairline recedes, or when you’re surrounded by gossipy aunts and a forlorn ex.

Nepal is getting its first taste of enduro racing, a new genre of mountain biking, with the international event Asian Enduro Series organized by Gnarly.

Clad in figure-hugging lycra, a cross-country mountain biker would stare blankly at heart-pounding jumps on steep tracks and instantly label downhill a sport of the loonies. On the flip side, backbreaking climbs and impossible distances would make any downhill biker throw in the towel, no matter the scary ensemble, at a sport so loco. Until a few years ago, XC and DH dominated mountain biking and both the genres had gotten more intense and advanced over time, with XC increasing in distance and DH growing in technicals, jump heights no exception. As this segregation of mountain bikers in these two categories got more pronounced a group in the middle felt increasingly left out with neither the stamina and time for XC or the nuts and bling for DH.

With more bikers left in what felt like an adrenaline vacuum, things started heating up. The folks in the middle hatched the plot of mixing the best of both worlds. “Might as well not time our ups and just time our downs,” a genius cyclist somewhere probably said, downing energy gels. And lo and behold – Enduro was born.

The newest and sexiest mountain biking style instantly swept across the world and a new breed of mountain bikers with their middleweight full suspension bikes hit rugged trails. In a nutshell, Enduro is going both uphills and technical downhills across relatively short stages, except uphills aren’t timed but have a cut-off, while downhill is timed. With more flexibility in trail structure, event organizers rejoiced too as they could now use the undulating trails of their hinterlands in a more creative manner. It mixed singletracks, dirt trails, paved roads and technicals. Almost instantly, it became arguably the fastest growing mountain biking sport throughout the world and a host of hugely successful Enduro races organized each year bear witness.

Enduro World Series and Gravity Enduro deserve an honorable mention in the bandwagon. And if ever it occurs to you that riding with a mass of hundreds of crazy bikers on a snowy mountain slope in France is your thing, check out Megavalanche.

As the craziest and hottest races were being held place all over the world, our homeboys took note and made a switch to enduro before long. Bike shops started selling snazzy bikes, helmets and shorts catered for enduro riding. An army of aficionados would be seen atop towering hills every weekend to shred the trails. Enduro seemed to appeal to folks from all walks of like – IT CEOs, bankers, doctors, social activists, you name it! In fact, some of our professional loco XC and loony DH riders even converted seamlessly. Nonetheless, despite the amazing natural terrains we always bragged about and enduro riders in growing numbers, something was alack. Not a single Enduro race had ever been organized in Nepal. Until now, that is.

Asian Enduro Series (AES) is being organized by Gnarly, a mountain biking company, in the flowy hills of Nagarkot from April 7 to 9, 2016. The Asian-level event is a landmark in its own rights. It is the first ever enduro race to take place in Nepal and an international mountain biking meet taking place in the country after more than half a decade. It is also the debut of AES itself, with Vietnam, Indonesia and the Philippines to follow. “Registrations are flowing in fast and we are confident that the seven amazing stages will definitely pack a punch for all the participants,” says race director Shyam Limbu. “It will also be interesting to see where the top dogs of Nepali enduro stand in comparison to international pros.”

Athletes have already begun practicing quite rigorously for the race. Suman Tamang and Nishant Shah, both 18, have been training their proverbial off for AES. Having participated in several DH races in Nepal and abroad, the duo are now intent on enduro and roll off to the outskirts whenever time permits. The recent converts from downhill to enduro exemplify the balance between the love for enduro and college life. “We’re really excited for the race!” the bikers maintain. “It will certainly be tough and will require tireless efforts on the trails and several inevitable falls to tackle AES. But that’s part of the game!”

Though barely a year old, Gnarly has already organized several highly acclaimed races throughout Nepal, the most recent one being Tansen Ultra in December 2015. However, the Asian Enduro Series is by far the biggest project the biking start-up has been engaged in. By introducing enduro as a mainstream sport with the AES, Gnarly hopes to give biking scene in Nepal a proper boost and raise race standards to attract accomplished international riders and biking enthusiasts.

This April, head over to the windy hills of Nagarkot to cheer for our home athletes and witness intense mountain biking action in Asian Enduro Series, an international and the first ever enduro race to take place in Nepal!

Failure by definition is not too enticing a prospect. In a society that puts its bets on school grades, salary scales and a supposedly prestigious sarkari jagir, how willing are you to fail? Everyone – almost everyone – cringes by the sheer thought of failing. The rest are called entrepreneurs.

Imagine investing your life’s worth of money, ideas and passion in starting your own business. Now imagine it failed. The desire to win will bring you across situations where this scenario may not be too far from reality. Unfortunately, your failure does not get a warm reception in the Nepalese society where your efforts and passion go unnoticed, and your potential is questioned. Your failure will serve as gossip fodder at family gatherings and draw sympathies at college reunions.

How then will you react? Will you be driven away or driven forward? Will you point fingers or gracefully accept it as a part of success? Will you fall back and settle for the confines of a cubicle – if – or persevere and plot a comeback?

When Metro, a free newspaper-style publication, failed in 2004, entrepreneur Suman Shakya refused to take it as a defeat. During the company’s incubation period, personal obligations had required Shakya to stay abroad and without a co-founder, remotely managing the business became increasingly difficult. Coupled with low demand for the newspaper, the company shut down within the first two years of operation and cost Shakya a large sum of money. The story is no different for the budding entrepreneur Deewaker Piya of Green & Green, a company that imports Electronic Catalytic Converter (ECC), a device for carbon emission reduction from engines. As with Shakya’s, Piya’s product was hard to sell particularly due to its unfamiliarity in the market, aggressive approach and feeble financial strategy. In spite of reaching a point so low that he couldn’t afford to pay his staff, Piya decided to not let go of the company but handle it entirely by himself. And for the better half of 2012, he relentlessly pursued potential clients by marketing door-to-door to sell his product.

“The culture of being open to failure doesn’t exist here,” says Shakya, recalling his Metro days when even his nearest ones questioned his capabilities and labeled his past successes as mere flukes. “From an early age we are taught to win. While winning is certainly necessary, failing along the way too is.” On the contrary, coming from a business family, Piya had all the encouragement he needed from his parents, which he admits is not the case with all entrepreneurs. This reveals a rather interesting argument that regardless of tangible or intangible support – or none whatsoever – the likelihood of an entrepreneur to encounter failure cannot be overruled.

It was one common trait that deterred both the entrepreneurs from giving up their entrepreneurial spirit: persistence. While Shakya, after a few years of reflection, learning and regaining confidence, conceived the massively successful Digitanment company, Piya resiliently revived his business and went on to sell hundreds of ECC units. Neither comeback was easy – there were several challenges the duo had to overcome in order to give their ventures the credibility they deserve today.

Failure is often wrongly attributed to weakness and a lack of skills. But the sweetest victory is often the most difficult one, which requires treading on unstable grounds with risks innumerable. But not all who dare can win, and not all who fail can learn. That begs the question: What is failure?

Failure is your greatest teacher, an entrepreneurial rite of passage, and a learning curve for success. Failure is a catalyst that drives you forward with stronger willpower to accept greater challenges. Failure is a process, not a result. Failure is inevitable and it is imperative.

Incredible success requires incredible risk, and with that, an incredible will to fail. Entrepreneurs and inventors, writers and actors, statesmen and athletes, and all who choose to think differently and live their lives differently constantly face undue skepticism, pressure and even harassment before they become successful. History bears witness to countless visionaries who took a fall yet kept fighting back. Names in the likes of Henry Ford, Thomas Edison, Walt Disney, Donald Trump and Colonel Sanders don’t usually pop up when we talk about failure, but that’s not even scratching the surface.

If people are not laughing at your idea and failure, you’re neither dreaming big nor aiming high. Nevertheless, it is important to not let the negative overrun and discourage you; instead turn it to your benefit by developing a can-do, will-do attitude. Shakya claims skepticism following Metro failed to demotivate him, instead it strengthened his resolve to prove skeptics that his failure was a mishap, not his success a fluke. Similarly, when all employees quit, Piya looked at the bright side that he didn’t have to worry about paying the staff and hence could put all his efforts and budget on marketing the product, albeit by himself.

Failure indeed is an illuminating experience and a wealth of knowledge from which to learn a lesson. Shakya emphasizes, “Seize the opportunity to identify your shortcomings from what you failed at. Ask yourself what went well and what could’ve gone better. Keep improving.” Besides the inability to give full attention during early months of Metro, Shakya points out that the team lacked complementary skills, resulting in a less holistic business approach. Another shortfall was that he put all the eggs in one basket, and when things didn’t go quite as planned, faced incalculable loss. He says that Metro though has given him crucial experience no book and knowledge could ever. “I have no regrets with Metro. In fact, I am thankful because I doubt I’d be where I am today without it. Books teach you strokes, but to learn swimming you must take the plunge into the pool. Metro was my plunge into the pool.”

Likewise, Piya laments his neglect with Green & Green’s financial planning – the capital was almost exclusively allotted to procure ECCs, leaving little to nothing for marketing and other overhead expenses. Sufficient research regarding the market demand for the device could have sent warning signals about the aggressive sales strategy, which instead backfired. Further, having neither a business partner nor a mentor as a voice of reason led to the hardship he could have avoided. “I came to learn the hard way that you have to start small and work your way up,” he shares.

Once you’ve learned your lesson well, the time is ripe to zero in on success. This will neither be quick nor easy. As demonstrated by Shakya and Piya, a comeback is a battle of determination and skill, the will to gain higher ground by constantly learning from your blunders. Piya alludes to the days of his solo marketing conquest and reasons, “Toil sleeplessly and push your limits to achieve your goal. However many times you may have fallen in business, devote yourself to that goal. Leave nothing to chance, prayers or hope.” Shakya adds that it is important to be patient in pooling your experience and expertise for a second round. “This time, you’ll be better prepared and that much closer to achieving what you set out for. Follow your dreams but keep them realistic. Don’t forget that passion is only half the story and you must have sound knowledge of and experience in all elements of business because ideas alone won’t suffice.” Both Shakya and Piya took a hard blow due to their mistakes, but as competent entrepreneurs they endured through failure to rise up for a rebound.

Drawing inspiration from his own experience, Shakya explains, “The desire for success must be greater than the fear of failure. You must come to terms that you are susceptible to failure – perhaps repeatedly so – before you can reach success.” Indeed, the two stories reiterate that with positive outlook and motivation, you’ll be able to surpass fear however overwhelming, to accomplish a goal however daunting.

A fresh breed of entrepreneurs is needed to stride and debunk the fallacy of failure in our society that is obsessed with security, terrified of risks and drugged by short-term returns of a 9 to 5. Bear in mind that failure is a blessing in disguise, an opportunity to accept great challenges with unprecedented determination. If you’ve learned from your failure and mustered the courage to start afresh, failure has served its purpose because subsequently you will be rewarded with success.

Trekking to the mountains is always as challenging as it is beautiful. Whether that switched between idyllic sunshine, relentless rain or a whiteout snowfall, every gruelling step in our trek to the Himalayas was worth it. Trepidations of embarking to high altitudes was thrown into thin air as the night sky glittered with stars, and snow-capped mountains that surrounded us in every direction burst into a majestic sunrise at the Annapurna Base Camp.

Adrift on calm waters of Phewa Lake I massaged my hamstrings in vain attempts to relieve a burning sore. Five hours of involuntary manspreading from Kathmandu to Pokhara in a bus that claimed to have extra legroom (and WiFi) had taken its toll. Yet the discomfort paled before Annapurnas’ grandeur, albeit partially hidden behind scattered clouds. We rejoiced in the morning mist on our last boat ride ensued by a hefty sandwich vital for any trek.

We drove off on jeep from Halan Chowk and after a couple of hours reached Phedi, the starting point of our 9-day trek to Annapurna Base Camp at 4,130m. The gradual uphill climb on stony steps to Dhampus was mere prelude of what awaited. Amidst rice and millet terraces, we slowly made our way up on steps and as the sun scorched, made our way through midhills. With a backpack over 20kgs strapped on my back, the climb would get quite exhausting at times. Layers of clothes got shed by the time we got used to the steps that seemed to know no end. The occasional chautaras as well as Gurung settlements along the wide trail did wonders to help us catch our breath and appreciate the greenery.

Crossing dodgy suspension bridges we reached thick woods and could feel a sense of remoteness of our adventure. Bulls possessive of their femmes were certainly a threat, especially if you had to walk past them while they were mating, which we encountered on more than a few occasions. A brief stop at a shop that sold nak cheese made us smirk on the typo, only to realize that it was not yaks, but their female counterparts naks, that make cheese. As we zeroed in on our first destination Landruk, mountains popped up prominently in a distance just in time to quell complaints about painful legs from uphill walk.

Annapurna’s massifs from the restive Pothana village seemed like from another world altogether. Macchapuchare in its photogenic glory was indeed a treat to the eyes over lunch so delicious that the most insatiable of food critics would be silenced and left salivating for more. After hogging down more servings of dal bhat than we’re proud of, we trailed on, bloated and happy. By this time, the clouds were moving in, which was quite a respite after the dog day afternoon. Weather was in fact perfect as we reached our destination in Landruk. We were settled into our rooms and served hot homemade millet brew called raksi, affectionately called tharra or local. The sleep here was hearty and the sight of the first sight of mountains in the horizon was one to behold.

The jeep tracks from Landruk would dwindle to trails through a forest followed by a gorgeous waterfall. Making our way down towards the fresh white waters of Modi River, we reached a tiny settlement called New Bridge. Distant rolling hills would merge with haze below skies filled with cotton balls of picturesque clouds. It was interesting to note the influx of Nepali tourists, especially youngsters, as we moved up the trails, a few of whom almost tipped us over the cliff by accident when their inebriated selves couldn’t handle the rocky and slippery steps in Jhinu. It then bears pointing out that the prices of beverages (and food) can be pretty steep as it gets more remote. That’s mainly because it has to be carried by porters. We wondered where they got all that booze from. It would take about half an hour’s walk to find that out, as made a pit stop at a small hotel.

A lovely Tamang lady and her differently abled son had championed hospitality to unwitting and exhausted tourists on that climb. Tasty omelettes coupled with fresh pickles from her farm had me licking my fingers. And the liquor she crafted was true to her words: the best and strongest in the Annapurnas. Well, probably. As the only openly drunk raksi-appreciator I took a couple of pegs with the lady. She went on to explain how her last bunch of patrons – half a dozen Nepalese boys – finished a jerry can just a while earlier. No wonder. I would gladly have spent a few hours here, blown away by the jolly hosts, amazing refreshments and equally remarkable views. But we were due for Chhomrong, a ginormous town up a ginormous hill, by dark.

The backbreaking ascent to Chhomrong came without warning. The higher we climbed, the more exhausted we got and better the vantage point. Quite unfortunately, the skies were overcast and mountains up north were shrouded behind gloomy clouds. We conquered the long climb towards dusk and upon arrival at Chhomrong were greeted with chilly drizzles. As everybody prepared to put extra layers of fleece and down, mine went mysteriously missing. Must’ve left it at the omelette place, I thought. So much for merrymaking. The chill in Chhomrong would be nothing compared to the freezing cold in ABC, or so I was told. In a panic-stricken hysteria, I went around early next morning to a million shops trying to find jackets for rent. To no avail. The closest one was one with furry yak wool that made me look like a Siberian hillbilly.

I’d almost given up until I decided to have some coffee in a bakery where croissants looked like swollen boomerangs and the owner’s pretty daughter was basking in the morning sun. I decided to steer clear from the interesting delights, fearing for my tummy. Instead, I settled for some spicy noodles the young lady was having. In fact, after hearing my wardrobe predicament she invited me into her room with a smile. She slowly reached down and pulled out a rusty chest from under her bed. It was filled with medieval-looking clothes, including downjackets left behind by trekkers for her baker father almost two decades ago. Godawful smell and stains from the jackets corroborated her story. Now don’t get me wrong, a good pair to buy would cost upwards of USD 200, and renting would cost USD 10 a day. Instead, she offered it for 50 cents a day. Bingo! I was off with an oversized blue down jacket looking like a clown and smelling like fungus. And with a phone number, might I add.

We really began to feel the altitude Chhomrong onwards as we reached the last few settlements before entering Annapurna Conservation Area Project (ACAP). We arrived at a place aptly called Himalaya whence the mountains towered right above. Soldering on along Modi River raging below and surrounded by rhododendron forests, giant snow-covered peaks followed us. Our ascent seemed endless and just as our legs warmed up and got acquainted to the steps, in rolled ominous black clouds and drenched us in a matter of seconds.

Icefalls and waterfalls were a common site and walking over snow deposits become a breeze as we reached closer to Macchapuchare Base Camp, a station before ABC. The last leg to ABC had our hearts thudding with each heavy step. And if that wasn’t enough, it started snowing hard and mercury dropped further with strong headwinds. Nevermind the mountains ahead, even our steps were far from visible in the inclement weather. Notwithstanding, the eerie feeling of walking on sludge into white Himalayan oblivion was quite thrilling. We were lucky that despite such physical strain in high altitude, our breathing was normal and avoided high altitude sickness as we had taken it slow and steady since day one.

Just as we edged towards ABC on the final path, clouds started dispersing. Almost like the weather gods wanted to save the best for the last, unveiled before our eyes what were phenomenal mountains, some of the highest points on this planet, right ahead, surrounding us in every single direction. Wherever we looked, absolutely stunning sights of elaborate ridges readily took our breaths away and at night when stars lit the peaks, we would stand in awe, sighing at the mountains, ready with a wish, waiting for another meteorite to whiz past millions of stars. More than we could keep count of or even imagine to witness in the nondescript skies of the grind we had escaped.

In bouts of ogling magical landscapes, we forgot that we were soaked wet in the sleet. The heated dining hall came as a warm solace, but not without the price of a singed toe. In burning realization, the heater turned out to be nothing more than a small propane stove under the table, along with smelly boots and socks left to dry. A surprisingly delicious order of pizza was enough to make us ditch the warm room for shivering hours spent outside watching Himalayas in its glory. A peaceful night of sleep was well deserved.

The wake of dawn was no less enchanting. Braving cold chills just before sunrise, we huddled together on the hotel’s tiny patio to watch royal purple glow on Annapurna that gradually turned orange. As the first rays of sun touched the mountain’s eastern flank, a burst of yellow illuminated the summits in a magnificent show of lights and dazzling hues. Annapurna’s furious facade came to life. It was most prominently seen from a short distance away by prayer flags and memorial stones of vanished climbers, spectators in hundreds but dwarfed and humbled by the mountains’ inexplicable might. It is quite fascinating to imagine the monumental feat of conquering mountains, and in that, yourself. Though a daring few have accomplished and lived to tell the tale, memorial stones by the gumba where I stood painted a grim picture. A reminder that mountains are billions of years old, and unlike our transient lives, will be there till eternity. I stood there motionless, numbed, staring into the timeless mountains. Miniscule, as I was and felt, a mere vanishing dot in shadows of imposing rocks. It was a transcendental experience, moving, awe-inspiring and humbling to the knees to say the very least.

My thoughts were cut short when faint sounds coming from far off in the mountains drew my attention. I had lost track of time and the sun now brighter, had started melting previous day’s snow on peaks, causing avalanche high up on the peaks. They looked tiny as they swept their way down, but we knew that if one even half as big got triggered at our spot, a wrath of nature’s hell would be unleashed. The dire prophecy too much to bear led me to seek refuge in a breakfast of pancakes and eggs, which, meanwhile, had gone unregrettably cold. We were thoroughly intrigued and could stay here a whole lot longer, but had a long way to walk back. Snow, foot-deep, got shovelled out at the hotel gate while we packed our bags and prepared to bid the mountains a hesitant goodbye.

Looking back every so often to catch what was now a passing glimpse of the Annapurnas, we retraced our steps. Descents were as deceptively laborious as ascents on the now slippery trail, and especially with heavy rucksacks we were carrying, our knees took an ugly beating. But there was no stopping until walked down to Sinuwa and then Jhunu the next day. Walking back, we couldn’t help but feel proud to have climbed up steps that appeared impossibly steep.

Jhinu was an quite an experience in itself. The hot spring at a hiking distance from the village won’t be obvious. There are no shops by the pool, so our little picnic included snacks and a bottle of local brew. A week of trekking later, relaxing dip in the hot pool served our muscles well. When the heat would become unbearable, it only make sense to take a plunge into the freezing cold waters of Modi River gushing by. It would take sheer luck to avoid tirades (and harassment lawsuits) after nearly barging into ladies’ changing room, thanks to unlabelled doors. The pool was unsurprisingly abuzz with dozens of people. A group of Nepali doctors were on a weekend getaway to the hot spring. As were locals from Ghandruk and Chhomrong on a quick trip to pamper themselves. But mostly it was trekkers like us, trying to unwind and kick back.

Back in our hotel, the owners – a mid-aged down-to-earth couple – partook in an intense and prolonged dohori face-off between our guide and a French-speaking guide. Shortly before midnight as others went to bed, the troupe in dining room, myself a gawky vocal sidekick, was just getting started. After countless rounds of friendly yet intimidating exchanges (and a flurry of noise complaints from sleepy, lacklustre patrons), the party slowly crawled its way to bed well past midnight.

I woke up with a terrible hangover next morning to sensational news that would also explain the toilet filled with holy yuck. Apparently, the French guide in a bid to ease his untimely intoxication (he was with VIP clients) and an unprecedented defeat in dohori (our guide had had prevailed) thought it was a good idea to venture to the hot spring – alone and in pre-dawn pitch darkness. Almost an hour later, an ad hoc SAR team would discover the hapless monsieur a few hundred meters away passed out in cattle cesspool. Embarrassment and dung on his face evident and a foul smell made for the most grotesquely amusing story of this trip. Bad as we felt for him, got a few good laughs out of his drunken stupor.

We reached the spotlessly clean village of Ghandruk in late afternoon, also our final stop of the journey, and explored the quiet, cobbled streets. In the most perfect of Annapurna mornings, familiar sights of mountains, only distant, boasted for a fine setting to recap our trip. We hopped on a bus in Kimche and reached Pokhara in the evening, concluding a trip we’d be bragging about for a long time.

There is no wonder why Annapurna Base Camp is one of the most renowned trekking destinations in the world, one that thousands of trekkers check off from their bucket list every year. For our bunch, it was a dreamy treat to the senses, immersion in a variety of rich cultures and bonding with the wilderness. It was an emotional experience where mystical gompas dotted the snowy abode of mythical yetis, where every exhilarating stride was equal parts tough and rejuvenating, and where showers became luxury and in that cold, barely a priority. Moments spent in the midst of mountains have been etched in our hearts, and they’ve left us with enlivened spirits, tightened glutes, and daydreaming in office cubicle, a longing to return.

When you take three passionate young lads, old camaraderie and an extreme sport that sends shivers down the spine, you get an account of how improbable odds were beaten in taking downhill biking scene by storm. We peek into the lives Rajesh Magar, Nishant Shah and Suman Tamang and their struggle to become professional racers, a story as inspirational as their adventurous career as mountain biking guides is enviable.

It’s close to dawn and the neighborhood dogs are howling at faintly audible chatter and metal clanks. In Bhaisepati’s deserted streets Rajesh Magar, 19, Suman Tamang, 18, and Nishant Shah, 19, are preparing their bikes. Rather worn down from years of riding, their mean machines have seen better days but a quick adjustment to the brakes and suspensions sends the best friends off on an early morning spin.

But today is no ordinary ride. There is an air of dogged determination as the trio prepare for Himalayan Mountain Bike Festival 2015, a downhill race in Himachal, northern India, also their first ever international gig scheduled for following week. Due to compete against established athletes, the boys ought to train tirelessly, however early or late in the day, at whatever the cost. With the sun barely up, the three mountain bikers have reached the hills of Hattiban and already started shredding rough trails.

Rewind six years, and the story is starkly different. Coming from rather unremarkable working-class families, there was barely anything out of the ordinary the old chaps could afford. During their pre-teen days, they’d frequent cyber cafes like all kids their age and while away on YouTube and Facebook. Evenings would see them practice football with friends at a small field in Bhaisepati. On one particular season, they were practicing hard for a local tournament, and were predicted to win. But when their team got disqualified, all hopes were shattered. “We were quite disheartened about the fact that all the training went to waste,” laments Tamang. “It was discouraging and we lost interest in football.”

It would be a matter of coincidence that Nirakar Yakthumba, the lead guitarist of musical band 1974 AD, would cruise his bike through the neighborhood. It wasn’t always that the boys got to see a sleek full-suspension bike and a rider with body armors. Their young minds were instantly captivated – brainwashed in fact as they attempted to follow suit. This would become a turning point of their lives.

Neither a welder nor a mechanic, Magar got hold of a welding machine and a beat-up cycle lying around in the house where his mother worked as a maid. He would spend the next days installing scooter suspension on his bike. Whereas Shah bought what he could afford – a basic bicycle for 500 rupees, and Suman had one with single-speed, mediocre at best. This was the closest they could come to downhill biking. Gripped with biking fever, they would shadow the mysterious cyclists at every sighting to find out where they rode. It was Hattiban all along, just a stone’s throw from their place.

“We’d stand at a distance and watch in amazement with jaws dropped when they made jumps and stormed down trails at scary speeds,” recalls Magar. “The risks of the sport was evident but at that very moment, we had cluelessly decided what we wanted to do in life. And our moms would not be too happy to hear this!” he adds with a smile. His prediction wasn’t entirely wrong.

“I’ll break every bone in your body!” yelled mommy Magar at supper that evening, when her son shared his latest epiphany. It didn’t fare too well with the Shahs and the Tamangs either. Nevermind the risks, the sport was nothing their families could pay for (a good bike can cost upwards of three lakhs) nor could it put food their table, or so thought their parents. It would be tough to convince people, especially their folks, about their pursuit of a mountain biking career. “There was nobody to guide us,” shares Shah. Online videos would became their tutorial and they would try to emulate the moves and styles. “For months, we secretly rode on downhill trails, practicing jumps and stunts like clockwork. More often than not we’d return with bruises we’d have to hide,” he remembers nostalgically.

Slowly but surely, their skills and confidence on the bikes improved drastically over time and drew attention from other senior riders, including rockstar Yakthumba. Shah remembers, “We finally got to meet Nirakar dai at Jhamsikhel Street Festival who supported us with bike parts and words of encouragement.” Their newfound motivation would have them ride on trails with senior bikers, but that soon became difficult as parts on their bikes would give away to more intense riding. “Every time a bike part failed, we wouldn’t be able to ride for weeks. We’d have to work hard to save money before being able to replace the parts,” he adds.

“It was difficult to balance our passion to ride and studies, frankly speaking. Even our teachers were concerned about the fact that we spent most of our time outside school riding bikes.’I’ll slash your tyres and sell your bike to scrap!’ would come an angry tirade, but we never failed to make it to the trails at every opportunity.” The boys did take a short hiatus till SLC to focus on our studies.

They received more support from parents and teachers only after they finished their high school. And thus got to put more focus into it just two years ago. They maintain that most people still don’t quite get the sport. “It takes countless hours on our bikes and more crashes than we’d like to talk about, but for most people, the only thing that is visible is the jumps we practice on the football field. Many still think that jumping bikes is all we do. Some even come up to us and say they’re jealous of what we do, that we get to travel extensively for a living and doing stunts. But they don’t know how it has been and what it takes – sweat, sacrifice and courage to make that jump, drop and sprint, putting limbs and life at risk.”

Minor injuries in downhill biking are unavoidable, and crazy mishaps aren’t uncommon – especially on a substandard bike. Much like when the front wheel of Shah’s Rs. 500 bike got loose and rolled off on a downhill ride in Pharping, resulting in a nasty crash. And when the manually installed coiled suspension on Tamang’s cheap bike couldn’t handle pressure from a jump, it sprang out and badly bruised half his face. Worse yet, Magar would lie lifelessly on his back after a 6-foot drop that broke his bike’s dodgily welded forks and landed him with a worrisome back injury. These are but few of innumerable crashes they’ve had to endure. But it’s evident that the lads have come a long way since their amateur days.

A week later in Himanchal, Magar and Tamang would be standing with a wide grin on the podium, covered in confetti, having bagged bagged gold and silver. (Shan could not attend the race for personal reasons.) In their very first international race, they outperformed several ace athletes from Nepal, India, Bhutan and the UK in the race. “It feels like a dream come true,” Magar says, who had also won the National Championship in Nepal in 2014. “It was definitely worth all the morning rides and waking up angry dogs.” There was a time when they used to watch downhill bikers in wonder, but the tables have turned. In every downhill meet, people wait in anticipation to watch them race down the trails, an aggression that has to be seen to be believed.

The young trio has surely also made a mark in Nepal’s downhill biking scene and plan to pursue this career seriously. Yet, for a sport like this or any, sponsorship is crucial. Be it for bikes, air tickets for international races, nutrition for training and other expenses, sponsorship contributes towards an athlete’s success. “We are eager to perform better and represent Nepal in international downhill races,” they maintain. “But it’s the love and support of people, companies and the government as well that will help us materialize our dreams.” While they’ve managed to get partial sponsorship, additional support will always help in nurturing their potential.

Coming from humble roots, the boys are leading examples of how hard work and persistence will accomplish any goal. When most millennials fret over zits on their face, the boys already have a headstart on their lives. Besides the obvious thrill of the sport, Magar, Tamang and Shah also get to enjoy frequent biking escapades not just in the valley but also in the mountains. Their side job as cycling guides takes them places and they get to ride along exception trails in exotic locations, while earning from it.

Despite countless snags they hit through their biking journey, they’ve fiercely endured to become promising, young athletes in Nepal’s downhill. “Adventure and life are what you make of it,” they share their life lessons, “There will be up and downs, and you will take a fall. But get right back up and keep at it. Fight like hell for your dreams and you will not fail.” Apart from their loving families and wellwishers, none of this would’ve ever been possible without an undying love for the sport, support for each other as best friends and of course, unfaltering grit.

Stay fit, explore an ancient Newari town and pay homage to Gods on an early morning bike ride to southern outskirts.

Skip breakfast because we’ll be riding south towards Nakkhu before dawn. There is no sugarcoating the first climb to Bhaisepati. With all your might, pedal all the way up to Love Chautara and regain your breath while watching the sunrise if you make it here early enough. No sweat if not as the place is better known for sunset views. The warm-up climb sure may be somewhat daunting, but what goes up must come down. Take a right downhill from the chautara on a bumpy road that leads to Karyabinayak Temple. Make sure your brakes work fine.

Five minutes on narrow paved roads leads you to Karyabinayak which will already be bustling with a horde of devotees. An engaging conversation with your buddies over fresh tea and alu chana you get here make for a splendid breakfast. Note though that this is a wrong place for a nature call because you’ll be disappointed by the dark, filthy loo. A much cleaner one awaits at our next checkpoint in Bungamati.

Follow the road that leads you to Bungamati to be greeted by a strong smell of shampoo as you reach the cobbled alleys. As you may guess, many here love bathing in the sun. Navigate to the mystical courtyard of Shikhara-style Rato Macchindranath temple that dates back to the 6th century. The massive courtyard surrounded by row houses donning traditional Newari architecture lies at the heart of the old town and is the community’s cornerstone for religious ceremonies, public events and town meetings.

Equally fascinating is observing the locals busy with their usual rituals, nothing which reminds you the mess of a Kathmandu. Kids play dandibeu (now on the list of endangered games, right after chungi and guccha, courtesy of PSPs and free WiFi). Women neatly assort rice grains and corn kernels after running their water errands and sweeping the floor. Men and dogs bask in the sun. Leashed goats that survived Dashain stand stoic and motionless. Ducks that survived Tihar outnumber people three to one and wander about aimlessly.

Options to eat are quite limited at the temple premises. Warm donuts in the cozy and nicely decorated Tagachiwa Café should provide temporary relief. It would’ve helped if the café guy wasn’t a chain smoker, but feel free to eat outside while enjoying the views. Eavesdrop on a rather interesting elderly gentleman in the café rant about the upcoming elections, his tirade strewn with expletives – definitely not for the faint of heart! A signboard points to a clean and well maintained toilet which discriminately charges Rs. 5 for Nepalese and double for foreigners. The horrendous drawings of a man and a woman at the toilet door is sure to give you a smile.

Trying not to get lost, manoeuvre through a maze of identical alleyways and get the last glimpses of the town before you reach the main street. From here, make your way back to the familiar Love Chautara, retracing your ride to the city.

Mountain Biking
Don’t mind splashing some mud around and getting some on your face too? If thrill and adrenaline tickle your fancy, with just a hint of daring, then look no further. It’s time to buy a mountain bike that’ll take you through some of the most serene landscapes within and outside the valley. Smooth paved road, rocky jeep tracks to technical single tracks – you can find all kinds of trails to dominate. However you may roll, mountain biking is guaranteed to break your routine monotony.

Hiking
Ditch the city streets for short yet exhilarating excursions up the hills. With various flavors and difficulty levels to choose from, the trails running over and along surrounding massifs bekon. Just a 10-minute bus ride outside the Ring Road mark the start of natural hiking trails that lead to calmness, serenity and lush greenery, otherwise inexistent in the urban chaos. Stock up some water and food, and just grab a pair of robust shoes, and you’re good to go!

Trekking
Longer and hard-earned breaks call for a trip beyond the hills and outside your comfort zone. Treading along the laps of the mighty Himalayas, over rugged terrains and higher altitude demand more stamina and grit. This also means you’ll have to be more prepared, sporting proper equipment geared to the season and region. In exploring the sublime beauty of our country, trekking makes for a humbling experience, a peace of mind and self-discovery.

Trail running
Nothing screams goodbye to belly fat (and hello nice bums) better than trail running! When you’ve become an ace hiker, it’s time to upgrade and go lighter and faster. A camelbak and a good pair of running shoes are imperative for a good running session. Whether intensive sprints on stairs or longer strides on little trodden tracks, you will need more stamina and core body strength to enjoy the the inexplicable sense of achievement running up killer hills.

Climbing
Better clip those nails and do some serious stretches before hitting walls, rocks or boulders, however you want to swing. It’s a true test of body strength and agility as you defy gravity. Walls, or artificial climbing spots, are only a handful in the city, as are natural rocks and boulders about the valley. Proper gear and equipment, along with a partner in crime, are highly recommended – and in some cases, imperative – to hop on the increasingly popular climbing bandwagon.

Peak climbing
There are over a thousand peaks in Nepal over 6,000m in altitude from the sea level, most of them unnamed and unchartered. Though peak climbing does demand high level of fitness, you do not need the same level of preparation.skills, equipment and budget as with mountaineering, which mostly entrails elaborate expeditions. Among the popular peaks you can conquer include the Island Peak, Mera Peak and Pisang Peak – definite bragging rights on Facebook!

Bungy jumping and Swing
Say hello to the second highest natural bungy in Asia! The wild Bhote Koshi gushes 160m below as you walk down the plank on a wobbly suspension bridge. Then the count down. You jump into several seconds of weightless freefall, the air right past you whizzes. Your futile screams echo through the valley and stand no match to the adrenaline. Several seconds of excitement and a splurge later, you’re lowered down safely to the shore.

Zipline
Ripping air at 140 kmph on a 2,000ft drop along 1.8 km route will be the most extreme two minutes of your life. Introduced only recently in Nepal, the zipline in Pokhara serves as the perfect way to get your adrenaline pumped and experience a short-lived yet momentous thrill over admiring the breathtaking sights that surround you.

Paragliding
Brave the terror of jumping off a cliff to float freely above the picturesque lake town of Pokhara. Let the thermals take you far, far away as you stay tight in your guide’s harness revelling in the bird’s eye view of the spectacle below, with people barely visible, houses but specks and Fewa reduced to the size of your palm. But the highlight of the chute flight will definitely be the snowcapped mountains peeking from the horizon from an impossible vantage point.

Parahawking
The only thing more exciting than soaring like a falcon is feeding one while soaring like it. Not only do you get to enjoy the regale vistas of the mountains afar and the valley down below while paragliding , but you’re graced with birds of prey feeding on reward placed on your gloved hand. Floating along raptors and that with unobstructed sights of the mountains ahead will be an experience out of this world. Because the birds are trained, you can fly into the oblivion without a fear in your mind of getting your arm clawed.

Paramotor
Find yourself attached to a parachute above and blades behind for an airborne odyssey. The parachute keeps you afloat and the blades propel you forward. The perfect tranquility of the flight instills a sense of calm and stops the flow of time. Floating along and above the clouds and birds gives a moment of self-reflection and awe. Fly away to the most magical wilderness and around Himalayas for an awakening journey that sets your mind free and casts your soul away.

Ultralight
Drifting far into the snowcapped horizon on a light aircraft, prepare to be enthralled by the impressive massifs that are the Himalayas. Without a window between you and the grand mountains, as cold gusts of wind blow across your face, come face to face with the Annapurna, Dhaulagiri and Fishtail. It’s an opportunity to feel spiritually uplifted and exhilarated in a heavenly and peaceful ultralight flight over Pokhara.

Skydiving
When or if you manage to overcome the numbing fear, pat yourself on the back for jumping off an aircraft cruising at dizzying 30,000 ft. A freefall at terminal speed of 250 kmph or over means the jump will not last very long. But while it does, embrace the skies and appreciate the life-altering views of the world now shrunk below. It takes the right mix of crazy and bling to make this one possible – hands down, the gutsiest thing you’ll ever do.

Swimming
Forget shady and contaminated pool at your gym, and head north from the city or anywhere far enough to take a plunge in crystal clear waters of rivers and lagoons. Redefine fun and rejuvenate yourself with a dive from high up rocky ledges and into the fresh water, as cold as it may be. Sandy shores and rocky moraines are the perfect backdrop for your leisure swim. Pesky butt-naked kids will eventually show up and disturb your peace, so best of luck finding a private, quiet space.

Rafting and kayaking
Thousands of rivers and tributaries fresh from the mountains, meandering through the pristine countryside and virgin forests are a godsend for any adventure lover. Staying adrift on your raft, challenge rapids while dodging rocks and whirlpools. Getting tossed into the icy cold water when your raft capsizes is not a worry because your experienced guide and safety kayak will get you back aboard and paddling in no time.

Jungle safari
Snug on an elephant’s back, embark on a jungle safari deep into the conserved woods of Chitwan. Under the dense canopy, discover a host of exotic and rare species of animals including rhinos and tigers, that are known to occasionally – and if you’re really lucky, in fact – face off with the elephants. But it’s nothing your expert Mahouts can’t take care of. So sway with your elephant’s swag and come as close to the wild as you can get.

Jungle walk and birdwatching
Take to the untouched jungle, marsh and moors on foot. It’s an opportunity to see feral birds up close in a peaceful tropical ambience. A guided excursion with a professional naturalist will not only put you in safe hands, but will also help you identify and learn about local and migratory birds that you encounter on a jungle walk. The diversity of birds you observe here will put the crows and pigeons that frolick on your roof to shame.

Hunting
Though definitely not a common hobby, licensed hunting at Dhorpatan Hunting Reserve gives you a unique taste of adventure. Situated below the Dhaulagiri range and regulated by the government, Dhorpatan is the only area in Nepal where hunting is permitted. Blue sheeps, pheasants and partridges, all found in abundance here, are a popular attraction. Take a break from the mundane and try your luck with hunting, still largely a niche among Nepalese folks.

Dirt biking
People will turn their heads, most likely in rage, when your toy makes the ungodliest noise soaring down the road. But more than aunts’ disgruntled stares, your toy deserves rough trails far off from the city’s constricting perimeters. Take a spin to secluded hilltops, uphill climbs a mere piece of cake for your dirt bike, and that reward you with spectacular serenity and a muddied outfit. We know fuel prices are pretty steep, but that shouldn’t stop boys from having all the undeserved fun.

4WD adventures
Get 4WD adventure kicks on dusty, bumpy roads! There may be no trail too rugged for your SUV that roars and revs through surreal and unforgiving landscapes. New rocky jeeptracks are dug every year throughout the country, and while regular vehicles aren’t powerful enough to traverse these, it only means party time for your SUV, making ascents however steep and descents however frightening look like a child’s play!

For most part aila holds a religious significance. Drunk right, it awakens the divine spirit in you. Drunk wrong, it knocks your living daylights out.

Aila, the revered spirit. It symbolizes the Newari culture and is considered one of the purest drinks, offered to Gods during the innumerable festivals throughout the year. The fiery brew is believed to ward off diseases and when you couple that with potent taste, smooth texture and then a God factor of prasad, it’s obvious why aila is incredibly popular with the crowd as well. For instance, a horde of devotees amasses during Indra Jatra to drink aila off Bhairab’s mouth. And of course, pulling the giant chariot of Rato Macchindranath before Bhoto Jatra definitely requires bursts of alcohol-fueled energy in your system, so does a Lakhey when he grooves fervidly to the sounds of dhimaya and bhushya, traditional musical instruments. In a more somber homely ambience, the drink is served in tiny clay pots called pyalas during social gatherings and bhoyes or feasts.

One such incident took me to Karyabinayak just the other day, which happened to be my first ever bhoye experience. It was a wedding ceremony of a Newari friend who had eloped with the love of his life. (For the record, the Nepalese law honors these theatrical stunts quite worthy of a soap opera plotline.) So like all things Newari, an elaborate merry of samaybaji and spirits followed. As I waited to be served, seated on a sukkul amidst the hullabaloo and a long line of jubilant menfolk, an elegant young lady in haku patasi approached with a welcoming smile. In a traditional Newari fashion, she poured a drink from a karuwa from a couple of feet up in the air. A sprout of aila landed impeccably on my pyala with not a drop to spill – a perfectly maneuvered serve, impressive and exotic to say the least for an unimaginative Kshetri like me.

Without further ado, I adventurously downed the brew in one go. The decision, as with all first shots, was immediately regretted. The taste of the potent ferment burned like fire down my throat and gave my tummy a sting no grandma’s chili achaar could manifest. All efforts to avoid a funny face went futile, and in unison with fellow men gracelessly grunting and growling, I laid down the spent pyala – only to find the haku patasi lady magically reappear, ready to pour a second round. My humble refusal and repeated requests fell to deaf ears and instead resulted in patronizing laughter from other folks already in their third. After succumbing to a second and then a third, I resorted to cover the pyala with both my arms and body lunged forward to prevent further influx. I could take it no more.

It is good to note, though not reassuring, that bhoyes start with a heavy snack accompanied by aila as aperitif, which is also served through the main course, and – surprise! – right till and past dessert. At a Newari feast, having an empty pyala in front means you’ll inevitably be served more, whether or not you want it. (Same goes for empty botas or leaf plates for food.) Servers, mostly female members of the host family, walk around with watchful eyes and a karuwa to spot and replenish empty pyalas. If you think they’ll eventually run out of aila, the extra jerry cans in the corner should tell you otherwise.

As interesting as it is unfortunate, it is mostly illegal to produce and sell aila commercially due to limitations in regulation and taxation. Hence, aila is prepared silently in Newari homes for bhoyes using either rice for rich and smooth taste, or millet for stronger flavor. Depending on preference, rice or millet along with other ingredients are mixed with an edible organic compound called marcha, which then ferments in about five days to produce jaad. Using clay and brass vessels or potasi, jaad is distilled over a wood fire stove with carefully controlled flame temperature and cooling water, both of which dictate the quality and taste of the final product. Besides festivals and gatherings, Newari families also enjoy this drink occasionally over quiet meals or when they have guests over. It is a stark contrast to other Nepali cultures, especially the conservative Brahmin, that essentially see consumption of alcohol in a family setting as a taboo.

In fact, aila has found novel ways into the average Nepali Generation-Y bloodstream and has been creating quite a buzz already. Dhokaima Café has reintroduced five what it calls ‘locaboire’ cocktails to encourage drinking locally made booze. Among these, the ones with an aila base are Nepatini, Nilo Ailarita and Aila Mary. Bruce Owens, an aila enthusiast with a PhD in Rato Macchindranath, is partly responsible for these concoctions which he says are inspired from Western counterparts and have a local twist with symbolic names and history. It is worth mentioning that the drinks are quite reasonably priced, perfect for broke and thirsty lads like yours truly.

As for me, covering my pyala to prevent refills really didn’t fare well with the groom’s mother who had put all the love and jaad to brew the aila served. Her loud shrieks like air raid siren ordained me to drink complacently like any good guest at a Newari feast would and must. So after the sixth one, I was singing old Hindi songs. After a few more, I was knocked out cold next to the bandsmen. Later that night, I swore never to drink aila ever again (but these promises as proven time and again, come with an expiry date).

Painkillers and gallons of water have stood no chance against an ensuing hangover marked by splitting headache and nausea as I write this. At least I can tell you now that it takes more than just a sharp suit and slicked-back hair to turn up at a Newari wedding. So next time you find yourself on a sukkul at a bhoye, make sure to wear the right attitude, a Newari heart and a tolerance level that’ll make a proud Irish cringe – the only way to immerse fully into the wonderful world of aila.

A sweeping global trend has seen our mountain bikers get bitten by the Enduro pandemic, and not many trails make for a more favorable breeding ground than the ones in the Himalayan backyard.

What the Hell
First came Cross-country, almost twenty years ago, taking you across the countryside on bumpy undulating trails to little known outskirts. Everybody and his dog headed to Godavari on early Saturday mornings and some even claimed to have discovered secret trails behind Nagarkot. Cycling as it was known changed for good and mountain biking was born.

Then everything went Downhill. Moms would never approve of their lads making a 10-foot drop and wives couldn’t watch their stubborn husbands storm over unwalkable tracks against a cliff face. Terms like berm, roll, ramp, rock garden and pump were left only for the adrenaline junkies to comprehend. As were 160mm travel and Lowered BB among others. Things had gotten a bit more intense and steep. Downhill bikers rejoiced.

As the two disciplines of mountain biking got progressively more extreme, a group in the middle felt left out – with neither the unspoken stamina of cross-country riders nor the gobsmacking skills of downhillers. Besides, race organizers had to get more creative with limited options available for the less extreme races.

Along came Enduro

The latest craze among cyclists throughout the world, Nepal no exception, Enduro became a big deal only a few years ago. The promising sport stems from enduro dirt biking and demands equal parts stamina, skills, dough and bollocks to shred trails composed of steep descents and gradual ascents.

Of Trails and Terrains
“Enduro trails are generally one-fourth gradual and undulating climbs while three-fourths are technical descents and flat pedalling sections,” shares race organizer Shyam Limbu of Gnarly MTB. “The trails are more technical than cross-country and involves bigger drops and jump sections. But they’re less steep and technical than downhill trails.” In essence, Enduro is a hybrid of cross-country and downhill mountain biking.

For races, uphills are untimed but have to be completed within a given time slot; whereas downhills are the usual drill, only less intense,” continues Limbu who directed Showdown Dharan 2015 Downhill Marathon race. A handful of enduro races are rumored to be schedule in the coming months. Limbu cites logistical difficulty as the main reason why enduro races are difficult to organize. “They’ll start popping up sooner than later!” he is reassured.

Another fanatic of Enduro riding, current National Downhill Champion Rajesh Magar shares: “I’ve been mostly involved in downhill biking but enduro is definitely a growing sport and gaining momentum here. I make a point of hitting Enduro trails every weekend with my crew. I particularly love riding in Shivapuri and Nagarkot because those trails get me the most kicks out of my bike.”

The Toy
While there’s no hard and fast rules about the kind of bike you need for Enduro, there are definitely some elements to keep into consideration. “Bumpy tracks and jumps mean a fork with 140mm or more travel is highly recommended. You may opt for either a hardtail or a full-suspension bike, depending on our skill and terrains you choose to ride on,” suggests Limbu. Larger width tyres increase resistance for punctures and make rides more comfortable. A dropper post is a nice addition and lets you manhandle the trails with better body position. Likewise, make sure to wear a full-face helmet and body armors such as knee and chest protectors to not let the trail manhandle you if you decide take a fall.

What does it take?
Ask any enduro rider and he’ll prophecize the trails, the bikes and the thrill, claiming it to be his drug, if not religion. Not to mention the adrenaline fix. But take it from the horse’s mouth: “For starters, Enduro – or any sort of biking – is not just chic and expensive apparel. You need right skills and essential gears, let alone considerable experience, to hit the rough trails,” exclaims Magar, well admired for his perseverance and dedication to the sport. Pointing to a plethora of battle scars over the better part of his hand and feet, he continues, “This shows why you don’t underestimate the trails. You need to hone your skills on cross-country trails with technical sections before daring for enduro.”

The most current form of mountain biking has its ups and downs, and everybody else on the edge of the saddle.

Let’s face it. Not all of us have the stamina for cross-country or the skills for downhill. Some of us are getting there but the rest of us are pure lazy.

Asian Enduro Series looms in the corner. We follow seasoned riders Nishant Shah and Suman Tamang to the trails as they train for the international race.

The warm spring sun illuminates the glistening Himalayas. Lesser hazy hills are dwarfed. Eagles circle overhead, their cries muffled by whistling morning breeze and fluttering prayer flags. Not a soul is present. The heavily wooded hills of Nagarkot are eerily silent.

But on this lazy Tuesday morning, mountain bikers Nishant Shah, 19, and Suman Tamang, 18, have almost reached the top, just around the time shops are barely open, preparing to serve the first round of their classic Nepali breakfast of sel roti, chickpeas and boiled eggs. Hours of grueling climbs demand, in fact, several sets of breakfasts each. After all, their ride for the day has only just begun, which means calories will become their best friend.

Shah and Tamang have been biking for almost a decade, and are in Nagarkot on a mission to check out trails for the Asian Enduro Series race going to be held along the eastern flank of legendary Nagarkot hills. The Asian-level event, scheduled for April 7 to 9 and organized by mountain biking company Gnarly, is one of the most anticipated races of the year. Enduro is a fairly new but increasingly popular genre of mountain biking where riders are tested for their mettle to go downhill and the stamina to go up. In essence, a blend of downhill and cross-country biking where skills and stamina are equally important. This is the first ever edition of AES taking place in Nepal, and is expected to mark a new beginning in Nepal’s reputation as an enduro destination.

As far as events are concerned, Nepal was only slowly picking up dust. But with the Asian Enduro Series, the first of its kind in the country, the biking scene has taken a huge and important leap. “Though Nepal is considered a mountain biking mecca by international mountain bikers, it seems like the sport within the country needs to be nurtured,” maintains Shah. “It is only in recent years that the number of races as well as their quality has seen a drastic improvement. My favorite so far is Tansen Ultra 2015, though I had a crash,” he says with a smile. “I’m glad I’m able to take some time off from studies and work to explore the trails for Asian Enduro!”

Likewise, having achieved a handful of podium finishes, including in a race in India recently, Suman adds, “It will be very interesting to see local riders compete with some renowned international professionals. There is currently no yardstick to measure how good Nepal riders fare in comparison to foreign riders, so at a time when any sort of formal training program for the athletes or even sponsorship to improve their skills is alack, the race will definitely be a moment of truth for home boys.” Just for a sneak peek, female Belgian national champ is among the ones registered for the race, and in a an event that will see dozens of riders in Elite and Open categories, it will be quite a show!

There are seven race stages in AES, all with their own challenges and charms – ups and downs, jumps as high as an elephant’s eye and rolls that can barely be trodden, technical in some parts, flowy and smooth in the others. There will be a mix of singletracks, jeep tracks and paved roads as well. Nagarkot’s serene and massive hills along with natural pathways have made for awesome riding trails. The woods are protected and stunning sights of both the mountains and the valley are quite aweinspiring. Gnarly has left no stone unturned to showcase not just Enduro in its purest form but also Nepal’s enviable countryside and exotic culture.

“The is no child’s play, but not impossible either,” the duo maintain at the end of the trail, exhausted and out of juice. The boys have found refuge in a small convenience shop and bask in the glory of the sun and a good day’s ride. Their stomach growl again and as they devour notorious amounts of lunch, they know they will have to ride up again and finish another stage, and then another. They know it’ll take countless more sessions of tireless training if they want to nail the Asian Enduro Series.

The nooks and crannies of Kirtipur fell silent with not a soul in sight. Barely audible metal clanks, revving tractor engines and indistinct chatter seemed distant. Under the warm winter sun, inescapable siesta was perhaps culpable for the deserted streets. Couldn’t blame them as a runaway from the revolving office chair for my nerdy self after prolonged bouts of coding error was well deserved. I walked around enjoying take-away bara to appease a growling tummy and a bottle of Coke shot down to quell that sugar craving, decidedly non-alcoholic keeping a later professional rendez-vous in mind. I swung the empty coke bottle in the air, walking up towards Uma Maheshwar Temple atop the hillock, looking for a trash can.

As I walked up the dodgy cobbled alleyways, it would take the most harmless action of carrying around an empty plastic bottle to discover Kirtipur’s cheeky secret. Little did I know an aimless stroll along the streets of the old town would result into a monumental intoxicated march to Bhaktapur.

For in the midst of silence and calm came a low pitched summon, “Oh baucha!” I heard an aged voice calling from somewhere in the endless row houses that surrounded me. “Oh baucha,” she came again. I looked up to hardly make out a grandma figure hidden behind flower pots on the roof making gestures I couldn’t comprehend.

“Hajur?” I duly replied.

I looked more closely and saw she was giving me a repeated and frantic thumbs down. Perplexing to say the least.

“Hajur?” I asked again, confused.

She wasn’t speaking and just moved her lips and gave a thumbs down, almost as if she didn’t want anybody else to hear.

“Say it out loud,” I said.

“Raksi hal ne ho bhanya?” she finally shouted aloud, almost getting annoyed. She was offering me a batch of her homemade moonshine.

Now for a little background. The moonshine in question is Raksi, a clear but slightly murky triple-distilled local brew of millet base, rather tough on the nose but surprisingly smooth on the throat way south. Though technically wine, there’s nothing Victorian about it, especially considering the way it’s drunk – traditionally from tiny dirty tea cups or straight out of jerkins (Nepali for jerry cans) by bandsmen in weddings, followed by primal grunts of approval over sittan or munchies comprised of bone marrow extracts, medium-rare brain matter along with deep fried innards and chewy goat testicles to name a few popular delicacies raksi goes well with. The drink is served in almost all Newari festivals (sorry Brahmins) and social gatherings, and often consumed as God’s offering. Also called local tharra, tin-pane and solmari, the drink comes in several varieties depending on ingredients added, yet the essence and spirit of the drink remains the same. Revered as it is in festivals, it’s interesting though unsurprising to note that raksi gets an unfavorable rap among infuriated wives waiting for their husbands to return home from late night debauchery in bhattis serving said spirit discreetly and less-than-legally so.

That brings us to our next point: raksi can only be produced and consumed personally, and can’t technically be sold commercially. Hence the thumbs down in Kirtipur that turned out to be granny’s cryptic gesture to fill the empty Coke bottle with raksi. Epiphany!

I had no reason to decline the non-conformist grandma’s offer and happily played along. “Thaana waa,” she ushered me down the street and into a quarter well hidden from Big Bro’s watchful eyes. It was her micro brewery, a secret lair in a shabbily kept hall of an abandoned construction site. Not a brewery you’d imagine with mile-long conveyor belts, skyscraping smokestacks and an army of blue collar workers a million strong. But rather we walked into the lady’s beau, her partner in crime, stirring metal pots stacked up on a firewood furnace. A giant drum in the corner meanwhile steamed of freshly prepared raksi that smelled like sweet heaven.

“How much do you want?” the lady asked.

“To the brim,” I replied adventurously, trying to reinforce her idea of the maverick of a drunkard she assumed I was. I dropped a meager Rs. 80 for a bottle full of authenticity and fun I walked out of the micro distillery with.

I sat on the ledge by Uma Maheshwar, the highest point of Kirtipur, and soaked in the good vibes. Over swigs of the handcrafted spirit, the bird’s eye view of Kathmandu from the temple couldn’t have gotten any better. The lovely taste complemented the ambience, the sights, the breeze and the peace. Little by little I felt thrown to what could be called a state of trance until I realized the bottle was almost totalled and that I had a meeting to attend in Bhaktapur some 20 kilometers away. I downed the last gulp and proceeded to stand up, only to discover that the mellow taste of the spirit was a far cry from the punch it packed. The world in front spun and instantly put me back on my throne and gave a reality check. Though barely, I got hold of myself and in an attempt at sobriety embarked on an epic journey to Bhaktapur – on foot.

Long story short, a few hours later I found myself struggling hard to hold a straight face at the meeting, which thankfully after what felt like forever concluded without arousing suspicion. In a poetic justice of sorts, sandwiched between bleating, constipated goats and compatriots reeking of the same spirit on a bus back to Kathmandu was no laughing matter. The inconspicuous run into Kirtipur’s grandma had taken a toll and sent me to bed with a promise – albeit in retrospect a short-lived one – to never again touch Raksi.

“Often in moonless nights, it comes alive,” said a short-statured Gurung man we shared the bonfire with. He pointed at the clear sky above and added, “We call it the White Rainbow.” Waiting restlessly for our dinner at the end of a tiring day having traversed along glacier-fed Karnali River, we knew the streak overheard was anything but a rainbow. It was the Milky Way Galaxy – behind stars in their millions seen in distinct clarity of the night and meteorites that we lost count of that ripped through the hypnotic skies.

Our trek from Simikot to Rara Lake had started a couple of days prior with a humid and sweaty queue at Nepalgunj Airport as we queued up to board the first flight to Simikot. Having heard endlessly about the fabled trek over the years, it had made its way to a bucketlist of sorts, conveniently above lesser nuptial goals. Upon landing in Simikot far west of Nepal, we were instantly breathing the freshest air we had in awhile. The tiny town on a cliff was surrounded by hills on one side and peaks on the other, across Karnali. As we walked down the market, we felt Simikot had a really friendly vibe to it and people appeared too friendly to be true.

The trails we walked on were shared with old ladies headed to the market and mules carrying heavy loads on their backs. Rice, salt and apples among other goods for villages farther off. At the time of our trek, it was the season for apple harvesting and we didn’t fail to turn heads and draw an offer for an apple. Ripe ones would go straight to the tummy while raw ones went to dry in a bottle, some fantastic pickle in the making.

After passing several Magar villages for the first couple of days, we were brought to the tiny settlement called Sun Khada. At the base of our first tough pass or Lek at 3,600m in altitude – mountains for us born-and-bred urbanlings, mere hills for the locals – we’d look at the sky in amazement and beat the night chill around a bonfire. We were promised a hotel by locals we met on the way. But interestingly, this turned out to be a home of an elderly lady who let weary travellers crash at her place for a tiny fee. The nearest neighbors were at least a couple of hours away, which then made it possible for guests – not just trekkers like us, but also inhabitants of Humla and Mugu – to reach their destinations on long-haul treks. The stretch between Simikot and Rara is considered some of the most inaccessible places in Nepal and can demand several days of walking to reach one’s destination. So rooming with tired local travellers won’t be very surprising.

On this flawless night, guests the lady hosted were ourselves and the short man, garrulous and short-statured man, returning from Simikot having seen his sister off. He too would be sharing the route with us the following day and willingly volunteered to guide us to the lek. We prayed his navigation was not quite as iffy as his astronomical skills. We shared stories of life and travesties while snotty children ran amok, dressed shabbily, which for a region as remote hasn’t fallen out of fashion. Our supper got cooked on firewood stove and utensils but smoked and dented, probably decades old. Two hearty servings of rice and potato soup, plucked fresh from the garden, got us early to bed. The hardwood planks that doubled as a bed came without warning, but we tried to get a good night’s sleep to wake up early next morning and make the pass.

Two days of trekking here was enough to drop our expectations of any facilities even remotely luxurious, like a toilet for instance. Some houses do get due credit for having one, made obvious from a signage at their door. “We are proud to have a toilet in our home,” they read, which as comical as it was sad, reiterated seclusion of this region. The home we crashed in wasn’t one of them, which meant nights called for a chilly and dodgy walk to the bushes, braving stinging nettles and strange insects. This made us appreciate our lives back home even more.

Unlike a commercial lodge, our stay cost us barely anything though the experience was quite out of this world in its own rights. The old lady squinted at the two bills of hundred we handed her. “I can’t read,” she said, and stared hard at the money. “I have to look at the color to tell how much it is.” It so happened that like many women her age in the region, she never went to school. In the dim lights before dawn, she craftily stashed her revenue in an improvised safe, a pressure cooker, and wished us well for the tough ascent. As we started walking, Gurung went on to explain how the region lacked medicinal knowledge and explained about herbs they improvised to treat various maladies, including diarrhea and poor eyesight. “At altitudes this high the vegetation is pristine and there are ayurvedic experts who come up with natural potions,” he claimed. But these claims seemed questionable when he attributed anti-carcinogenic properties to an arbitrary species of fungus we found on the way.

The climb was intimidating and the ridge looked like it wouldn’t ever end. Amidst giant trees, we were shrunk to bite-sized chunks for bears we were told lurked in the dark corners of the woods. Blooming yellow flowers were incongruous to abandoned shacks used by travellers during winter time when it’d snow hard, and also our pit stops to make the climb less daunting. Natural spring waters tasted like heaven, and made us utterly forget uphill woes. After two hours on wet trails, we finally reached the top to find ourselves rewarded with bird’s eye view of tiny villages at the bottom and the might of Karnali that appeared like a trickling brooklet.

The intriguing culture throughout the trekking route was somewhat aboriginal indeed, which was most pronounced in the village of Simali. Women in a hot and sweaty day would casually walked about with their bosom freely breathing air, unencumbered by social constructs. Kids as small as five or six would gallop on their tiny mules, returning from other townships and villages upon finishing their delivery. Most men nonetheless were mysteriously missing, which upon a quick inquiry with other locals became evident that Humla and Mugu are no exception to the problem of youth emigration.

Nepalese people are generally quite inquisitive, perhaps intrusively so. While lunching at Simali, we were surrounded by a horde and we least of all hadn’t expected a Spanish inquisition. “Are you paid to travel?” would ask a male figure of the house where we ate. “How much do you earn from coming here?” another curious cat would follow up. Their benign questions would be somewhat of an offence in cities. But without further ado, they would go on, “How much did that camera cost?” Our usual lunch of millet bread and potatoes would be embellished with piercing questions. Several shameless servings later, we lied down on the floor, lulled and subdued. Yet the questions didn’t stop: “How many children do you have?”

A few more leks followed and the culture we experienced in the trek remained as pristine as the air was pure, people humble and nature untouched. I can’t say the same thing about a couple of villages which could clearly use a broom and a fly swatter. Towards the last stretch of the trek, signs of modernity became more evident, not excluding a hairstyle and guyliner on a bloke inspired by Korean movies, welcoming us to Mugu’s capital Gamgadi. Huffing and puffing, we left the town’s commotion behind marching towards Rara National Park, just a stone’s throw away.

Two hours later, we found ourselves under blunt glares of a soldier at the park entrance. “Dump everything from your bags onto the crate!” he ordained. It became obvious that they took security seriously at the park. Among our excited bunch was a father-son duo, locals looking for a quiet excursion and goat herders on a quest for their runaway cattle. Also present was a visibly distraught group of red panda specialists, conducting research on habitat of the endangered species.

The final hours to Rara Lake took us through the park’s dense jungle. Veiled by the dense foliage we could barely make out what hid behind, until we reached the shore and lo and behold – infinite shades of blue rippling across the lake. Reflections of the clouds danced on the surface of Rara Lake and turquoise blended effortlessly to deepest azure. Unspoilt greenery abound and gulls soared above while snowcapped peaks in the horizon complemented the serenity and beauty of the lake. We immediately proceeded to get our feets wet until getting sternly asked by authorities to step out of the water, crystal clear where fish could be seen wriggling through weeds, making the entire lake appear like an exotic aquarium. We settled in the quiet Danphe Hotel and got a good night’s sleep overlooking Rara.

It took us a fortnight of trekking on immaculately remote trails to reach Rara Lake, where let alone tourists, even locals would be hard to find on the route, where legs got totalled and ego tossed right out the window by gruelling climbs under unforgiving sun, where Rara’s glittering waters bedazzled Nepal’s far west and made the million blue hues seem like a lucid dream come true.

A hike to Murma Top was a definite highlight of our Simikot-Rara trek. What was meant to be an unassuming uphill walk for a bird’s eye view had our neck muscles throb in pain and legs scream up a treacherous climb.

Three days into reaching Rara National Park, we’d checked it all off of our list – boating on the lake, singing and dancing with local Tamang women, sampling rhododendron and moonshine mixes, hiking around the lake under the influence and spending hours on machans, gazing at the ripples trying to look rather philosophical for a selfie. With skinny dipping in the lake out of question (park security is taken quite seriously), we struggled to plot our next shenanigan at the gorgeous lake. We tried to weigh our options at the hotel.

Around the dining room’s warm furnace that evening congregated gleeful park rangers, unsettled conservationists, a promiscuous salt trader and our bemused trekking clique. Several solmari top ups later, the chatter swayed impassionately between conspiracy theories about disappearance of red pandas and a fiasco of the southern blockade. We waited until the heated conversation ran its course, hopeful to get inside stories of Rara – our raison d’etre at the isolated lake.

The debate showed no signs of stopping and just as we’d given up hope, the now inebriated hotel owner turned to us and asked, “Have you been to Murma Top? You can see Rara and all the surrounding hills. It’s a vantage point about two hours from here,” he said, and immediately gave the heads up. “But for you, I would say four hours.” It’s quite normal for locals to gauge your stamina, or lack thereof, after asking where you’re from. “From Kathmandu? You must be a snail. Care for walkers?” Bruised machismo aside, after spending a few nights by Rara’s shore, getting a bird’s eye view of the lake sounded inviting.

Shortly past noon next day, we packed up and made our way to Murma Top. We were clueless about directions and asked people en route about the village. Murma turned out to be a largely untouched Magar village where we’d crash in a cozy homestay. Without wasting time, we got directions from our host and starting hiking to the hilltop at dusk.

Little did we know the shortcut we were suggested meant just following the plain line of sight of a communication tower, the only structure at the top. After passing mud houses, a few fields followed by thorny bushes, we’d veered off the barely trodden path. At altitudes just under 3,500m having trudged for almost an hour from our homestay, we could feel the air thin out as we stared at the steep last bit of the cliff. The near-vertical climb had come without warning. We endured sloppily on all four, grabbing rocks and shrubs and anything we could find to pull ourselves up the hill with no trails to follow and at gradients nothing short of 70 degrees. To make matters worse, it was towards twilight and our map clearly lied to us about the tea inn at the top.

We crawled up the dizzying cliff for what felt like eternity until we finally reached the tower. A sense of relief set in but we were upset that the locals would recommend us such a dangerous route. But then turning our sight to the other side, all the lamentations vanished with the clouds now at eye level that slowly unveiled the mystical Rara Lake turning golden at this hour. With chilly winds now flowing through the valley, clouds started dancing around us and the forests in their fresh evening air created an ambience that no cafe in chic streets of Kathmandu could offer. Westwards, waves after waves of hills stretched endlessly into the horizon where Saipal Himal was visible though barely through that haze.

What surprised me for a brief second was the windy foot-wide trail that ran through the forest, which happened to be the main trail from the village, one that also sported jaw dropping views of the lake throughout. It all made sense why the locals didn’t recommend the main trail. Because the lake – mysterious, dreamy and one that captured every imagination – was just there. The villagers had no business going to the top, leaving their daily chores to see a granted lake that us hapless travellers had trekked for several days just to get a glimpse of. “I don’t know how long it takes to get there on slow pace, because I’ve never had to go there without work,” I recalled our host saying. “I clock 30 minutes if I have to go there.” We couldn’t have guessed this could possibly entail the steepest possible route.

But nothing was regretted when we stood still in awe, hypnotized by the flawless lake below in that calm evening where the horizon flamed in golden lights and chilly breeze playfully whistled in our ears. As short-lived yet soulful our Rara’s affair was from Murma Top, night inevitably fell and it was time to head back.

Put your race face on! Asian Enduro Series comes to Nepal!

The first edition of the Asian Enduro Series scheduled for April 7 to 9, 2016 in Nepal, will see seven awesome stages in the hills of Nagarkot along the eastern outskirts of the capital Kathmandu. Riding conditions are just about perfect this time of the year where the trails are dry and the weather sunny yet cool. When you combine legendary beauty of Nagarkot, one of the highest points surrounding Kathmandu valley, you get a racing experience laced with formidable action and exotic oriental culture.

The valley below appears to stretch infinitely into the hazy oblivion over which floats gigantic rolling hills. In the northern horizon lies Nepal’s crown jewels – snowcapped mountains in their vivid glory. Hear holy bells toll in ancient Hindu temples and smell sweet incense from early morning prayers at Buddhist monasteries as you ricochet past devotee, and make head turns swerving, jumping and dropping. Notwithstanding, there’s no room for distraction, however beautiful the sight, shredding Nagarkot in race mode. The trails ahead indeed quite demand our undivided attention throughout.

There are seven stages in the race to include a mix of jeep tracks, single tracks and some technical stretches. Starting from the lush greenery of Nagarkot’s tower on the first race day, we head down on flowy yet thrilling downhills to reach the base of the hill before transitioning on uphill pedalling sections to start of the next stage. A couple of transitions will follow shuttle service. The trails cut through a mix of forests, countryside settlements and farmlands which will make the experience as rich as the race is challenging.

The race is expected to see participants from all over the world and Gnarly is eagerly looking forward to making Asian Enduro Series – Nepal 2016 a raving success and a worthwhile experience for athletes, professional and amateur alike. The trails are marked and the mood for some adrenaline-packed riding is all set to introduce the Himalayan nation of Nepal as a solid enduro destination.