The boring but necessary logistical challenges all came off without a hitch; finding and then transporting a bike-sized cardboard box on the back of said bike; checking-in to a flight with 60 kg of stuff, 100% more than allowed; rebuilding the bike in the middle of an airport.
I now sit surrounded by Tibetan monks being looked over by the Dalai Lama rather than Ayatollahs and Imams Khamenei and Khomeini. Most people are Hindu, Sikh or Buddhist. The air is wet, my mouth doesn't get dry in 3 breaths. Everything is green, and in English, and people nod their head sideways. I've been soaked by early monsoon rains, and nearly expired climbing 400m vertically in 2 miles. I'm in McLeodganj, above Dharamsala, the home of the Tibetan government in exile. Last week I was in Tehran, the capital of an Islamic Republic. Fundamentally, through all the differences, the people are still people, most are still good. Everyone still bloody beeps.
My first ever ride on a motorbike - Royal Enfield, dirt road, Himalayas (concentrating)
Sun set at Mcllo
Golden Temple, Amritsar
Resting Sikh with dagger
Henna, Pakistan-India border (the closest we could get)
Crazy border closing ceremony, Wagah
The mud-brick streets of Yazd
Our desert hosts back in IranI must apologise for the briefness but beer and the World Cup (or preferably the Tour de France) await. More soon!
