No Bananas: Weirder is India

Before I left for India I new it was going to be an experience of a life time. When pitching a story to a magazine they want an angle to know where the story might be going. Unfortunately the way I travel tends to be more about getting there than the actual destination. Or it's the strangeness of the destination that makes the traveling more unpredictable. Going to the other side of the world could be judged to be the extreme of the travel page. In the end I ended up physically where I predicted, but was taken on a whole other journey that tested my mental, physical and social constructs.

I'm embarrassed to say that the Khachendzonga MTB Expedition turned out to be amazing despite it being a total joke of an organized race. True there was good racing going on, but as far as being compared to what other stage race participants might expect, it was like buying a box of Lucky Charms and getting rice inside.

India is technically an english speaking country, but don't let that fool you into thinking that communication is easy. I'm wondering how much of that was an issue with the person I had been in contact with through out the planning of the trip and the race. In exchange for my help in promoting the race in the US, the promoter had promised to pay my entry and my airfare to the race. Seemed like a sweet deal. To sweet.

Remember nothing is free. Upon arrival in India the promised transportation wasn't there. One of the most daunting things is being in a foriegn airport with a language gap, tons of luggage and no idea what to do next. I called Saroj, he talked to the tourism guy there, gave him an address and we prepaid at the taxi booth for the destination. As our taxi wadded its way through the Delhi traffic, past three wheeled vehicles, pedi-cabs and burning trash our driver got a call from the organizer, who proceeded to tell me that there was a problem with the pre-arranged accomodations. Instead we were taken to an expensive hotel and left till the morning trip back to the domestic airport for our next flight.

On top of this introduction to the subcontinant, we were on an 11 hour jet lag. The hotel had what was to be the last bath tub we would see for the next three weeks. A surreal walk through the back streets to a market area was our next task in a search for food. A few moments of calm was welcome. Then I check emails and got a message from Doug who was a day ahead of us saying that the promised shuttle from the next airport to the race start wasn't there and they didn't even know about the race. This was starting to look ominous. My heart was sinking and I was wondering what I had gotten my friends into.

At least we were prepared for the next day's trip and welcome in Bagdogra. Courtney and I grabbed a taxi to the next town over to get our Permits into Sikkim, but found the office closed when we got there. The next step was to grab one of the waiting trucks to ride to the Sikkim boarder and get the permit there and maybe sleep.

When a foriegner in another country it always feels like someone is trying to get more out of you and the need to be on guard is mentally fatiquing, but we payed our $8, climbed into the back of the truck and realized that we didn't get the 3 person bench to ourselves but had to share it with 2 others, making the honda RAV sized suv an 11 passenger car.

Luck had us in a truck full of helpful people, and when ever there was a snafu they sort of just made our next trip decision for us. It was interesting how when a problem has to be tackled, people will gather and discussion will begin. All of this in another language, so we were left on the outside looking into our destiny. At the Sikkim boarder we had to get out, walk across a floodlight lit bridge through a wet road as if it was the DMV. It turns out that the state we were leaving, West Bengal, was suffering from some bird flu outbreak, which kept our chicken and egg consumption on the rare side for the next three weeks.

Courtney and I had originally decided to break the trip up and not travel all the way to Gantok, but we also realized that when traveling going with the flow is essential, so when the pasengers decided we should go all the way, who were we to argue. Since it was night time for most of the trip we were denied the pleasure of seeing what we were getting ourselves into. The one thing that was recognizable was the snaking lines of wildfires rippling up mountainsides. Ominous foreshadowing? Fortunatly one of the passengers was affiliated with a hotel, so at about 11:30pm we found ourselves in front of the Manul Inn. Unknown at the time was that this was to become our base for the rest of the trip, due to our incredible host.

Awake in the morning we are greated with a pleasent little room, sun streaming in and a hazy sky that prevented any views. Bummer since we had expected to have the third highest mountain looming in our peripheals the whole visit.

I guess it was time to change the perspective.......

Incredible India

I don't have time to really get in to it now. I'm still in India, recovering from the race.

Here is the short of it.

I won

Corrupt organizers

Beauracratic weasels

Media explosions

http://www.sikkimexpress.com/archives19.htm#31

Today we start

We couldn't wait to leave Delhi, but not sure that we ever want to leave Sikkim. Just about the friendliest police state ever.

We are taking off today for the start. I can't some it up here but maybe a haiuku will help.

Chance in eleven

person box, no choice is ours.

Eggs not allowed.

A place of Contradictions; Cliche, cliche

As I'm reading up on my immanent trip to India, over and over the reference books warn you/ me to be prepared for a land of contradictions. Bustling cities/ Empty country sides, Wealthy middle classes/ extreme poverty. Hot/cold, Spicy/ mild.

Cows in the streets, religious groups that let vultures carry the dead away. Tibetan refugees in lands where plastic bags are confiscated at the boarder as if it's a smutty magazine in church.

Interact with nothing but your butt with your left hand and green and yellow are lucky colors, instead of a sign of vomiting.

Men hold hands with each other and women are both leaders of the country and at one time encouraged to throw themselves on their dead husband's funeral pyre.

The list goes on. That's not my list. It's my research. I'm leaving final conclusions on hold.

From what I just heard, no India Currency is allowed to leave the country.

I'm excited to get to know another culture.

The race is from March 20th-29th. Keep your eye out.
www.sikkimmtb.com

Attacked by Animals: Returned to Earth

I like to travel. Usually its a chance to step outside myself, be a fly and watch the world do it's own buzzing. Now that I've given myself sufficient distance from the month of February I think history is ready to reveal the success that the month was for me. Like the former president I like to think that time will be the true judge of a life traveled in haste.
Being that it was bitterly cold in the northeast with sub double digits temperatures and I had a growing intolerance for my beard, layers and frozen dish sponges, it was time to go south. I decided to make the trip serve multiple duties. One: do the second Snake Creek Gap race on Feb 7th. Two: Have a mini training camp in Asheville with IFers. Three: Visit all the family members that I have been pissing off by not stopping by and saying hi during hurried trips through their areas. Four: Race the 12 hours of Santos in Florida. Five: Get some tan lines that you could use as a straight edge. Six: Gather up my Lady friend and have a romantic drive up the East coast back to the big chill.

It's a BUI warning sign in NC.

Asheville NC was my first stop on Friday night to meet up with Sam Koerber to join forces in driving to the Snake creek gap race. After much committing and recommitting to going tonight, then in the morning, then no tonight, actually in the morning. We slept for a good 4 or five hours before waking up in time to make the drive and catch a shuttle to the race start. It was still cold but I went with shorts and short sleeves to psyche out all the comp. I had high hopes for a sub 2:50 time, since master trash talker, Bruce Dickman, had challenge me with a stay at the Mulberry Gap lodge as incentive.
Well Sam and Thomas decided to leave me to my musings in the first 30 min and I found myself wishing I was skipping stones on cripple creek. With three people in front of me I was thinking I was the biggest turd for thinking I could break 2:50, much less get top three. Then I was tweeking the bean thinking about the fact that it's only Feb. "Why am I going this hard?!!"

I barely caught Tim Carson before the final 6 miles and was a little happy to at least be sitting in 3rd place, but that guy is persistant like a street lamp shining at your eyeballs through the window while couch surfing at someones house.

Well with that race out of the way and me 2 min shy of my one goal in life, I decided to head back to Asheville with Sam and start getting to know some of the new IF team members. I went directly to Kylie Krauss's house and rendezvoused with Kylie and Kyle and got ready to come eyeball to eyeball with my first one-eyed cat.

He's not really a pegleg.
Chedder's care taker, Kylie

Asheville was a visit, where I finally got a chance to feel like the traveling fly I want to be.
Staying on Kylie's couch with Kyle, we got to be in attendence of a deep frying marathon birthday party, a couple steller mountain rides, some dumpster diving, scotch drinking,
race strategerizing and my newest favorite hobby; cast iron cooking.

Kylie's house mates had the cast iron cooking down to a "T" (as in the golden love that is southern sweet tea.) I knew my cosmic energies were lining up when, a few days later, my visit to one particularly neglected Aunt resulted in a found dutch oven on her property as we were doing a walk around. She lovingly took it back inside, scrubbed out the rust and reseasoned it for me. A symbol of our familial tie reseasoning.
I got ahead of myself here. Directly after Asheville I drove to my Granmothers outside of Fort Walton Beach Florida. After a long drive, my Gandmother was still up with a glass of Scotch in one hand and food wating for me in the kitchen.

A full nights sleep and a full gut, fueled me up for my ride to an Aunts house in Alabama about 90 miles away. A headwind of about 10mph fought me on the ride there, as well as the horror that riding highway 98 for 40 miles through Pensacola can be. Heavy traffic, navy fighter planes screaming by over head and the accelerated heartbeat thump of low flying military helicopters, make for a sensory overload. Strange that my city life hasn't desensitized me to these external anxiety machines. Fortunately the last 40ish miles were in Alabama.
I never thought I'd think to myself "thank god I'm in Alabama". The roads there were clear, calm, rolling and bereft of white noise. Each car that came by actually possessed a moment in time, standing out as a significant event.

It's travels and such.

Rain can't take away the Barrons

When there ain't nowhere else to go, visit the Jersey Devil in the Pine Barrens of NJ.
This was a rest, but the Official orange trail crosses the sandy roads, and gives 20miles of only singletrack.

Then there was Tustle at the Trestle. Forgot about that. This is what it looks like when cleaning up after.

What fun

Merry Holidays: Junkyard Cross

photo of me courtesy of lockwood @ www.bittergravity.com

Tis the season for unofficial racing. Hola FatMarc!

Glove Love. Pink Punks no More

My current glove collection has no redundancy in glove applications. Currently at 21 pairs complete.

This past weekend included FifthStreetCross, where I defended Belgian Night, a trip to Michaux with my tire and saddle sponsor man Dain from WTB and his tag along Mark Weir, as well as Mr. Cushionbury from Bicycling. We were on our way to Dirt Rag's Punk Bike Enduro. West coasters got a taste of Pennsylvania's punishing winter weather, trails and jumbo buffalo wings.
Some how I was the only one who didn't wake up in the middle of the night vomiting.

Michaux

Maurice's pinball machine. One of many.