As a kid, I was never given a top end bike. What I was given was a bike. That was enough. A pair of wheelers, after the stabilisers were removed, working horseshoe brakes. A seat. Handlebars and no gears. I’d be a teenager before I discovered gears and front suspension via our Asa’s Raleigh Activator mountain bike. In my secondary school days, Mum worked hard to give me a brand new Falcon mountain bike.
I don’t remember the Falcon’s model name, but I quickly nicknamed it the Millennium Falcon. This Star Wars-inspired nickname was apt as the year 2000 would soon be upon us. Not that I cared, Dan, Pete, and I were off riding our chicken chasers wherever they’d take us. We’d ride Stockport Town centre, rich for empty hills, Lyme Park for the mud and glory, or the High Peak Canal to Buxworth because it was all there.
Over time, a succession of bikes came and went. Gerry Sheilds in Failsworth, as a friend of Grandad, and later Gerry’s son helped regularly. I had long ago learned that Evans and Hal-frauds were not the impassioned maintenance experts needed to keep a bicycle on track. Chris Shields provided a lovely Speeder hybrid by Merida, and its £1500 price tag in 2008-ish was not particularly comforting on the pocket. It served me well, exploring Essex, Norfolk, and the North West of England. A good bike enables confidence and exploration.
Fast forward to China, and after trying a crap Giant bike, I switched to a Merida 500 Duke and then a Merida Challenger, number not recalled. The latter was too short, but in China, frames were rarely available in large. I needed extra large. It did a job. The two Merida shops in Changping and Dalingshan did their absolute best to make the Dongguan Express its greatest available cycling experience. So much so that I even exported the ill-fitting bike back to the U.K. in 2022. Yesterday, it was donated via a bike shop to a better home.
That bike shop is, Never Mind The Bike Shops, and to be honest at first, the dated website looked cack. Bright but framed in the hypertext equivalent of antiquity. The colour scheme was eye-catching. The name definitely had my attention. I read on. I decided to investigate further. Before long, in summer 2023, I’d replaced one rupture machine for an Orro grit bike with some customisation. Inevitably, the 100 miles of weekly commutes necessitated a full service. That and shearing a pedal off. Later, it was upgraded to feature Burgtec pedals, made in Macclesfield. The quirky bike shop ran by Martin Dallaghan and Hutch is one of the very best community and independent bike suppliers I’ve ever encountered.
I’d use this bike shop over others for their dedication, experience, and expertise. And still, the ride goes on. So, where to ride next?
Tal (1700m) was over a hill. By over the hill, I mean very far away and plenty of up, up, up. Not a hint of what Tal would look like because ultimately some very large geological features were doing a good job of screening the beyond. After some really emotional digging in we were back on the pathway, Livia and I, walking with Srirang not far behind. The few restaurants and hotels along the way were closed, and water had to be gained from river feeds into pipes, and then straight into the Life Straw bottle. Clean and fresh. The great sinister and prophesying slopes ahead didn’t encourage but we dug in. On reaching the top we had an eagle’s eye view into Tal, with an eagle flying beneath us over a wide valley plain and lake within the Marsyangdi River. The overlooking stone gate faced onto Tal. We toyed with how long before Srirang would arrived but decided the best thing was to find somewhere to eat. A gent introduced himself, and told us that his lodge was sadly under repair. His friend from Jagat, at Mont Blanc Hotel, had recommended his sister’s lodge. We said, not to worry, and carried on. We went all the way to the farthest point of the village, Paradise Lodge on his recommendation. Here we ordered food and fussed a local dog that followed us. The pumpkin soup and momos were brilliant. Well needed after that wander, The widened-valley stretched across the banks of the river beneath with a stone plain giving home to the village of Tal. Behind it the Tal waterfalls plummeted downwards powering a turbine or two.
After a cup of milky coffee, the weakest coffee ever, but warm and sweet, Srirang walked up the garden path. He did not have his backpack. He said he’d checked into Tashi Delek Lodge (named after a Tibetan greeting). We retreated back there and dropped our bags in. The girl at the lodge had wide Tibetan eyes, wonderfully smooth hair and a figure to die for. I seldom judge someone as breath-taking at first sight. She was. And, without appearing like a debauched foreigner, I politely thanked her for showing me to the wide room, and she slid away quietly. A man I assumed to be her father, and a woman who was clearly her mother shuffled around the garden and lodgings in the start of the Manang district. Before a wander out, we ordered our dinners and dal bhat was on the menu once again.
Before dinner, Livia, Srirang and our new Kukura (कुकुर – a dog) – abandoned Livia’s impressive learning of Nepali language and we went to see the waterfall, lit up by several bulbs and enjoyed the setting sun over the snow-capped mountain ranges of the west. To our north up the Marsyangdi River, cold clouds gathered and swirled. To the south, similar clouds menacingly eddied and flowed over distant peaks. We looked at pictures of a spider and Livia, with Srirang set about creating a kind of social media profile photo montage. The day had been epic in terms of the scale and ravines witnessed, with such dramatic sweeping scenery accompanying us along the way. Following steep stones and vast drops, a few photos of an eight-legged critter seemed fitting. The big and small, side by side.
The following morning blue skies greeted us all. I’d woken around 7am but we departed closer to 10.30am. Why rush? Armed with a stodgy breakfast we set off early, having chewed on buckwheat bread, omelettes and porridge. The beautiful girl waved us goodbye. The river bent north-west, and we followed the banks, as the valleys once again enclosed the Marsyangdi River. After only a short distance the river pointed north, and we looked upstream at gaping valleys. But, first we enjoyed a smooth and calm waterfall on our right shoulders. Livia washed her hair and Srirang rested for a while. I plodded up the stairs slowly at first and then having reached a crest, decided I’d trot on a little. The valley below deepened and over the river the road slipped lower below me. The mountains above me cast shadows and sunlight broke through the occasional pockets of bamboo forestry. Here the plants became more deciduous than before, with the air temperature hovering just below teens in centigrade. Sound thundered up from the deep va
lley beneath. After passing the first yak of the journey I found the small village of Karte. That was an ideal break point after some knee-stress-inducing steps on the route so far. As my lunch of pumpkin soup and momos was readied, I walked over the suspension bridge and back. By 12.50pm, I was at Karte, and now I had met the sister of a certain doggy back in Tal. Her puppies were nearby too. I sat and enjoyed the views and had a quick gander on the internet, via the lodge’s wi-fi. Here I read an 
h here. The so-called Gandaki Zone of northern Nepal. Just across the river a further 102 houses, house about four times as many people as front doors. The village of Thonje can be reached by a swinging suspension bridge. A river valley to the north-east gives Thonje a headland sandwiching it to the north-west by the Marsyangdi River. The north-easterly direction to Tilche and a village called Goa looked cold and uninviting. The name Thonje means ‘pine trees growing on a flat place’ in Gurung language.
An hour’s climb up a near vertical cliff-hugging pathway is not the best thing to do for a late breakfast. But, it had to be done. That vertical line of suspension bridge was calling out my name. Eventually I reached the steep-faced village of 
ed the soup moments later. After thanking the owner and their family, I swiftly wandered around the bend, shuffled by two bulls blocking the path and skipped on forwards. To walk on a very-raised footbridge was my intention. The pathway descended and Annapurna could be seen across the opposite valley and way off into the distance.
AGAINST THE FLOW OF TRAFFIC - ACTON28.BLOG 