KMT Tour of the Himalayas

I've been promising to start a blog for a while but have never really got round to it. Actually that’s a lie - I've never really thought that my musings would interest people, or that I had much to say but I figure now I have.

I've just returned from a trip. I’m still struggling to summarise the trip, running out of superlatives to describe it. The current fashion for the term 'epic' has seen its overuse, along with words like 'legendary' and 'awesome' (although the later probably only by myself normally followed by dude – I’m pretty retro). But I’m reckoning I could use them all here. It was an epic, legendary and awesome trip.

It started with an email, not to me, to a friend. It was from the impressive XC racer Mel Alexander to my friend and colleague Hannah Reynolds and was on the lines of "hey, can you come and race your bike in the Himalayas?” Hannah was already booked up that week leading a group of riders across Europe for Quick Release Holidays, but knowing my adventurous nature passed the email over. I swiftly emailed the organiser asking if they still needed ladies and two weeks later I, along with my friend Louise Mahe (who I cajoled into doing the race) were boarding a flight to Islamabad.

Getting to the other end and realising that our bikes hadn't made the flight was disappointing. We were promised to be reunited with them in a couple of days, so in the meantime we just tried to chill out and acclimatise to our new abode.

We were based up in the Kaghan Valley, a gruelling nine hour bus transfer from the city. It was the area that had been significantly impacted by the 2006 earth quakes, which saw many local people lose their lives, livelihoods and homes. It was why we were there; to raise awareness of the Kaghan Memorial Trust, a charitable organisation set up in the wake of the quake to raise funds for the local school which gives free education to local children.

The three day mountain bike race had participants from across the world. A total of 42 international riders would race across some of the most spectacular yet hardest off road routes they’d ever know. With one of the stages taking riders up to above 4000mtrs, it was easy to see this was going to be a tough race.

Louise and I had been asked to race for two Pakistani teams, who needed female riders as they were short on women who could ride - I would love to know if there are any Pakistani female riders who we could contact about racing in the future.

Despite much of the earthquake devastation still obvious, there was no denying the beauty of the area. The gently inclining valley road had been twisted and pleated by the shock of the quake, so now was a combination of smooth concrete and dirt track, peppered in places by rock and boulders from recent landslides. It wasn't driving for the faint hearted, but the white water river and magnificent mountains that towered either side of the road meant that although a slightly sweaty palmed drive - it was totally worth it. 

We were staying close to the Silk Road, that led further up into the Himalayas, eventually bordering the far east countries of China and India. It was easy to see the Chinese influence on arrival at our first hotel, with the peaked tin roof and open plan layout.

It was also an area that wasn't particularly accustomed to western tourism and erring on the side of caution, we constantly had protection. I was surprised as to how swiftly I had adjusted to our armed guards casually draped in AK47's, like some kind of en vogue fashion accessory. 

The lack of freedom impacted me more. As a westerner we take our liberty for granted, and think we all were saddened and frustrated with the need to be shadowed 24/7 - but our hosts insisted that our safety was always paramount, so we eventually even adjusted to the constant engine revving of the jeeps always just behind us on rides.

After a day of rest, Louise and I were itching to ride. Our bikes still hadn't arrived but there were some spare bikes belonging to the Trust which, with a bit of spannering, were good to go or so we thought.... Louise had packed most of her bike gear in her bike box, but undeterred headed out in some kit I lent here and a pair of trainers.

We rode out with the other early arrivers to the race (most of the racers would arrive the next day) in the pouring rain, along a jeep track along the side of a wooded mountain. It soon became apparent that our bikes could have done with a bit more 'sorting'. My brakes were the first to go, fortunately for me it was a gentle slope with a banked corner, which I aimed for and along with a foot down I was able to stop. Louise wasn't so lucky, she discovered her lack of brakes while descending a steeper section of the track and was unable to avoid a huge rock, which promptly took her out. She's one tough cookie and she tried to continue with just foot braking until the rain and cold also defeated her and she lashed her bike to the front of the jeep to join me.

Apart from the comedy crashing moments, and frustration of not having our own bikes, it was a stark reality check. Much of the Pakistani riders were on similar bikes, which could all have done with a serious overhaul but they were out riding their bikes every day. Hard as nails those guys and totally gained my respect - once more put the trip and my moaning about my own lack of bike and equipment into perspective.

Later that evening, we received a message, via a hairy jeep journey to find a phone signal- which involved the unfortunate demise of a goat (oh the guilt), that our bikes would be waiting for us the next morning at the hotel in Shogran - our home for the next few nights. While others rode to our new accommodation, Louise and I hopped in a jeep and once more had an interesting ride - the kind that sees you nervous laughing and occasionally breathing in or leaning over to one side in an attempt to assist the vehicle's safe passage through gaps or along ledges next to shear drops.

Our bike boxes where a sight for sore eyes! With a record bike build, we set off (naturally followed by a waggon full of gun weilding police) down the mountain with crazy grins of euphoria for being reunited with our bikes. 
The 10km of speedy smiles, soon gave way to gurns of pain as we dragged ourselves back up the climb. It was brutal. The dawning realisation that it was only half of stage one of the race was enough to make me seriously question my sanity for signing up for it in the first place. This was going to be the hardest thing I had ever asked my body to do, I was in a hurtbox just riding up. Racing it was unthinkable.

Putting my self doubt aside, after a shower and finding of hotel rooms, or quant cottages in our case, we met all our fellow riders. Their journey had been pretty crazy in the rain storm, so after relaying travel stories we all opted for an early night, as the next day was going to be a pretty action packed day of riding and visiting the school sports day.

Agreeing a 7am rendezvous, Louise, Mel, Mark and I set out to ride the last 6km or so to Pai; the top of the mountain and the second half of stage one. Unfortunately Louise was struck with a mechanical and was forced to turn back early on. The rest of us continued the steep ascent to what seemed to be the top of the world. If I had thought the first half hard, that was simply a warm up. 

The route turned from road to jeep track almost as soon as we had left the hotel and loose rocks and boulders made the climbing not only hard going but technically challenging, constantly needing to find the sweet spot of rear wheel grip. But after an hour or so of hard breathing, leg caining and my ever increasing frequency of asking 'are we nearly there yet' we eventually reached the 3300mtr summit. Wow - It was breathtaking. One of those views that charges your soul and makes you so grateful that you ride bikes. 

Our view back down the mountain gave us sneak peeks at ribbons of brown trails that looked like they had the potential to be sweet singletrack, but knowing that you are far away from any form of emergency services, makes you ride with caution - especially with my track record, so we played it safe on the way back down - only venturing to explore off the main track once.

A quick turnaround at the hotel and we were descending the main climb once more to attend the Kaghan Memorial School sports day. This was without doubt the highlight of my trip. It blew me away to see the school, with limited facilities doing such an amazing job. The teachers are a mixture of local people and international volunteers. Its mission is to support sustainable long-term development in the earthquake-affected Kaghan Valley in Northern Pakistan by establishing a school that provides free education of a high standard to children from the valley. It was a stark reminder of those who have and have not, and knowing that so many of the children’s family members had perished in the 2006 quake made it even more moving to see the kids being given the opportunity to actually be kids running around at their school sports day.

After a hot afternoon of watching, cheering and an over competitive game of tug-of-war, it was time to ride back up the climb. Even just trying to take it easy was impossible. I was in my smallest gear within five minutes and just had to accept that it was going to hurt like hell for the next hour. The pain of the climb was soon forgotten thanks to an impromptu disco round a bonfire later that night, which saw all riders relax and chill out.

Finally the day before the race came. All bikes had arrived, and were now set up and working. A few of the riders from Team Scotland and England decided to recce the climb up to Pai and others, including myself and Louise, found the only flat-ish route, a narrow jeep track which traversed the mountain. With legs loosened off, we spend the afternoon bike cleaning and fettlling for the start of the race.

Up until now to day had been rather uneventful, well excluding a dislocated elbow and Louise’s near death crash, but on the whole normal. Already in the familiar routine of walking to dinner, a little way from our digs, we were confused upon meeting more police and guards than normal questioning us on our movements. I guess alarm bells should have started ringing, but we were already in race bubble, unaware and cut off from events happening around the world and focusing on racing the next day.

Our meal that night was amazing, a banquet under the stars had be laid on, omitting to give us advance warning meant we were a little cold, and the lack of lights gave to some interesting eating - but it all added to the adventure. Again, thinking back, it did seem strange to have that number of police present. Fellow rider (and friend for life) Lone even thought that who she had spotted were a few guys with instruments and excitedly announced that 'there was a band' only to realise it was the glint of police guns in the moonlight.

After dinner the cold mountain air drove us inside and led us to become slightly impatient about the race timetable for the next day, it was gone 10pm when we were finally assembled and addressed by the race organiser. Expecting the usual race blurb, we were shocked, saddened and totally gutted to hear that due to Pakistan wide protests at a film made offending the Muslim religion planned for the next day, the race had to be cancelled.

We still thought at the time that although we wouldn't be racing that it would be possible to stay on the peaceful mountain and ride bikes. It wasn't until 2am that we were told otherwise. Unbeknown to us, the group had been threatened by local extremists and the only way to secure our safety was to escort us back to Islamabad immediately. The severity of the situation hit me when briskly walking back to our cottage we were met by Special Police who had masked their faces with scarves. This was real.

In less than an hour we'd packed bikes and luggage and we were driven in convoy flanked by armed security and some 70 police at speed back to Islamabad, The journey which had taken us between 9 and 12 hours only days before was completed in less than 5, waved through road block after road block to keep moving as swiftly as possible. . I didn't sleep, yet shut my eyes for most of the journey. Watching the earlier part of the drive had been an error, and I had decided that I didn't want to be aware of how fast or close we were driving to other cars in the convoy. A snatched glimpse of the route, showed an open back waggon with the Special Police, guns poised ready to jump out if needed. It was film like.

Our destination was unknown to all of us, a Government secure compound was all we had been told. As the sun rose we drove through even more secure road blocks. The Pakistani military were now out in force and had strategically placed huge containers across access points. The streets were deserted except for police, the military and ourselves.

As the van we traveled in slowed to a stop, the door was opened and we were lead inside a building. Bags were taken through an x-ray machine and we stepped through an airport style metal detector. Dazed, confused and incredibly tired we were then led to a door which opened to reveal the most surreal sight. The poshest hotel I have ever been to. It turns out we were in the highly guarded 'Red Zone' at the Marriot hotel. We were met with plush decor and the biggest breakfast buffet ever. I can't get over the contrast of our 24hours. Even now, recalling the memory makes me shake my head and think of the extreme polar opposites of where we had come from to here.

We were allocated rooms, Louise, Lone, Monica and I opted to all squeeze into one room – we had already been roomies, but we were now reluctant to let each other out of sight. We slept for a while, and woke up to watch television images of the riots around the city occurring to the live sound track of gun shots. Another vivid memory that will stay with me for life.

It was now that we all subconsciously decided to switch off from events. Worrying and panicking about the situation would have had a real negative impact on us all. It was so out of our control and even access to information was scarce that we just all simply decided to ‘get on with it’. We had later discovered, mainly via communication back home to our families and friends, that 19 people had died in the rioting that was less than a mile away from our plush hotel. News which upset the group as it was hard to grapple with the idea that we in less than 24hrs this peaceful, welcoming and beautiful country and suddenly become scary, unpredictable and violent. Paradise lost.

We passed the next few days in a luxury unknown to most of the riders. We returned to our bubble world, and being competitive by nature, we set about finding daily challenges, such as our three layer human pool pyramid, and an element of routine in gym sessions.

Throughout these days we made friends for life, we had experience situations that would be so hard to explain to others outside of the group. It was like some kind of extreme team bonding, all nations from all over the world. In just the short time we spend together, I would consider them some of the best friends I’ve ever had. I knew that we all had each others back and although our jovial nature through out the event may have seemed blasé, we all knew that we couldn’t crack and that we had to be there for each other.

But for us all the bonding had gaps, the Pakistani riders, who had also fled at the same time, had returned back to their homes. Saying goodbye to a group of amazing riders through the windows of the van at our sudden departure is going to be another life memory. A sad fact of the difference of the passports we owned that we were taken to a secure safe location, and they were to return home to resume lives before racing.

Our returns home have been in stages. I was on the first flight, Louise kindly giving her seat to Monica who needed to return to Germany sooner. As the plane landed in a rainy Manchester late on Sunday night, I confessed that there was a couple of times that I really wasn’t sure if it was going to happen. But it was saying goodbyes that was the hardest and waking up the next morning in our own homes, or at friends and families alone was harsh. I had only been out of the UK for just over a week, but it felt like a life time ago. Many of us spend the day talking to each other on facebook or twitter, clinging on to the memories which without doubt would guide us through life.

So im now home, its not quite over as my bike is still on holiday – but im almost back to routine. Its now I have time to reflect.

I have no doubt that many of you would have read the word ‘Islamabad’ and raised an eyebrow, added to that female and bike riding and come to the equation of ‘what did you expect’?

For the main, I expected a challenge. I expected to ride some of the hardest terrain ever. I expected to meet new people and understand a little more about a cultures and traditions that I knew very little about. What I hadn’t expected was to be welcomed with such warmth by everyone we met, be it the goat herders on the mountains, the children at the school, or the armed guards. Pakistan has a lot we could all learn from. Their inventions, be it a local childs toy made from wire and wood, or make do and mend approach.

I hadn’t expected an armed evacuation and I didn’t expect riots or the death of 19 people. But I also didn’t expect to see communities armed with brooms and bags reclaiming the streets two days after the events. Drawing parallels to the London riots we’d seen only a year ago. It highlighted the fact like with every community, every country, every religion there is good and bad people. I feel for the main Pakistan is full of good, warm and welcoming people – but unfortunately that doesn’t make the news.

As for the race, would I go back? Im not sure – not unless I was very very fit. Yes there were moments of unknown and I suppose fear, but without doubt everyone there were more scared of  living within the confines of fear – we were all pushing our own boundaries in some way shape or form.

My heart goes out to the organisers who spent nearly a year organising the event and the event sponsors Air Blue. The race was meant to help lever much needed funding for the school, but its highly likely that it was now be left out of pocket. My next task is to help raise some money for the trust to help them continue the good work. The Trust’s website gives lots more information on their valuable work. www.kmt.org.pk  

Im also keen to support the Pakistani riders, who’s bikes and equipment could all have done with an upgrade. I know Louise and I would like to send over some of our spare stuff, tyres, cables, brakes and even some unused kit. I’ll be looking into the possible sponsorship of shipping  – so if anyone has an ideas of who to approach I would be grateful to hear from you.

Lastly, thanks to everyone who was there, you all totally rock. It’s been said before, but I’ll say it again – tight for life.