Last Nepal post, I promise

It's getting to the point where these vacation posts are rather orphaned out here in the middle of December. But since this blog is little more than my personal scrapbook, I wanted to post a few pictures from our post-race time in Nepal. All four of us — Beat, me, Steve, and Martina — were more wrecked from the 220-kilometer stage race than I think any of us anticipated. Before the trip, we had discussed the possibility of a fast-trek to Annapurna Base Camp, but decided that two big treks in two weeks may be more than our bodies could handle. Although in some ways I wish we'd just rallied to do it, in truth it would have been a terrible idea. Steve had Achilles problems, Martina had foot pain that made it a struggle to walk around town, I was wasting away, and Beat was just sick of all of us (I kid, I kid.) Ascending to 17,000 feet in the space of three to four days, in our condition, likely would have been a disaster.

Instead, we toured the popular spots around Pokhara, and it admittedly was fun to be a true tourist for a few days. The above photo is the World Peace Pagoda, which was constructed by Japanese Buddhist monks to  promote — surprise — world peace. It is a beautiful structure, built on a ridge above Phewa Tal with fantastic views of the valley. However, increasing cloudiness throughout the week prevented us from ever seeing another real glimpse of the Annapurna Range.

We hiked up to Sarangkot, another point on a ridge about 2,500 feet above Pokhara. The hike felt short and sweet after RTP Nepal, and we stopped for a lunch of momos and soda at the top. True luxury.

Sarangkot is also a popular spot for paragliders. A "suburb" of Pokhara called Lakeside and Phewa Tal are shown below.

There was also the inevitable touristing around Lakeside, where we actually wandered through crowds, went into shops, and purchased souvenirs (I never really got the hang of enjoying this, but I did try.)

After a few days in Pokhara, we climbed into another (slightly less death-defying) taxi for a ride down to Chitwan National Park, located in the subtropical lowlands of southern Nepal.

We stayed at the Chitwan Jungle Lodge, which had the amusing perk of elephant safaris. Because Chitwan is so dense and undeveloped, elephants are actually the only "vehicles" that can navigate the terrain. (People on foot can as well, of course, but park officials —soldiers with guns — don't allow tourists to hike beyond lodge grounds out of fear they'll be stomped by rhinos or eaten by tigers.) The lodge employs domesticated elephants from India to haul the tourists around the jungle and look for wild animals, which sometimes include wild elephants. We saw a rhinoceros, a crocodile, fresh tiger tracks (no tiger), and lots of deer, birds and warthog. Nothing that I was able to capture with a decent photograph. Riding elephants through the jungle was definitely a highlight of the trip, and allowed me to live out my childhood "Indiana Jones" fantasies. Yes, we did feel uneasy about the use of elephants as pack animals. However, the elephants at the tourist lodges appear healthy and well-treated, and the flow of tourism dollars does promote continued protection of the national park and the endangered animals therein from the lucrative poaching industry. It's certainly a double-edged sword.

But perhaps even more than the elephant rides and rhino sighting, the highlight of Chitwan Jungle Lodge was this pair: a 2-year-old cat and her mongoose "kitten." The story of how they came together is simultaneously tragic and touching. When the mongoose was just a few days old, lodge employees found him alone and apparently orphaned. They brought him back to the lodge and fed him scraps of food until he was healthy enough to move around on his own. It was during this time that the cat gave birth to a litter of kittens, which the young mongoose found and killed. The cat, either grieving or confused, began to nurse the mongoose as though he was her own kitten. The two have apparently been inseparable ever since. The cat brings the mongoose snakes and rodents, cleans him, and cuddles with him. We watched them play together numerous times.

And the mongoose, now six months old, has grown up thinking he's a cat. He behaves in very cat-like ways, prowling around the lodge grounds and slurping up the dregs of beer glasses. He especially likes to cozy up on guests' laps and fall asleep. It was all very cute and cuddly until he yawned, revealing a row of razor-sharp, cobra-slaying teeth.

We spent our last day in Nepal back in Kathmandu, where we sprung for a room at the Hyatt because honestly, we were all becoming a little weary of third-world charm (and traffic.) We walked to the Boudhanath Stupa, a large Buddhist temple surrounded by more than fifty Tibetan monasteries. It's become the central location for Tibetan refugees in Nepal, and also the most popular tourism site in Kathmandu.

Nepal certainly was the trip of a lifetime, and I loved being there. I'd go back in a heartbeat even if it included the guarantee that I'd have to fight "The Bug" all over again. Someday I will return to the Himalayas.

Reverse culture shock

I underdressed, again. Say what you will about the lack of winter in coastal California, but when the air temperature is 41 degrees and a brisk 15 mph wind is whipping along a bald ridge, it's cold. But of course the California sun has lulled me into a sense of complacency, so here I am, up on Black Mountain with the Fatback, trying to slap some life back into my rigid fingers, again. If Fatty Fatback had a personality he'd probably be silently laughing at the poetic justice of my discomfort, trapped as he is in a land without snow.

I steamrolled over some rocks and launched down the fall-line, mowing over clumps of grass on a faint deer trail. The cold wind tore through my meager layers and chilled the beads of sweat on my skin. I mashed the pedals as the contour turned upward, and topped out with an even better view of sunset. Wispy clouds, golden haze, and the distant mirror of the Pacific Ocean reflecting fire from the sun. Squinting into the sunlight, I failed to see a herd of grazing deer until they erupted from the grass mere meters away, then raced down the ridge. I scanned the sloping meadow for a good place to drop toward Indian Creek but thought better of it, because it is illegal to be in this park after dark, and this is still highly-regulated coastal California. No more off-roading today; the sunset view would have to do. I touched my frozen feet to the ground and smiled, because it was worth it.

The reverse culture shock I'd been experiencing since I returned from Nepal was finally starting to fade. I think most people who travel through a developing nation experience this to some extent. At first there is relief ("Wow, look how smooth these roads are. So strange not to have motorcycles buzzing around on all sides as diesel trucks bear down on you.") Then there is the sense of novelty. ("Wow, there's so much fresh produce in this one store, and I don't need to haggle with a guy pushing a cart full of tangerines.") Then comes guilt. ("Why do I have so many bicycles? I met a young man in Nepal who walked three hours to work because he couldn't afford any other form of transportation. I should start a charity that raises funds to give sturdy work bicycles to families in Nepal.") Then comes a kind of cultural despair, which can happen when you return from a place where people do so much with so little, to a place where you can't go to Target for cat litter without finding yourself fully submerged in a mad holiday frenzy. ("I watched men building a stone levee with their hands, hoisting huge boulders and hammering them into place, in an effort to divert monsoonal flooding that had killed several people in their village. That was the human spirit. This is insanity.") Then, finally, acceptance. ("I have so many opportunities. I'm free to ride my fat bike any time I want. I really am lucky to live here.")

So I returned to my routine, still grateful for my opportunities back home, still enthralled with the landscape and people of Nepal, still disturbed by holiday excess. Normal life returned to me quickly, but I did spend more time thinking how I could better strike a balance in my own world, and how I could find a way to add a few of my own stones to that life-saving levee. Not because I believe Nepalis — or frenzied holiday shoppers — need saving. People can do a lot with a little if they have to. And people with a lot can do a little if they want to. I can do a little. I can contribute where I can, and on the homefront, I can focus my energy toward the world I want to live in. Be the change I want to see, so to speak.

Bicycling is always a great place to start.

Nepal gear round-up

I wanted to post a wrap-up of some of the gear I used during the 220 kilometers of Racing the Planet Nepal, and my thoughts on why it worked (or didn't work.) It's not comprehensive and, as with all gear "reviews" should be taken for the highly subjective and personal opinions they are.

RaidLight Runner R-Light Backpack; holds 30 liters, weighs 690 grams: Raidlight designed this backpack specifically for adventure and long-distance endurance racing, and Racing the Planet sells it directly from its Web site. So it's become the prominent pack at many RTP events, for good reason. It's light, it's decently robust, it has space for lots of stuff, and it has strategic pockets that allow the wearer to access water bottles, food, drugs, and cameras without having to wrestle with the pack. It definitely passed my "Jill-proof" test, meaning I overstuffed it often and hiked and ran many miles with it in Europe, California and Nepal, and nothing broke (and believe me, I am not gentle nor do I have a good track record with longevity in my gear.) It doesn't have a frame, which I prefer for any sort of running. I also own a similarly sized Osprey Stratos backpack that does have a frame. I have taken the Stratos on a couple of fastpacking trips in which I ran for only a few miles, and still ended up with painful sores on my shoulders and hips. With the Raidlight, I tightened the hip and breast straps and let the pack hang loosely off my shoulders, the way I often do with my packs when cycling. Experienced packers may question this strategy but it worked great for me. Even packed with up to 27 pounds of gear, water and food, the Raidlight remained comfortable and didn't cause any chaffing in an entire week. (I did have to tighten the shoulder straps to prevent bouncing whenever I was running 5 mph or faster.) I would definitely use it again on a multi-night fastpacking trip. I already know I can hold seven days worth of food, clothing, rain gear, sleeping gear, and other supplies with this pack. It wouldn't be much of a stretch to add a nine-ounce bivy or lightweight shelter. (I already know I won't be adding a stove. I'll explain why later in this post.)

Black Diamond Ultra-Distance Z-Poles: length 120 centimeters, weigh 9.5 ounces. I love these poles. Seriously. Beat and I purchased them on a whim while browsing the Anchorage REI mere hours before the 2011 Susitna 100, because we were worried about the slog factor caused by all the new snow the region had received that day. Those poles all but carried me the last 50 miles of the Su100, and continued to provide ample balance and knee support on many good hikes afterward. When they disappeared high on Testa Grigia in Italy, I nearly cried. But then Beat bought me a new pair for ... Halloween (awesome guy that he is, no special occasion needed) ... and I had the privilege of using them in Nepal. These carbon poles are both light and strong, with a simple but robust inner-cord support system that allow them to collapse small enough to fit inside the Raidlight without falling apart. They also feature comfy foam grips, hand straps and all-around awesomeness. I really am a fan. 

Brooks Cascadia shoes: These were another remnant of my early days of running, in that they were my main training shoe for the fall and winter of 2010-2011, and were a close second to the Hokas during spring and summer. Yes, they were the same pair of shoes and yes, they had a ton of miles on them (I don't keep track, but the soles were almost worn clean through.) I realize that using such a worn pair of shoes in a long endurance race was a gamble, but they had been so comfortable and provided such great traction on loose and muddy terrain, that I was willing to take the risk. (I was also aware that a lot of the miles in RTP Nepal would be spent hiking, even if I remained healthy, which I didn't.) Great shoes. I finally tossed them out in Kathmandu but recently purchased a new pair (the latest version is signal green color, which I dislike, but what can you do? They hook you first and then they the foist bad colors on you.)

Ridge Rest So-lite; length 72 inches, weighs 14 ounces: I chose the Ridge Rest over my inflatable Thermarest because of the higher R-Value, or insulation factor, and the fact that closed-cell foam can't burst and leave you really miserable at night. Also, I am usually a stomach sleeper, so the softness of the pad isn't as important to me as long as I have a good pillow for neck and shoulder support (I made one out of coats and a stuff sack.) The main thing I seek in a sleeping pad is insulation from the cold ground, which a full-length Ridge Rest provides in all conditions. The So-lite had an added benefit of an aluminum surface that reflects body heat. Whether or not this makes a difference, I don't know. But I have slept on a Ridge Rest comfortably when temperatures reached 35 below, and it is now and probably will forever be my go-to backpacking pad as long as space allows.

RAB Quantum Endurance 400 sleeping bag; length 6 feet 6 inches, weighs 2 pounds 1 ounce: These 850-fill down bags are rated to 25 degrees, so we remained warm and comfy during those long, sick nights in camp. We also were grateful for the weather-proof exterior. Every night, the cheap Coleman tents collected so much condensation on the poorly ventilated walls and roof that it would literally rain inside the tent during the early hours of the morning. We were able to just shake all the droplets off our bags in the morning, while our poor tentmates had to pack up their own soaked bags and hope they reached the next camp in time to dry them out in the sun. Despite the relatively high humidity and keeping it packed in a water-proof stuff sack, my bag was always dry when I unpacked it in the evening. Which was a good thing, because I only once made it to camp before the sun sank behind the mountains.

DriDucks Duralight Rainsuit; weighs 11 ounces. Cheap, ultralight, waterproof, breathable. To those descriptors, you can also add ugly and easily torn, but my pair held up just fine. They're constructed with triple-layer, porous polypro fabric. Thanks to the perfect weather, we mainly used these rainsuits to stay warm in camp, where temperatures dropped as low as 33 degrees, and also for warmth while hiking in the morning and after dark during the long stage. It's actually one of the most breathable yet warm raincoats I've ever worn. And although we didn't test them in wet conditions, the coat has received mostly good reviews for its waterproof capabilities. At $45 for the pair, that's hard to beat. Basically a reusable disposable rainsuit.

Expedition food; 800 calories, weighs 6.2 ounces. Anyone who read my novel of a race report knows that my food was a huge FAIL for me. I carried several pounds of these expensive meals that I never ate. I still believe this largely had to do with my illness and unintentional cleansing of my already oversensitive digestive system. But I also think it carries an important lesson about finding the foods that specifically work for you, and not just doing what everyone else does. I am not a good eater; under endurance duress, I literally cannot eat high-fat or high-protein foods (unless those fats are accompanied by a large volume of sugar ala peanut butter cups. Go figure.) If I do force them down, I often have to endure digestive discomfort and even outright rejection of the food. I haven't made these types of foods work for me yet. I either need to accept that my body seems unable to process larger percentages of proteins and fats even in slower, longer endurance situations, and carry mainly carbohydrates, or I need to spend a lot more time getting my body used to processing fats on the go. Beyond this, there is the smaller issue that I really do think most backpacking-friendly camp food is gross. I am not a "hot food in camp" kind of a person, and yes I realize this puts me in an extreme minority. On my next fastpacking trip, I will bring bagels. I will make the space. It's better to eat something, anything, than nothing at all. Trust me.