For some reason, the alarm I set in my iPhone for 5:30 this morning did not go off. The return of iOS's previous New Year's alarm problems? Fortunately, Re woke up on her own at about 6:30 am, and sounded an alarm of her own. We rushed around and made it on the road by 7:45 am, showered, but again, without breakfast. The morning was very overcast, but at least it wasn't raining, and again, leaving early allowed us to beat the morning traffic. The six mile or so ride back to the Nh 7 was easy and uneventful, but then we found the Nh 7. The GPS said we'd be on the Nh 7 for about 3.5 miles, and what a 3.5 miles it was. The pavement here was almost unrecognizable, as it was more pothole than asphalt. Some of the potholes were at least a foot deep, and we found ourselves shifting between first and second gears as we climbed in and out of the craters. It took us more than twenty minutes to cover that 3.5 miles.



We eventually turned left onto the Nh12a and were greeted by a strip of bitumen approximately 1.5 lanes wide that was crumbling at the edges. Khajuraho was looking less and less likely with every mile. The edges of the road were gently potholed, but there was a blissfully smooth line right down the middle. For the first thirty miles or so, we were able to keep our speed between 35 and 40 mph and only had to slow occasionally for broken pavement. Then there was a stretch where the pavement was mostly broken, but the potholes were a gentle 1”-3” deep.



After riding through some beautiful farmland, we found ourselves at the foot of a hilly area, where the road once again, became smooth, and 5 mph was doable. The downside was that it had begun to mist and get foggy. The temperature today wasn't warm to begin with, and the mist and fog made it downright chilly. After several miles, we made it to the top of the hill, where the road turned to shit again. Due to the precipitation, the up to 1 foot deep fissures that ran across the road were now also muddy. From then on it took us several hours of slipping and sliding in the mud and dodging and weaving as many of the bomb holes as we could.



The damp was soaking through our gloves, and cold air was sneaking past our jackets. Eventually, both Re and I began to shiver. While I stopped to fill up my jerrycan with petrol, Re unpacked one of the Ortliebs to find our fleece pullovers. With our fleeces on, we felt better, but it was still a damn cold ride.

The GPS was counting down our time on the Nh12a, and I found myself praying that the Nh75 would be a much, much better road. I should know better by now. The roads in India are like a continuing series of boots to the groin. They tease you with the promise of something better, and then, WHAM! Turning onto the Nh75, we were met with a steep hill so thoroughly coated in mud that I still have no idea whether there was asphalt beneath. As we bounced and jolted our way up the hill into some small town, I felt my steering go funny. The unmistakable feel of a flat front tire. Really, now? I spotted a relatively dry patch of ground in front of somebody's house and pulled into their front yard. I looked down, and sure enough, my front tire was completely flat. This was the brand new, India-made tube that we had installed in Ooty, about a thousand miles ago. While I pulled out the tarp, Re got out the tools, and we got to work.



As we started working, a crowd appeared. We eventually had at least twenty-five spectators ranging in age from six to sixty. The front wheel was completely encrusted in mud, but we dismounted it and removed the tube. While we were removing the tube, the problem became obvious. Once I unscrewed the nuts from the valve stem, the valve stem immediately cocked at a 45 degree angle. The tube (and tire) had rotated on the rim and had ripped the valve stem halfway out of the tube. Well there's your problem. We reinstalled the good, used tube we removed in Ooty, and with the help of a friendly local, we reinstalled the front wheel on the bike. After answering some pantomimed questions about the bikes and our gear and taking a few photos of our new best friends, we said Happy New Year and headed north again.

The rest of the way to Khajuraho, the road alternated between pretty good and “oh my god, can you still call it a road if more than 75 percent of it is potholes or dirt?” The other highlight of the day was that both Re and then I were hit by buses. While riding down one stretch of bumpy road, Re felt a looming presence behind her and then her bike suddenly lurched forward. She turned to find a gigantic, yellow bus that had just rear-ended her. She and the bike suffered no damage, and Re kept the bike on two wheels (thanks again, Nandi!). My incident occurred less than fifteen minutes later, when an oncoming bus unexpectedly moved into my lane, and I found myself sandwiched between the bus and a crowd of pedestrians. My mirror scraped half the length of the bus, and just as I cleared the end of the bus, it brushed my handlebar and gave me a big wobble. Again, no damage to me or the bike. But that pair of underpants is gonna need some extra scrubbing.

At nearly 5:30 pm, we turned off the main road for the final six miles to Khajuraho, and found ourselves on a four-lane, divided, well paved road. Where has this road been for the last two hundred miles?!? approximately three miles outside of town, we got stopped at another train crossing. As the sun sank lower in the sky, we waited, and waited while the train pulled across the intersection, disgorged a man and a chair, and then slowly returned from whence it came. We stopped at a hotel on the near side of town and found it to our liking. After unpacking the bikes and warming up a bit, we went out for a rather disappointing dinner, doubly disappointing since it was our only meal of the day.

210 miles in 10.5 hours. 20 mph average- a new low for this trip.

Because of the beating we took yesterday, we decided to take it easy today. After a late, lazy morning in bed and some room service chai, we eventually got cleaned up and walked out to greet the day. Our guesthouse was located a little outside the central part of town so we walked the third of a mile to breakfast. Since it was after 10:00 am we initially had the restaurant to ourselves but were soon joined by a father and son from New Jersey. India so far, has been remarkably devoid of Americans, as this was only the second pair of Americans we've spoken with since arriving seven weeks ago. We spent the better part of an hour chatting over breakfast, exchanging travel tales and tips. Hunger sated, we walked back to the guesthouse and spent an hour or two working on ride reports.

Sometime after 1:00 pm we went in search of lunch but didn't find anything that struck our fancy. What we did find was way too many touts who wouldn't take no for an answer. The touts here are the especially irritating kind who don't just come out and say what they want. Every conversation begins with, “Hello. Where you come from? I have a friend who lives there. How are you enjoying Khajuraho? Have you seen x, y, and z? And oh, by the way, would you like to come into my shop? No? How about an ayurvedic massage? No? Do you need a taxi?” and on, and on, and on. We also ran into one particular racket that the Lonely Planet did warn us about. This is the “teacher,” who happens to be at lunch and invites you back to “his” school to meet the students. After you meet the students and you've been charmed, then comes the request for a big donation “to help the children.” The scam of it is, that the “teacher” isn't a teacher. Instead, he is just a scammer who splits whatever you donate 50/50 with the school. On our walk to the old village we ran into such a “teacher” and enjoyed listening to his pitch for a while. As soon as he said he was a teacher, Re and I just smiled at each other. We declined his offer to visit the school and left him standing on the corner.

After shaking him off, we walked to see some of the temples in the eastern group. Khajuraho's claim to fame is its three groups of World Heritage-listed temples that were built between AD 950 and 1050 by the Chandela dynasty.



What makes the temples here special, besides the excellent craftsmanship, is the subject matter of much of the temple decoration.



In and amongst the gods and goddesses are a whole lot of sculptures of nearly naked or naked women and erotic scenes purported to be from the Kama Sutra. Of the eastern group, we saw the Vimana and the Javari Temples, which while beautifully sculpted, lacked the promised gymnastics in stone that I came to see. The form of the temples and style of decoration is again, completely different from anything we've seen elsewhere in India.



Some areas of the temples are covered in complex geometric patterns, while others are flat expanses of stone engraved with scroll work. And boobs.



We then walked south to an area of Jain temples. Jainism is another old religion that arose in India about the same time as Buddhism. The main tenets of Jainism seem to be asceticism and nonviolence, and these temples reflected that restraint.

Having had our daily dose of culture (and boobs of the stone variety) we headed back to the guesthouse.



After yesterday's ride, our bikes were covered in mud, and earlier we spied a hose with which to wash them. While I started moving the bikes around, Re went to the room to run a bucket of hot water and get a rag. The manager of the hotel saw me moving the bikes and asked if I wanted them washed. Oh really? I asked how much that might cost. He replied, “fifty rupees per bike.” Hmmm, so for 2 USD, neither of us has to get muddy, wet, or cold. Sold! While the most junior hotel employee got to work on the bikes, Re and I sat in the sun, and she worked on some blog posts and pointed at spots he missed.

All too soon, the sun started to set and we headed back inside, leaving our mostly mud-free bikes to air dry. We asked at the hotel for a restaurant recommendation, and they pointed us to a small restaurant further away from town. When we arrived at the restaurant, we were pleased to see almost all the tables filled with locals. We had a delicious and inexpensive thali dinner and some excellent chai. After a quick stop at the liquor store, we went back to the room to do laundry and have nightcap.

0 miles.

Early to bed and early to rise and up the road for breakfast again. After breakfast we made our way to the western group of temples, which are the crowning jewels of Khajuraho.



Here we toured the Varaha Temple, dedicated to the boar incarnation of Vishnu.



We also saw the Lakshmana Temple, where we discovered that even a thousand years ago, good things came in threes (and sometimes, fours). In addition to the erotic carvings, the temple is also covered with battalions of soldiers. Apparently the Chandelas were lovers and fighters. We next visited the Kandariya-Mahadev Temple, which at ninety feet long, is the largest in town.



The temple is covered with 872 statues, most of which are nearly three feet tall.



Several of these statues depict what you and three of your good friends can do if one of you is standing on your head.

After a quick stop at the Mahadeva Temple, we viewed the Devi Jagadamba and the Chitragupta Temples, which were similarly decorated. The humorous highlight of the day came as we admired a carving of a woman and two of her male friends, when an Indian woman walked up, pointed at the image we were viewing, and said what sounded like, “horse.” Re and I kind of skeptically looked at each other and then smiled and nodded as she repeated it again. After she walked off, Re and I giggled and tried to figure out whether she said, “horse” or “whores.”



Our final stops were at the Vishvanath Temple and adjacent Nandi shrine. The Vishvanath Temple was another amazing work of stone carving, again completely covered in intricate sculptures.



After once again walking around in amazement, Re decided to seek Nandi's further help by repeating her ball-polishing method of worship.

Completely templed out, we went to lunch. After a very late lunch of momos and vegetable tempura, we walked back to the guesthouse to finish up the most recent round of ride reports and blog posts. Since we loved our dinner last night, we decided to repeat it tonight. Later we went to an internet cafe to post the results of our earlier work and upload all the pictures we just took to Smugmug.

0 miles. But lots of boobs. (Hopefully the smattering of non-prurient images and archaeological commentary will save me from the wrath of the mods. )

I had scheduled us for another ambitious ride today, so once again, we needed to get on the road early. Around 7:15 am, we walked out to load up the bikes and were greeted by a very damp morning. The bikes were covered in condensation, and the fog reduced visibility to a half mile or less.

As we pulled out onto the road we could see the sun trying to struggle through but not succeeding. The first six miles were on the incongruous four-lane, divided road, that runs only between Khajuraho and the exceptionally shitty, two-lane Nh75.



As expected, the Nh75 eastbound was as bad as the section we had ridden a few days earlier. Unexpectedly, after twenty-five miles or so, the cold and damp must have gotten to my brain, because in the distance, I saw what looked like brand new asphalt. Out here? It can't be. But sure enough, smooth, black, brand new road. We immediately upped our pace and made quick work of the ride as far as Satna.



The sun was still trying to shine, but this part of the ride was a slightly surreal cruise through misty farmlands and small towns.

The traffic picked up again once we reached the outskirts of Satna, and we soon rejoined the conga line of trucks, buses, cars, motorbikes, farm tractors, and oxcarts, all making their way through town. While we were stuck in a row of traffic, I could hear a vehicle behind us continuously blowing its horn, and I glanced in my mirror to see yet another bus aggressively making its way through the line of traffic. I focused my attention back forward and then a few seconds later, heard the unmistakeable sound of a motorbike sliding along the pavement. Oh no. I looked in my rear view mirror to see Re and her bike laying in the road and a big yellow bus stopped behind her. I came to a stop maybe fifty feet from where Re lay and started running back towards her. I yelled to see if she was okay and asked what happened. She yelled back that the bus had hit her. By this time the bus had pulled into the oncoming lane, and the driver quite apparently had no interest in hanging around. Several other people ran up to help Re, and they were yelling and pointing at the bus too. I ran up to the bus and grabbed hold of the side mirror, yelling at the driver and his assistant to stop. As they kept driving, I struck the side window with my fist and only succeeded in bruising my hand. The side door of the bus was open, and I attempted to jump on board, but they were already moving too quickly for me to make the leap. I just wanted to talk to them, honestly.... As they drove away, I was doubly surprised to see that this big yellow bus was a school bus. Nice.

As the red mist cleared, I suddenly remembered that my lovely wife was laying in the road with a motorcycle partially on top of her last I saw her. Oh yeah. By the time I reached the bike, Re had been helped up by several onlookers, and they had also picked up her bike. I pushed my way through the crowd to Re and asked if she was hurt. She said she was okay and that she had hit the top of her head, her wrist, and her shoulder. When she took her helmet off, I took a quick look in her eyes to see that her pupils were both the same size and then had her look up at me so I could see (without her knowing) that her pupils dilated equally and smoothly. One of the onlookers understood that she said something about her head and sat her down on the side of the road and administered a head massage. Re again assured me she was okay, just shaken and mad, but she did look scared. I checked over her bike and the only damage I found was a bent right footpeg and some more cracks in her right mirror. Two of the things that have impressed me most this trip are how well both Re and the Symbas survive crashes. Sturdy. A bigger crowd had gathered now and included people who hadn't seen the accident and were instead interested in asking us the usual trip questions. We didn't really want to take the time to chat, so after Re again assured me she was alright, we left the scene.

A mile or so later, I noticed that Re was lagging behind and pulled over to see if she was okay. She wasn't. There were tears rolling down her face and she was quietly sobbing. I asked if she wanted to cut today's ride short and spend the night in Sarnath, but she said she just needed a minute. I (and many of you) remember the first bike accident that was in no way my fault. When I started riding on the street and on the track, it was easy to convince myself that all accidents could be avoided and that I was in control. I still remember vividly the feeling I got during my second season of road racing, when I was struck by another rider as he was crashing next to me. Up until then I had told myself that as long as I rode my own race and ran my own pace, that crashing was avoidable. After this incident, I very nearly gave up racing, and my false sense of security was destroyed. This seemed to be what Re was struggling with now. She said that she didn't feel that there was anything else she could have done to avoid the accident and was feeling out of control. We talked for a few minutes, and I said that if she wanted to end the trip now and go home, that we could ship the bikes via train to Calcutta or Delhi and fly them home. She immediately said no, she wasn't going to let this beat her, and dammit, she wanted to go to Nepal.



A few miles later, Re spotted an Indian Coffee House, where we stopped for eggs and coffee. It was here that we discovered the other casualty of the accident. Re has been carrying our camera in her jacket pocket and she had landed on it when she hit the ground. The LCD screen is cracked and doesn't display anything anymore. The camera still beeps and acts like it's taking pictures, there's just no way to compose or view the results. Bummer. By the end of brunch she seemed less shaken, and we continued toward Sarnath. To make the day's ride even less fun, the beautiful road that we came into town on did not extend any further. The roads from Sarnath all the way to the border with Uttar Pradesh were pretty bad, and our speeds dropped accordingly.

Once we reached the border of Uttar Pradesh, the roads got really bad. Shortly after we crossed the border, we found ourselves zigzagging our way up and then back down a decent-sized mountain. Uttar Pradesh is sparsely populated and, except for a few towns, not on the tourist trail. We needed to make it to Sarnath tonight. We found ourselves racing the sun (which had made an appearance by now) and we were losing. The sun finally set around 5:30 pm, and we rode the final twenty-five miles in the dark. Over the next hour and a half we bounced and lurched our way over the rough roads, in between slow moving vehicles, and surrounded by dust and smoke. I thought that slowing down once the sun set would be the best way to stay safe, but the riders and drivers around us saw no reason to do the same. They simply turned on their high beams and drove with the same kamikaze zeal. Happy to be alive, we finally made it to our guesthouse in Sarnath around 7:15 pm. After a too-expensive, not too good dinner, Re took a couple of ibuprofens, and we crawled into bed and cuddled up tight.

270 miles in 11.75 hours. I did do a full to empty tank of gas run and got 103 miles out of 1.04 gallons. This was a hard, hard day, and I will not be planning to cover so many miles a day anymore in India. In a related note, Re and I are disappointed in Nandi.

After yesterday's events and hard, hard ride, we were both very tired and sore this morning. Adding to our discomfort was the fact that it was chilly overnight, and we woke to a damp and foggy morning. After warming up and loosening our muscles in the hot, hot shower, we had some breakfast at our guesthouse. We waited in the room for the fog to lift and caught up on some reading.

Around 10:00 the fog had somewhat dissipated, so we walked out to make a loop of the town. Unlike all the other temple towns we've visited in India so far, Sarnath is not a Hindu town, but Buddhist. Sarnath is where Buddha came to preach after achieving enlightenment in Bodh Gaya.



Our first stop was the Chaukhandi Stupa, where Buddha met his first disciples. The stupa is now largely just a humongous pile of bricks upon which a Mughal tower was constructed in the 16th century. Re and I walked the path around the mist covered stupa, and while there wasn't much to see, we both found the site very peaceful. We sat and talked for a while before continuing on. Our next stop was to be the Archaeological Museum, but today is Friday, and of course, the museum is open Saturday to Thursday. Sigh. Instead, we stopped for lunch and had another delicious thali.

After lunch we continued on to the Dhamekh Stupa, where Buddha preached his first sermon. The grounds surrounding the stupa contain the remains of a huge old monastery and the Ashoka Pillar.



The stupa was an impressive sight at nearly a hundred feet high and was striking in its simplicity compared to Hindu monuments.



The only colorful thing here were the thousands of Tibetan prayer flags and the gold leaf that pilgrims rub on auspicious spots. Next we stopped at the Mulgandha Kuti Vihar, which is a modern Buddhist Temple notable mostly for its bodhi tree. This tree is said to be an offspring from the original tree under which Buddha attained enlightenment. Late afternoon, we went back to the guesthouse, ate some fruit, and Re did some blogging. Just before 6:00 pm we returned to the Vihar to listen to a group of monks chant, and then we went to dinner. All in all, this was a very peaceful day and a perfect antidote to yesterday.

0 miles.

When the alarm went off at 6:00 am I nervously crawled out of bed and into the chilly, damp air to peek out the curtains and check the weather. Overnight I heard rain on the roof and was nervous about what I would find. While it had rained some overnight, it had stopped and the ground was drying. Today's ride should only be 150 miles or so, mostly on the Nh2. This is the highway that runs between Delhi and Calcutta, and I had high hopes that it would be a good road. We wanted to get into Bodh Gaya early in the day since this is high season and the time when Buddhists from around the world, especially Tibet, come on pilgrimages. We decided to continue with our original plan and leave by 7:30 am despite the fog and damp roads.

We rolled out the front gate at around 7:45 and were greeted by bad roads that were now covered with slick mud. We made our way back past Varanasi and across the Ganges River, and seventeen miles later, to the Nh2. As we hoped, the Nh2 was a four-lane divided highway, and the good road surface allowed us to cruise between 40 and 45 mph for the next several hours. The day remained chilly and damp, and the sun again struggled to burn through the fog. Periodically, enough of the sun's rays made it through to briefly warm us up, but too soon, it was chilly again. We made it to Bodh Gaya by 1:00 pm and were greeted by a huge traffic jam and a sea of monks in maroon robes. The main road into town was blocked by policemen, and my GPS does not contain the minor roads in Bodh Gaya. Not wanting to fight our way into town to find that the hotels there were full, we pulled out the cell phone and called the local tourist office. They informed us that because some guy by the name of Dolly-something was in town, that all the rooms were full.

Yes, the Dalai Lama is in town for the 32nd Kalachakra Initiation. I don't know what it is, but it is clearly a big deal. My plan was to ride to Gaya, the next town north, and look for a room there, but on the way out of town, I spotted a hotel that didn't look too busy and pulled in. Re went in and found out that yes, in fact, they were full, but had a house available for 5,000 rupees (100 bucks). She laughed and I started to ride off, but a man yelled, wait wait wait! He asked Re what our budget was, and she tossed out 1,000 rupees. He told us to wait a minute and disappeared back into the hotel. A few minutes later, he returned and motioned for Re to follow him around to the back of the hotel. They reappeared a few minutes later and Re said we had a room for the night for 1,000 rupees. We rode behind the hotel to an apartment building(?) across the alley and were shown a double room that we took for the night.

Bikes put away and locked up, we walked out in search of lunch. What we found was a group of monks sitting around a momo steamer and thought, if it's good enough for Granddad, it's good enough for me. And it was. Ten steamed veg momos for 20 rupees (40 cents) and a glass of chai for an additional 10 rupees. So for 1.20 USD Re and I enjoyed a plate of momos and a chai each. We then wandered up into town and marveled at the crowds of thousands and thousands of pilgrims and monks from all over the Buddhist world. Indeed the Dalai Lama is in town and will be speaking tomorrow to the assembled masses. Since it was impossible to get near any of the major temples or monasteries, we spent the afternoon instead wandering around and people watching. Later, we had a dinner of fried noodles at another street stall, followed by dessert of another plate of steamed momos. Yummy! And budget friendly. This is the kind of eating that we really miss from southeast Asia; so much of the street food is simple but delicious. We later stopped at the local liquor store for a small bottle of whiskey and then went back to the room to toast the Dalai Lama (heresy, you say?)

165 miles in 5.5 hours of relatively easy riding.

We woke to another cool, damp, and foggy morning and made our way out into the mist for breakfast. We stopped at the same place we had dinner last night for fried eggs, freshly made chapati, and a couple of glasses of chai. We then walked the mile or so into the main part of town towards the Maha Bodhi Temple. The scene in Bodh Gaya today was an odd mix of sacred pilgrimage and county fair. In and amongst all the robed pilgrims were thousands of street vendors selling everything from housewares and clothes to kids' toys, and carnival rides. Along the road into town, there were maybe a half dozen simple kiddie rides set up, but the best of all, was the “Sri Rama Break Dance.” This was a smaller and crappier version of what in the US would be called the Tilt-A-Whirl. But unlike the other rides, it was motorized rather than hand-cranked. Re and I stopped to watch as a small group of street urchins looked longingly at the ride while a fortunate child's dad paid for his ticket. These street kids were essentially dressed in rags and were just a few of the hundreds that we had seen begging on the streets here. Since there were only a couple of kids on the ride, the operator was not going to start it until he got a few more butts in the seats. Re and I looked at each other, and she saw me reaching towards the pocket I keep money in and said, “Do you wanna make some kids' day?” We walked over to the ticket booth and gestured to the kids to see if they wanted a ride. First it was three, then five, then six, and finally, eight. We paid the 160 rupees (about 3 USD) and gave the tickets to the little outstretched hands. Several of the kids yelled “Thank you” as they raced for the gate. We watched for a few minutes as they found their seats and the ride started. It was very funny to see the wide variety of expressions once the ride started- everything from big smiles to vaguely frightened looks, and even a few tears. Two of the girls smiled at us and waved from the ride. This may have been the best three bucks we have spent in India. We have seen too many kids like these sleeping on the streets and eating what looks like garbage to me.

As we neared the temple and the grounds of the Kalachakra Initiation, we found tens of thousands of people sitting on every available surface (but mostly almost all of the road) so that they could see the Dalai Lama on the Jumbotrons. It was neat to see all of the pilgrims from all over the Buddhist world in their culture's robes, sitting together and listening so intently. The problem with everybody sitting on the road is that it only left a narrow path to walk through, and just before we reached the temple, we ran into a particularly narrow section with too many people trying to pass in both directions. At one point in time, Re and I found ourselves forced to the edge of the scrum and fighting to stay on our feet. We did finally make it through without falling into the seated crowds, but we decided to take a different route back later in the day. The crowds thinned as we finally made it to the Maha Bodhi Temple, and we had a relatively easy time getting inside. The temple is a World Heritage listed site, where Buddha attained enlightenment under the bodhi tree. This temple also has a descendant of that original bodhi tree planted in the place where the original one stood.



The temple grounds are huge and beautiful, and we spent a pleasant hour or two here. Another interesting thing to see here was the various ways in which adherents of the different Buddhist sects worship. We saw people rubbing gold leaf on statues, placing small piles of rice around the temple, setting out individual flowers, floral arrangements, and garlands of flowers, prostrating themselves in different ways, pressing their foreheads or tapping their prayer beads against auspicious sites, walking the circular path, or simply sitting in quiet meditation. Since Nandi had let us down, we picked up some prayer beads at the gift shop and had them blessed in the main temple.

It was now early afternoon, so we decided to get some lunch. We found a restaurant that was supposed to cater to travelers' tastes, and I had a peanut butter and banana sandwich on brown bread and some fried momos, while Re had veg thukpa (a Tibetan soup). After lunch we shuffled our way back through the seated masses who were still watching the Dalai Lama on the big screen until we made our way down Buddha Road and Temple Street.



There we stopped to visit the Thai Monastery, the Bhutanese Monastery, the Indosan-Nipponji Temple, and the 80-foot Buddha. It was again fascinating to see the different styles of each temple, from the very restrained Japanese, to the exuberant Bhutanese Temple.

By now we had seen what we wanted to see and were getting a little overwhelmed by the crowds, so we headed back to the room to spend a little while working on ride reports. During one break from writing I stepped outside and noticed a monk looking over our bikes. He spoke some English and asked about our trip. When I told him we were heading to Nepal next, he looked very concerned and said that area was “dangerous.” He also said that we needed to get something (I did not recognize the word) and further explained that it was the white fabric that we had seen at the temples. He said that we should get some of it and have it blessed and tie it to our bikes to help ensure a safe journey. Huh. So, we hit the road again. We walked back into town, found some of the cloth, took it to the main temple, and had it blessed. Might not help, but it can't hurt. On the way back to the room, we stopped at a couple of different places and made a dinner out of a variety of yummy snacks.

0 miles.