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.