I Dropped it again

I Dropped it again
This is a first time in my life I am writing blogger. And my English is not that good so please bare with me. I am writing because I wanted to write my experiences.
I reach chemonix on my biking trip to India. This is great adventure in my life. I did of biking trips in India but this one is different countries and different way of riding.
I still remember my first experience of sitting on my new Yamaha XT660R. that D said “let’s go out for ride” I was nervous because I never ridden these kind of Japanese machine before. Compare to what I ride in India these are very different powerful and modern machine. I ride in India enfield 350cc they are very old technology. I am riding from last 10 years so I am very use to those bikes. Compare to these bikes they are very slow but fast from Indian standard. Gear and back break are totally opposite to this new bikes, gear on right and break on left and side and of course no disc break.
I was sitting first time on this new fast bike. Lots of thoughts were going on my mind. I was nervous breathing very heavy on my viser I was getting condensation on my viser my vision was bed because of that. I was first time wearing my biking gears like jacket, shoes, gloves, feeling uncomfortable. I sat on my bike my feet were not touching the ground, I removed from stand and here I go dropped it.
I started riding first time on UK road challenges were becoming bigger and bigger. At speed people ride disc break system and my first encounter with UK’s famous round abouts where every thing goes round and round. I was confuse when to enter and when to exit. I was using only hand break I don’t know weather my leg is on break or gear And here I go again.
Through out my trip I was confuse about my break but when I was riding I was fine stopping become big task. When I use to stop it was problem. With all that confusion we were leaving and our bike were loaded
And they were looking like maruti 800 or minis car I was excited at last we were leaving and here and I go again.
I enter in to franc riding on right side of the road I was feeling comfortable we stopped for petrol I was telling D I feel very comfortable D told me “we are on motorways lets go on smaller road and see” he was right thinks were looking much better on smaller road I was struggling to ride on right side of the road. Here my another round about now I have to go in round on other way and I dropped it.....

Pankaj

Still Waiting

It's been a frustrating couple of days as we're still in Chamonix, waiting on some documentation. It may be a stunningly beautiful valley, but we really need to get a move on.

To make things even better, the screen on P's computer has all but died and it's only possible to make it out - just - in very strong sunlight. So rather than getting on our kit and climbing up to the glaciers above us, we've had to spend our time trying to fix P's machine. That having failed, we're copying computer files around while the sun shines and mountains beckon.

We had planned to go climbing yesterday, but it dawned too wet and misty. By the afternoon the weather had cleared a bit and so we set off to try and get over the highest tarmac'd pass in the Alps - the Col de L'Iseran (2770m). No chance. Every approach road was blocked by either snow or the debris that recent melt had let behind.

An attempt at getting over the Cormet de Roselend, which is only a couple of thousand metres high, also failed due to huge drifts across the road. We did though get in a little riding off-road and this gave P every opportunity to introduce his Yamaha to the ground for the 12th time. In all we farted around for about 150 miles, half of these in Alpine thunderstorms.

With the time we now have available to reach Ladakh (India), the difficulty in finding a way through the high passes is going to present a huge problem. The central area of the Swiss Alps is still pretty much closed for business, so we're going to have to re-plan.

Odds are we'll now be leaving Chamonix via the Mont Blanc Tunnel and then making our way east through the Italian side of the range. Unfortunately there is going to be little time for sightseeing as we'll be pushing hard all the way to Romania now. I hope. If the documents ever turn up...

And talking of documents, I haven't heard back from my Iranian travel agent about a visa for that country yet. Planning and organisation - not perhaps my strong points.

Hope this is my last communication from here. Things may go a little quiet on the diary front as we hell-for-leather east.
Damon

At the Alps

We presently find ourselves in the French Alpine village of Argentiere, near Chamonix, where we’re staying in the chalet of our benefactor, Mr Ashman. We have fine views over the Mont Blanc Massif and comfortable accommodation, so will stop a couple of days to better plan the next week or so of our journey.

Getting this far (1000 miles) has taken three days, which is longer than anticipated, due to a combination of factors: the packing/unpacking of our enormous luggage; the fact we’re avoiding toll roads where practicable to reduce costs, and my failure to estimate the time/distance ratio possible on these bikes.



Through years of bike testing for magazines I’ve grown used to blasting through France on sports bikes and uber-tourers. Tolls and fuel were repaid on expenses, 120mph cruising was child’s play on the world’s finest motorways and the bikes only had to survive unscathed long enough to make it back to the manufacturers’ workshops. This is very different…



With 40bhp, rather than 140, France has felt very different in scale on this jaunt. It’s immense on a madly-loaded single-cylinder trail bike. Thud, thud, thud. Seventy-five of Her Majesty’s imperial em-pee-aitch is where the bikes feel happiest and cruising much above this feels like putting undue strain on machines that have the tough part of their lives still ahead. And it doesn’t do much for the fuel consumption, which even taking it fairly easy is only allowing us around 130 miles per tank before the fuel light illuminates – hence jerry can strapped to panniers.



With our packing/unpacking malarkey, we’re left with a daily maximum (leaving daylight enough to find a campsite and pitch) of around 400 miles – and that’s on the best roads you’ll find anywhere. India feels a long race against time away, especially when the various terrain to be covered and potential hold-ups are taken into consideration. I wish there were no time constraints and that we could just relax and enjoy our time in the mountains, but there’s the pressure to find good stories and pictures for Bike magazine and all the while the clock is ticking – if we don’t hit the Himalaya at the prime time, then we won’t have a good shot at getting seriously high.

Leaving home has never been anything but exciting before – but this time leaving Debi and Rosie was rather sad. I was expecting to let the clutch out, get the wheels rolling and let the freedom feeling come rushing in, but instead there was some guilt. Guilt and weight of expectation. Perhaps even fear of failure, the possibility I’ll let down all those who are backing us and this trip.

The A1 south wasn’t about to help lighten the mood or let me forget I was still in the UK as we ploughed straight into a traffic jam, followed by another on the M25. All the way I was feeling uncharacteristically emotional. What category of emotion I couldn’t quite pin down, but there was a lot of it.

Only at the foot of the M20, where Dover harbour breaks into view from over the cliffs, did excitement at what lay ahead start to build – an hour on the boat, then the real journey begins. Landfall, then our bikes can carry us all the way… I’m moving away from everyday life; Pankaj is heading home.

At the end of the first day we have managed to make it only a few miles south of Cambrai, to the small town of Le Nouvion-en-T (what the T stands for I don’t know). Here Pankaj tumbles over at a junction, damaging a pannier. This proves to be ‘lucky’, as the townsfolk who helped us raise the bike point us in the direction of a campsite, where we can make a repair and sleep.



12/5/2006
We are packed, away from N-en-T by ten and manage the 602km to the small city of Mulhouse, in Alsace, with perfect weather. We are staying with my friend Anne-Rose, who makes us feel very welcome and feeds us well.



13/5/2006
A-R gave us a quick tour of Mulhouse, which isn’t the most charming city in all France, but was limbering up for a festival to celebrate the inauguration of a new tram system, so was at least fairly lively.



We got away at around 1.30pm for what transpired to be a long ride, mainly in torrential rain. About half way Pankaj suffered bike-drop number 11 (a full explanation of P’s gravitational mishaps to be provided soon), simultaneously losing his peage ticket, which meant form-filling while irritated traffic queued behind us.

Around 5pm it started to chuck it down and for the next five and a half hours we were comprehensively peed upon. Just before Geneva, over the Col de la Faucille (1323m), we saw our first roadside snow. It was still raining hard as we descended through the cloud to the Swiss capital and on to Chamonix and finally Argentiere and comfort.




14/5/2006
Doing this.