Agartala to Ambasa

November 15, 2010

north through hilly Tripura

Without any rupees, nothing is happening, which is a shame as I'm up at seven and ready to rock and roll. The banks won't open till 10, so I walk around looking for an ATM that has some cash left in it, hoping.

Standing outside one locked bank, a middle-aged man tells me that he knows what to do and asks me to follow him into a side door, where I expect to see the manager, but instead we start climbing stairs that are dusty like in a disused warehouse, with him telling me God can help. Yea, right.

I'm assuming he's being amusing and we get to the fifth floor and a few women in white cloaks demurely nod and the man leads me on into a spacious room that has chairs arranged in rows and ushers me into what might have been a broom cupboard. 'Here,' he says, indicating to a shrine facing me in the six-by-six space, 'pray and God will help you.' I could have throttled him.

I get back to the hotel and sit in my room and switch on the TV, eventually finding Star Sports, which has a recording of West Ham versus Blackpool from the English Premier League on. There are no goals and it's one of those how-did-he-miss-that kind of games, but it kills an hour or so and after the final whistle I pop across the street, see the money changer and get myself a stash of rupees, then pedal off.

It's almost eleven and there's a way to go.

The next place that might have a bed is around 100 km away, according to the hotel manager, who gives me the lowdown on where all the places to stay are and so it's going to be a struggle to get there before dusk, which falls at around 5:30. A road marker at the edge of town tells me it's a ride and a half to my most northern destination, Shillong: 479 km.

The best bet for a bed is in Kumarghat, around 150 km away. That's out.

There could be a guest house in Ambasa, around 80-odd kilometers north and so that's my humble goal for today.

The first 30 are nothing to write home about; houses and stores and road-side workshops strung out along the route - something in the West that we'd label 'ribbon development' - and the route is pretty busy with trucks and I'm breathing in an unhealthy dose of diesel fumes again.

I pause to take a snap of a bike seat - a type that's seen on all the local bikes - that has an over-the-top spring contraption as its frame. A crowd soon gathers and as in Bangladesh; they're a curios, friendly bunch with one particular guy with aviator shades clearly fancying himself as a Bollywood heartthrob.

After purchasing a bottle of water, I press on and route 44 enters a 'forest park' and starts bending and climbing, quite steeply. It's greener now.

This is the Indian part of the Chittagong Hill Tracts I'd wager, with just a man-made line on a map separating them. Trucks still rattle by, but at least the scenery is more pleasing. It's quite tough climbing, though.

Feeling parched, my bike gets parked when I decide that a chilled drink would go down well and a store that looks like it won't get me too much attention beckons and I ask the man for a cold Sprite.

The notes in my wallet are all 500-rupee ones - around 12 US bucks - and the elderly owner doesn't have change for this amount, so I'm left dying to neck the cold Sprite, just waiting for something to happen until eventually his mates come over and sort out some 100s. So, I finally get to open the bottle... only to find it's semi-frozen and the thick Slurpee-like fluid doesn't want to come out. The shopkeeper knows how thirsty I am and laughs his head off. Me too.

After about 20-odd minutes sat down, cooling down, sipping the freezing Sprite so slowly, bit by bit as it thaws, I know this won't get me any further down the road and to a bed before darkness. On I go with the Sprite in my barbag.

At 2:30, a ramshackle bus depot appears on my right side but the men lingering around tell me there are only morning departures and a milestone says there are 41 kilometers to go to Ambasa, so there's no stopping for photos or whatever after this, me simply grinding up climb after climb, zooming on the descents, my shirt dripping wet and the sun slowly disappearing behind the wooded slopes.

The moon is more than half and is quite bright in the subdued sky when me wheels roll down a long descent into the one street village of Ambasa. It's dark now.

A man tells me the place to stay is the Circuit House and leads me back there - a few minutes' walk and it's a place I remember seeing.It's a big building on a hilltop and he leads me up its steep drive and some other guys there say they'll turn on the generator so we can see and after that they show me the basic room, which is just 150 rupees a night. Relief.

Once the day's grime is showered off I walk back to the small village and find myself something to eat - settling on fried noodles with egg that's a paltry 20 rupees. The mains power comes to life as I pay the bill, but with low watt bulbs burning it makes little change to the place.

The adjacent market is an intriguing looking event that resembles a medieval affair and there are indigenous men and women selling vegetables and I want to take their photos and so pop back to the room to get my camera.

It's 6.30 now and pitch black. My camera doesn't have a flash and it's hard in the dim glow of flickering oil lamps and 25 Watt bulbs to get it right.

I'm being trailed by a group of men and a couple speak good English and it's great to communicate but by seven I'm ready for bed.

Today's ride: 85 km (53 miles)
Total: 588 km (365 miles)

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