(heat) exhausted, just as the highway turns into disaster zone.

July 11, 2025 to July 12, 2025

Every day, I'd try to start by 5 a.m., but the steep climbs and the scorching heat had worn me out. I work well under pressure, and this time I had to reach Kathmandu for my friend’s parents’ 50th anniversary. Otherwise, I’d have quit days ago.

A lot of such hanging bridges connect hamlets to roads

I even canceled a few “early” morning classes so I could ride during the “cooler” hours, mornings still sweltering but better than the mid-day heat.

Now, this stretch of beautiful Sindhuli/BP Highway had become a disaster zone. The 2024 monsoon floods killed hundreds and wiped out sections of this once pristine, Japanese-funded road. I’ve cycled in many parts of the world but had never seen such wide, smooth shoulders for cyclists—until this section of the highway vanished under floods, landslides, and debris.

Now, reconstruction crews cut back mountainsides while traffic squeezes through. I was glad for my sturdy snowboarding helmet—my “free” hard shell protecting my own.

One side of the road clings to the river, while the other clings to the cliffs, which are constantly being excavated. I’d ride silently, taking in nature’s raw power.

Early in the morning, I came across a cool, ancient brick-and-wood waiting shed before pushing on as the heat rose by the minute.

I’d pull over at roadside springs—mool ko paani—fresh underground. Truckers and villagers gathered around them, too. No matter how much I drank, sweat poured off me. My shoes stayed soaked, but I had to push on.

I survived on yogurt whenever I found it and simple roadside snacks. My favorite: chatpate—puffed rice, spices, potatoes, onions—fresh, salty, cheap, and filling. Sometimes, two orders.

Often, I’d nap by the roadside, saving breaks for the brutal afternoons. Once, I bought my second Coke of the trip when I couldn’t find yogurt. Around villages, I’d stop to admire stone houses.

At about 5 pm, a villager who spoke English invited me in for coffee and offered me a place to stay. We chatted, and while the whole village could see me at his house—so it felt safe—my gut still said keep riding. So I did, half-worried the coffee was poisoned, then laughed at myself, thinking, I’ll know soon enough in 10–15 minutes.

I arrived at the next settlement by 8 p.m., found a traditional Nepali temple, and the priest offered me a guest room. But the night was so pleasant, I pitched my tent by a stream—grateful I hadn’t ditched it from my setup as I’d been debating while climbing those mountains.

In the sacred grounds of this temple by Bhakunde Besi

The next morning, I hit the road early. Within fifteen minutes, I found fresh samosas and chai—perfect, since my last “dinner” had been a liter of yogurt. Down went five samosas and two cups of tea before I pushed on.

Yesterday’s dinner and today’s breakfast crunched into 5 samosas here.

Out of water again, I stopped at a roadside hut to refill and was offered noon ko chai (salt tea). I gave the family some Bardu Horizon tea as a gesture of thanks and rode on.

Messages from my running friends in Boston

Adrenaline high, I rolled into Kathmandu by 11 a.m.—excited to see my friend and his family. But when it hit me I’d finally made it, I cried in private. I’d pushed through some hard terrain, days — now that I’d arrived, I felt lost, unsure of what the next challenge would be.

Today's ride: 117 km (73 miles)
Total: 3,587 km (2,228 miles)

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