2 am: I suspect you expected this. I suspect you laughed all the while. For we all know what copious quantities of warm water lead into. My bowels scream for mercy as I desperately try to hold on. "Just a few hours and it will be day light.", I think to myself. Trapped under mounds of sheet - no pun intended - I wallow at the fact that my cell phone died several minutes ago. The torch light had been returned on the day prior. Finding my way to "Gents" in pitch darkness seemed like a proposition I could do without. But I suspect I can hold it in no longer. And so I must venture out into the darkness. There's one other problem - I've run out of toilet paper.
With not a moment to spare, I have no time to determine my options. As I exit the tent, I'm struck by the blackness of the dark. I can see little. I'll never make it across the boulder and stone. I decide to let it out in the open. I find a comfortable spot in the vicinity, hoist myself atop two stones and let it all out - all the while looking for movement in the terrains above - for I have been told that nocturnal beings scour the area. My strategy is to make a run for it and the first sign of movement. Having cleansed my bowels, I now turn to the problem of wipes. I have none. Unfortunately, I have failed to notice, that there's no evidence of shrubbery in the terrain about. I have a choice between rocks and sand. Desperate for a solution, I turn my thoughts to the apparel on me. There must be something wipe worthy. "The socks should work just fine.", I think to myself.
10 am: I'm awakened by the movement of the rest rushing to "Gents". Motorbreath awaits his turn. Nobody seems to have noticed that I have but a single sock on. In time I tell Motorbreath my story. He seems more angry than amused. On enquiry, it will be revealed, that he has braved a similar fate and that, had he known of my antics, he would have perhaps joined me in my mid-night shit fest. Frankly, I'm glad I didn't inform him. The last thing I needed was an audience.
We indulge in a brief breakfast. A discussion with a stranger reveals that it was his truck that was the source of the headlights that followed us through the plains. He too has heard of the draconian dacoits; he too feared for his life. He kept pace with us for fear of being alone. I grin at the irony for we fleed from him for fear of being followed.
We gear up. RomeoMike reckons he can skip wearing knee guards. Spiderweb insists he wear them. RomeoMike argues that we do not have much to travel and given that we intend to cruise at a leisurely pace, the probability of a spill borders on the improbable. Spiderweb insists he wear them. RomeoMike argues that the weather has made his skin itchy. We all insist he wear them. He wears them.
We bid our hostesses farewell, mount our steeds and hit Start. A few curious foreigners surround us and ask us of our path. I presume they are friends of the Pole I ran into yesterday. We inform them of our course. They explain their desire to do the same. They will, however, follow suit only a few days hence since a comrade is too unwell to ride. We wish them luck and blaze on.
We ride several hours at a leisurely place. We spot wild goats grazing on the slopes. We click pictures only to find that our pithy lenses are unable to separate their camouflage against the background. We fantasize our response to a snow leopard dropping in on us. We click more pictures.
In time, we discover a stream more more blue than the bluest blue, more pure than the purest pure. Spiderweb and RomeoMike decide it would be criminal not to experience it. They strip down to their underwear. The temperature is dropping fast, I'm breathing shallow. Motorbreath and I will watch from the sidelines. After much trepidation, Spiderweb decides to test the water with his foot. A blinding chill sweeps through his body as he screams "OH FUCK! OH FUCK! IT'S COLD! IT'S VERY COLD!". "Of course it is Genius!", I think to myself. I'll admit, it takes balls to strip down to the bare in the freeze. But you also risk losing them. RomeMike suffers a similar fate but he is far braver than Spiderweb for he spends more time tinkering with the possibility of immersing himself completely. He wisely decides against it.
With the two back in their gear, we ride on. In the minutes to come, RomeMike, engrossed in admiring his surroundings, will ride over a big rock and crash. Motorbreath and Spiderweb, both seconds ahead of him, will hear nothing over the din of music in their ears. The ear plugs will drown out the sickening sound of metal and rock against bone...
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