We had given up on the stove so in the morning we had muesli and oats in cold milk. We didn't mind too much since for once it was not freezing in the tent. Also I loved not having to fight the stove. Unfortunately we had to use just about the last of our water.

We were camped exactly at the base of Lablungla, the double pass we had heard so much about and also the very last pass. According to Ben's notes, once we reached the first summit, at about 5100 meters, we would descend quickly then climb another pass up to about 5200 meters. From there it would be almost entirely downhill to Nepal.

The problem was that between us we had less than one pint of water and with the stove and water purifier broken we had no way left to treat more water. We decided to just start the climb and if we became too desperate for a drink, we would flag down a truck and have them drive us to the next town, having no qualms about giving up the ride if necessary. In fact during the whole Tibet trip, we were ready to give up at any moment if necessary (and if possible). We never had a complete-the-ride-at-all-cost mentality.

We departed at 9:37 am (early for us) with a surprising amount of enthusiasm and energy. Fortunately we were completely acclimatized. This was the only pass we climbed over that didn't make me winded and out of breath frequently. About two thirds of the way up, we passed a Chinese truck parked along the road. I noticed two bike boxes in the back of the truck. We had seen the truck days before on the way from Everest Base camp. I didn't know why they were carrying empty bike boxes but I figured these would be the people get a ride from when we needed one. But we felt fine at the time. We waved to the drivers as we passed.

We climbed slow and steady, stopping just twice in two hours and 15 minutes on our way to the top of the first pass. We had good views of the valley as we climbed out of it, but the summit itself was amazingly un-scenic. The road leveled off at about 5100 meters as we crossed a high valley. The summit prayer flags were located on top of a very small lump in the middle of the two km long valley.

At the end of the valley, the road descended very steeply into a ravine. The whole way down we could see the road going up the other side, which was sort of depressing. At the bottom of the ravine was a very small village, around 4,900 meters above sea level. We had not heard there would be town there.

We were thrilled to see a sign in the village that said, "lodge and restaurant." We rolled into this walled in compound that reminded me of a Mexican village from a western movie. It had whitewashed mud buildings and a few Tibetans sitting around in the mid-day sun doing nothing. I wouldn't have been surprised to see one leaning back in a chair, sleeping with 10-gallon hat over his face.

We entered the "lodge and restaurant." It turns out that the sign greatly exaggerated the facilities. All they had was tea, ramen noodles, and Pabst Blue Ribbon beer. We had hoped for at least a chapati omelette, the kind we'd bought at Rongbuk monastery near Everest. Anyway, this restaurant saved us. We sat in there for almost two hours drinking the infamous yak butter tea and eating one huge bowl of noodles each -- enough fluids to get us to the next town.

Yak butter tea must be an acquired taste. We tolerated it hot but later, when it was cold, we couldn't bear it.

The truck carrying the empty bike boxes showed up shortly after us. Two Sherpas and a Chinese man came in and drank tea with us. They all spoke pretty decent English. It turned out they were the support team for two American cyclists, a father-daughter team from Colorado, and their Nepali cycling guide. The support team consisted of a leader, a cook, and a Chinese "cultural interpreter" or some such word. These tours are usually arranged in Kathmandu. But the Chinese government wants a piece of the action so the tourists are forced to hire a Chinese guide in addition to the Sherpas. The Chinese guide also makes sure the tour doesn't go any place they aren't supposed to.

Their cycling guide was Sonam, whom Ben had met in Kathmandu and whom he described as Nepal's only professional mountain biker. We were anxious to meet Sonam and his American clients, but we had to climb one more mountain and we were more anxious to do that.

We discovered later that they arrived at the restaurant just a few minutes after we left. The daughter apparently tried to catch us as we climbed up the second half of the pass but she couldn't, even though she her bike didn't have a load. I would have liked to have met her, but I'm proud that we climbed so fast. (Joan: although at the time it didn't seem like we were going fast--just painfully slow into the wind). The road climbed diagonally up a huge hillside and directly into a strong cold wind. Still we were at the summit in an hour and 15 minutes.

This summit was among the prettiest. To the south we saw an horizon of giant snowcapped peaks, towering above us even though we were at 5200 meters. My nose was running like a faucet, as it had constantly in Tibet, and I kept wiping it on my big Chinese army mittens which have remarkable absorption properties. I'm waiting for REI to come out with nose diapers.

Snot or no snot, I felt great. The two obstacles we faced that morning, the mountain and our lack of water, were behind us. Literally it would be all downhill from that point.

The support truck arrived while we celebrated and one of the Sherpas took our picture. We didn't hang out long at the top because we couldn't stand the fierce winds.

The descent was marvelous -- good roads and great views. I was so happy I actually laughed out loud as we wound down the switchbacks. We never did see the father-daughter team. But we later met Sonam in Kathmandu and he told us that he and his clients had ridden to the top of the pass, and then they got into the truck for the trip down. The truck took a shortcut on the descent and didn't pass us again. I don't know why they skipped that great descent.

The day's real difficulties began at the bottom of the descent. We were in a deep canyon that would grow deeper and deeper and deeper for the next two days. The canyon headed directly south and powerful winds swept up it. For several hours after we reached the bottom of the switchbacks we struggled against that headwind. Joan drafted immediately behind me. The roar of the wind in my ears drove me nuts. After an hour of watching each meter digitally click off on my cyclometer, we laid our bikes beside the road and huddled under a bridge to get out of the wind. There we decided to eat the last Snickers bar. We had saved it for the Lablungla climb but had felt so strong on the pass we hadn't needed it.

At a couple villages along the way the locals lead their horses in circles, pounding the barley. They seemed used to the wind. They also seemed used to cyclists, for they took little interest in us.

The road followed a river but occasionally had to climb up hills where the river entered a narrow steep-sided crevice. We camped in a shallow creek valley where we found some shelter from the wind. While I collected large rocks to tie the tent to, I had strong, short sensations of deja vu. Actually, I had strong momentary sensations of deja vu many times in Tibet, more so as I got hungrier. I don't know why.

Across the river from us was a steep rocky hillside, more of a cliff really, reaching several hundred meters straight up. While we ate dinner (a package of crackers) we watched in amazement as a shepherd herded hundreds of sheep across the steep side of the hill. I never would have believed a herd of sheep could traverse that if I hadn't seen it.

As usual, the wind died down when it got dark so we had a good sleep. My food fantasies were getting more and more basic. I no longer dreamt about pizza. Now I dreamt about a bowl of corn flakes and toasted cheese sandwiches.

Next: The longest descent

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