After Syange, the terrain transformed into a rugged beauty, with challenging climbs and narrow roads adorned with rocks and gravel—tricky to navigate. Raju took it in stride, but I had to dismount frequently and push my bike. The elevation gain had begun, and we felt a slight chill in the fresh morning air, a reminder of the breathtaking beauty surrounding us.
We stopped at Jagat (1,300 meters) to regain our breath and rest briefly. Like other towns, we left behind a row of back-to-back tea shops and lodges flanking the road with tilting, colorful roofs, primarily two-story. We had a cup of tea, some biscuits, and a brief chat with Ghale Gurung, the owner.
Upon my casual questioning about his business, he shook his head. “Not as it used to be after the road opened. Trekkers prefer traveling by jeep to Chame, the district headquarters of Manang. The teahouses have lost their business by as high as 60 percent, if not more; many have quit,” he said, his frustration echoing the plight of many local businesses affected by modernization.
A little further, we ran into a group of American hikers taking a break by the roadside. They were hiking back from Manang. One of the guys looked my age, but when I casually asked, I found he was only 65. He looked surprised when I told him my age and that we were doing the Annapurna Circuit on our bicycles.
For the next two hours, we slugged it out on grueling uphills, an isolated gravelly road across forested hills with sheer escarpments that dropped way down to Marshyangdi. But if anything, we were still pedaling across Lamjung, the Manang border a long way away. We were already late for lunch but mighty relieved to see a town in the distance, Chamje 1,430m).
Well, well, well, what do you know—another colossal waterfall! Fascinated, we gorged on our dal-bhat, peering out the tea-house window, the waterfall across the Marshyangdi, cannoning down a steep hill that looked like 100 meters to me. It was called the Boong Jharna (waterfall).
Chamje, as the teahouse owner told us, was also a popular haunt for water canyoning adventure sports. As we left, my eyes fell on hedges of flaming crimson poinsettia in full bloom around the small settlement. To add to the appeal, clumps of yellow marigolds appeared scattered around the locale, a vibrant display of the local flora that adds to the village’s charm.
It took us barely 20 minutes to arrive at the main town of Chamje, a tight cluster of teahouses and hotels on a sharp incline fringing both sides of the road.
Hardly had we left behind the town, an excited Raju hollered out: “Another waterfall!” A small crowd, primarily motorbikers, was gathered at a teahouse next to the waterfall to watch the arresting sight.
It was called the Octopus waterfall and cascaded down to the roadside in a dramatic multi-pronged configuration that evoked the flailing tentacles of an octopus, thereby dubbed with that name, we figured. This unique natural formation, with its striking resemblance to an octopus, is a testament to the diverse and awe-inspiring landscapes of the Annapurna Circuit.
Although we ran out of time, we couldn’t resist and hung around for quite some time. “Wow! Lamjung seems brimming with incredible waterfalls,” said Raju, sounding euphoric. Suddenly, it struck us that we did not have all the time in the world, and we hastened to spin; it was already past 3 pm.
The sun lurked on our shoulders as we left, warning us with each spin that it would get dark soon. The road got rockier and narrower as we huffed it up steep ascents, Tal still dim and distant as far as we could stretch our eyes.
When we sighted Tal (1,700 meters) from a bluff, way up, outstretched along the banks of Marsyangdi, it was a sight for sore eyes. However, the dirt roadway to Manang did not lead through the imposing city across the Marshyangdi.
Darkness soon crept in after Tal, and the road turned into a mess. Navigating the slush, the road spattered with rocks and debris from the aftermath of the post-monsoon flooding and landslips, over the narrow beam of our bicycle light was anything but tricky, nay dangerous. The road conditions were treacherous, with the constant threat of slipping or hitting a rock, making our progress slow and cautious.
Then we froze in our tracks. It looked like we had hit an impasse as a frightening water chute fell with a rumble at a curb, surging over the road, inundating it, and crashing down a ravine to our right.
“Ke garne (what to do)? It looks like we are stuck,” I said, mighty alarmed, and looked at Raju. The pool appeared deep, but we could not figure it out. We could not walk our bikes across either, as the entire road was waterlogged, and it was not wise to wet our only pair of shoes.
“Uncle, I’ll attempt first to pedal across,” Raju said. I genuinely admired his grit and gumption at such tight corners; he always held on to a forerunner. Over the din of the crashing water, Raju, without a second thought, tore across; I watched with bated breath. Thank heavens, he made it!
It was my turn, now. It was a moment of truth for me; with my heart in my mouth, I shot at the pool. And I did it, too! Phew! Granted, we had overcome the hurdle but landed with dripping shoes soaked to the socks as the water level almost reached the bike’s mid-tire.
I was past hope about making it to our day's layover at Dharapani but dragged along the pitted and muddy road, which seemed to play tricks on my eyes in the narrow flare of my light. After about 7:30 pm, we finally arrived at Dharapani (1,860 meters), an elevation gain of almost 800 meters that day, and it felt pretty cold.
What on earth! To our misery, no lodges had a vacancy. However, one staff member from the hotel we had dropped by volunteered to scout around and eventually managed a crummy room for us. Near desperation, the thought that we might have to bunk under an open sky made me shiver involuntarily.
Cold, exhausted, and wet, we hit the bunk early after a hasty supper, with a comforting and lasting feeling that we had, after all, a roof over our heads—and thankful to the guy for doing us a good turn. The relief and gratitude we felt at that moment were palpable.
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