1st November 2014 – Ghazipur, India
Enlightenment is not for me, so I found myself back on the road again.And the shopkeepers shared with me things to do, waxing in eloquence.The potholes waxed too, in size, in belligerence, and in surprise.This road shows no mercy, takes no prisoners, leaves no evidence.
I had a couple of nice and relaxing days in Bodhgaya, but my mind was racing about timelines to complete the Nepal trip. So today, I headed out from Bodhgaya to Gorakhpur, which was the closest Indian city to the Nepal border in this area.
The only problem was, I did not plan for the road that lay ahead. Bodhgaya to Varanasi had a fairly decent highway road, which was manageable if you could dodge the traffic and cattle. But after Varanasi, the road to Gorakhpur is, without question, the worst road that I have encountered on this trip. If you can call it a road, that is. Because most of this stretch, the road was like the picture above. There were potholes the size of me, into which I kept falling. And I had to take a break every 10 KM, because my butt had reached its critical point, and was screaming for attention. And all along, I kept attracting curious villagers who stared at the Enfield bike with an unknown number plate. And every shopkeeper I met, advised me of curious things to see around their village, all of which I had seen somewhere before.
So, by the time I had reached an unknown town called Ghazipur, it was already dark. And Gorakhpur was still 150 KMs away. This had to be a day when I broke up the ride a little bit.
I soon found the only hotel in this dusty town, and settled down for a night’s rest. Both for me, and my butt.