Open Writing

It was after seven in the evening when we eventually booked into a hotel, both of us completely knackered. The town of Murree was an old colonial hill station during the days of the Raj. It now caters for middle-class Pakistanis wanting to escape the oppressive summer heat of the capital. It was an eye opener to see couples holding hands in this laidback town.

After a much needed night's rest we rolled through the beautiful wooded plateau until a distant rumbling sent us scurrying for the shelter of a khondi of what we thought was an unoccupied building. Three girls aged between seven and twelve peeped out at us through a slightly ajar door. After five minutes of silent and cautious assessment of us they disappeared only to re-appear a few minutes later with two camp chairs which they opened up for us. The youngest girl asked us in English if we would like a drink of coffee whilst the storm passed over. A young woman then appeared with a tray containing biscuits and a pot of coffee. She told us that her name was Tabassim and that she was home for 15 days from Peshawar University where she was studying business administration.

Later the same day we met some Pakistani Christians who had gathered together in a church originally used for worship by the British. The purgatory of the first few days riding soon manifested itself. Gavin suffered severe saddle soreness resulting in broken skin owing to an unsatisfactory saddle and shorts. Luckily I had a spare pair of shorts with proper chamois leather which I gave him to wear. We returned to the hot lowland conditions at Abbotabad but not before we had enjoyed a 25 kilometres descent round numerous hairpin bends through a heavily wooded landscape. Gavin's trials continued when he lost the filling in one of his teeth and had to engage the services of a local dentist.

Whilst strolling around Abbotabad we came across a hockey club. We were invited into the club house and were told that an important match was to be played later that day. We were then requested to watch the game. The spectators poured into the ground; the teams took to the field. Before the match commenced the players were lined up for a photocall. An anouncement in both English and Urdu told the crowd about us and we were ushered on to the pitch bedecked with garlands to be photographed alongside the two teams.

Gavin's posterior continued to give cause for concern. It was decided that he would get a bus and go ahead of me to book us into a hotel. A day off the bike might give the broken skin a chance to heal. It was a wise choice. The road was pretty steep and potholed in places and the heat caused me to take advantage of any opportunity to douse myself with water. Gavin was still unable to face his bike the following day so he opted to take the bus again. I discovered later that he had managed to ride the last 15 kilometres - a good omen.