Late September, Fotu La: at 4100 meters in the Indian Himalya, having pedaled up from the Kashmir Valley, the final leg of the journey to Leh...

he arrival from Scandinavia — cool, clean, the people polite and generally reserved — was a complete shock to all the senses. The flight arrives at night and I deplaned into an air-conditioned airport. Outside everything was in darkness, the silhouettes of people pressed up against the glass. A faint murmur audible, a hum. To venture out there was to wade into chaos: humid heat; touts shouting indecipherable offers, pushing and shoving each other in their urgent attempts to coax passengers into jitneys for the ride into Delhi.

Ever since the trip's early days in South America I'd dreamed of attempting to cycle through the Himalayas to Leh, the capital of Ladakh. Apparently it was "the thing to do" for anyone foolish enough to cycle in India at all. I had not done the slightest advance planning: the only evidence I had that it was possible at all was a brief mention in the Lonely Planet guide to India. I had never cycled at high altitude before; nor had I ever dealt with the kind of humidity I had found in Delhi, where a ride from the suburbs to Connaught Place would leave me completely drained of energy, my clothes wringing wet.

he air at 4100 meters is thin and cold, and the pedal up from from the Kashmir valley takes several days of slow and steady riding. There are three passes to cross going from Kashmir into Ladakh: Zoji La, Namika La, and the highest: Fotu La.

The road itself was in relatively good condition but the high passes were unpaved, so that the snowplows didn't rip them up when the last monsoon weather dumped the first snows. Zoji La bore the brunt of the winter weather, the warm, moisture-laden air coming up from the south — from Kashmir — and running smack into the Himalayas: a cold, implacable wall of rock.

Each morning I set out early after a light breakfast, trying to get the jump on the regular convoy of trucks and army vehicles that travel this route. There is only one road in to the region, and we are very close to the disputed border, Pakistani and Indian troops waging a furtive high-altitude war among the glaciers.

For several hours each morning the entire road would be mine alone: the thin thread of pavement winding upwards, raw rock and barren soil on either side. Overhead a constant clear blue sky and pale sun.