Reports by Igor Kovse

As I came to the sign ``Perth 46 km'' I become a bit sentimental. I remembered a moment on the opposite side of time and space, the end of the first day (Day 0) just outside of Darwin. I was at the kitchen of a caravan park and a young fellow asked me where I was going to. ``I'm cycling to Perth'', I said. I had a sum total of 41 km under my belt at that time. The other camper, preparing the meal at the kitchen, looked at me bewildered, thinking probably ``What is this lunatic talking about?''.

I made this short tour because of a name: my bicycle has ``St Gothard'' written on it. But Gods didn't make it easy for me. My very last kms down from St Gotthard pass were like this:

``The heat was evaporating rapidly from my wet hands, and every gallery on the way down meant a refuge like coming home. I brake intermittently with one hand, sucking the water out of the glove on the other one. Behind the road barrier I can't see anything, it's total whiteness, I'm riding through the cloud. Could be like heaven if I weren't soaked to the bones.''

I've cycled over a number of passes these few weeks, but if I will remember one, then it will be Zoji La. It stands between Alpine-like valleys near Sonamarg and more rugged mountain ranges of upper Kashmir. The road is cut into a steep mountain slope and it seems it's a one-way road. As a cyclist I was allowed to go in the wrong dirrection. Before that, going up to the summit, I had a sur-realistic encounter with incredible number of trucks (at least 200) that were descending the pass practicaly bumper-to-bumber. With dirt road and the headwind it ment cycling in constant dust and exhaust fumes. By the time all the trucks passed I was as white as a baker after a night's shift.