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I contemplate the five hours of riding up and down that bloody muddy mountain in a storm earlier as I sip my third Himachal double whisky, poured by the unwelcome man in the shack that recently saved my life. I've given up on the self starter on the Enfield, they aren't meant to have them. Now I just kickstart her and we're all happier. Sunshine and fun started the day. Then chain adjustment, lube and another refit of Khan's clutch pedal for Rs30, and we're happy. About another hour in and the road is a dirt track. In a lightning storm. Every centimetre is wet. The peak is hours away. The other side a step mud chute that I essentially slid down for an hour. Shaking uncontrollably, I find a guest house. Fire, pot, whisky, cheeky mountain folk. I'm staying here The night. I've no idea where I even am. And don't care.