'25 International Gathering - Bhutan

The International Yeti Gathering: Bhutan 

Words and Photos Dan Milner 

 Science says that it’s easier to breathe at high elevation at the equator than over the poles. For the closet geeks out there, this comes from the bulging of the atmosphere at the equator and thinning over the poles. Right now, I say screw the geeks. At a mere 27 degrees North this fact, quirky as it may be, doesn’t seem to be cutting me any slack: I’m still panting like an Iditarod husky on the finish line. 

The problem is that I’m not at the finish line. I have another 900 vertical feet to go. Grinding up a long, slithering singletrack tunnelled in by thick jungle at 11,000 feet, I’m clinging to the hope of keeping a string of Yeti riders just ahead in sight. They’re setting a pace that likely speaks to their altitude-hugging Colorado home lives — at least that’s what I tell my sea level dwelling, beer-loving self as I start dropping off the back. I pedal, puff and wheeze as I watch their shapes dissolve among the tall moss-shrouded trees, knowing at some point, somewhere up ahead, we’ll regroup for the descent. Then the real fun starts. How long is this damn climb anyway? 

To be fair, and wheezing aside, this ascent is as fair as they come in Bhutan: a long, mostly pedal-able singletrack that winds up through old-growth forest that echoes with bird call and serves as a hideaway for the elusive red panda, I’m told. An hour in we’ll top out just below the hilltop Lungchutse Monastery, from where we’ll drop into the ‘Madman Trail’: an energetic, writhing snake of dirt that spits endless surprises and tests of reaction at anyone ‘crazy’ enough to point a bike down it. Roots, rock drops and tight corners obscured by thick rhododendron punctuate its six miles and 45-hundred vertical feet of smiles. While the trail’s name has more to do with an ancient and infamous philandering monk than the unpredictability of its lively trail features, it’s worth every lung-punching turn of the cranks to reach it. 

The whole Madman Trail endeavour is typical of the Himalayan Kingdom of Bhutan, a place where it seems rewards aren’t won easily, and this pattern is set right out of the gate. Our inbound Airbus skims Himalayan peaks before free-falling between towering giants to touch down on a short runway that’s been squeezed into a narrow valley. And once on the bike, our very first ride out of Thimphu, the country’s capital, has us meander between polished glass facades and through breakfast rush-hour tailpipe fumes quickly give way to a steep, four-mile climb up the valley side — to the towering Dordenma Buddha. A 177-foot-high golden statue, beaming a beguiling, omnipresent smile out over the valley. 

Asphalt turns to dirt as we pull away from the Buddha and the climb continues on the KC trail, a rollercoaster ribbon of dust that cuts a four-mile undulating traverse above Thimphu’s office blocks. Littered with steep roll-downs and punchy up-ramps, its buff, swooping curves are the result of trail cleaning efforts of the few local mountain bikers, our four local guides included — Sonam Phuntsho, Sonam Tenzin, Tandin Wagchuck and Pelden Dorji. The whole ride is set against a backdrop of distant snowy peaks. 

Thankfully, these breath-taking views provide an excuse to pause and refill lungs before the next segment of interval-training unfolds before us and we finally roll into a long set of rhythmic, swooping S-bends that hurl us back to the valley floor. At the bottom I pull to a stop and look around at the sweaty, dusty cluster of 30 Yeti freaks — many of the Gathering’s usual suspects, a few new faces, and Conroy and Hoog. Around me, I notice everyone sporting a smile as wide as the Buddha statue’s. It’s a smile we’ll see a lot in Bhutan during the ten-day Yeti Gathering. 

Smiling is something the Bhutanese aim to do well; Their constitution uses a ‘Gross National Happiness Index’ rather than GDP to measure the prosperity of this largely Buddhist country whose population is smaller than Danny Mac’s Insta following. But despite its holistic ambitions, I sense life isn’t easy here. Over the next few days, we pedal between paddy fields, orchards, and terraces of barley, all worked by hand, while motorised transport across the country — through its countless plunging valleys and over its high mountain passes — is painstakingly slow. During the many shuttles we use to take the sting from otherwise huge, all-day climbs, we tailgate wheezing, smoke-belching trucks slowly grinding their way south, loaded high with sacks of potatoes for export to India. Many of them sport novel bumper stickers. “Test your brakes here!” teases one, and “No Over-speeding!” another. A third suggests, “Check for Dogs lying underneath”. It seems Buddhist compassion extends even to the countless stray dogs that like to spend their days sleeping in the shade beneath parked vehicles so that they can noisily bark most of the night. Earplugs are perhaps an incongruous item on a packing list to visit a country so peaceful. 

“It’d be ironic to be decapitated by prayer flags,” laughs Euan as we duck beneath yet another line of colourful flags strung across our descent. It’s not a ‘trail hazard’ typical to most of our chain-gang, and speaks to the fact that we’re following not bike trails but old access paths that thread between villages and monasteries. You could just as easily turn a corner and run into a yak too, so reflexes have to be on-point. But this factor, like the piles of steamed momo’s for lunch and the post-ride rice beers, just heighten the experience of being somewhere alien, somewhere different. As far as enduro style trails go, you couldn’t ask for better, and each has its own character.  

Stout pines mottle the hot sunshine on one long traverse, while tall golden grasses boombox a tinnitus soundtrack of crickets on another. Above Gangtey, Bhutan’s infamous black-crane valley, a vast open whaleback ridgetop launches a fast and furious descent that’s been earned by a forty minute hike-a-bike, or “Bhutanese shuttle”, as Pelden calls it. At the bottom, pedaling through a wide dusty valley, we’ll pass the remains of a horse, predated by a leopard. And punctuating each unique day of riding is a lunch served picnic-style by an enthusiastic support team. We spoon curries onto plates and sip scalding hot chai, all served by smiling cooks dressed in traditional Gho, the Bhutanese colourful gowns. 

Averse to losing its cultural heritage, Bhutan didn’t open its doors to foreigners until 1974, and to Television in 1999. Even today, foreign visitor numbers — most arriving for cultural tours rather than mountain biking — are miniscule compared to those boasted by nearby Nepal. Between rides we wander the stone-paved alleyways of myriad monasteries, rubbing shoulders with some of the cultural tourists and marvelling at the intricate artwork covering the temple walls, each relaying a part of Bhutan’s rich cultural history that has its roots in Tibet.  

Even on wild, high mountainsides, Bhutan’s colourful culture is prevalent, and becomes part of the very language of riding here. This International Gathering quickly becomes less a mountain bike session and more of a multi-sensory immersion into a world few people are privileged to see. We slide past ridgetop Ghompas, and enormous, ornate prayer wheels turned 24/7 by stream-driven water wheels. We scoot beneath fluttering Manidhar — stands of 108 tall, white prayer flags on poles — and duck to avoid garrotting by the tangles of red, white, blue, green and yellow Lunghdar prayer flags that seem to adorn every hillside and litter every other trail. And inevitably we all stop and gawp at a hundred or more painted or carved phallus that decorate buildings to ward off evil spirits in the Madman’s Sopsokha village. Slowly, we all sink into a slower way of life, swearing that we’ll each take a little of Bhutan’s slower pace home with us. But pedalling through a Himalayan Kingdom somewhere near the equator, home seems a million miles away; so for now I’ll just accept “slower” on my climbs.