Its drizzling, misty, cold and uphill. Fingers stiff cold, I struggle with my glasses, having to wipe them ever so often. The road is patchy and the visibility is bad; Suraj Taal is nothing but a mist of haze. I pass by without being able to spot it. Baralacha La is still some distance away. I concentrate on my breath like a metronome to keep the momentum; every inhale and exhale is one rotation of the pedal each, covering only a little more than a couple of metres. As I lift my head up, I see a sillouhette of a cyclist coming down the road..