Three weeks since we last turned a pedal!The last time we did any exercise was in Iran, the desert was empty of people and the only vegetation was an occasional scrubby bush every 100m or so and the wind was so strong we were going forwards at 10km per hour at times. Some things don't change.

What a difference, trying to find your way out of Lahore is both a trial and dead easy. The roads are clogged with traffic, not your ordinary London or Hobart traffic (does Hobart have much traffic??). There are the usual cars and buses and lorries, but the cycle rickshaws are a menace as they constantly see Jenny overtaking them as a reflection on their manhood and frantically pedal to over take her then expire in a gasping heap blocking her way. Oh her language gets a bit choice at times. Mind you I wasn't much better when a buffalo cart cut me up, the shame of it!!!

It's only 40km to the Indo-Pak Border, being closed to all but foreigners it get eerily quiet as you approach. No one has a reason to go there nowadays. It took 2 hours to cross, our slowest yet, but considering these countries are virtually at war and have been since 1947 it was a breeze. The main delay was having to wait on the head man of each section coming back form lunch to sign us into the official book, this pen pushing ritual, so loved by the Indians and Pakistanis takes up a surprisingly long time. Especially when accompanied by the same endlessly repeated questions about our trip and us. The annoying bit is no one ever actually listens to our responses.

Amritsar is home the Golden Temple, a place of immense reverence and pilgrimage for all the world's Sikhs. Being a pilgrimage site it is set up for tourists on a massive scale, right next to the Golden Temple there are guesthouses for pilgrims, where they can stay for free. Next door there is an immense dining hall where basic food is doled out free to pilgrims by volunteers. The best bit is that Sikhs make the Iranians look relaxed about hospitality - we stopped the bikes to check where we were and half dozen men with turbans and swords ran up, immediately organizing us free accommodation and food. We even scored a room all to ourselves, luxury. The only problem was rather public showers and having to cover my hair (well baldness). The views of the Temple from the front door were amazing, every so often you had to pinch yourself, yes that really is THE Golden Temple.

The second night we entered the temple just as the Holy Book was being taken out. A temple guardian explained everything for us. The Sikhs only have 10 gurus (or saints) 9 are dead but they revere the Holy Scriptures as a living saint in its own right. Every evening the saint is taken out of the temple and stored in the Sikh Parliament building, the procession takes ages as to carry the Holy Scripture is considered on of the greatest privileges a Sikh have. So everyone wants to do it, hence the very slow progress on its 100m journey every evening. Meanwhile a team of volunteers clean the temple from top to bottom with milk and sprinkle rosewater in it, they then stay all night guarding it until the book's return at 4am.

The great news is that Punjab is really flat, in fact it makes Holland look positively lumpy. Mile after mile we scoot along with lush fields on either side of the road, ladies in bright saris and shalwar chemise work the field and the occasional bullock cart needs overtaking. The water buffalo are fantastically ugly, their shiny dung covered skin looks slimy, their appearance is made much worse by them constantly licking their bogies out of their noses with their immense pink tongues.The Grand Trunk Road is India's equivalent of the M1 motorway, it connect everyt hing and anything and is clogged with all sorts of traffic. All the rules of the road are ignored and at any second a cow/bullock/child/lorry/bus/cycle rickshaw/cyclist or over excited onlooker may suddenly leap out in front of you. Add to that the constant stream of guys who are drawing along side of Jenny to stare, blocking the road. It gets a bit hairy at times. The road quality is unbelievably variable; the Indian Government is obviously upgrading some of it to western standards but leaving the rest of it to go to pot. This meant long stretches are so full of holes I constantly have to stand out of the saddle as my bike crashes through them. There is no option of avoidance as the really big traffic is less then a metre away.

Then you look up, three lanes of traffic coming towards you on a two lane highway, one car is driving on the hard shoulder on our side of the road at top speed hooting like mad, smiling, always smiling. The person who invented car horns obviously never lived in India. The drivers use them all the time, and I mean ALL the time, one scooter rider passed us in the countryside turned off the road 50m ahead and drove off into the distance with his hand never straying from the strangled cat sounding horn. Why??? I don't know.

They sell beer here, cold beer, they even advertise it. Seems so strange after Iran and Pakistan. Jenny has even begun to show her hair in public again. TART! she has no shame!