The higher we climbed the narrower the road, in places wide enough only for one truck; all the way the 2 foot-wide tracks snaking beside me. Here and there quaint railway cottages sat close to the tracks. Victorian railway stations in miniature their canopies perched on old iron legs.

The season’s heavy rain had wreaked havoc on both road and tracks, I passed a dozen work-gangs toiling to rebuild buttress walls and relay bent twisted tracks, and all the way the road kept on climbing. View to the south showed the distance I’d ridden, way above the Mahananda River and the sprawl of Siliguri. The steep sided hills around me green with tea gardens, tea tea tea, as far as the eye could see.

My pillion alighted at Tindharia, shook my hand and waved me goodbye, 50kms to go with the sun going down. Some distance on I consulted the guidebook, hill stations in the dark are not the easiest places to negotiate. Closing in on Darjeeling the road was more broken and thoughts of hot baths and dinner were hard to suppress.

My experience of hill stations lead me to stop and ask, “Hotel Alice Villa dai, kaha chha?” “Back to the pump, turn left and go straight.” Checking once or twice more brought me right to the door. But trying to look smart after a day on the highway is more about smiles than wiping grime off your face.

“Good evening sir, can I help you?” “I’d like a room if you have one to spare.” The Manager was summoned. “How long would I stay and from where had I come? Polite answers and a gracious smile seemed to work. My night stop secured I could relax at last. Welcome to the Hotel Alice Villas.