Let me start this story by reminding you of the ‘muddy mare‘ I had just endured the day before to give part two of my Luang Prabang to Vang Vieng journey some context. Walking through 30km of muddy hills in 40 degree heat is hard enough, but when you’re hauling a bike (on road tyres) and 30kg of luggage with you, it begins to feel like there are little angry gnomes inside your muscles that have united in strike causing your body to shut down and refuse to move or function.

Even though I knew I had a seriously challenging mountain ahead of me, getting out of bed at 4:30am to get a good start on the day was not physically possible. 7am was the best I could do and I still had to pry my gammy eyes open whilst giving myself a pathetic excuse of a pep talk just to bring myself to a standing position – the day was going to be a literal uphill battle. On the bright side, the roads were good quality, the Laotian nature made for some insanely stunning scenery and the weather could’ve been a lot worse but it was still one of the most challenging climbs I’ve ever taken on…

By the time I’d reloaded my bike and got myself something to eat at a nearby restaurant, I didn’t leave until 9am which any cyclist would tell you, during Summer in SE Asia, is mistake number one of the day. When you’re travelling in a country with an exceptionally hot climate, getting up for sunrise and tackling some serious kilometres before the peak of the day is your best form of defence. And on this occasion, I had failed miserably!

My legs struggled on the initial couple of kilometres of flat land intentionally ignoring the mammoth task that was yet to come. The problem was, I didn’t get enough ‘warm up’ kilometres before I was slapped in the face with my first giant incline. Within just ten minutes I was at the foot of a road so steep that I felt like I was cycling vertically, especially with a rear-heavy load. Once I’d tackled the first corner to see that there was so much more, I referred to my cycling app, Komoot, to check the elevation profile. It was then that I realised that this mountain had looked small because of the grandiosity of the bigger one – brilliant! I’d been warned about the dramatic declivity of Laotian mountains but none so far had been this painful (I’m literally reliving the self-pity!).

The previous day’s mud marathon had battered both my body and spirit and it took me more than three hours to move just 6km. I stopped what must’ve been every twenty metres nursing my pains with mango breaks until I finally reached the decline and I could feel the physical rush as I relaxed and let myself fly.

The sun was just about breaking through the dense clouds as I coasted through more than 10km of scenic flat ground before stopping for some food preparing me to tackle the giant mountain that was now directly ahead of me. I savoured each bite and swallowed my dread along with my last mouthful of veggie noodles, mounted my bike and made headway at 4pm. I knew there was no way I would make it to the peak today, but I decided to worry about where I was going to sleep later and just get on with making progress.

Straight in with a 15% incline, the first slope gave me an insight into what else I’d have to conquer. It took all the energy I could muster to get up just the first few kilometres passing what ended up being the only guesthouse I would see. As the sky darkened, I needed some more motivating – yep, another mango break. This time, I scoffed two whole mangoes in a desperate attempt to lift my energy levels which to be fair, it did. Luckily, the gorgeous mountain scenery helped to keep me motivated!

The sky darkened and began to growl at me so I got my arse into gear and made some (slow) progress. I passed a house with people outside and asked how much further until I could find somewhere to sleep. A Thai man spoke good English and offered to give me a lift to the top which I refused politely. The local who was with him said that I’d have another 5km of steep climbing until I reached somewhere to stay so I continued positively with haste as sunset was approaching fast.

Even during these tough times, there’s something especially beautiful about being caught at dusk in the mountains when the sky turns orange and pink and the final glimmers of light get your muscles energised and drive you forward.

It was already dark when I came to a couple of shacks where I could hear the sounds of voices coming from inside. Three men and two women sat eating and drinking. As I gestured about having somewhere to sleep, I pondered what their relationships were and that it was a little strange that they had no children. They made a space for me in one of the huts on a hard wooden surface with some blankets over the top which I showed my gratitude for.

Once I’d unloaded my bags, I showered using a barrel of water they had outside. There was no toilet, just the great outdoors. The people were friendly, one of the men a little overly friendly once he’d been drinking. I didn’t feel threatened, but he did try to make me eat meat and did try to force me to drink alcohol which made me feel uncomfortable.

This was a common feeling that I’d had whilst travelling in Laos. I had consistently seen just how much drinking was a part of their culture – especially for the men. I think it also reflects the level of poverty and huge economic divide between the ‘haves’ and the ‘have nots’ leaving people with not much else to do other than drink. Education (if you’re even able to access one) is poor at best in remote areas and these people are basically guaranteed to have no hope of ever getting more out of their lives. Cultural divides between ethnic minorities are also prevalent which are very clear to see; from village to village the atmosphere and your reception can change from being the warmest, friendliest and most welcoming to adults glaring next to their snarling kids throwing stones at you. A bit bizarre.

I woke up early to get moving fuelled by a handful of sticky rice. One of the men held out his hand so I paid 20,000 Kip (about £2) for them for taking me in.

I couldn’t lie, I was dreading continuing on this mountain – it was just SO HARD. So hard but spectacularly scenic. The first 7km of 13-20% inclines were brutal but I actually managed to ride most of it out instead of my previous hopeless pushing. The first ‘viewpoint’ that was marked at the peak of this 7km was disappointing and definitely disheartened me a little, especially as I knew I still had a long way to go to the real mountain pass. But 5km of downhill brought it back and put a big grin on my face as the wind cooled the layer of sweat all over me and I arrived at a large plateau that was home to a small village.

The plateau was such an unexpected surprise – beauty in every direction and endless streams of green. I couldn’t believe this vast, natural space was at the top of the torture road I’d just struggled up – it made it all worth it.

The centre of the village was based around large, square courtyard that had an entry gate accompanied by an unmanned security box. I rolled past the dog, who put up a little resilience, and opted for left, towards some school-like single level buildings. Some unfriendly men emerged who were unhelpful when I asked for where I could find food (I was starving!) told me I’d have to wait until I got to the top but reluctantly refilled my empty water bottles. It turned out it was a military base camp and they weren’t very welcoming to visitors. With low energy levels, I left and continued on to the final 8km drastic climb.

I did bump into two motorcyclists on the way, an Austrian and a Vietnamese guy who told me it was even hard for them to get up there! The self pity grew…! We took a moment to appreciate where we were together before getting back on my way…

The weather began to reflect how I felt – grey, stormy and growling just like my belly! Thunder and lightening cracked loudly directly above me and I knew I was in the eye of the storm; there was no cover, no safety – I had to move. I pushed with everything I had left to continue but the road was so steep, I was falling backwards trying to ride.

I saw a ledge and had to take a minute to rest from hauling my baby up the mountain. As I approached the ledge, I saw a heard of cows just near the edge. Before I knew it, they were running at me and I sprinted back to my bike to get out their way. They literally chased me up the mountain until I couldn’t continue anymore and I had to threaten them with my flagpole. I could just see the headline: ‘Vegan gets pushed off cliff by cows whilst cycling for happiness’, I chuckled through the fear and breathlessness that just propelled me forward 2kms.

By this stage, I was also wearing a bin bag as a windbreaker that I’d discovered at the edge of the road because I was freezing and the winds were picking up – yep, a great look! Somehow, the weather held out and I didn’t get drowned which was an absolute miracle. I was disappointed to then stumble across a giant rubbish mound which broke my heart being in such a remote and wonderfully natural surrounding but as I conquered the final kilometre, I didn’t have time to dwell on that as I felt water quickly expel from my eyes as I cried with joy that the ordeal was finally over.

Ready to catch this pure, genuine and emotional moment of exceptional joy and relief on camera, I grabbed my GoPro that was attached to my chest harness to capture the special moment. Then, in typical Hannah fashion and most epic way to conclude this never-ending journey, it slipped from my grip and within a split second, my moment of elation turned into a clumsy disaster as both me and the GoPro smashed into the floor. A car even drove slowly past to watch the show which helped in feeling ultimately pathetic!

Once I’d recovered from the emotional trauma, I felt the elation as I summited this never-ending peak. The view was incredible. Three tough days, scarce food and water, a lot of rain, Laos-y luck and a couple of injuries but I’d made it nonetheless and I was as proud as could be.