And we thought we were tough

We are in the desert. The landscape around us changes slightly from one valley to the other. We've seen rocky sand, flat sand, flying sand, sand whirling around in small tornadoes, sand with small shrubs or large boulders and wavy wind-sculpted sand. There have been very few towns and very few people on the road. Consequently we've had few excuses to take a break, and our average daily mileage has increased to about 100km. At the top of one relatively low high-pass, we stopped for a break of muslim bread and carrots and spotted in the distance the profile of a monk prostrating against the backdrop of the setting sun. We watch as he lies facedown on the road with arms and legs outstretched. With a slight push up, he stands up again in order to take a step forward and lie flat again once more. Like an inchworm, he glides his way forward measuring the road with the length of his body, wearing a custom made apron of leather that protects his front from the rough surface of the road and two wooden pads on his hands with steel strips on the bottom (fashioned like double bladed skates) which help him slide into the horizontal position. Wow! And we thought we were traveling the hard way. We ride down to where he has stopped to rest and offer him two of our pears and learn that he is on a pilgrimage towards the city of Lhasa. As if his form of locomotion was not enough of a challenge, he has also taken a vow of silence; Which suited us fine as he became extra expressive with his gestures and drawings in the sand so that we were able to fully understand. I casually ask how many months it will take him to get to Lhasa and he laughs. He has been on this pilgramage for three years now and it will take him three more years to get to Lhasa. (He covers three kilometers a day.) But that's not where it ends. He will continue for four more years down to India through Nepal towards Dharamsala where the Dalai Lama now resides and then towards a temple he showed us in a picture he carried which I unfortunately did not recognize. Only when he reaches the temple can he break his vow of silence, and begin his journey back home, though this time, he assures us, he will not be prostrating. He was contemplating coming back by bike! After a bit of 'chit-chat' he puts down his prostrating equipment, draws a line on the ground at the point of the last prostration (to know where to begin the next day) and walks ahead to where he has stashed his supplies. In a red tricycle with a flatbed and rain cover, he carries pretty much everything we carry but in bigger size. We had fun comparing our equipment. We have a small kerosene stove, he had a large stove and gas cylinder. He had a sheepskin rug, we have our foam sleeping pads. We have a small bag of Tsampa, the staple Tibetan food, he had a whole tub full. We both carried water-bottles filled with honey, chopsticks, bowls, tea, sugar, journals, maps and flashlights. He asked us if we would like to camp with him and in an instant we said yes. So we walked down the road to a point where the land dipped below the road and set up camp. We had to break our rule of always camping away from the road so nobody would see us, but in light of our company, we felt perfectly safe. We combined supplies and made diner and chatted way past our usual bed time. In the morning, he helped us pack and we set off in one direction and he walked off in the other, towards the point where he had reached last night to begin the day's three kilometers. About two kilometers down the road, we stopped for a 'technical' break and left him a happy face on the shoulder of the road for him to find that evening.