I’m addicted to cycling in the high mountains. There is this special feeling, when, after a hard day of exhausting ascent, I finally put my head to the pillow, my joints crack as I adjust position – a warm meal is in my stomach, dry lips say goodnight to my girlfriend – lying next to me in her sleeping bag – and I finally allow myself to relax and just let go. Even through closed eyes, I can still see the rocky trail ahead of me, as the front tyre jumps from side to side, trying to keep me upright. All my body aches, my skin is covered in the mixture of dust, sunscreen and sweat. But I feel great, knowing that I am surrounded by magnificent, ever-white peaks and that I got there only because I was determined enough to keep on pedalling. Despite the pain in my thighs and the lack of oxygen, it is an overwhelming, immersive joy.

The more time I spent at high altitude, the easier and more pleasant everything became. After months of conquering the high passes in the Indian Himalayas I arrived in Nepal, together with my girlfriend Anna. We’d reached a point where our bodies were pretty well-accustomed to the strenuous terrain; they’d already brought us to places we could never have imagined before setting off. It was surprising at just how much our slender frames were now capable of, yet we wanted to push them just a bit more. For the first time during our long bicycle journey across Asia, I wanted to know what it would be like to travel ultralight. Being on the road for many months and travelling thousands of kilometres on fully-loaded bicycles did make us appreciate the many advantages of equipment we had been carrying around with us. But the question kept arising about the necessity of hauling all those weighty items in our panniers all the time. So, while crossing through Nepal we finally seized the chance to test ourselves in a more minimalistic scenario.

The Annapurna Circuit. We’d heard about the trail long before we entered Nepal, listened to tales of its incredible beauty, the dramatic landscapes and of the legendary people inhabiting this remote and mystical land. The path starts in the lowlands, running through rice paddy fields and villages that could be as well located in Laos or Burma than Nepal, soon after entering misty, subtropical jungle, where the road winds along the massive cliffs, then continues through the Switzerland-like spruce and pine forests to enter the spectacular, typically Himalayan landscape of naked rocks and sky-scraping, snow-covered mountains.

As we learnt from other travellers, those who had already had the chance to visit this part of the Himalayas, the trail is rather well-maintained and there are many restaurants and guest houses along the way. But seeing as the circuit’s tallest point lies even higher than the passes we’d already cycled and this was on trail, not on a road, the challenge definitely lay there – ahead, waiting for us. The opportunity to test ourselves cycling the trail was too tempting to resist. However we knew that if we wanted to succeed, we would had to leave most of our luggage behind and ride only with the barest of essentials. Luckily the abundance of accommodation was our chance to cycle light, so that we could focus more on the surroundings and appreciate being so close to the lofty peaks, those that many have spent years dreaming of climbing. The question was, would it be possible for us to fully enjoy nature in a destination that lures thousands of trekkers every year? Could we still call it an adventure?