Leh Trip - Summer 2009 - Desi

A Bal’leh of Riders getting Leh’d (20 June – 3 July, 2009)

There are many words for pass in the English-speaking world. In the United States, the southern Appalachians more commonly use the word gap, and notch is often heard in New England. Scotland has the Gaelic term bealach (anglicised "Balloch"). In the Lake District of north west England, the term hause is often used, although the term pass is also common — one distinction is that a pass can refer to a route, as well as the highest part thereof, while a hause is simply that highest part, often flattened somewhat into a high level plateau. The Ladakhis call it ‘La’.

A – New Delhi B – Chandigarh C – Manali D – Keylong E – Sarchu F – Leh G – Kargil H – Drass I – Srinagar J – Jammu K – Ludhiana L – New Delhi

Prologue The old man was re-living some dangerous days 10 years ago. “When the mortars fired, windows burst 5 miles away..” “Within days of the Pakistanis arriving, this town was cleared by the Army. I kept coming back once a month. It was heartbreaking to see people die..” “I could not recognize my house when I returned. One of the outhouses had been completely flattened..” “You can see the bunker if you want. Om Puri and some other actors spent 3 days there when they came to Drass to research the Kargil war & the firing started..” We trooped down towards the bunker. I was the first to enter, gingerly going down the stairs with a torch in my hand. I half expected to feel bats flap against my face when the torch came on. The room was small, maybe 6 feet in length and breadth. When all 11 of us had descended into the bunker, there was barely place enough to move. I have inherited a touch of claustrophobia from my mother, so I came out in a hurry. The wind bit into my face as I came out of the door and lifted my face to stare at Tiger Hill. The hills of Ladakh rose around us. Great, misshapen monsters, each uniquely scarred from countless years of erosion by the unrelenting winds. Further into the distance, ice-clad peaks towered even higher. Not a speck of vegetation could be seen on the hills. Even the lush green valley contrasted strongly against the barren surface of the hills. As we rode towards Drass, one of the road posts proclaimed: FROM NOW ON, YOU ARE UNDER ENEMY OBSERVATION. You could imagine a pair of binoculars or a rifle with a telescopic sight trained towards your head. I recalled the Army observation posts that I had seen several times on the road to and from Kargil and the lonely vigil that the soldiers had to maintain in the bitter cold, and felt like waving at the imaginary “enemy” on the hill. Prudently, I stayed my hand. In the meantime, Viswakarma had checked the air valves, tuned the engines, greased the transmission, tightened the brakes, pumped air into the tyres, fixed some electrical malfunctions, topped the engine oil, ……… and tied the bags. We were ready to go! The heavily layered bikers mounted their machines and one by one the comforting roar of Royal Enfields filled the air. With each rev, the excitement of another day of riding rose and drove out memories of war. The old man waved at us as we rode out of the hotel. Soon we were back in the hills, the sun yet to rise, and the prospect of fifteen exhilarating hours ahead.

Viswakarma

Tender 21, a Tamilian born & raised in Delhi, uncomplaining, hardworking and one of the best mechanics I had ever seen. Without him, we would have never made it. Loaned to us by the guy who had rented us the bikes.

HillMan

Hailed from Himachal. Most comfortable in the hills and thought nothing of taking the “road less taken” even if it was 45o steeper! Also occupied in building a “portfolio” of photographs in impossible poses for uploading on Bharat Matrimony!

CheerLeader

This guy had long wavy hair like a woman and talked more. He was the life of the group, keeping all in splits with humor laced with barbs. CL had a biking license, spent all of ten minutes riding during our trip and thankfully lived to regret it!

Don

Small and quiet, this little guy from Andhra didn’t look like he was a nature lover, much less willing to survive an arduous bike ride. One wondered what he was doing in a distinctly “North Indian” crowd. But when he wore his glares (& kept them on through the night) and determinedly hopped on to the back of a bike, one could make out that he would complain the least. When Don spoke his one-liners, one could hear DON-don-don-don in the background, in true Bollywood style

LampPost

Tall, lanky and Mr. Responsible. LampPost hailed from a Marwari family settled in Nepal’s plains for more than a 100 years. LampPost was our banker, maintained the finances, served as squadron leader to the pack, always lent a hand to help and in general played a very stabilizing influence on all of us.

YoungDidi

She didn’t like being called Didi although it seemed natural to the rest of us! She fussed over us, made sure we ate well, laughed at everything we said… you get the picture. Extremely vivacious and outgoing, YD lifted our spirits at every step

KingKong

KK was YD’s hubby. Short & explosive, KK was a “true leader of men” – by the time we were halfway through our trip, people referred to him as KK-ji. KK liked his comfort and single-handedly raised the service levels of all the restaurants that we visited. KK was also a fearless biker and we found it tough to keep up when he really got going on his mean machine!

YoungTurk

YT rode a bike for the first time EVER, a couple of days before our trip began. A few days later, YT was heard saying “the bike has become a part of me now”! YT had trekked up and down Uttaranchal, stayed 3 days on a raft floating down the Ganga and loved water (that he can’t swim is another matter). YT probably rope-climbed down his bed every morning! Quick & resourceful, YT knew more about Kashmir than the rest of us combined

Sardar

Sardar is my batchmate from college and the guy who had brought us all together. He was most unlike any Sardar I had seen, and not just because he was fully bald! Sardar was very soft spoken, thoughtful and immensely modest. You get what I mean. Sardar & YD were siblings. HM, CL, Don, LP and YT (collectively referred to as the Baccha-party) had finished college a year or two back and joined the same company where Sardar had worked for 8 years.

HyperGirl

My wife. She would have enough opportunities during this trip to lose her cool – driven by the bad roads till Rohtang La, dangerous night driving till Keylong, personal safety issues on the road to Jammu and many more. HyperGirl also made sure she got enough anecdotes from the local Ladakhi populace to fill her next research report!

I

Narrator’s advantage, no nickname! I had done several long distance bike rides, but never in the hills and was riding an Enfield for only the second time. I didn’t know a soul on this trip, except Sardar, when we started. So I started the trip with some apprehension and ended with the conviction that I could not have found a better group to ride with.

Day 1 – Royal Enfields derailed by a Royal Challenge Signboard Sardar had directed me to ‘Jeetendra Motors’ in Delhi, which was the source station for the bikes. A couple of guys had reached there and Sardar would arrive with the rest of the gang shortly. Lugging rucksacks and attracting more than a fair share of curious stares, HyperGirl and I arduously made our way through Hauz Khas and almost ditched our trip then and there after over an hour of search that kept us moving in circles within a 200 metres radius of the shop. I am penning this travelogue, which means we did find the shop. HillMan, CheerLeader & YoungTurk had reached. We met and shook. Jeetendra turned out to be a big, business-like Sikh who promptly began churning out papers for me to sign. It appeared that not only was I signing blanket indemnities on a stamp paper, but the bike was being sold to me for the duration of the trip! I looked sideways at YoungTurk who shrugged. YoungTurk was in charge of documentation. “This is your bike,” said HillMan, after the ‘signing ceremony’ was over. “It’s the best bike of the lot – a 2006 model. The rest are 2003 models.” HillMan, I had noticed, spoke seldom and slowly. Maybe people from the hills conserved words to conserve oxygen. Sardar had selected Thunderbirds as the gear & rear brakes are on the same side as conventional bikes, unlike other Bullets that have the reverse order. The last thing any of us wanted was to end up sliding down a slope, frantically pushing down on the right and discovering that we were changing gears instead! While I had done plenty of riding trips, I was riding a Thunderbird for only the second time. To no surprise, I needed HillMan’s assistance to start the bike the first time. Sardar was getting delayed as he was facing some traffic on his way to the shop and the delay was getting Jeetendra worked up. I tried polite conversation to calm him down and asked him about whether he ‘organized’ trips as well. Seemed like I had massaged his grandiose ego. “Absolutely sir,” he boomed. “I organize trips to Ladakh, Kashmir Valley, Uttaranchal and Rajasthan. Big groups require a lot of service. For example, I am going to loan a hundred bikes to a bunch of tourists from UK after you are back. They will require 3 jeeps just to carry spares, at least 5-6 mechanics, 3 doctors, reservation in hotels etc. It’s a huge order.” But where would he manage to get a hundred bikes? “There are many of us sir. Whenever there are large contracts, we pool our bikes together. You think the bikes you are hiring are mine?” he clarified. Sardar soon came with Don and LampPost pulled up as well. LampPost was wearing glares, and with his natural good looks and tall frame appeared exactly like the stereotype pseude, flashy Delhiite. I inwardly groaned. Thankfully I would be proven completely wrong. It appeared that we were taking 5 Thunderbirds and a CBZ. Since YoungDidi and KingKong were joining us at Manali, one bike would be ridden by Jeetendra till Chandigarh, after which Viswakarma would take over till Manali. No wonder Jeetendra was getting worked up on our getting late. He would have to return from Chandigarh to Delhi in the middle of the night!

“But why a CBZ?” I asked Sardar. “Yaar, YoungTurk doesn’t have much experience in biking, so we wanted to give him a lighter bike.” “Actually,” said CheerLeader, “he has all of 3 hours of experience, when he test-drove Sardar’s Pulsar from Gurgaon to Delhi two days back! And some more news for you, he doesn’t have a license either!” “Delhi to Ladakh without a driving license! That will make a great book title!” and we all laughed and got ready to set off. It was 5:30PM, we were a couple of hours behind time. -----------------------------------4 hours had passed and 2 of those had been spent in getting out of Delhi. As expected, it was very hot till sunset, and sunset in these parts was only at 8PM. The hot summer wind was strong and I kept the helmet’s visor firmly down. I was racing ahead, trying to make up for lost time. HillMan and YoungTurk were not far behind. YoungTurk, for all his inexperience, appeared absolutely fearless. CheerLeader rode behind YoungTurk to “mitigate the license risk” for CheerLeader had a license but wasn’t confident enough to ride! The bike felt wonderful, the sound was intoxicating and at 100 kmph, the engine chugged comfortably. I had to control myself to not speed faster. We stopped at a dhaba for some authentic Punjabi fare, which was really delicious. - Gleaming machines at the Dhaba

Sardar mentioned that we weren’t actually going to Chandigarh, but to a small town on the outskirts where his aunt & uncle lived. His relatives apparently owned a mansion that could accommodate all of us for a night. “Now we all go ahead and soon we will cross a Kingfisher signboard,” said Jeetendra ponderously. “After that the road splits, and we should take the road NOT going to Chandigarh.” Unfortunately for Jeetendra United Breweries had replaced the Kingfisher signboard by a Royal Challenge board. • Not many had paid attention to his latter statement. •

We left the dhaba after 10PM. Again, I was faster than the rest, and was soon wondering where the Kingfisher signboard was. HyperGirl berated me for driving so fast that we missed the sign altogether. We came to a fork – one saying Chandigarh & the other Amritsar. “Stop stop stop,” HyperGirl yelled over the engine and I moved the bike to a grassy plot inbetween the fork and prepared to wave the others to stop as well. Needless to say it was

pitch dark and I thought the bright shiny indicators of my Thunderbird would signal to our gang that they should stop there. First day of biking, the night’s chilled air and eyes ONLY for a Kingfisher board - all the other bikes just whizzed past us and took the road TO Chandigarh. Jeetendra, coming in last, also whizzed past us, only that he took the road TO Amritsar. And here we were – two helpless souls, waiting in the dark, our mission totally unaccomplished. Jeetendra however stopped a few yards ahead having noticed us, and turned back to the fork. Utter confusion followed. I revved up and started chasing the rest. It took me several minutes to catch up with Sardar and LampPost. Sardar was able to reach HillMan’s cellphone (one of the last times our cellphones would work). HillMan tried stopping YoungTurk – he flashed his lights, overtook Turk and tried to stop him three times. But YoungTurk’s first time on a CBZ was way too intoxicating for him to notice such small distractions and he rode on and ignored the flashing lights ALL three times. “It appears that YoungTurk is so thrilled with his first biking experience that he is not going to stop till he reaches Chandigarh!” said HillMan wryly as he joined us. Sardar was eventually able to get through CheerLeader’s phone - “Where are you guys?” “We’ve just crossed a ‘Welcome to Chandigarh’ signboard!” We came back to the fork where Jeetendra joined us and debated on what was to be done. In the midst of the debate, I looked up and saw Don still wearing his glares at 11PM. That’s how the nickname Don came to stick! “We had better move on, they’ll make their way from Chandigarh”, said Jeetendra finally, and we left. All the confusion ensured that we reached Sardar’s relatives’ place past midnight. They lived in a small town-in-the-making in a new colony with high walls and security. Understandably the security guards were concerned as 6 bikers zoomed past right up to the house. As we parked, a guard ran up, looked at us and then bellowed ‘Veerji (Sardar’s uncle), who are these miscreants at this hour?” While Sardar’s uncle did his bit in explaining that these worn-out bikers were unlikely to cause harm, the guard appeared to take only little comfort with this explanation, and turned to go promising to himself that he would keep an eye on us. It didn’t seem to deter him that he was the size of Rajpal Yadav, while some of those amongst us could have equaled Puneet Issar!

Day 2 – Garmi and Chabeel As we were leaving Sardar’s relatives’ place the next morning, his uncle recounted a story where he had traveled from Delhi to his home around 3 years ago, in winter and high fog conditions, where visibility was not more than a few feet. At the end of it, it turned out that he had taken the same time as we had the previous night! - As we leave..

On that encouraging reflection of our riding abilities, we left their place and soon were onward to Manali. We had 290 kms to go today. The sun was searing down again today. However, we believed respite was only 25 kms away, where the hills began. All of a sudden, we encountered some youths providing water to thirsty motorists. I stopped, as did all of us, and took two glasses of what turned out to be scented Lassi. The youths kept refilling their jugs from a tent that seemed to have an unlimited supply. I looked expectantly at LampPost to fulfill his responsibility of banker and pay the lassi-servers but he gulped his glass down and revved ahead. Duh? I took out my wallet and asked a youth how much. “No sir, no need, this is just like that,” he said and went away to feed someone else. Sardar came upto me and explained - “’tis a festival of Sikhs called Chabeel in this part today. On this day, people make makeshift tents alongside the road, keep water in ice buckets and serve water / lassi to all passing motorists. All free of cost!” Wow! I later read that Chabeel was a grand langar, organized on the hottest day of the year, in remembrance of the martyrdom of Guru Arjan Dev.

- Chabeel

We steadily chugged on and the hills began. It was soon apparent that the heat would grant no respite till evening. The sun beat down mercilessly. HillMan’s appetite for ‘Chai’ was soon

evident and we were making several stops. We were getting really delayed and it didn’t seem that we could make it to Manali by sunset. The scenery, however, was breathtaking. We were riding alongside the Sutlej and the road was excellent (little did we have an inkling of what lay ahead over the next few days). Occasionally, we would catch a view of towns in the valley. We passed close to the Bhakra Nangal Dam – India’s largest dam – and got an excellent view of the gushing waters from a dhaba on the way. HillMan appeared to feel completely at home amongst the hills, for he soon overtook the rest of us and happily wound his way along the hills taking steep turns with aplomb. YoungTurk warned us to keep our jackets out as temperatures would fall rapidly after sunset. “Thank God! How many hours to sunset?” was the universal response. Bike trouble struck. HillMan’s bike had a brake failure while overtaking a truck on a descending road and he somehow managed to come to a halt. Viswakarma set to work. We lost another 30 minutes. As the sun came down (around 8PM) and the shadows lengthened, the population became sparser. The river was now on its own amongst high mountains rising and falling on both sides. I had been to New Zealand a year-and-a-half back, but this scenery was even more breathtaking. - Dusk: on the way to Manali

As predicted, the air became much cooler. Turk and I had gotten ahead of the rest when HillMan’s bike broke down. By 8.30PM, YoungTurk and I were close to Kullu, when YoungTurk got a call from LampPost. “Where have you guys reached? We are 9 kms from Kullu”. YoungTurk stopped his bike and looked up to a milestone that read ’12 kms to Kullu’. Turk was left wondering that if these guys were 9 kms from Kullu, where on earth was he? Kullu and Manali seemed to be moving targets, getting farther away the closer we got. YoungTurk was a little nervous now. The road to Manali from Kullu was pitch dark and winding through hills. Civilization came up every 5 kms or so, but this was still Turk’s first ride on a hilly terrain. One would think he would ride slowly. Not Turk, he simply speeded up!

A little past 9PM YoungTurk and I entered Manali. At the entrance the local cops stopped us. “Sir, you need to pay Rs 100/- environmental tax per bike, before entering Manali.” As sincere tax-paying citizens, we dismounted and decided to wait for the others. When the cop did not see us moving towards the payment counter, he came up and spoke to us in a low voice, “Sir if you think Rs 100 is too high, please pay at-least Rs 75 per bike.”

HyperGirl almost squealed in disbelief, “I didn’t know taxes were negotiable!” We finally paid Rs 50 per bike and moved on. Our hotel was well located at the end of a wood and beside a stream that flowed like a minirapid. YoungDidi and KingKong had reached the hotel earlier during the day and were waiting for us. There remains a small tale to be said before we end the day. It turned out during dinner that no one had any stock of liquor. So KingKong and I left to search out some. We reached a liquor shed close to the hotel, but the shed appeared to be closed. “Hey, no, the shutter is slightly open!” said KK and ran to the shed. I squinted and it appeared that the shutter was open all of 6 inches from the bottom. KK bent and yelled, “Hey Brother, can we get something?” A disembodied voice replied, “Closed.” “Hey we’ll pay well, just give us half a bottle of whisky”. Tip: Never say die if the friendly neighbourhood liquor store appears closed! And lo, an exchange happened under the door and we all managed to get a couple of pegs down that night. Just like college days.

Day 3 – A Traffic Jam!.. and a Narrow Escape Next morning, I received an SMS from a cousin that went: “I am in office on a Monday morning and can’t help think about the two of you amongst the beauty of the hills. I wish I had my leave sanctioned.” He would have felt better had he known that we were about to face a traffic jam! We had reached Manali the previous night, after having “created two records” over the last two days that we weren’t proud of. We must have taken the longest time ever from Delhi to Chandigarh on the first day and Chandigarh to Manali on the second. Today we were determined to do a better job. Sardar had pointed out that we should start early, to beat the tourist traffic towards Rohtang. Dutifully, no one woke up before 8. - The stream next to our hotel

In the morning, Manali looked beautiful. Our hotel1 was right next to a stream that appeared to have the force of a Level 4 river-rafting experience, with a green hill gently rising beyond and snow-capped peaks in the distance. Turk had already been to the market once (Turk always rose early) and returned with the encouraging news that the traffic to Rohtang was already a kilometer long. Viswakarma had been up for the last 2 hours to check the bikes thoroughly. Soon we all trooped out and met for breakfast. KingKong – “Omlettes anyone?” It appeared as though a no would surprise him. KingKong regularly wolfed down 3 eggs a day. Already YoungDidi had shown her ability to care for her flock. She flitted from one to the other, making sure each was well fed. I was realizing that Sardar’s legendary reputation for hospitality was hereditary. The cool weather, after two days of heat, lulled us into inactivity. We must have taken a lazy hour to finish breakfast and a further hour-and-a-half to tie the bags to the bike with the bungee cords. A special note on KK and Didi’s rucksack – it was twice the size of the largest rucksack that we had! Fixing it to the bike took a minimum of 3 bungee cords. Tip: Bungee cords are most essential & very efficient in tying luggage to a bike.

1

Hotel Dreamland, good location, large rooms and good service. Tariff: Rs [1500 ] ($ [30]) per room per night

We were on our way by 11:30. Or, to be precise, crawling on our way. KingKong, who had been to Manali the previous year, informed us that traffic to Rohtang began as early as 5AM. A plethora of cars, trucks and buses moved slowly up the narrow road to Rohtang. Chai-wallahs had adapted to the situation and offered tourists cups of tea on the way. The tourists were free to sip through the tea while their vehicle was moving and leave the tea glasses on the roadside, wherever they finished drinking. The chai-wallahs had their own network to collect empty glasses along the way. Most innovative! Rohtang is around 52 kms from Manali. Luckily the initial traffic fell away and we raced ahead for 15 kms or so. We stopped for a break at some dhabas located on the bank of a stream. The water flowing down the stream was ice cold! When we left the dhaba, traffic started in earnest. We used all city driving tactics to weave in between the traffic and move ahead. But we were nowhere in the clear as the road steadily worsened. Soon, all semblances to a road completely fell away. I think we must have all cursed under our helmets (and CheerLeader more vocally). Rohtang had witnessed very high snowfall this year (later people told us that this was the highest snowfall in the last 20 years). Snow was melting all around in the hot summer morning (yes, hot !). The road had completely cracked up. After good roads all the way to Manali, we were traversing steep 40 degree inclines, hairpin bends, narrow mountain roads filled with potholes and boulders strewn, for the first time in this trip. Trucks emitted black sooty smoke into our faces, SUVs splashed mud as they overtook (of course these were easier to handle than large trucks trying to overtake an SUV on an incline, that you are already trying to overtake, and a mini-bus hurtling down the road from the opposite side) and horns blared all around. At some stretches, the path disintegrated into huge rocks. My inexperience with the Enfield started to show as I tried to weave through the rocks. HyperGirl’s navigational efforts were of no avail. I was falling..falling..Crash! When would this end? The loops went up and up. The snow alongside became thicker and the chill started biting through my fingers. Soon I could hardly feel them as I continued to wind up slush, paths filled with pebbles and huge puddles. Our shoes were soon soaked as I ineffectually tried to work my way around the water. - Rohtang La

Then suddenly we were over the top. “Welcome to Rohtang!” said KingKong, who had got there first. I looked around the Rohtang La, the first of many passes we would encounter. In terms of height, Rohtang La was a measly 3890 meters, which would be our average height for the next several days. The hill on my left was perhaps a third covered with snow, but it was already far more snow than I had ever seen. I could spot YoungTurk climbing up a hill. YoungTurk seemed like a younger version of me – he wore only a shirt in the cold with a couple of buttons open.

“What a road man!” “Is this how it’s going to be!” exclaimed the others as they wound to a stop next to us. “I completely left off steering and let the wheel go wherever it wanted to go”, said HillMan. I made a mental note of how to ride an Enfield on bad roads. Tip: While riding a Thunderbird (or any Bullet) on bad roads, leave the steering free and let the wheel go wherever it wants to go Soon we had all clambered over the snow. The baccha-party was throwing snowballs at each other and one landed SPLAT on my face. A first for me again. I retaliated with vigor. There was a large tourist crowd on the pass. But this was the last time we would see a crowd for several days. We revved up and started moving, and after a turn were completely enveloped in silence. The route down from Rohtang was thankfully better than the way up. We had taken all of 4 hrs to travel 52 kms to Rohtang, and it was 4PM by the time we left. Still, we had only 64 kms to go to Keylong, no traffic ahead and four hours of daylight left. Should have been comfortable, or so we thought. - Fork: Kaza & Leh

As we began the climb down from Rohtang, the complete lack of traffic hit us. Soon, it was just the mountains and us all around. The occasional truck would force us to flatten against the mountainside as it passed and kicked dirt into our faces. The road showed no signs of improvement and neither did our speed. Suddenly, HillMan and YoungTurk pulled ahead when they reached a fork – it appeared to have divined on them all by itself that one road led to Kaza and the other to Leh. I say divined since there was no signboard at all. YoungTurk and HillMan had done much googling and had even memorized when and where such forks lay. 10 kms ahead, at Khoksar, I was ahead. Local cops stopped us to register the vehicle. I was occupied with balancing the bike & putting it on its stand (quite a task for me!) and asked HyperGirl to do the needful. As she walked into the cop’s office, the cop took one look at her and said, “Why have you come? HE should have come.” It appeared that the cop was all set to take a bribe and didn’t want to ask for one in front of a lady. Talk about twisted chivalry! The others, who pulled in after we had left, had a more interesting experience. LampPost went in to register. The cop said, “Show me all your driving licenses.” LampPost saw YoungTurk pulling in behind him and quickly tried to divert the cop’s attention. “Sir, ask me any details, I have all names, addresses, bike registration numbers etc.”

CheerLeader also came into the room. CheerLeader’s networking abilities are legendary. He started with a “Sir, how do you spend winters in this place? Doesn’t it snow?” Suddenly the cop put down his pen and stared at CheerLeader. “I’ve seen you somewhere.” CheerLeader didn’t bat an eyelid. “Many people have told me that. Have you ever been to..” and he mentioned the name of the village in Uttaranchal where he hailed from. Cop: “Haven’t I seen you smoking somewhere? Do you smoke?” CheerLeader, flustered, “Sir! I never smoke!” LampPost tried very hard to control his laughter. YoungTurk pulled ahead of the rest and soon caught up with me. Darkness had fallen. The road was getting more treacherous – a narrow mud and gravel road along a mountainside with a steep drop to the river below. Visibility was very poor as the bike’s headlamp was not strong enough to capture the road ahead effectively. Turk overtook me and stayed just ahead – yet again, he was in a situation where he was riding in the dark on the mountainside and he wanted to be sure that I could help if he had trouble. I had cut my speed down to 10kmph and HyperGirl was closely tracking the road as well. Disaster almost struck twice as we almost rode off the cliff and just corrected course in time. Then Turk tried to ride around a large water puddle that covered the entire road and fell! Thankfully for Turk, the bike fell to his right, away from the precipice. Turk was left delicately balanced on a narrow base of mud, inches from the precipice. I turned around a corner and saw him standing on the edge. It was, as Sardar later put it, an ‘intense moment’. We got the bike across the puddle and it took ten minutes of kicking to get the bike started. I saw an army vehicle coming from up ahead and waved my hand to the driver – “Brother, does the road get any better from here?” He replied in what was to prove to be the stock response of anyone in this part of the world. “The road is ok sir. It’s as good as the road that you have been coming on.” The night that had begun on a perilous note, had one silver lining. I spied a truck ahead and quickly overtook it. I decided to stay just ahead of the truck, so that its headlights would aid me. A thousand blessings to the nameless truck driver who didn’t try to speed up and overtake me but dutifully stayed behind for 15 crucial kilometers. I managed to pick up some speed and soon pulled into Tandi, the last petrol station before Leh, some 8 kms from Keylong2. The petrol station had closed (or what did we expect at 9PM?). We met some guys in a car there who had been equally optimistic of getting petrol in the thick of the night in the middle of a mountain. Turk and I swore about the inevitability of having to cover this 8kms twice over the next morning to fill petrol, when the guys in the car exclaimed – “Hey it’s not 8 kms to Keylong, just 7”! I need show no further proof than that exclamation to drive home how bad those roads were! We requested the guys in the car to stay right behind the bikes. Another 7 kms of weaving along the mountainside, during which we had to cross a large flock of sheep – what the devil was the herder doing with his sheep at 9:30PM on the mountainside?! I was never happier to see a building as I was on seeing the first buildings of Keylong. When we stopped near the marketplace, the relieved look on YoungTurk’s face spoke volumes as well. Twenty minutes later, the others drew up. 2

No more petrol till Leh, around 365 kms from Keylong

The other 4 bikes had maintained a single file right from Khoksar, with KingKong leading the way. They had made good time on the way, no doubt due to KingKong ‘setting the pace’! As YoungDidi mentioned later, she had to make KingKong slow down several times, causing KK to yell back once in frustration, “How much slower can I go!” Dinner 3was spent recounting harrowing tales on the road and needling CheerLeader on his “smoking” days before we crashed for the night.

3

We stayed at Hotel Chandrabhaga – a good stop for tourists. While pilfering of petrol cans was known in these areas (due to scarcity), tourists told us the hotel was safe. Rooms were comfortable and tariff was around Rs 1200 ($ 25) per room per night

Day 4 - Bara-Laccha Paratha Imagine a superhighway at 5350 meters above sea-level. Snow on all sides, neatly shoveled to both sides of the road to allow vehicles to pass. Imagine a frozen lake, reflecting sky blue, surrounded by white mountains. Baralacha La was the most incredible pass that we would ever see on this trip. We all struggled to rise out of bed on Day 4. We had a short drive today, just 115 kms to Sarchu, where we would put up at tents. All websites had advised that we would make the journey in 5 hrs. Given our excellent track record till date, we were sure that we would make it in not less than 7 hrs. Sardar said we should leave at 7AM. Someone tentatively reminded us we were yet to fill petrol and the pump wouldn’t open before 8AM. Relief on all faces, an extra hour of sleep. Then I suggested that only 3 of us needed to go to Tandi, carrying the petrol cans. More relief all around! The next day, HillMan, YoungTurk and I left, a little after 7, back to Tandi. As I drove on the terrain that had caused us so much pain the night before, I saw an ancient Bajaj Scooter stubbornly bouncing and making its way ahead. Someone was riding a Bajaj Scooter on these roads and I was complaining? After that I didn’t crib, even to myself. The petrol pump owner was, well, out to make money – the pump apparently filled 3.5L of petrol in a 3L can! I kept quiet.. after all he was really doing us a favor by maintaining a petrol pump at these heights. - As we leave Keylong

The rest of the gang was well showered and dressed for the day, when during breakfast HyperGirl swore that she had never seen drivers as bad as those driving SUVs on the road to Rohtang, when LampPost stated that those were amongst the better drivers he had come across. In Nepal, as he described, slowing down near hairpin bends was considered almost sacrilegious and drivers in those Himalayan ranges had every turn and twist memorized in their minds, so that they could blindly overtake even trucks that occupied almost the entire road. We returned, the bags were tied and we were ready to leave by 9AM. The road out of Keylong was as bad as the road incoming had been and, except for HillMan, Turk and me, all the others were getting a first sight of the road that they had survived the previous night. I almost saw a cloud of collective thanks rise towards the Heavens, interspersed by a promise of a visit to Vaishnodevi or Tirupati!

- Tough roads as we leave Keylong

Snow had melted all over the hillside and there were several miniwaterfalls with the water gushing over the road. On 2-3 occasions HyperGirl had to get off the bike so I could safely get it across. •

•

KingKong was unfazed by “waterfall-infected” roads. He simply ignored them and rode across HillMan was too excited by the sight of such roads to listen to CheerLeader pleading behind to let him get off the bike.

- Turk playing rescuer

•

YoungTurk played rescuer (this was a role he was to play several times during the trip). He would try to roar across, get his shoes soaked, and then get them further soggy to help HyperGirl cross the water, as well as helping others’ bikes to get across

We came across a “gora” who had crossed the water coming in the opposite direction and was soaking the sun. His companion was walking up the waterfall on the mountain. “Hi there. Are you guys going to Leh?” “Yes we are, the rest of our group is coming up. So you seem to be enjoying the sun.” “Not really. Whenever we come to a waterfall crossing the road, my wife doesn’t want to get her shoes wet. So she’ll climb up the waterfall, find a narrow spot, jump across and climb all the way down! And you guys are going to find a worse situation after Jispa. In that waterfall my wife had to walk three-fourth of a km to meet me! I was like waiting for half an hour!” ☺ So we negotiated and slid and cursed our way down the hills till the roads started getting a little better and we reached Jispa.

Jispa is a small town, around 25 kms from Keylong and an alternative stop to people travelling to Leh. We had decided against staying at Jispa as the single hotel, Ibex, charged exorbitant rates4. There is nothing much in Jispa. One hotel, another HP Tourism lodge, a few houses and a beautiful river. Jispa is located in a valley, with a few small farms on the side of the road. One got off the road, walked across a small farm to reach the river. The river wound its way through the valley and into the mountains ahead. Very beautiful and exactly like our mental picture of Kashmir had been (though we were still in Himachal Pradesh). Within a minute of reaching, HillMan had reached the river, stripped to his underpants and jumped into the water! Just as quickly he shot up and ran out, and stood shivering ☺. Soon we left and the rise to Baralacha La began. Baralacha La. Of all the La’s that we were expected to encounter – Rohtang, Baralacha, Nakeel, Lachlang, Tanglang, Khardung, Zoji – Baralacha sounded like the bleakest of them all. You (or rather I) could close my eyes and imagine snowswept inhospitable mountains with an Arctic wind blowing across (right out of a scene from “Where Eagles Dare”) and 11 riders struggling to navigate through snow and ice, with frostbite setting in. My imagination going into overdrive. We had decided to stop once at the entrance to the Pass. HillMan never left an opportunity to get his snap taken and soon CheerLeader was clicking away. The ongoing joke was that he was getting an album in place to send to prospective brides or upload on www.BharatMatrimony.com. “You know what this guy makes me do? When we reached a huge puddle in the middle of the road. I yelled at him to stop and let me cross on foot but he simply rode across the water and soaked my shoes completely. Then he tells me to get off and take a picture of him crossing the puddle again! This guy is crazy!” But clearly, CheerLeader & HillMan were made for each other, as I saw CheerLeader strike a “dangerous” pose on a rock for HillMan to click, with an arm and a leg stretched over the edge over the chasm. - The road to Baralacha La

We got going, with around a dozen kms to go before the top. I was well ahead of the rest as we started doing the loops. The mountains were breathtaking. Snow covered every inch of their surface. An impossibly unmarred road stretched ahead and the only sound we could hear was the steady chugging of the bike. I slowed down, trying to look in every direction at once to see

4

Over Rs 2500 ($ 50) per night. Keylong was 50% cheaper

what neither of us had ever seen before. We turned a corner and our collective breath caught in our throats. A lake stretched just below on the right. The water had completely frozen and the ice reflected the blue of the clear sky. Wow! We had to stop and really “internalize” the moment (blame MBA jargon!!). I couldn’t take my eyes off the lake but we finally had to move on, reluctantly. - The frozen lake

The mountains seemed untamed. The snow was dense.. I recalled the hotelier in Keylong telling us that the area had witnessed the highest snowfall in the last 15-20 years. Incredibly, the snow was cleared neatly on both sides of the road. The snow seemed so… well behaved!.. was the only term that came to mind. I recalled books I had read about avalanches and mentally told myself I was lucky to see this beauty and survive. You could almost see ancient civilization amongst these mountains and frankly, I wouldn’t have been surprised if we turned a corner and came upon an igloo. Then my eyes would fall on the tarred road in front of me and the feel of civilization returned. Too soon for my liking, we reached Baralacha La. We knew we had reached from a broken signboard. We stopped for a breather and silently stared all around. HillMan rode up and moved ahead.. clearly he wanted his private spot to inhale as well. We left soon after, as HyperGirl felt it would be safest to get off the peak quickly, before we were hit by altitude sickness. As we left, we crossed HillMan, who had already climbed a small mound and was posing with his hands spread out for the “pre-marriage album”! They waved us ahead. Driving down the mountain, we suddenly came across another large slush caused by melting snow. I tried riding across, the wheel twisted and I fell. I rose, painfully – I had hit my knee somewhere – and tried to raise the bike. No luck. HyperGirl lent a hand and we heaved the 150kgs deadweight in front of us, up. Then we tried to push it out of the muck. No luck. There were 3 trucks that had queued up behind us. The driver of the first took a long look at us, drove by and vanished around a corner. The driver of the second didn’t bother looking and kept going. Thankfully the third guy was more humane and sent his assistant to help move the bike. We shoved. We shoved again. The bike didn’t move. “Brother”, the trucker asked, “Which gear is the bike in?” For a minute I refused to believe that I had made a mistake like that. But I had! I moved the gear to Neutral and the bike moved easily out of the slush.

Soon after, we reached a village called Bharatpur. Bharatpur was cold and very windy – the windchill factor made it seem far colder than Baralacha La had been. Soon we were shivering uncontrollably. Thankfully, the dhabas in Bharatpur were large airtight tents with beds within kept along three sides. The tents served as a rest area for travelers, as well as a sleeping point for truck drivers. We went inside the tent welcoming the warmth and collapsed on the bed. Within ten minutes the others had arrived. - HM and CL: sleeping at Baralacha La !!

“Do you know what these jokers were doing?” said YoungDidi pointing at HillMan and CheerLeader. “They had slept off at Baralacha La!” What??!! “Well we were waiting for the rest to catch up,” said HillMan in his slow speech, a tad sheepishly. “That’s after his photo session was over!” CheerLeader interrupted. “Haan so we were lying with our backs to a mound waiting and we must have dozed off”, finished HillMan.

“You guys were sleeping holding each other!” retorted YoungDidi. “Well it was cold,” said CheerLeader defensively. “We have discovered a new dish,” said Sardar. “It’s called the Bara-Laccha paratha.” Laughter all around. “Hey, bring a Bara-Laccha paratha,” chimed CheerLeader to the dhaba owner, who looked bemused. The tent was so warm that we took an hour to get out. Surprisingly, the dhaba served roti, dal and sabji – all websites had told us that we would get only Maggi on the way. YoungTurk had no time for the niceties of the tent however, and went out to walk up a snowy hill nearby. The rest of us, tired after the bumpy ride from Keylong, semi-dozed till it was time to go. All except YoungDidi of course, who kept a hawk-like eye till each of us had eaten his fill. “Don! You aren’t eating” “Don always considers his food very deeply before he eats”, observed KingKong. And it was true.. Don ate little and always seemed to think before he popped in a mouthful.

We left at 4PM. The road was easy now. We stopped at a lake on the way – Turk had seen the lake first, stopped his bike and literally leapt down the hillside to reach the lake! This was probably one tempting waterbody in our trip that HillMan did not take a dip in… but this was only due to our eagerness to take Sarchu while it was still daylight.

- Serene lake on the way

We reached the tents of Sarchu by 6PM.

Night 4 – Night Without End All the websites had advised – • • •

You WILL experience Acute Mountain Sickness at Sarchu AMS is dehydrating. Don’t drink alcohol Oxygen is scarce. Don’t exert or the AMS will get worse

Within minutes of reaching Sarchu5, KingKong and LampPost had left to obtain alcohol. The rest of us were busy kicking around a deflated football. The tents that we had booked were actually located around 6km before Sarchu. Immediate reaction – We’ll have to travel 6 kms more tomorrow! Understandable, because we were required to travel over 250 kms the next day. After 2 days of struggle to travel 115 kms each day, our concern was real. HyperGirl and YoungDidi hit the restrooms almost before we parked the bikes. They returned with a bemused and relieved look on their faces. “What happened?” asked Sardar. “All well? Loos are clean?” YoungDidi,” The loos are really good actually.” “Oh so you expected a hole in the ground and a mug of water?” said Sardar wryly. “No wonder you look relieved!” I had moved towards my tent. I wanted nothing more than to raise my feet off the ground and rest a little. The cold was biting. Sarchu was located in a valley with mountains rising on both sides. The long road in the midst of mountains was very picturesque. But the mountains were a little distance away on both sides and the wind could pick up speed. Temperatures were in the single digits. The tent was actually a large cube, with room for 3 to sleep. 2 rugs and a blanket had been provided for each inhabitant. At the rear, a flap separated the washing area where a Western toilet had been erected with a bucket of water. Quite hygienic and comfortable under the circumstances. CheerLeader wanted a party that night. I.e. alcohol. ‘Never say die’ KingKong and LampPost had approached the manager. “Where do we find some alcohol?” “You can go to the police station, 6 kms down the road.” “What? Heeeeyy do you want to get us arrested or what?” “Oh no sir, what I meant was that alcohol is sold just next to the police station.” Dubiously, KK and LampPost left to try their luck. YoungTurk joined them – he couldn’t stay still and HAD to explore the area. CheerLeader had gotten hold of a deflated football. Soon we were standing in a circle kicking the ball across. Each time I ran behind the ball, I told myself that I was going to repent. Each time, the ball was too enticing. Turk, LampPost and KK soon returned. Success! – a bottle of whisky! 5

We stayed at Golddrop, one of the many organizations offering tented accommodation at Sarchu. Charges: Rs 1300 ($ 26) per tent per night. As it turned out, the tents were comfortable but not very airtight

Dinner was served at 8PM. Whisky was poured into glasses. A glass was placed before CheerLeader, but he declined? “What? You were the one who wanted a party. You won’t drink?” I said incredulously “No I don’t drink actually,” said CL. “He is only a cheerleader!” exclaimed Sardar. Sardar wasn’t feeling too good and had only half a glass. KK and I downed 2 pegs each. True to the websites, the alcohol was quick to take effect. “Guys, tomorrow we have to leave by 6AM,” said Sardar, who always planned ahead. “Ok. We’re anyway crashing at 9:30. No one needs to have a bath tomorrow”, said LampPost. “What about bodily functions? I hope we get warm water.” KK “Guys,” I joked, “save time and complete the bodily functions tonight so that we can leave tomorrow early.” :-) “Oho!!!! Don’t say such things while we are eating!” We hit the sack at around 9:30PM. HG and I had exhausted the drinking water in our tent, so we asked KK and YD for some water and they gave us a bottle. It was to be a long night for everyone. • The tents were not airtight. Wind crept in and played draughts around our feet. • I don’t believe I slept more than 2-3 hours. I couldn’t breathe easily and had to breathe through my mouth like a fish. Soon a gentle headache settled around my temple • HG couldn’t sleep well either. She had trouble breathing and had to sit up several times • KK and Didi had actually, unknown to us, given us their only bottle of water, in the thought that they would crash and not wake up till the wee hours of the morning. It turned out that they managed not a wink of sleep and YD ended up counting the number of trucks and bikes passing by to entertain herself. Needless to say they had parched throats with no water. • HG and I were so terrified of the thought of leaving the blankets and going to the loo that we didn’t touch the water that we had borrowed! • Turk developed a fever overnight • LampPost and Don puked their dinner out the next morning - That’s me in the center!

The next morning, a sorry lot of people peeked out of their tents at 5:30AM, completely covered from head to toe and only their nose showing. We found out that temperatures had dipped to –70 in the night. Water in a nearby drain had frozen overnight. We clicked pictures of the frozen drain for posterity. Viswakarma had been up since 5AM to get the bikes in shape. He had done a lot of work the previous evening as well. Today morning, even he looked under the weather. He complained that wind entered his tent all night, and made it too cold to sleep. Viswakarma had been on this route with Jeetendra several times, so he did not have any acclimatization problem. But the cold had been too much to bear.

“On the way back, we’ll do Leh to Manali in 10.5 hours like Jeetendra did in a jeep,” said HillMan, as we were tying the bags to the bikes. “How could Jeetendra have done that. It is simply impossible! Even in a Jeep!” said Sardar. “I was with Jeetendra when he did that!” said Viswakarma in a deep voice. “For an unrelenting 10.5 hours, I gripped my seat, eyes closed and prayed hard! Jeetendra has amazing control – he just flings the vehicle across a curve and maintains tight control!” Wow. 10.5 hours from Leh to Manali? We had reached Sarchu in 20 hours, had a full day ahead and no idea whether we could manage to reach Leh by the end of the day as scheduled.

Day 5 – The Bikers have Landed! We managed to leave the campsite by 7:30AM. The road heading out of the campsite, into Sarchu and beyond was good and I was racing ahead. Today we had to travel 260 kms and cross 3 passes. One of them, Tanglang La, at 5359 meters was the second highest pass that we would encounter (the highest being beyond Leh). Literally a “tall order”! If you hadn’t noticed, our riding discipline as a team was improving. We had stopped almost every 30-45 mins on the way to Manali – ostensibly because HillMan couldn’t stay away from tea! We had started late from Manali and paid for it by the night-driving experience to Keylong. We had managed to leave Keylong in time, delayed only by the necessity of getting petrol at Tandi. We had left Sarchu by 7:30AM. However it was a very ill lot that was leaving from Sarchu. LampPost, HillMan and YoungTurk did not look good. Viswakarma was dozing off behind Sardar. Even CheerLeader didn’t look his normal ebullient self. - Strange mountains

Sarchu is the crossing point from Himachal Pradesh into J&K. The road out of Sarchu was good. The valley extended for around 20 kms. The mountains were bare of vegetation and it was amazing how different a hill was from another. Erosion had shaped each hill very differently. Great structures of what seemed like packed sand jutted out from the side of each hill – it was nothing like we had ever seen before. Snowcapped mountains rose beyond the barren hills.

Soon, the Gata loops - 21 Loops in the hills that would increase our altitude by 1.5 kms in the space of a distance of 21 kms - began. Winding roads rising higher and higher are every rider’s delight and the roads were good as well. We crossed the occasional truck passed by, invariably carrying fuel and painfully groaning its way up the road. I often wondered how the truck drivers had the patience to do this time and again, and that too at this speed!

- The Gata Loops

Atop the Gata loops is the Nakee La and had entertainment of a different kind to offer us. A few dozen Army vehicles and trucks were parked alongside the road and over a score Army soldiers stood in a line on the side of the road taking a leak. Some discipline ☺. I think they weren’t too pleased to see a woman pass at that very moment ☺. The rest of the ride was a breeze and within 3 hours of leaving Sarchu, we had crossed Lachlang La. I think after Baralacha La, all of us had a sense of anticlimax at Nakee La and Lachlang La – all of which were at roughly the same height (Nakee La was just a thousand ft lower) but had far less snow. Lachlang La was still a great sight and we didn’t hesitate in clicking pictures. But all of us were eager for the More Plains ahead. More Plains was a stretch of around 40 kms of plains at a height of 4250 meters. Every website had sung praises of the drive through the Plains. The descent from Lachlang La was tough, but not nearly as tough as the roads we had encountered till date – and we were “hardened veterans” now. We were now encountering other biking groups – mostly foreigners who were riding singly with a guide in front and a jeep at the back carrying essential equipment. Despite each of us having pillion riders and our luggage loaded onto the bikes, we were able to overtake these bikers! - Looking for Turk’s keys

YoungTurk was well ahead of the ‘photo clicking’ crowd. YoungTurk, despite his ill health, retained his zest for speeding. However, it was to be the day of ‘ill omen’ for the CBZ. It started with a truck coming up the slope and Turk had very little space to maneuver his bike on the very narrow road. Forcing himself to stay close to the wall of snow, Turk skidded on the wet ground, and luckily fell on the wall of snow. As we reached his bike, we saw him peering into the snow. It appeared that we had had an unusual problem at hand - while Turk was unhurt, the bike’s key ejected itself from the ignition and had likely fallen into the snow ☺ Soon there were 11 of us crawling on hands and feet peering all over the hillside and the road looking for the key. After several minutes, our hands were frozen stiff. Then a voice of common sense spoke. “Could the key have fallen on some part of the bike itself?” said YoungDidi. Lo and behold, it was! At this point, CheerLeader decided it was time to put his driving license to some use and asked YoungTurk to ride pillion with HillMan while he drove the CBZ. Since it was CheerLeader’s first driving experience on a mountain, most of us gingerly stayed close behind. Our concern turned out to be justified.

Within about 10 mins of driving, CheerLeader was zooming down the hill on the descent, when just ahead of another big waterfall, he braked too hard and headed right towards a sandy patch, skidded in the sand and fell with a thud. Luckily he wasn’t hurt except for a few scratches. But the CBZ had taken a hit. The entire headlight assembly had broken. Viswakarma turned out to be not only our mechanic, but our resident doctor as well and tended to the scratches that CheerLeader had taken. But there was nothing much he could do to the CBZ except tie the headlight assembly to the bike and hope it didn’t fall off till we reached Leh. YoungTurk was back on his mean machine. I was ahead of the others when we hit More Plains. At first sight, the plains seemed similar to the area around Sarchu – mountains on both sides and road winding ahead. However, the Plains would have more surprises to show. Roads in this part of the world were managed by the Border Road Organization (BRO). However, some of these roads were still designated National Highways. KingKong wasn’t quite sure how BRO dovetailed with NHAI. His father had once worked with NHAI and he believed that NHAI maintained tight control of National Highways. “But not the ones near the border”, I had argued once. “BRO will be the sole authority of roads near the border”, chimed in Turk, whose dad was in the Indian Army. That seemed to be the case for most of our journey. BRO had conceptualized a project – Project Himank – which was to improve the roads from Manali to Leh. Project Himank engineers had also installed humorous signboards along the road. “Be Slow Around my Curves.” “With Whisky, Driving is Risky” “Don’t Gossip. Let him drive.” When I noticed the latter sign for the first time, I mentioned it to HyperGirl and YoungDidi. “Yes I noticed! I have no time to gossip at all, only time to warn KK of the next pothole!” chimed Didi, who appeared to take the matter seriously. HillMan looked at CheerLeader. “See what the signboard says! Don’t talk so much!” We dissolved in laughter. CheerLeader retorted, “You know how this fellow drives? Suddenly he spots a shortcut across a hill. He leaves the road and takes the kachcha raasta. I will be left screaming behind him to stop.. but he does just as he pleases!” HillMan was grinning. These guys were truly made for each other. I had noticed on bad roads that whenever a Himank apology signboard arrived, the road would soon improve. BRO appeared to be doing a lot of work on the road at More Plains. We came upon a sign that signaled a diversion. The diversion led off the road into nowhere! We drove off the road and seemed to be going on and on and on without ever reaching the road. An army truck ahead drove straight on the plain. Soon we figured that we didn’t have the foggiest idea of where the road was, and decided to turn back. On the way back, we managed to spy the road and joined it, but this incident was to repeat itself. Frequently, a Himank signboard would announce a “diversion”, workers would wave us off the road and we would drive on the plains and try to work our way back to the road again.

- More Plains at 4500 meters

This went on and on and on and soon the magic of the More Plains seemed to be wearing off. At one point, we faced a sandstorm and HyperGirl and I had to stop and lie low with our faces covered till the storm passes. I finally stopped the bike and decided to wait. Where the hell where the others? It was 3PM. YoungTurk and KingKong soon caught up but there was no sign of the others. Not finding anyone, the enterprising Turk left the road and climbed a nearby mountain to try and locate the rest! We soon stopped a truck, which informed us that our friends had been stopped by another biking group – which had a tyre puncture and needed the expertise of Viswakarma. It was a good hour and a half later that the others pulled up. No one was in a mood to talk. Tanglang La was ahead and everyone on the road, including a biker passing by a few minutes ago, had warned us that the road was terrible till well after Tanglang La. -----------An hour later, I think we all had the same thought in mind. Those who thought Tanglang La was tough, needed to do the road to Keylong and cross Rohtang La! It seemed that we had been there and done that. While the road to Tanglang La was tough, it was manageable, after what we had gone through. Again water flowed all over the road but “seasoned bikers” that we were, we rode across the water with aplomb. Tanglang La was higher than any pass we had crossed so far and colder. I was regretting having not bought biking gloves. “Good biking gloves are a great investment,” KingKong told me later. “A pair costs Rs 750/-. The gloves will have ridges for you to be able to grip the handle well, as well as a wollen interior to keep you warm. I saw the price and did not buy. Big mistake. The leather gloves we have now (which we had bought in Manali) do not allow us to grip the bike’s handles well.” Which was true. I could not grip the accelerator properly and had taken my right glove off.

- The road down from Tanglang La

The road down from Tanglang La was deceptively good for the first 10 kms. Then it deteriorated rapidly. Water from melted snow flowed over the road at regular intervals. The road had disintegrated into potholes and mud and the bike skidded alarmingly at regular intervals. My brakes were beginning to give me trouble on the descent. However, this was daylight riding. The road was non-existent, we took time, but made it down the mountains by 6PM. We reached Rumtse, a village 80 kms from Leh. Overheard from KingKong, after we had crossed Tanglang La: “Yaar the bike wobbles once I cross 60 kmph” !!!!! ---------------------“Brother how is the road to Leh from here?” “The road is ok sir, as it has been.” Would we never get better answers? We left Rumtse at 6:45. Websites had advised that the last stretch to Leh would be pretty straightforward. For once, the websites had underestimated the road. The road was amazing! KingKong zoomed ahead, YoungTurk overtook me and soon HillMan moved ahead as well. The road and the scenery was so beautiful that I was unwilling to move faster.. despite the need to cover most of the 80kms before 8PM. What an incredible road! Without a blemish, it curved and wound its way amongst the hills and the landscape of Ladakh. The raw beauty of Ladakh hit us - the riverbed of the Indus below us and great mountains rising on both sides. The valley was definitely far more fertile than the hills and signs of greenery in the valley contrasted sharply with the barren hills, where not a blade of grass grew. Truly a cold desert. The road was now interspersed with Army camps. Army houses had barbed wire fences with sandbags on the sides. Leh was still 250 kms from Kargil and the Line of Control – I marveled at the discipline of the soldiers at such a distance from the LoC. Always in a state of preparedness, always ready for battle. On the way we crossed several villages. In each, children would run out on the road and hold out their palms to the bikers to do a “high five”! At first, none of us understood what the kids were trying to do and just waved. Later I hit every outstretched palm, and there were several. Except for 3 bikes running out of petrol on the way, the ride was uneventful and we reached the hotel by 9:30. Finally, we had reached Leh !!

- The last stretch to Leh

LampPost, after we reached Leh, “You know, I was so tired today that I fell asleep a couple of times while riding.” Don, who was his pillion rider, “What??!!! Is this how you navigated Tanglang La?” LampPost, “How would you know? You slept all the way and your helmet was knocking all over my back!” The crowd that had finally (FINALLY!!) reached Leh, really looked knocked out. 5 days of stubble, clothes caked with dust, faces wan with tiredness.. only the palpable relief was keeping us on our feet!

The last thing I did before going off to sleep was to give 30 pieces of clothing for laundry!

Day 6 – The Closest We Got to Self-Actualization “When would you want breakfast?” the hotelier6 had asked the previous night. “Whenever we wake up!” was the unanimous response. What a pleasure it was to wake up late, without the thought that a day of riding was ahead! HyperGirl, however, still appeared to have breathing troubles at this altitude and could sleep only by 5AM or so. She was still sleeping as I washed up and headed for breakfast. I could hardly recognize the group that had assembled for breakfast. All, - in clean t shirts and without 3 layers of clothing - clean-shaven - clean! - A clean bunch

“Wow you really look damaged,” said someone to me. It was true – I had neglected to cover my face and palms or apply any sunscreen on the way. The skin on my nose and upper side of both palms was peeling off entirely. A long leisurely breakfast later, the hotelier took our names and addresses and went off to make the various inner-line permits that we would need to obtain to roam around in these parts. But, like most things in the country, this was a form filling exercise and a farce. While the Army was supposed to scrutinize every person who crossed certain routes in Ladakh, no one really checked. Getting permits didn’t even require a proof of ID or address. Then someone asked, “Are we really going to get back to Manali in 2 days?” The return plan originally was as follows: we would leave Leh in 3 days from now (Day 9) and make it to Keylong in one day. The next day we were supposed to reach Manali where HG and I would catch a bus to Chandigarh and catch a flight back to Mumbai the following day. None of us had any hope of being able to make it to Keylong in one day from Leh. KingKong looked at HyperGirl and me. “Guys, if you could take one additional day off, we can return via Kargil and Srinagar.” The seed was born!

6

We stayed at the Siala Guest House. Cheap (Rs 700 ($ 14) per room per night), excellent service and highly recommended. Hotels in Leh charge predetermined rates that are determined based on the class of hotel. In Leh, hotel rates for each class are mentioned on large boards placed on the main roads

The discussion would go on over the next 3 days. It went like this: If we wanted to return via Manali, we could go to Pangong Lake on Day 8. Rumtse fell on the way, we would return to Rumtse and not to Leh and leave from there back to Keylong. This would save us 80 kms on Day 9 o Rumtse had no accommodation. Plan unviable - Leh to Srinagar was 434 kms. Normally people did this in 2 days with a stopover at Kargil, which fell midway. If so, could HG and I catch a bus from Srinagar to Chandigarh and make our flight? o No dice. No buses from Srinagar to Chandigarh. Buses went via Jammu and it would take too long - Could we do Srinagar in one day and reach Jammu the next? o Turk, who knew these parts, said that the routes could be closed for hours to allow Army convoy movements. Didn’t seem possible - We’ll just try to reach Keylong in a day o Collective groan! I think all of us were too enamored with the thought of returning via Kargil. Finally, sometime the next evening, we would take a decision to return via Srinagar and try and make it to Jammu in two days. -

Anyway, today we wanted to take it easy. All we planned to do was to visit a Buddhist monastery – Likir - that was located 40 kms away on the Kargil road. We left after a leisurely lunch, around 3PM. The CBZ required some surgery – for the headlight assembly – and Viswakarma had stayed back. YoungTurk was riding behind HillMan today. The road was supposed to be good and we expected to reach in an hour. - Ladakh landscapes

Fond hopes. The road went on and on. We were soon close to completing 50 kms and there was no sign of the monastery! The road went along the Indus river and the scenery alternated between dry mountains and the river valley. Everyone we asked for directions said, right ahead. After some time, we discovered a road going off the highway into the hills that had a signboard reading ‘Eco Palace’. Apparently, visitors to these parts were to solve cryptic codes such as eco-palace decoding to become ‘Likir monastery’ – crossword geeks, try your luck ☺ (we, as ordinary mortals, asked a passerby vehicle for directions) Soon we had left the highway well behind and were rising higher and higher. KingKong tried to ‘do a HillMan’ and took the bike off the road to try a shortcut. The bike stalled and Didi had to get off and push. KK made it up the shortcut on his own and Didi had to puff all the way up. KK must have received an earful that night!

Suddenly the road turned a corner and there were great arches across the road with something written in Ladakhi, the local language. Wonder whether it said ‘welcome’ or ‘keep away’! We spied the monastery and collectively drew our breaths. For it was an amazing sight. The monastery appeared like a fort, a lonely and austere outpost of humanity set amongst the mountains. A wall surrounded the monastery, which rose within. The valley below was a rich green with tall trees thickly strewn and meadows of grass. On the mountains immediately adjoining the monastery, there were stone houses that seemed to be growing out of the rock! - First sight of the monastery

What do people do in such a God forsaken place? I wondered. Then I corrected myself. Where else could someone hope to find God, if not here? We parked outside the wall and walked inside. A tall prayer wheel greeted us, after which we walked up the path and climbed the stone steps to the entrance. The monastery was like a self-contained fort. It contained a school inside, people lived either in the monastery or in the stone houses beyond, food was grown in the valley and whole families lived here. The monks, dressed in brown and saffron flowing robes, taught the children and did their prayers. The prayer rooms and the shrines had closed for the day – we had reached after 6PM – but we came across a monk who explained how things worked here. Did he stay here for all 12 months? No it was not possible. While some people remained, most left for the nearby towns in winter where it was less cold. Here, snow would cover every inch of the land. Growing any food was impossible and getting supplies to the monastery was difficult. Truly a difficult existence. As we were mounting our bikes, YoungTurk asked CheerLeader to exchange places with him. “Man, how do you ride with HillMan! At his whim he simply leaves the road and rides up a hill!” “Arre, I am used to him now! Why don’t you ride with Sardar.” We left by 7PM and our next stop was at the confluence of the Indus with the Zanskar river. Disaster struck. The drive chain of Sardar’s bike unraveled and fell off.

- The confluence of Indus with Zanskar

True to Murphy’s law – this was the first time this trip that we had left Viswakarma behind and this had to happen. LampPost tried for a while to get the chain on the teeth again, but to no avail. The fixing pin had broken. “Guys”, said KingKong (man of action!), “lets try this. One of you sits on the bike to balance it and I will ride behind and use my foot to push the bike.” “Hey, c’mon, that’s not possible on this kind of a road,” LampPost protested. “I’ve done it plenty of times. LampPost, you leave right now with Don and get Viswakarma. In the meantime, we will try to move ahead and save time.” HyperGirl, in the meanwhile, tried reaching the hotel over phone (cell phones work near Leh) and was to discover that day how dealing with people with IQ lower than 10 felt like. HG: ”Hi, is this Siala guest house”? Receptionist: ”ahhhhh madaaaam, this is yyy speaking” HG:” Hi yyy, need a favor. We have a problem. One of our bikes has had a breakdown and I need to reach Viswakarma. Wld you know if he is in his room?” Receptionist: “Yesss madam, let me see”. (pause) “I cannot find him in his room” HG: ”Do you know where the bikes were parked last night? He might be there repairing one of our bikes that we had left behind” Receptionist: ”Yes madam, let me look for him” (pause) “ohh madam, if the bikes are with you, how will I identify where you parked them last night?” Aaaarrgghhh!! In the meanwhile, HillMan mounted the damaged bike and KingKing started to push. Within a minute, it was evident that this wasn’t working. KK exclaimed in defeat, “The sheer weight of this bike! Its much easier with 100cc Yamahas!” “Ok let’s try something else.” This was the ever-enterprising YoungTurk. “We have two ropes, we’ll tie the damaged bike with another one and tow it!” “Good idea! I can tow and HillMan can drive the damaged bikes! Can you carry both HyperGirl and YoungDidi?”, he asked me. Sure I could. - The towing adventure starts!

YoungTurk was to sit behind KK (turned around) and hold the ropes so that both were evenly slackened or tightened. KK kicked his bike on. “Push push!” and the rest of us pushed HillMan’s bike till the two of them got moving. Right ahead was a steep U Turn and they negotiated it successfully.

DON-don-don-don, “This is more than an adventure.” He would not see most of it, but his words were almost prophetic. “I’ve spoken to Viswakarma and he

is waiting,” said HyperGirl in an exasperated tone (how she got the receptionist to find him is another story), and LampPost left with Don. The rest of us moved slowly behind KK and HillMan. Slowly and steadily, KingKong moved around the curves. He seemed to be doing well and HillMan was slowly getting the hang of how to time his brakes with KingKong so as not to stretch the ropes. Turk was trying to guide him and balance the ropes. Then as KingKong negotiated a curve, Turk screamed, “Stop!” One of the ropes had snapped. One rope left. It was past 7:30 and the sky was rapidly darkening (If you hadn’t noticed we were never to break our record of reaching our final destination on any day before dark – Sarchu had been the only exception so far). We looped the remaining rope twice and started off again. I moved ahead of KingKong to try and help him anticipate the turns ahead. The curves stopped and we were in a valley and on a straight road. I could calculate the distance between KK and me by the length of the shadow. As we moved through the valley, I noticed to my amusement that KK had picked up speed again. The guy was riding at 40kmph! Now what? KK was blinking his lights at me. I slowed down. We heard three voices yelling at us in unison as they passed “Sardar is no longer behind us, he has stopped!”. Not another breakdown. I wheeled the bike around and zoomed back the way I had come. Ten kms later I spied Sardar’s bike beside a Gurudwara on the way. Had Sardar suddenly turned religious and gone in to pray that we would all reach in one piece? No, Sardar had not become religious in the middle of the night, we discovered much to our relief, but was trying to see if he could an extra rope. I wheeled around again and headed on. How fast had KingKong gone? I speeded up and soon crossed 60 kmph. KK had really turned the accelerator. It took me almost 15 minutes to catch up with them. We didn’t have to go too far ahead from there as LampPost came up with Viswakarma. “What an experience man!” exclaimed KingKong as he got off the bike. Clearly he was very excited by the challenge of the towing experience. “Each time I heard the squeal of HillMan’s brakes, I knew I had to brake as well. At every turn, I could go neither too slow nor too fast.” I suspected that not being able to go “too fast” would have been really difficult for KK. An hour later, we were back at the hotel. An 80 kms ride and we had done the trip in 7 hours!

Day 7 – On the World’s Highest Motorable Road Khardung La. ~5600 meters above sea level and the highest motorable road in the world. All of us were kicked about the plan for the day. An additional sweetener as well – the journey was only 40 kms. So we expected to be back by 2PM. I think we took this with a large pinch of salt, given the “adventures” we had faced. But today would prove to be easy. Leh quickly fell away as we rose into the mountains. Each mountain was unique in its structure and the extent of erosion it had faced. We went fast, weaving our way up the loops. KingKong and Turk vied for the first spot, while Sardar patiently brought up the rear – Viswakarma was with him. In an hour’s time, we reached an Army checkpost. “South Pullu” read Sardar. “Our local South Pole!” That was reason enough for everyone to click a snap of himself at this checkpost. The road was steeper from here. Long stretches were filled with running water from the melting snow – but by now we were experts at crossing without getting our feet wet. Soon the now-familiar sight of snowcovered hillsides came alongside. There were several vehicles on the road – Army trucks, trucks carrying oil, tourist jeeps and other bikers. I turned a corner and exclaimed, “Look at that!” A couple was bicycling up the hills. Each was carrying bags tethered to their bicycles on both sides and pedaling furiously. I thought about how we had found it difficult to undertake even the smallest physical activity in these oxygen-scarce mountains and shook my head in wonder. We had encountered other bicyclists as well during our journey from Manali. One of these bicycles had a carrier on a wheel that was welded to the bicycle frame through a connecting rod. I later heard that these cyclists took 23 months to cover the distance from Manali to Leh. Remarkable stamina. Then we turned a corner and had reached Khardung La. It was an awesome feeling. We had created a personal record that we were really proud of. YoungTurk wasn’t satisfied with such “small achievements”. He was going to climb a hill and reach the highest point on Khardung La as well! I was all set to join them when YoungDidi called me urgently.

HyperGirl had not taken well to the height and sudden ascent. She was looking pale and dizzy. “You’d better take her down”. But notwithstanding Acute Mountain Sickness, a snap at this spot was a must. HyperGirl mustered all her courage and smiled vigorously at the camera. We left immediately. - At Khardung La

The others had a wonderful time for over 2 hours at the peak. The sight of the snow was too much to resist and soon everyone was at the top of the hill. The entire side of the hill was snow covered. HillMan just had to slide down! “Don’t! Don’t do it!” yelled YoungTurk but HillMan had a deaf ear when he was in this mood. He lay down and slid! And that set off the others. While KK videotaped, each of them lay on their backs and slid down the hillside, coming to rest a 100 feet down.

DON-don-don-don, “This is madness.” And his point was made when it was KingKong’s turn and he simply couldn’t bring himself to halt sliding. He seemed to be heading to the edge when LampPost leapt on top of his moving body and managed to bring him to a stop! While HyperGirl and I reached the hotel at 2, the others had lunch at South Pullu (please note: the cafeteria there serves some lip-smacking parathas) on the way down and reached the hotel by 3:30. All of us crashed for an afternoon siesta. For once, the day had gone as planned! That night, as the cheerleader said, we had to party! In the evening, in groups of twos and threes, we went around the market and found Internet cafes to establish contact with the outside world. By now, people were finding it difficult to calculate which day of the week it was. It seemed like we were in a world of our own. By 9PM, 6 of us had hit a Tibetan restaurant and the agenda was clear. “Hey, what beer do you have?” “Sir, we have only one beer – Godfather.” “Godfather??? What beer is this?” sputtered KingKong. “Sir, well it’s a strong beer,” said the hotelier helpfully. “You can get this beer on the outskirts of Gurgaon,” said LampPost. “But I have never tasted it!” We didn’t seem to have too much of choice and ordered a bottle to test. It turned out to be quite good and soon more bottles hit the table. Tip: Godfather is great! Especially the 8% alcohol version.

The others also came in by then and seated themselves around the table. Spying an empty chair next to me, I asked HyperGirl who had just entered, “HG darling, please sit with me.” The others roared and HG made a beeline for the chair on the opposite end of the table. “No way,” yelled CheerLeader. “I have never heard him speak affectionately to you so you have to sit with him!” No one appeared hungry and the menu card was passed from hand to hand. Finally YD had had the menu and taking charge as usual, gestured for the waiter and asked the rest if they had decided what to order.

DON-don-don-don from a corner ”Yes we have decided, not to order!” The others roared. We had finally decided to take a break from biking and had organized two jeeps to take us to Pangong Lake the next day. Pangong Lake was supposed to be extremely beautiful, a 134 kms long salt-water lake at 4250 meters! Two-thirds of the lake was in China. “Something which is 134 kms long should be called a sea and not a lake!” said I. “How does a lake that is snow-fed become salty?” asked HyperGirl. No one had an answer. “I guess it is rain fed and the rock must be salty,” ventured Sardar. Pangong Lake was known for the changing colors of the waters. At different times of the day, the colors would change. People normally stayed overnight at a hotel near the lake to view the sunrise and sunset colors. Unfortunately, our stay at Leh was too short to permit that. We finished our drinks and dinner and crashed by 10:30. We would have to be out of the hotel by 6AM the next day.

Day 8 – HillMan takes a Dip again It’s so easy to leave early in the morning if the bags don’t have to be tied to the bikes! By 6:15, the SUVs – a Qualis and a Scorpio – had left the hotel. Turk, KK, Didi, HG and I were in the Qualis. - The Pagal Nala, as we cross

The route was 160 kms long and would take over 4 hours. It would take us past another pass, Chang La, that is as high as Tanglang La. Nearer Pangong came a stream called “Pagal Nala”. True to its name, the water flow in this stream was absolutely unpredictable and a trickle could rapidly mushroom into a gush of water without warning. Travelers on the way back from Pangong had been known to be stuck on the wrong side of Pagal Nala for hours, only to return the following day. Only the day before, we were told, over 100 SUVs had covered 130kms+ from Leh, only to have to be turned back from Pangong thanks to the Pagal Nala. KingKong and HyperGirl both had pronounced symptoms of travel sickness. KK had perched himself firmly in the front seat and popped in an Avomine. HG soon followed after a few sharp turns and bounces. I really don’t think people were too interested in the scenery today. Our SUV had fallen largely silent as KK and HyperGirl tried to sleep. The guys in the Scorpio had turned on the CD player and were occupied in Ladakhi music. The CD was exhausted but they hadn’t had enough and Sardar borrowed YoungDidi’s cellphone to play the stored music. The drivers stopped at a couple of Army checkposts on the way to show our “permits”.

- Sharp contrast between the hills and the valley

I quickly realized that a bike was far more preferable on such roads than an SUV. The SUV didn’t try to slow down on bad roads as the driver didn’t have his balance at risk. Consequently, the rolling motion of the vehicle was irritating to say the least. Of course, we made better time than on a bike. KK, soon after we left Leh and stopped for a short ‘photo-session’ break declared very firmly that we would stop at 8 AM for breakfast. The SUV driver turned around to give him the bad news, that there was not a drop of water or food to be had till we reached the next pass, Chang la and even there, all we would get is some tea served by the Army.

- At Chang La

Chang La’s peak was well covered with snow and the cold was welcome as it seeped through the gloves and jacket. We went inside an Army tent after a while. Turk of course had gone off to climb a hill. Chang La was a training ground for Army soldiers, who would subsequently be posted at the Siachen glacier, one of the bleakest and coldest Army stations in the world. Soldiers remained at the glacier through winter, guarding the outpost against an intrusion. Earlier, as I had read, hostilities were withdrawn through a tacit agreement in winter as both sides withdrew to the warmer valley. However, the Kargil war had originated in winter and Turk informed me the Army wouldn’t slacken its watch during winter any more. An Army soldier was standing at a counter inside the tent and serving black tea to all tourists. We soon began chatting with him. He had returned to Chang La after two years at Siachen. HyperGirl recalled that, while every other posting in India is for 3 years, Siachen alone is for 2 years. He spoke about temperatures falling to (–50) in winters accompanied by very heavy winds. We exchanged glances and recalled a night of only (–7) at Sarchu. YoungDidi asked him about how he felt about his stint at Siachen. Without hesitation, he declared ‘That is just living hell, madam” We left Chang La and bounced down the mountains. By 10:30, the contours of Pangong were visible. We were driving along a mountain with a deep valley below, which seemed scoured! There is no better word to describe a valley through which water had once passed. The sand was white and literally strewn with stones. The stones were rounded as you would expect after years of erosion by water. Was this an extension of Pangong that had dried up? Soon we had our first peek at Pangong, which was to tantalizingly come and go as the road curved its way around. The translucent blue-green color held our attention and as the vehicle reached a spot above the lake and began the descent to its shore, the sheer size of the lake ahead was awe-inspiring.

A few minutes and a few photographs, we trooped to nearby tents to get some food. The only food that we had had all day were the biscuits offered at Chang La. YoungTurk took KK’s camera and was off for a walk. “Hey have some food and go, you haven’t eaten since morning!” yelled Didi after him but he wasn’t going to stop for such frivolous distractions. We were really hungry and hogged. KK fixed the dhaba owner with a glare whenever there was insufficient curry on the table, which arrived immediately after. After a cup of tea each, we were all set to explore the lake. - HillMan’s dip at Pangong

“Sir can we leave?” said the elder of the two drivers who had brought us here. Leave??? “Sir you don’t know when the Pagal Nala will start acting up. We should leave immediately. Lots of drivers get stuck and you don’t want that to happen.” We finally negotiated half an hour of time from the drivers and set off walking along the lake. And as we should have expected – HillMan was down to his briefs before you could

say Strip! and jumped into the water. KingKong was sorely tempted to follow. He moved back and forth and stroked his fledgling beard. Then Sardar said in his soft drawl, “Don’t. Remember Hemkund?” Sardar, YoungDidi and KK had been to Hemkund a few years back, where KK, similary enticed, had jumped into a lake. The cold was severe, KK couldn’t breathe and had to be rescued and revived. Some of the guys tried their hand at getting stones to skim on the water.. the stones on the bank were all remarkably flat and thin. Don was a master. Others walked along the lake or simply stared at the moving colors on the water surface. Turk recommended that we try on his glares and then look at the lake, the colors seemed much clearer. Sardar tried on the glares and I couldn’t resist taking a snap of the dude! The dhaba owner had told us that Pangong Lake completely froze over in winter. The ice was so thick that a truck could be driven across! We left shortly after. All of us were wide awake now. KK had moved to the other vehicle and CheerLeader had exchanged places. It turned out that our vehicle had a CD player as well and a good collection of Ladakhi and Hindi songs. YoungDidi sang along with the ones she knew and she had a really good voice. “Hey lets go down to the lake!” exclaimed YoungTurk. We had come upon a lake that we hadn’t noticed on the way to Ladakh. It was set in the middle of a meadow and yaks and sheep were grazing on the far side. An idyllic scene to which there was an added attraction. The lake was completely frozen over! “No you can’t go,” said YoungDidi sternly. “Hey why can’t I go?” said Turk. “Because you haven’t eaten anything since morning!”

- The frozen lake

I was trying hard not to laugh. “That’s ok, eating is secondary, I’ll eat something back at Leh,” pleaded Turk. YoungDidi gave him a look and then waved him off. We ran down the hillside to the lake. The other jeep had reached before us and the others were already there. Soon HillMan was venturing to try his luck on the ice and had taken two steps on the lake. Discouraging him would do no good at all, so we kept a watch as he moved forward. The ice seemed quite thick and the others joined him as well. Photo time! Where was LampPost? Appeared that he had a call of nature and had gone off to the far end of the lake with some tissue paper! “Hey can we see him?” said KK and tried to zoom his camera and locate LampPost, but we couldn’t locate him. LampPost was saved a landmark Facebook / Orkut post ☺ Turk & HillMan were on to greater pursuits. They wanted to catch a yak. So they ran to the other side of the lake and tried to catch a yak. However the yaks were too fast for them and moved away as soon as either of them sidled near.

We left shortly and reached Leh around 5PM. The next day would be a long one. We had decided to try and make it to Srinagar in a day and Jammu the next. HyperGirl and I would take a bus or taxi to Chandigarh. We had to be on our way by 5AM the next morning. KingKong and I left to fill up our petrol tanks. At the petrol station, KK asked the attendant where he could get a bike wash done. “What?,” I exclaimed. “What for? You think we’re going to have a clean ride back?” “Yaar I don’t feel ‘good’ when I get on the bike.” “What about loading a dirty rucksack on a spotlessly clean bike?” “Oh no, I got the rucksack and its cover cleaned as well.” So KingKong got his bike sprayed clean before we left Leh. It didn’t show when he reached Delhi! We had to hit the sack by 8PM, to have any hope of waking up early. As it turned out, between the waiting time at the restaurant and packing, none of us slept before 11PM. Tomorrow was going to be a tough day indeed.

Day 9 – Chapter of Accidents Notwithstanding the late night, everyone was up in time. HyperGirl’s first words on waking up were, “I don’t want to go back to Mumbai!” I think everyone echoed her sentiments. But today was expected to be a good ride. We were all keen to hit the road to Kargil, some of which we had seen two days back on the way to Likir. The road was expected to be good, except a small stretch after Kargil till a pass called Zoji La. “Shall we go in two groups then?” said Sardar. “Turk, KK and you go on ahead and the rest of us shall follow behind. You guys go faster anyway. We’ll meet next at Lamayuru.” “Where’s that?” KK. “Around 110 kms from here. Kargil is 120 from Lamayuro” “OK, 2 hours!” and with a purposeful glint in his eye, KingKong revved up and started off. The 3 of us moved ahead and fast. The road was excellent and the view was great. In an hour, we had crossed 60 kms and were well on track. YoungTurk was ahead of me when we came to a large signboard across the road. I couldn’t see it but spied a fork in the road ahead. Turk had taken the right fork and waved me on. I followed. The route was fantastic. The road took us past small villages, always along the Indus river. The villages were green with farms on both sides of the road, small lakes and sheep and yaks grazing. Idyllic and welcome to the eyes after the arid and rocky panorama at Leh. - Greenery on the way to Kargil

Turk and I were maintaining our pace and I looked for KK in the rear view. Why were KK’s headlamps on? It didn’t occur to me that he wanted me to halt and I kept moving (or zooming actually). KK caught up with me after more than 10 kms and waved me to a stop. “Hey are you guys sure that this is the right road?” Oops. “I didn’t see the signboard. I was only following Turk.” “Great, and we followed you. But within 3 kms KingKong began saying that this was not the right road. We saw a signboard for Lamayuro before the fork and none later,” said YoungDidi. Now what? “Let’s wait, Turk will return to see what happened when he doesn’t see either of us following him,” said HyperGirl. Sure enough YoungTurk returned to find us waiting. The poor chap was now subject to a barrage of questions. Why had he gone off on the wrong fork?

“Well I made a mistake, but KK, remember what the truck driver told us last evening? That there is an old road and a new road to Kargil? He told us that the old road was better as the new road was being widened. “ That’s fine, but we didn’t tell the others that we should take the old road! “I asked in the village ahead, and they told me that this is the old road. They also told me to avoid the new road completely as the road quality is bad.” “But this is of no use! The others would have proceeded on the left fork towards Lamayuru!” Clearly we had no choice but to turn back. It was a real pain to go back the way we had come, when we had maintained good time all this way. We returned to the fork and took the other fork towards Lamayuru. We stopped at a small dhaba 100 meters ahead. We asked the dhaba owner and some truckers nearby if they had seen 3 bikes go past. Turk went back to an Army checkpost to ask them as well. We were destined to get astonishingly inconsistent answers all day. Dhaba owner: Yes sir, we saw three bikes going about an hour earlier. Us: (wondering - an hour earlier? that was too early for them to have made it to this fork) Dhaba owner: Yes sir, there were 3 bikes that went past the fork an hour earlier. Us: Hey, that was us going the other way and we are back here. Dhaba owner: (without batting an eyelid) Yes sir that is what I said. Three bikes went past the fork! Army checkpost: Well more than 5 or 6 bikes have gone past the fork, can’t really say which way they went or when they went. Truck driver coming from behind us: Yes three bikes racing really fast, with women in pillion, passed us more than an hour and a half back at the Gurudwara. Us: That was us! Any other bikes that passed you? Truck driver: (scratching his beard) not sure sir, we have been overtaken by so many vehicles since morning. We decided that there was no point in any further investigations. Might as well assume they were ahead and try and catch up. “Boy, we’re leaving a good road to move on a bad one! How can things get worse?” lamented KingKong. “It can! They could still be behind us and we would have lost an opportunity to take a good road,” I said. “Or even worse! They are behind us, make the same mistake as we did and take the old road!!” retorted KingKong. On that cheerful note, we moved on. It was past 8:30AM and we had lost an hour. After the road quality and rich green scenery of the old road, the national highway was a disaster. Long stretches of gravel, alternating with long stretches of mud. The road weaved amongst the mountains, which were absolutely dry and rocky – the new highway did not go along the river. No opportunity to speed up. The Leh-Kargil highway had more traffic and we crossed several civilian and Army trucks. Each passing truck added a layer of dust to our clothes

- Bad roads (national highway)

It took us an hour and a half to cover the remaining 25 kms to Lamayuru. On the way we must have asked over 10 truckers, Army personnel and other travelers if they had seen Bullets go past. Conflicting stories again. The sole dhaba’s owner at Lamayuro however was positive that he had seen 3 bikes, twin loaded, go past without stopping. Now we were the disbelievers. “Really? They didn’t stop? How is this possible? How can HillMan go past without stopping for a cup of tea?!!” ☺ We left quickly. Kargil was 110 kms further ahead. None of us had any hope that the road would get any better. • • •

Turk, as he said later, had “fused into his bike, so that he and his bike were one”. KingKong had risen to new levels of greatness and appeared to take steep U-turns like “the legends of Jeetendra” I was trying hard to keep up!

We stopped just once on the way for some food.. none of us had eaten anything since morning. After some incredibly delicious Maggi, we moved on. Unexpectedly near Kargil, the road seemed to improve and the Indus rejoined us. We picked up speed. But the atmosphere had clearly changed. The presence of the Army was much higher as we neared Kargil. The number of Army trucks had increased manifold. There were Army jeeps moving around. Several times, I waved at the Army men in the trucks and jeeps that went past and they always waved back. This was the Zanskar range, which marked the transition from Buddhist areas to Muslim dominated ones. The trademark ‘good luck’ gompas – pyramid-like stone that were erected by the villagers to ‘watch’ over the villages, that we had seen at the entrance and exit of every village in Ladakh - faded away and we no longer saw children with Oriental features run out to give us a high five. We pulled into a petrol pump outside Kargil at 1:30PM. We were to discover here that the day had been truly jinxed. HyperGirl walked up to the guy manning the petrol pump fully confident that the other 3 bikes would have had to stop there and refuel their tanks. HG: “Brother, did three bullets stop by earlier to refuel their tanks?” Petrolman: “Yes madam, three bikes crossed about half an hour ago. They even asked me if two other bullets and a CBZ had crossed earlier. And I did point out to them that two OTHER bullets in your group had crossed this petrol pump 2 hours ago” HG (wondering if she had forgotten her math and count of bikes): “Brother, we are the only ‘other 2’ bullets”. Petrolman: “I would not know that madam, but 2 bullets came ahead of these three and went past”

We figured therefore that these two ‘other’ bullets of some unknown riders must have led our 3 bikers ahead to believe that WE were all along ahead, while we were actually tailing them. “Guys we need to move ahead quickly. There is a pass – Zoji La - that comes some distance ahead. The pass is usually closed for civilian traffic when Army convoy movements start early evening,” said YoungTurk. People told us that Zoji La was around 90kms ahead. How was the road? “Road theek hai. Jaisa tha, waise hi hai.” Why did we even ask. We decided to leave immediately to try and cross the pass by 4PM. YoungDidi needed to find a restroom, so Turk and I moved ahead on the highway and stopped on the outskirts of Kargil. The presence of Army in the city was overwhelming. An Army jeep stopped near us and asked where we were riding from. “From Delhi to Manali to Leh. We’re returning from Leh.” The soldiers looked impressed and all of them waved at us as they passed. KingKong and YoungDidi caught up. “Hey guys,” said KK, “I asked about Zoji La closing for Army traffic and was told that this no longer happens. The Army trucks move early in the morning. So we don’t need to hurry!” We moved on. The road was better. We had lost time, but were still able to leave Kargil by 2PM. Another 200 kms to go for Srinagar. Perhaps another 6 hours or so. KingKong had booked a houseboat there for us. 10 kms ahead, the ‘sangam’ was to finally take place. We came across the other 3 bikers, waiting by the road. ------------------------Sardar’s bike had had a most timely puncture. “Sardar, your bike is jinxed!” exclaimed HyperGirl. We exchanged notes. As we had conjectured, they had been led to believe that we were ahead and had chased us. They had not stopped at all and not eaten a morsel on the way. What was worse, while they had Viswakarma with them to fix the puncture, the tools were with us. With no hopes of trying to catch us, HillMan and Viswakarma had gone back to Kargil to try and repair the existing tube. HillMan had his own story to relate when he got back. He had to ask a bunch of Armymen for assistance. While he was standing and waiting, one soldier drawled from a distance, “Salaam aleikum.” Taken aback, he replied, “Waleikum salaam”. That was enough to ensure that he was questioned and interviewed vigorously by the soldiers for over 30 minutes. Finally he found a soldier who turned out to be from his part of Himachal. They let him go, after the work on the tyre was done. We were now ready to move again. We had lost another hour and it was past 3PM. No more separate groups, LampPost would now lead with Sardar bringing up the rear. One by one the bikes left, with me just ahead of Sardar.

In less than five minutes I could not see Sardar in my rear view mirror. I turned back and found that he had suffered yet another puncture. This was not happening! The others who were rejuvenated after the break, were busy racing down the hills, and had not noticed that we were not following. Yet again we had Viswakarma with us and the tools were with them (spread over 3 bikes ahead). I left to try and overtake the rest. Without HyperGirl behind me, the bike felt so much better! I raced ahead, completely ignoring occasional gravel, potholes and water. 10 kms ahead, I came across KingKong and YoungDidi waiting on the side of the road. How had they managed to see us missing? KingKong was 3 bikes ahead of me when they had left! KingKong’s clutch wire had broken. Mystery solved. “I’ve told the others that I would wait for Viswakarma. If they don’t see me in 5 minutes, they will turn back.” And soon enough, HillMan and CheerLeader reached. HillMan offloaded CheerLeader and roared off back towards Sardar. “Hey you don’t need to go! Your bike doesn’t have any spare items!” yelled YoungDidi behind him. “That’s okkkkk, let him go,” said CheerLeader. “If he feels like going, you should let him go.” And that simple sentence was said with great wisdom, which told us how well CL understood the way HillMan thought, after days on the bike together! ☺ We had a nice long wait by the side of the road where we played Dumb Charades to kill time. Then we heard the welcome roar of bikes and Sardar, Turk, HillMan and LampPost drew up. Now it was the turn of KK’s bike, which took a further half hour. Our game of DumbC continued. An Army truck passing by (which, we were to learn, had passed us three times that day already) saw a bunch of characters by the side of the road, gesticulating with great animation while one sole guy appeared to be peering into the wheel of a bike. Even more suspiciously, they had crossed us three times and had noticed that we had stopped each time within a few hundred meters of the previous halt. And this was along the path that had a board “You are under enemy observation”. They drew up and asked us if anything was amiss and we updated them with our mishaps for the day. They grew friendlier after being acquainted with mankind’s miseries and asked where each of us hailed from. One soldier was pleased to find someone from Uttaranchal and CheerLeader was soon perched inside the truck, his networking abilities well utilized. It was well past 5 by the time we left the spot (we had covered 10 kms in those 5 hrs). We crossed the Vijay Memorial and drew up at a dhaba in Drass, the location of the Kargil war. All of us were ravenous and we had to stop. “Guys,” said Sardar, “Should we try to cross Zoji La?” Zoji La was 40 kms ahead. While there was no ascent to Zoji La, after the pass, the road descended into the Kashmir valley. The road to and beyond the pass was expected to be bad. If we left at 6PM, we would reach Zoji La not earlier than 7:30PM. That meant we may have to descend on bad roads in darkness.

“Do you really want to stay in Drass?” and I pointed to a signboard right outside the restaurant that said, ‘Welcome to the Second Coldest Inhabited Place in the World’! “We will have to endure another Sarchu-style night!” Both KingKong and I were game to move on, despite Sardar’s hesitation. Sardar did not want to risk descending the pass in darkness. HillMan had a different point. “We wont get to see the beauty of the Kashmir valley if we descend after the dark.” “Don’t worry,” said Turk, “the valley will be visible even on the Srinagar-Jammu stretch.” So we left a little after 6 and soon enough the road disintegrated into large potholes full of water. LampPost was leading again with Sardar bringing up the rear. Soon we crossed Tiger Hill and pressed ahead. 15 kms later, HillMan’s bike had a puncture. This was incredibly bad luck. “I think the bikes are slowly giving away really,” said HillMan. “What’s happened to our luck? 3 punctures and one snapped clutch wire, all in a space of 6 hours?” exclaimed LampPost. There was nothing further to be done except to book a hotel in Drass and stay there for the night. KingKong and YoungDidi left to do the needful while the rest of us remained till Viswakarma repaired the puncture. Viswakarma had by now used up the last spare tube that he had, and the punctured tubes were not repairable as they had snapped near the nozzle. We started back at 7:45 and reach Drass at 8:30. The hotel rooms had been booked7. No one was in any condition to speak or clean up, and we had to leave early the next day as well to make up for lost ground and push to reach Jammu.

7

Jammu & Kashmir tourism hotel, charging Rs 250 ($ 5) per room per night. Amenities were lacking – all rooms did not have geysers – but more than amply made up by the hospitality

Day 10 – We Don’t Make It.. and a Birthday Party With incredible discipline we rose again by 4:30 and were ready to leave by 6:30AM. I couldn’t help thinking that had we managed the same discipline on the way to Ladakh, we would have been saved several hair-raising escapades (which would have been a writer’s loss☺) Notwithstanding the signboard outside Drass, the night had not been too cold and we had slept well. HillMan spent some time in getting his snap taken next to the “second coldest…” signboard and next to Tiger Hill to add to the Bharat Matrimony collection. We were leaving Drass to negotiate one of the tougher passes and had not one spare tube if any of our bikes got punctured (As it turned out, we could not place our hands on any Enfield spares before Srinagar). CheerLeader summoned all of us before we prepared to leave and conducted a ‘saamuhik prarthana8’ ☺ - We listen to war stories as we leave Drass

I must mention how hospitable the old gentleman managing the J&K Tourism hotel in Drass was. Not only did he cook one of the best meals we were to have during the trip, he also spent the morning recounting patiently stories of the Kargil war and showing us the various hills that had been the sites of the military combats. We left in single file, with LampPost again leading. True to what we had been told, there was little height to be gained to reach Zoji La. The scenery had changed completely from yesterday. The mountains were much greener. Waterfalls were aplenty, which also meant water flowing all over the road! The incredibly high level of security along the entire 20+kms stretch was unnerving to say the least. At intervals of almost every 2 kms along this terrain (running almost along the LoC), we would pass two soldiers in their bunkers, several of whom merrily waved at us as we rode on. We reached Zoji La by 8:30. The journey so far had not been too bad, despite the large and frequent potholes on the way. The view from Zoji La was excellent and we were keen to catch the first glimpse of the Kashmir valley. The first glimpse of the valley was incredible. The first thought that came to my mind was how lucky we had been that the last puncture happened when it did. Later we developed a conspiracy theory that HillMan had deliberately punctured his bike! ☺ The hills gently sloped down on either side with the road in between. We saw waterfalls at intervals that had completely frozen to ice and snaked down the inclines. Long rows of coniferous trees extended all through the hills.

8

saamuhik prarthana = collective prayer in Hindi

We were looking down at one of the camp established for the Amarnath yatra. Scores of tents covered the valley below, where people rested. As we watched several helicopters came to pick up the older pilgrims who would not be able to walk. The helicopters rose and disappeared around the mountain ahead. - Kashmir Valley, our first sight

Someone at Drass had told us that the road would get better from Zoji La after 2 loops. Loop after loop went by without any improvement at all – the road had completely vanished and in its place was a muddy track pitted with the tracks of trucks that had traversed before us. The descent turned out to be one of the toughest we had encountered. Steep paths, fully muddy and littered with rocks and gravel, narrow enough to only allow a couple of bikes to pass in comfort (which of course was no deterrent to the truck and SUV drivers in these parts to overtake any vehicle) with very steep drops on the cliff sides of the mountain. One vehicle braking ahead sent a few bikes behind almost bumping onto each other, braking hard and skidding. On and on it went till the sight of a tarred road seemed like a divine intervention! We hit Sonnemarg at 10AM and stopped for grub. Sonnemarg is a little town right at the start of the valley and I suspect a sleepy little town for most of the year. Right now however, Sonnemarg was buzzing with activity from the pilgrims passing by. Every now and then a truck, buses and jeeps would pass by, swaying with the weight of people and luggage. - On the way to Srinagar

We left in an hour and a half and proceeded towards Srinagar, 120 kms away. The road was entirely in the valley and, I think within 10 minutes, we were already missing the mountains. Amarnath Yatra related traffic was high, Army trucks were aplenty and the regular trucks plied back and forth – I had completely forgotten what traffic was like after several days of nearsolitary riding! However, we couldn’t miss the beauty of the valley, the sight of quaint mansions built on the fields nearby and of horses grazing. We rode really fast and before we knew it, had reached Srinagar and the Dal Lake. It was just past 1PM.

We had reached our Mecca for spares. After having miraculously survived a 200kms drive without mishap, we weren’t about to push our luck, and had to scout for what would turn out to be the most elusive Royal Enfields store ever. I also needed to enquire on ways and means to reach Chandigarh by the next day afternoon. And between these two, we lost time. We rode along the Dal Lake, which frankly seemed overrated to me. After a quick lunch at a dhaba on the highway we were ready to leave only by 4:30PM. The enquiries hadn’t helped. Taxis weren’t ready to go all the way to Chandigarh and buses went only till Jammu. Sardar and Viswakarma also had to spend over an hour to find an Enfield spare parts shop and hadn’t found any in the city. We finally found a shop for spares on the highway as we left Srinagar.

- Dal lake, Srinagar

Even if we left now, it seemed difficult that we would make it to Jammu, 297 kms away, even by midnight. YoungTurk also had a problem. His CBZ had been fitted with a duplicate headlamp assembly and the light was too weak for night riding. He didn’t want to risk it. We finally decided to try as far as we could. We had to cross a narrow and long one-way tunnel 90 kms away early, as convoy movement could stall us after it was dark. The road was excellent and we crossed the tunnel in less than 2 hours. It was 6:30 and Jammu a little over 200 kms away. But we had been warned that the plains would end soon and the road would then be hilly all the way to Jammu. Sure enough, the hills began. I look back on the trip and I believe there couldn’t have been a more fitting end to the ride. This applies to me only, as the others were to go much further all the way to Delhi. But I couldn’t have asked for more. The road was the stuff that a rider’s dream is made of. It curved around the mountains and rose and rose till the bike’s speed was reduced to 20 kmph, and suddenly descended. I would zoom down and careen sharply around corners and occasionally emit a whoop as the speed increased. The road then kept descending and come tantalizingly close to the plains and then started rising again. And it went on and on, each curve an adventure. The valley below was really picturesque and I had a hard time keeping my eyes off it and on the road. It was past 8 and darkness had fallen by the time we pulled into a dhaba. Sardar looked a little worse for wear – he was having some difficulty driving at night - and LampPost looked tired. KingKong, as usual, looked good for several hours more! Another biking couple had stopped there as well and CheerLeader got chatting with them. After a while, CL suddenly yelled, “Guys!! Do you know who he is?” Everyone crowded around and peered. “He is a 2005 Roadie!!” “Oh wow, I wondered where I had seen you before,” exclaimed YoungDidi and KingKong together. Roadies 2005 self-consciously smiled.

We left quickly. We had made good time so far and were around 160 kms from Jammu. But an hour-and-a-half later, we hadn’t made much progress on the road. I decided to try my luck at a small town for a taxi till Chandigarh, but only resulted in wasting time with no result The nearest place where one could hope to find a taxi was Udhampur, around 60 kms from Jammu. Udhampur also had a railway station, one of the last railway stations in the hills. Clearly the long day and lack of sleep had stretched most of us to a breaking point, for at 11, Sardar stopped at a place called Patnitop to ask a hotelier if there could be a taxi to Chandigarh. No taxi was available to Chandigarh, and we quickly realized that we were in no condition to make it further. We booked a hotel for the night. The next day, HyperGirl and I would take a bus to Jammu and catch a flight back to Mumbai from Jammu. The long day had had its toll and the hotelier made it worse by jacking up the rates, sensing our inability to travel ahead. The hotel would put Dilbert’s firm to shame – it had more ineffectual managers than actual workers, with one solitary boy scuttling between the rooms and the kitchen to fulfill the guests’ requirements. Poor KingKong was having difficulty in getting quality service! The ‘managers’ were fully occupied in trying to waylay travelers and entice them to the hotel. To our astonishment, we saw over 15 guests taken in after we had taken rooms after midnight. I perfunctorily washed up and came to join the others in the corridor in front of the rooms. It was almost midnight. Suddenly, to my complete surprise, YoungTurk came up, gave me a warm embrace and said, “Many happy returns of the day.” It was my birthday the next day. “Hey wait till midnight at least,” rebuked YoungDidi. “It’s midnight by my watch,” protested Turk. One by one the others came to wish me. I looked at HyperGirl, clearly she had planned this for a while. She had given me my gift two days earlier - a T Shirt stating ‘Where I Biked’ and containing the route map along which we had biked in Ladakh. This really had to be the best birthday party I had ever had. The remnants of the whisky purchased at Sarchu was now unearthed and KingKong sent the hotel boy packing with instructions to get soda and water. The hotel boy had by now understood how critical it was to get KingKong’s instructions right, and insisted on every order for food or drinks being written down clearly on a piece of paper! We must have spent an hour chatting and reliving the trip. “CheerLeader, what’s today’s crib about HillMan?” “Oh I forgot to fill you guys in after all the punctures yesterday. As we were going along the supremely dusty roads after Lamayuro, you know what this guy did? He deposited me on the road and asked him to take a snap of him riding out of a cloud of dust! Can you believe this guy? Is this what I have come on this trip for, to take a picture of him with dust flying around, when I am caked from top to bottom with dust??!!” We rolled around in laughter. LampPost recalled the slide along the snow at Khardung La and KingKong said that LampPost had saved his life for jumping on top of him when he did! The trip ended for HyperGirl and me an hour later when we went to bed. Epilogue and More of Bad Luck! So let me recount how we all reached our respective homes.. or rather how we MANAGED to reach our respective homes despite a conspiracy of bad luck.

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HyperGirl and I woke up at 5:30 and caught a bus for Jammu at 6:30. The expected timeframe to reach Jammu was 3 hours. We managed it in 5.5 hours o At Katra, the bus driver decided to bypass the city and asked the passengers to take an alternative transport into the city. The passengers weren’t kindly disposed to this, surrounded and blocked the bus, and demanded their money back. We surreptitiously left the bus with our rucksacks, and boarded a second one passing by. o The second bus rammed into a calf in the middle of the road and killed it o By the time we reached the airport, we had missed two flights and the third’s ticket prices rose by Rs 5000 within two minutes of my approaching the counter The others woke up comfortably by 9 and decided to make an easy ride to Delhi. Alas that was not to be o YoungDidi developed a tooth infection and the group had to stop at Udhampur while she was examined by a dentist o At Pathankot 3 hours later, Viswakarma, who was riding my bike, had a bad accident. While he narrowly escaped a major injury, the bike was so badly bungled up, that it was in no condition to go further o The guys collectively decided to load the bikes on a train to Delhi from Pathankot. KingKong booked tickets on a train leaving at 10:30PM that night o On their way to the station, Sardar’s bike had a clutch failure. By the time it could be mended, the train had left o They had no choice but to stay at Pathankot for the night. The damaged bike was left at the railway station and booked on a train the following evening o The group left for and reached Ludhiana the following day and stayed at Sardar’s relatives’ place. The next morning they left early for Delhi o They finally reached Delhi that evening after suffering another clutch failure at the outskirts KK and Didi still had a leg to go to Bangalore. YD left by a 10PM flight but KK had to reschedule as he had a meeting in Delhi. KK took a later flight that stopped over at Hyderabad and reached Bangalore at 3AM o Didi reached Bangalore airport (40 kms from the city) and could not find her car or driver. She finally took a taxi and reached home at 4AM. o They later discovered that the driver had been arrested by cops for drunken driving and the car had been impounded! o KK’s flight developed a technical snag and could not proceed beyond Hyderabad. KK was put up in a hotel for over 14 hrs. He finally reached Bangalore at 8PM the following day

I had not been able to let go of the trip after reaching Mumbai and had been calling / messaging Sardar every few hours to know the group’s whereabouts, till they reached Delhi. I think no one recovered from the trip (or has still recovered), for some days later I received an email from HillMan that went thus: “Dude, I heard how you were thinking about the trip at midnight yesterday and almost jumped out of bed, struck with a new idea for another chapter. I was suffering from Acute Mountain Sickness and now like you I am suffering from Acute Plains Sickness. Look forward to your blog!” I can’t conclude this novelette without recounting snippets of a conversation I overheard from HyperGirl’s conversation with a friend after we reached Mumbai. Clearly typical of a Mumbaibased female MBA! •

The bathroom at Drass had white tiles, and was spotlessly clean!

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When I saw the Kashmir valley for the first time, it was so enthralling. I was thinking that the revenue potential of Kashmir alone is more than all of Switzerland’s GDP! The circumference of Dal Lake was as long as Churchgate to Borivili !

A perspective as different from mine as the different colors on Pangong Lake had been!

Some Great Photographs 1. The couple made for each other – HillMan and CheerLeader

2. On the way to Manali

3. Turk at home – Rohtang La

4. Treacherous roads – getting out of Rohtang La

5. State Bank of India – always there (also the view as we leave Keylong)

6. The view at Rohtang – from a hill that YoungTurk climbed

7. HillMan taking a plunge at Jispa

8. On the way to Baralacha La – one of the many rickety bridges we would encounter

9. Drying our feet after a wet patch on the road

10. Crossing 4500 meters on the way to Baralacha La – the transition to ice

11. The near-perfect road leading to Baralacha La

12. Standing tall at Baralacha La

13. The landscape at Sarchu

14. A river flowing at Sarchu

15. More Plains

16. Ladakh landscapes

17. Stone houses next to the Likir Monastery

18. Paintings at the Likir Monastery

19. The prayer wheel at Likir (we would see many more of these at each village)

20. Massaging shoulders, the next morning

21. Khardung La – a lonely vigil at 5600 meters?

22. As we leave Chang La

23. Pangong Lake – Different Colors

24. Pangong Lake – Serene Beauty

25. Mountainside next to Pangong

26. At Zoji La

27. First sight of the Amarnath Yatra Camp

28. Greenery of the Kashmir Valley