As I rode around Srinagar, I had the most unexpected lessons in body language. In an altogether new way my body, its different systems and organs were sending around such novel messages that I was amazed at it myself! I could feel my heart skip beats and jump about in excitement, lodging itself in my throat occasionally. I sensed my lungs thanking me profusely for the crisp, fresh air after all the Delhi air it had been filtering. I felt my stomach crunch with butterflies in it. I found myself wanting to take off the helmet to let the wind run through my hair. Well, for a girl who had a boy-cut for the major part of her childhood, I had no qualms letting the wind ravage my ‘Rapunzel’ tresses. The palms of my hands were getting sweaty - what they were now doing was much more strenuous than daily typing away at the laptop, much needed in my professional avatar as a management consultant. I listened to my body while telling myself to take in as much of Srinagar as I could. It was my very first time in the beautiful summer capital of the state of Jammu & Kashmir and I wanted to soak in as much as I could because from the next day, I was about to start something that most people train for months! I was about to ride a Royal Enfield 500cc into the deceptive, mountainous terrain of Ladakh for the next 10 days through the most treacherous of passes from Srinagar to Manali. I knew I was about to behold some of the most spectacular of sights that nature’s virgin beauty encapsulated. I knew I had to withstand (and win over) the tests of weather and road conditions to be able to write about it later. With that, my heart skipped a beat yet again.
As the 31-year old daughter and only child of incontestably the most adventurous couple I know in the 50-60 yr bracket, undertaking the Indian holy grail of bike riding was pre-locked somewhere in my 46 chromosomes. I learnt how to ride a motorbike in my college days, not just because it was something that was uncommon for girls to do, but because my parents had instilled in me the value of learning different things. I was still under-18 then, but having learnt how to cycle, how to ride a moped and how to drive a car, it took me no more than 5 minutes to learn riding a motorbike. How patiently I waited for the next couple of years to turn 18 and get my permanent license and ever since, there has been no looking back. Every guy who asked me out, had to let me ride his bike to and fro! Be it Pune, Bangalore, Goa, Mumbai, Noida or Gurgaon - everywhere I lived, I rode and when I rode, I felt totally alive. Most of the bikes I rode were typically 135, 150 or 180cc ones on typical city roads. I had never ever ridden the beast that the 500cc Royal Enfield is and positively not in the ghats or hilly ranges. So almost everyone who knew what I was embarking on, my boss who approved my last-minute leave request, my colleagues who backed me up during my absence from work and my friends from whom I was trying to gather notes on what my backpack should contain, thought I was being impulsive and that the plan was foolhardy. I received ample discouragement in varying degrees from all the above, from ‘if you choose not to go, I will have you lead a challenging engagement’ to ‘my friend fell off a cliff and a lost a leg’. But amidst all of that my parents called up to say that they had pulled out Daddy’s riding gear (you can trust a Virgo to maintain 30 year old gear in pristine, was-this-even-used condition). They said that they had total faith in me thus flushing out any infinitesimal residue of self-doubt. My husband stood by me through all the preparation, trawling online and offline to see where I could get protective guards in womens’ sizes! He beams in pride even as he peeps over my shoulder right now, pointing out typos in the article!
Yet, here I was, sans any practice or experience. Yet, here I was with the iron-willed-belief that I had it in me, knowing that what I knew, I knew well. Yet here I was, trusting that I could become one with the machine and surmount the unnerving roads of the mammoth Himalayan ranges. After the half day sojourn at Srinagar, I commenced the ride the next morning at 7am, riding alongside the Dal Lake was breath-taking. The sun rising on my right cast my shadows long into the lake and embankment on the left. I knew the road to Shargole would take me through some snow-clad mountains and Zoji-la and I had to be well covered. I had barely reached the Sind River that my arms and my spine started to let me know the importance of exercise. I shrugged off the internal message, telling myself it was all going to be OK. My helmet was much bigger than my head, letting cold air into my ears. I figured it would take no time to get under the weather. I fished out my monkey cap and wore it under my helmet. It took me a couple of tries to figure out the correct order: first the monkey cap, second the helmet and third, my spectacles. I rode slowly, not just to compensate for lack of practice but also to truly appreciate nature. In fact, it started to get difficult keeping my eyes on the road because the beauty all around was spell-binding! I wished I could capture it, even if superficially, but I soon realised the difficulty of pulling the camera out. I planned to stop at Sonmarg to take pictures. Imagine the laborious algorithm to get a selfie: turn off engine, hit the side stand, take off gloves, take off spectacles, balance it on the tilted fuel tank, take off helmet, take off monkey-cap, take off back pack and ensure that none of the previous things go missing. But that was only the first half, the second half was donning all of that in the reverse order!
Before long, I reached my first crucial pass, Zoji-la (11,575 ft.) on NH1D connecting Srinagar with Kargil-Leh. Being unprepared has its own advantages, I didn’t dread Zoji-la as much as some of the riders but a few minutes after commencing it, I wondered if I was ever going to get across it alive. I realised how difficult it was to manoeuvre the 400lbs heavy bullet. By the time, I had crossed Zoji-la, I was thanking my stars. The scenery turned mesmerising and never before had I seen so-blue a sky. The road cut through snow that had started melting in the afternoon sun and I crossed Drass to reach Kargil late in the afternoon. An army truck with soldiers as passengers was ahead of me and as I approached it and sought to overtake, the soldiers realised that I was a lady and nearly all of them sitting near the rear exit gave a wide smile and the ‘thumbs-up’. I could see that they were proud of the women of their country and it showed on their faces. I felt so humbled! Riding along the gushing waters of the Shingo / Drass rivers, by the time I reached Shargole, my back, ‘seat’, tail bone and my thighs had nearly given up. The basic tent at Shargole did little to keep the cold out but I nonetheless had sound sleep.
The next morning after a quick bite (I had started to lose my appetite), I started on the most well-constructed roads towards Khangral, Heniskot and Lamayuru. The landscape changes every few 10s of kms and you will have to scrape your jaw off the floor because that’s how low the bounty of nature will make your jaw drop. I couldn’t wipe the smile off my face. Lamayuru Gompa is among the oldest and I marvelled at how they must have built it off the side of a steep rocky mountain. In fact the landscape behind the Gompa is oft-called the Moonland because, unlike anything I’ve seen on earth, erosion has made it look like a piece of the moon’s surface. With difficulty, I had to tear myself away from that sight as I had a long way to go before Leh. I headed off straight to the confluence point of the two rivers (Indus and Zanskar). The sight has a magical feel to it as you note the different colours of the rivers Indus (green) and Zanskar (brown) and how they unite. Speaking of magic, I wanted to verify if magnetic hill truly had any magnetic magic to cast and that was my next destination. It may be a true phenomenon but I realised that it was difficult to tell on a bike because you may put the engine on neutral, but you still have to balance the bike manually. At that point, I realised that I had developed something of a running nose. On closer examination, I realised that my nose was actually bleeding: a phenomenon caused by high altitudes and thin air. I rode away towards Leh, hoping that the capital town would offer some comfort to my sore nose. Needless to say my body was aching from all the riding and as Leh neared, the ache became more pronounced.
The presumable warmth of July seemed like a distant reality but the comfort of a proper hotel room in Leh and the facility of a warm shower seemed blissful, but short-lived. I packed up and headed out to what is arguably the highest motorable pass in the world, Khardung-la. Over the next few days, I covered the Nubra valley, Tso Pangong and the mesmerizing terrains of River Tsarap. I may end up writing an epic in the praise of these locations as each is scintillatingly beautiful, with no parallels for comparison.
The joy of riding too amplified with each pass being tougher than the previous one. In fact, by the time I crossed Chang-la, the first one, Zoji-la seemed like child’s play. I had high-altitude related difficulties at the tops of the passes: headaches, nausea and not to mention snow blindness. I struggled to stay at the top for the few pics I had to bring back as proofs! I decided that from that point onwards, I was going to get pictures with my helmet et al on - I couldn’t waste precious time, simply taking off and wearing these things! My strategy for each pass was to start early, go slowly but steadily before the sun rose too high. I liked the idea of starting out sooner and avoiding the harsh sun not only to prevent snow-blindness but also because with the sun turning sharper, the water causeways were incrementally more difficult and riskier to cross. I recalled everything my Dad had taught me as a little girl, ‘gear control is better than brake control’, ‘putting the engine in neutral will free the engine; always stay in gear’, ‘first gear is for moving the bike only, move into second soon after’ and so on. I’m glad my brain recalled those lessons from over 25 years ago. My nose continued to bleed till the day I reached Manali but the rush of adrenaline in negotiating those mountainous roads, cheating death at every turn kept me going, fuelling my passion. I probably never felt more alive in my life.
Here, at the passes, I experienced humanity uniquely like never before on Indian soil. Every time I reached a difficult spot, bikers from all over the country and the world were ready to guide me on choosing the path of least water and current. There were some moments when people insisted that I should try certain water crossings and that someone else should negotiate it for me. But when I persisted, they encouragingly advised me on the techniques and let me accomplish the causeways by myself. The icy cold water gushing knee deep at rapid currents could possibly sweep away bikers. Thankfully, I surpassed each one of them. For the biker’s fraternity, it didn’t matter that I was a lady and everyone was willing to help in spite of one’s race, religion and language. Whenever I stopped by the side on the passes, bikers would throw me an enquiring glance wanting to check if all was under control. On better roads, random bikers exchange smiles and cheer each other warmly. As a woman resident of Delhi, I am so not used to getting attention of this positive sort!
This ride was truly the ride of my lifetime, something that has left me humbled, awe-struck and given me a sense of accomplishment that will last for eternity!
Post script : This post was published online. It won 306 five-stars in a span of 2 days. Considering the length of the article and the minimal arvertising, that was quite a feat!
@ https://www.wrangler-ap.com/in/truewanderer-2016/entry/4331-Wandering-Woman-on-Wheels-in-Wonderland
The content stated here is the outcome of a highly evolved, hyperactive and underutilised brain. The apparatus is also known to have had occasional ephemeral surges of being overly judgemental and opinionated.
