June 5, 2010
Come dawn, we awaken. Of course I jest, for I have rarely glimpsed at dawn in the journey to date and the ritual of tardy awakenings shall continue way into the days to come, much to the exasperation of Aman, an early riser, and one on a budgeted schedule. Today we encounter the mighty Zojila. I have yet to make its acquaintance but its diabolical reputation precedes it.
We head down for a brief breakfast. I do not recall the menu, only that it didn't matter for my taste buds battle for consciousness owing to the rude thermal shock. Outside, the steeds struggle for sanity as well - well some of them at least. The two R-15s start up instantaneously; the Karizma takes a few tries; the Pulsar struggles for breath and fails. Aman gets a workout as he pushes Motorbreath and his Pulsar uphill, so they can roll back downhill and get the motor running. It works but the revving is iffy. None would be surprised if it gave in. It does a few times.
While Motorbreath and Aman run along the slopes with motored bikes by their side in a parody of sorts, we make small talk with dual riders from 60kph who reside in the same hotel as us, head in same direction as us and probably do not order for women with a side-dish of chicken soup unlike us. As their Bullets warm up on standstill throttle Spiderweb and I join Aman and Motorbreath.
Motorbreath's steed now takes shallow breaths but it holds and will hold ground in the clock-cycles to come. Sonmarg offers plenty to the aesthetically inclined and then some for the aesthetically blind. Aman and I continue our tryst to pixellate, he better than I. Motorbreath, uncomfortable with his steed's state, announces that he will trudge on without halts up until Drass to avoid another push-till-you-drop scenario. Being the ones most likely to be in the drop zone, we support his argument vehemently. Unfortunately we are forced to stop. For all roads that lead through Zojila, one in number, are presently closed to allow for heavy vehicles to make it through from the other side.
Zojila and its accomplices shun roads as they obliterate them with falling rocks and mud. They politely offer us snow, rock, rubble and grime and dare we refuse, force it down our paths. And even though man made constructions offer guidance to the mighty Zojila with inscriptions such as "Zojila PASS", Zojila has no intention of letting us pass. It will gleefully kill us where we slide. It's message is clear - Leave us alone.
And it is this Zojila we await now. Chais are downed, biscuits devoured, conversations exchanged and millions of pixels tuned into environmental wavelengths. An hour by an inexact clock and the roads open. There is pandemonium as me-first tourist and transport vehicles scurry out. We aren't far behind. In fact Motorbreath and Aman are far ahead as Motorbreath pushes his throttle to keep his steed from running out of breath.
There is a pattern to every journey in every pass. The approach road consists of flawless tarmac as it seduces one closer into the pass. And when one is just about enjoying the heightened senses, the tarmac starts to disintegrate little by little. One argues, "This isn't so bad, perhaps it will get better. Moreover, the view is breath-taking!" and so one continues to trudge on. Then, when its too late to turn back, the tarmac almost completely disappears, the heights make one dizzy and the lack of oxygen takes one's breath-away, literally instead of figuratively. Mud, grime, round stones, sharp stones, black ice, white ice (aka snow) all come together in convoluted proportions with the express desire to make you eat them as they wrestle with your steed in an attempt to bring her down.
But since Zojila is my first, I am oblivious to these patterns. As we begin the climb, I think to myself, "Wow, wonderful roads! I'm gonna enjoy this." Somewhere out there Zojila laughs in evil merriment.
Fifteen minutes into the ride and I find myself cornered on a narrow turn and a Tavera, unable to keep its momentum, sliding backwards. All I can do is stare in horror. Fortunately, the monster-cage finds traction and slithers back up, but not without squirting out grime in my direction. I duck, unsuccessfully. Strike one.
The next to get hit is Spiderweb, albeit he is hit harder. For the Karizma struggles for traction. With ageing clutch plates, it struggles to make progress. Spiderweb pushes the beast to its limit. The engine overheats due to constant throttling, and in an act of self-preservation, shuts down. I am a few throttles away as I hear Spiderweb holler out to me. I turn to see him pushing his steed with all his might. I realize there is trouble and halt in a dry corner - a protrusion of the cliff where traffic wouldn't dare venture. Spiderweb takes a few more grunts to get to where I am and informs me of his quandary. His steed is leaking power. The clutch plates have to be replaced at some point in the near future although we are unsure when this might become a reality. For now, his only hope is to keep pushing his steed, giving it abundant rest. Motorbreath and Aman have disappeared into the steep curves. We have no way of informing them for the networks have long since buckled to the might of Zojila. Since they have each other, we desist from thinking about them any further and focus on the problem at hand.
Our progress is conservative by every standard. We decide not to let that bother us, choosing instead to chit chat, admire Zojila and laugh at our complete helplessness against its might. But it would appear that Zojila has taken a liking toward us; for it threatens us with neither wind nor rain nor snow fall. It permits us to admire it, explore it and worship it.
And then it happens...
Our progress leads us on to a pristine pathway and surrounding us is snow. And while I have seen many-a-snow caps and frozen rivers from a distance in the journey to this hour, this, right here, in a lifetime that spans 33 years, was the first time I held in between my fingers.
I firmly believe that life is best experienced as children for there is so much to strike our fancy. It is probably no co-incidence then that the state is described as in-fancy. As age and experience begin to nibble away at novelty, infusing it with predictability, boredom sets in. Maturity, I opine, is merely the bastard child of predictability and boredom.
And so, when at 33, I have my first experience of holding snow in my now naked hands, I transcend into a childhood I had since forgotten. Spiderweb throws several snow balls at me, each one hitting its target. I return several, each one wildly off course. It would appear that in addition to childhood, I have transcended into throw-like-a-girl state. I'd like to blame it squarely on my now frozen hands. We take turns lying down on the snow, pixelate memories, posing some more, then repeat the process. Mind you, this is just my first time holding snow. To see a snow fall, I will have to wait a day more.
We expected to find Aman and Motorbreath at this very spot. Safe, dry for the most part and with plenty of space to park away from the traffic, makes for a perfect rendezvous point. When the state of one steed is iffy, its far more comforting to have three additional sets of hands and engines as opposed to one. Unfortunately, they have chosen to move along. We reckon we will rendezvous with them only at Drass now but there's little we can do.
Over the next several hours, Spiderweb and I ride over and around snow, through frigid water and warm muck, over narrow paths overlooking nothingness, around motored monsters that squish our tiny souls into uncomfortable corners, through virgin terrains free from the assault of human civilization, with herds of sheep that call out to us, around herds of wild horses that outrun us, over bridges made of metal, beside rivers made of liquid heaven.
We mingle with security personnel, politely reject offers for tea, gladly accept offers for conversations. They tell us about them, we tell them about us. We learn of their families, of their fears, of their resolve to serve and protect. We love them more, we respect us less, lament the times we cried over our petty dilemmas, resolve to push harder. In the company of brave, we gain just a little bit of courage. And for that, and for them, we are thankful...
We are getting close to Drass now; but that's a whole other chapter...
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