I awaken to the sound of Spiderweb's alarm; awaken to find that my questions from the night prior have shared the bed with me. They awaken as I awaken. I escape them by drifting back into nothingness; but I know deep down, they await my return. The escape is momentary. They will leave only with answers. And answers I have not.
We are slow to rise that day. Our bodies struggle to cope with the altitude. Fatigue is the norm. We have a brief breakfast at a cozy cafe - Dolphin - not far from where we reside. Cheese omelette and ginger lemon tea for me. The hostess for Motorbreath; who believes he's in love again. I don't fancy her at first glance, but her timid and gentle demeanor grows on me quickly.
The idea of falling in love with a damsel in a far away land, sharing a bed with her, leaving her there yearning for you in her otherwise sorry life while you while your time away with shallow, uncaring city girls, returning to her many years later to profess your love for her and rescuing her of her misery is a fantasy every man dreams of. Indeed we are no different. For the three of sink deep into a reverie, each one mentally painting away her escorts or captioning them in as brothers, distant cousins or fathers, painting in our handsome avatars with plastic smiles and a satisfied sexual disposition, with borrowed images of children to complete the picture. We seem happy in our mental pictures, the plastic smiles seeping through into our respective realities.
We leave unwillingly to pick up our permits from the agent. Inder awaits us. With permits in place, we shift gears and head in the direction of Khardung la - a little to the right, a little to the left, but mostly up.
The initial ascend is a breeze. Flawless tarmac, reinforced unyielding bridges, pristine streams flowing gently beneath, snow flakes dancing amidst the gentle breath of the valley. My questions of being, now familiar bedfellows, float away, intimidated by the cold stare of the valley. I feel liberated, I feel warm, I feel one with the Universe. And even though I believe it to be momentary, I feel blessed for having experienced the oneness before I throw in the towel.
Even as we ascend, a comment from Inder piques my nerves. He remarks that I should click pictures later. The light snowfall has him in palpable panic. I disregard his suggestion asking him to continue without me; I would catch up with them in good time. Spiderweb and Motorbreath though, accustomed to my desire to capture every frame I possibly could, pace themselves to match my ascend, leaving Inder with no choice but to follow along.
25 kilometers into the ride and we've hit South Pullu, an army check post on the road to Khardung la. A small tea-stall offers us some much needed brunch - steaming hot maggie. The snow flakes are getting larger now; they fall quicker. What little concern we have for our safety is dissipated by the encouraging words of a gentleman steering his four wheeled beast down from Khardungla, or K-Top as we had now begun to call it. He warns us against black ice, an ice so pure and so transparent that its practically invisible to the human eye but one that could send our steeds fishtailing into a fatal spin. We are aware of this danger. The narrow width of our path allows for a very small window for error and sliding on its surface isn't on the action plan. Other than that he says, the road is clear. He suggests a slow ascend and riding away from the edge of the cliff, the couple that were already on our must-do.
Just as we are leaving, another group of bikers walk into the stall - some with pillions, most solo. We chat for a while, exchange notes, wish each other luck and thrust forward.
Not far into the ascend we notice icicles adorning the stone; we stop to play with the snow, throw snow balls at each other, pretend to be Jedis with our ice sabres. We pixellate what we can, much to the horror of Inder who insists we get to the top and back as soon as possible and much to our amusement for we stall even more just to cause him more panic.
Once more the slithery snow threatens us; licking our steed bottoms; throwing snow dust into our eyes; blowing harsh cold winds into the crevices of our attire to freeze us, slow us down, dampen our morale, belittle our senses, halt our progress. The air is thinning out. My body is in mild panic, but the adrenalin rush of trying to beat the Universe keeps me focused. The tarmac has all but disappeared now. The brutal environment will have none of it. Snowy grime is all we have to ride on. We skid, we slide, we pee, we pixelate, we skid, we slide, we pee, we pixelate.
I do not know how long its been since we last left South Pullu. Seems like forever. My bones ache. My chest heaves. My arms tremble. My eyes sting. My wrist screams for mercy with each twist of the throttle. I'm tired; I'm exhausted and the road ahead refuses to yield. My mind hasn't the energy for a thought. It struggles to keep pace with its involuntary responsibilities.
We pass several four wheeled motored beasts, both, coming our way and going our way. Some offer us glances of curiosity, some of disbelief, some of respect. With all we nod, honk for the right of way, and pass on to the next.
Minutes turn to hours, hours to eternity, and then, there they were; wooden constructions, a few motors and many jubilant souls smiling under the shade of a grand yellow board, one with an inscription many have coveted to see with their own eyes:
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We made it. We achieved that which is seldom achieved. We rode on two wheels from Bombay to Khardung-la, Kashmir, the highest motorable road on the planet; and while we had our differences along the way - we made it as one; we made it our way.
(In alphabetical order)
[ More to come ]
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