June 8, 2010
Despite warnings, we've spent way to much time on K-Top. My oxygen starved brain feels lighter; though not in a good way. Thoughts struggle to find their way into my consciousness. I gasp for air at every step. I am not alone in my labor for the rest labor too. The icy cold has found its way deep within my bone; I shiver to stay warm. We are to descend to Nubra any moment now. Spiderweb suggests we get some tea before we attempt to engage the mighty Khardung-la once more. Its been kind so far; but it would be naive to assume it will continue to do so.
The air grows colder, the snow falls harder. As tea number three finds its way into my system; Motorbreath, now on his second cigarette, or perhaps his third, begins to display the warning signs of Altitude Mountain Sickness (AMS), his pitch higher than usual, his movements troubled. Inder is to return to Leh and we are to forge forward. But a panic striken Motorbreath insists that we head back to Leh as well. I try to reason that either way we have to head down Khardung-la; north or south wouldn't matter. But he argues that he's seen the path down south - he is unaware of the challenges the north holds for us. He will have none of it. He wants to return; he needs to return. That's all he can think off, that's all he needs to hear, his tone getting more desperate with each iteration of the argument.
Spiderweb is on the fence with this one; I can sense his desperation to forge forward, I can sense his fear of what lies ahead, for the environment is getting more violent with each passing second. I am no stranger to this fear. I sense it as well, but I reckon our prolonged exposure to high altitudes is what causes dread in us. I stand my ground; we should press forward after consulting the army personnel stationed at the post. Motorbreath stands his own; insisting we head back and head back now. Eventually Spiderweb gives in to Motorbreath's pleas; "We will head back", he announces. But not without some more tea in all of us. We order another round of tea, Motorbreath lights up once more.
I hear similar pleadings a few feet away from us. A family of three, parents - all of two, and a panicked teen begging them to take her back. The father, apparently unaware of AMS, looks apologetically in our direction for he believes his daughter creates quite the scene. He strikes up a conversation with us even as she continues to plead. I share with him that in my evaluation she's probably suffering from AMS; indeed he confesses ignorance to what it is. With him I share our stock of AMS medication and the advice we received to deal with it - reduce altitude as soon as possible. The medications take 6 hours to kick in and are consequently only useful as a preventive measure. But the father decides to hold on to it for future trips to high altitudes in the days to come. The family makes a hasty exit much to the relief of the now delirious teen.
Moments later, our tea break concludes lazily. We make our way towards the exit; a snow laden surface making it impossible to walk without tripping. We hold on to tables and chairs and grope our way to the cash counter. As we pull out our wallets to settle the bill, the cashier waves us away, informing us that our bill has been settled; a parting gesture from a thankful father. All I can do is smile, my thoughts thanking him in return.
The wind has turned violent. The snow falls denser. And even though its only 15 kilometers to South Pullu, the rugged terrain and the furious weather are going to make us pay for every kilometer we dare to traverse. We wipe away the snow from our steeds, hop on and begin our descent.
We ride with a sense of urgency for many minutes. Inder rides ahead for he is most fearful and determined to exit the clutches of K-Top as swiftly as his steed will permit. Motorbreath falls in second place. Spiderweb and I take third and fourth. He's slowing down now; I ride up to him and halt alongside.
Me: "What's the matter?"
Spiderweb: "My hands are cold. I can't feel the clutch."
I honk in an attempt to get Motorbreath's attention; but he doesn't seem to hear us. He continues riding even as Inder turns a bend and disappears.
Me: "It's ok, we'll catch up with them. They'll wait for us anyway if they don't see us in their rear views."
We wait a while as Spiderweb rubs his palms together in a bid to nurse his fingers back to sanity. A few minutes later we are back on track. Motorbreath and Inder though are out of our sight. "We'll catch up with them", I assure myself.
It's becoming discouragingly apparent to us that the Universe is out of control. Legions of snow are sent in our direction, commanded by an unyielding Universe to pelt our steeds, to slide in under them and drag them into the grime. Our steeds battle for traction with every revolution. The wind joins forces with our adversary, pushing us dangerously close to rock and ice. We haven't been riding many minutes, but Spiderweb stops once again; rubbing his palms in a desperate bid to regain sensation. He regains little and we continue our journey only to halt once again a few minutes out. I suggest he warm his palms with the heat of the exhaust - a naive suggestion I am told later for our numbness would mean our inability to detect heat that would burn our skin straight off. Lacking options Spiderweb yields. The exercise gives us another 10 minutes of riding following which we must stand still again.
His fingers have given in completely by now. He senses nothing. The snow comes in strong; our path laced with deadly flakes masking dangerous pot holes beneath them. We try the exhaust once more but to no avail. Its as cold as the snow that mercilessly beats down upon us. I had hoped that Motorbreath and Inder had sensed something was awry and had waited for us to catch up. They have done nothing of the sort. Its down to Spiderweb and me now, with the former incapacitated by a Universe that threatens to devour our pithy existence...
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