June 8, 2010
"Spidey let's go!", I plead.
"...", is all he has to utter.
"Spidey let's go!"
"..."
"SPIDEY! Let's go! We don't have too much time. The snow will only get worse!"
"..."
Spiderweb is now in full blown panic. His silence reveals nothing, the grave concern in his eyes now metamorphosizing into fear betrays all. Nor have I succeeded in staving off fear. I fear as much. But, so far, my hands sense some and my neurons compute some; and compute I do - we must keep riding.
As Spiderweb makes another vain attempt at amassing heat from the exhaust, my bludgeoned body is slowly giving in as well. It won't be long before there's two of us beaten senseless by the minus. But until then, I must push him to ride on; or we'll both suffer the consequences.
"Spidey!! Let's fucking go!"
He yields, climbs back on to his steed and revs it into motion. The wind has gathered momentum; it now wears the garb of a storm. A merciless wave of snow joins in the orgy - they, the fuckers, we, the fucked.
Our path has nothing of hope to offer. Every inanimate object in our surrounding personifies into a murderous miscreation. Slush and potholes, camouflaged beneath a dense layer of snow, lie in wait for us. Black ice, invisible to our weary eyes, wets itself at the thought of dragging us into its embrace. Slithery snow gathers its kin and slides to the edges, eagerly waiting to take us down in an avalanche.
I will halt our progress on many occassions too; for the snow fogs over my glasses ever so often and I must rid them of the moisture frequently. My tired eyes, now practically blind without the aid of my convexes struggle to stay open as the snow settles into the innards on my eyelids, melting in moments, splashing my eyes from within. Spiderweb, despite his senseless avatar, will heed my every request to halt. We've only got each other now.
The chill now turns its attention to me; it forces itself through the thick of the glove and into my hands. I sense the equivalent of needle pins being pushed into my finger tips. And the chill won't do it one go, no, it will kill my senses in waves, one pin at a time, many pins at many times. The sickening pain will find its way into my now screaming and very nervous system until it gives in.
I see Spiderweb massaging his back a few feet away. It's been giving him trouble since we first began the ride. I can only guess that the minuses are doing to his spinal chord what they've done with his finger tips.
The distance between K-Top and South Pullu, the nearest army base camp is 15kms. We've been riding for over an hour and a half now and South Pullu is nowhere in sight. I have lost all sense of time and space. My head hurts. My neck is frozen stiff. My chest aches as my heart gropes for air. My arms feel like led, I can barely make the bends. My wrist screams for mercy - for every clutch action sends a shooting pain around its periphery - I lost the ability to completely engage the clutch many squeezes ago - I can just about get it half there. My steeds slides at every curve, we have no semblance of traction. She's getting increasing difficult to manage. Her roar has dwindled down to a whimper as she too struggles for oxygen. My feet are wet and senseless as the dampness eats its way through my epidermis.
With panic finally finding its way into the numbness of mind and body, I stand where Spiderweb stands; for I am now convinced we will not make it out of this alive. I can feel neither my hands nor my feet. I can barely hold my attention for more than 5 seconds at a time before zoning out. I've lost my ability to judge the gravity of the situation, or judge gravity for that matter. For I have come dangerously close to riding into the emptiness of the cliff on occassions too numerous to recall. For I have lost my ability to react to being too close to ice and rock. For I have lost my ability to reason. I have zoned into a dream world where no move is too dangerous, no fall fatal. I ride now on pure instinct and should instinct fail me - I will simply throw in the towel. I can't fight this any more. I have no desire to for I am incapable of desire in the hopelessness of our situation. We are deemed to die. I must accept it. I must live with it and I must die with it.
And in my despair, a dampened spirit screams,
"Die, for what have you got to lose anyway."
My enfeebled mind responds with what I feared it would,
"Absolutely fucking nothing."...
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