Tuesday, November 29, 2011

Section 3: The Journey > Chapter 60: The final chapter


June 24rd, 2010

I don't recall how long I've been riding, only that I have seldom stopped. I have skipped meals, poured water onto my seething head, wrapped wet shards of cloth across my face, relied on colas to keep me hydrated and sane, budgeted pee breaks only at the brink of convulsions. I have kept the throttle twisted till my wrists beg for mercy. For how long I do not know. Merely that its too long for comfort. I can sense the evening approaching. I can tell I haven't the strength to crawl through the night. I know I haven't an option for I do not wish to stop. The R-15 will fly through traffic. I have seldom seen it so eager to please.

The sun will part ways with my path. Much to early, I think to myself. If only it had stayed a little bit longer. But it must do what it must, as do I.

I seem to have slipped into a reverie. I see little of the traffic. I see lesser still of the tarmac for the glaze of oncoming beams blurs my fatigued vision. I haven't the strength to ride. I haven't he mind to beg me to stop. I will splash my face with water at several stops in a desperate bid to stay awake. Its difficult to stay upright when the spirit is broken. I wish to ride no more.

Mumbai 100 kms - the board announces. I will latch on to a cage with an MH-02 inscription determined not to let go. In time he will lose me. I ride orphaned, seeking the hand of another. A two wheeler rushes by me, signals right, I believe I'm seeing thing, it looks like...

Spiderweb! I caught up to him! But that's not possible. It's been hours since he left. I signal left too and halt as he does. I inquire as to how he's still here. He explains that he has since taken his time, stopped for meals and taken rest before proceeding. I wish I had too for none of what he says makes any sense to me. I have lost all semblance of time and space. I just stand there staring in Spiderweb's direction.

We decide to continue riding. I follow him for in this moment he has more sanity than I. Perceptions change quickly. For he who I had wished to ride with no more, will now ride me to safety.

Several hours later the familiar sight of Fountain restaurant will peak over the horizon as our steeds glide onto the Thane Ghodbunder junction. We will ride into Fountain to be greeted by Cinderella and Razorblade, the latter being a biker himself, and one who has scaled Khardungla a year before us.

An hour later, I find myself in the warm embrace of a familiar bed. My consciousness will dissipate in the blink of an eye.


June 25th, 2010

The dim glow of the monitor touches my face. I can barely type for I haven't laid hands on a keyboard in a while.

"What do I do now? What could be more fun than this?", I ask a kin.

"Blog about your experiences no? Should be fun.", she says.

"I doubt anyone would read it."

"Then do it for yourself. Its a good way to relive the memories."

"Point taken."

Fingers to the keypad, I begin typing...

Section 1: In Anticipation > Chapter 1: Butterflies



May 13th, 2010

I'm afraid to be happy... 


******* THE END *******

Section 3: The Journey > Chapter 59: The departures

June 24rd, 2010

Despite Spiderweb's desire to rent a lodge, we've decided to spend the night resting at a dhaba that has conveniently laid out khatia's for all and sundry. For in renting a lodge we would lose time and time we have not. While the three sleep, I guard our belongings hoping that I would get my share of slumber once one awakens. But none do, not until sunrise. I will spend several minutes trying to get them to awaken, often resorting to mercilessly spraying them with water - bottles of which were willingly shared by the owner for he wish we left too.

Motorbreath, Romeomike and I are ready to rumble. Spiderweb continues to lie horizontal despite several requests from each of us. He now claims he has a body ache. Frustrated with his acts the night prior we gladly accept his suggestion to ride ahead. This time round we care not for the man left behind for he has admitted that he cares not for us.

We throttle hard, much harder than I had anticipated. Motorbreath it would seem, prefers that Spiderweb never caught up. With consistent speeds in the three digits, it was unlikely that we would see Spiderweb again. A few hours into the ride though, hunger will catch up with us. We rest for food. Romeomike suggests that we wait a little while longer, to see if Spiderweb catches up. Should we not see him for another hour, we would continue our journey. Until then, he recommends, I get a shut eye. I comply. We will wait a lot longer than an hour but eventually, Spiderweb will catch up and once again we ride together. This time round though Spiderweb suggests that he ride ahead and leave us behind for he expects to give an interview tomorrow, making it critical for him to reach Mumbai by tonight. Happy to get rid of him one way or the other, we accept his request to forge ahead.

But for a while Spiderweb will trail and having being given the responsibility of tailing, I will wait for him. He recommends that I continue riding; I deny the idea stating that so long as he rides with us, I will ensure he remains with the group. It now becomes apparent why Spiderweb trails; he needs fuel. Although his decision to fall back confounds me for he could have just as well refuelled while he was in the lead. The reasons for his decision to fall back will become readily apparent in the moments to come.

For as Spiderweb races off into distance, Motorbreath will announce that he is low on fuel as will Romeomike. We will halt at the next fuel stop. At this point Motorbreath will also announce that he hasn't any money - that Spiderweb had promised to loan him the necessary funds and had then backed down en route stating that he too did not have sufficient funds. This blew my lid for I knew Spiderweb had the necessary funds - I had seen him pull out a big wad of cash just a while ago and I had noticed that he had plenty more to cover not just for two, but for three. I loan Motorbreath the money but I do grumble for it seems irresponsible to travel without back up funds. I will now have to revisit the ATM to grab additional funds.

As minutes turn to miles, we find ourselves within a hundred kilometers from Ahmedabad. We will stop for a pee break. Motorbreath will attempt to squeeze out a few more clicks on his cell phone. In doing so, he will make a disappointing discovery. His tyres have finally given in completely - more specifically the rear - the tyre treads now show through, dangerously vulnerable to shards and shrapnel.  Motorbreath will now demand that we get the tyre be changed. And while he may be justified in his stand, I am now at my wit's end. For it means two things - more time wasted over something that should have been fixed even before we started and more funds spent from my account for Motorbreath carries not a penny with him. Anger turns to sarcasm, for when Motorbreath mentions that perhaps we should enter Ahmedabad city to change the tyre, I suggest he get a complete bike re-modelling done while he's at it. The sarcasm hits home for Motorbreath now flies into a blinded abusive fury as he screams reminding me that he never suggested any such thing, merely that he did not have a choice. Blinded by my own anger I will retort that had he been more responsible with his bike preparations, I would not have had to baby sit his fucking ass throughout the ride, tailing him, ensuring he never fell. He will remind me that he too has been there for me in times of need. Enraged I will exclaim my spills were not due to lack of prep but nature's will.

With rising tempers, Motorbreath will speak no more. He will throttle off and ride off leaving Romeomike and I biting his dust.

This is where it all ends of me. I'm done. I have lost every ounce of ride in me. I wish to ride no more. Not with them in the least. Thankless son of a b#$@%. After all the times I've stood up for him, after all the times I've pulled him through, after all the time I've spent tailing him, ensuring someone's there for him, after all the time I waited on him while Spiderweb disappeared on us, this is the thanks I get. This is the attitude I get. And for what? This isn't my fault. This isn't my fight. This was never my fight. Why must I bear the brunt for his casual attitude towards his steed.

Romeomike and I will throttle up. We will catch up with Motorbreath in no time for he limits his revs for fear of a tyre blowout. With sleep overpowering my now exhausted body, I will turn to Romeomike and explain...

"I'm done Raman. I wanna go home. I don't want to ride with him or for him anymore. I just want to go home now. Will you manage him? I will give you money for the repairs if you need it but I don't want to wait any longer. I cannot ride long. Sleep will catch up with me soon. I need to ride. Will you manage things?"

Romeomike, in his characteristic calm demeanor will say the three words I longed to hear, "I will manage".

No sooner do I hear these words, I rev up. For the first time in days, the R-15 will hit the rev limiter on every gear. I pass Motorbreath, I do not slow down, I do not halt, I do not look in his direction.

I will leave this man behind, for, in my opinion, he does not deserve another beside him. I will subsequently regret this stand, for I know now, "Leave no man behind", knows no exceptions.

[ Note: Motorbreath and I subsequently made amends and he has repaid every penny he has owed me within a week of our return. The above is merely deviant behaviour on both our parts on account of fatigue. Exchanges such as the above were under conditions of extreme physical stress and neither of us was accurate in our behaviour. I admit that it was wrong to leave him at that juncture. ]

Section 3: The Journey > Chapter 58: The amazing Spiderweb

June 23rd, 2010

It's half past six since noon. Romeomike has resolved to spend time with his kin. We - Motorbreath, Spiderweb and I decide to explore just a little bit of Delhi on our own. I'll see a different side of Delhi that evening as traffic thins and the quiet resolve of structures dipped in history seeps through. They stand tall, with an air of royalty. Just as they should, for they have braved much they have braved long.

We find solace in the shadows of India Gate, spend time drinking nariyal paani, listening to tales of Spiderweb's childhood in the warm embrace of the capital. Spiderweb has insisted that we stay back, wrap our steeds and ship them to Mumbai several times today. He does not wish to leave. He shares none of our desire to return. As night falls and we stroll through the dimly lit streets, for a few moments, I wish I was in agreement with Spiderweb. But I must not be.  I must finish what I started. I must ride to Mumbai.



June 24th, 2010

We intended to leave at the crack of dawn. We leave at 2:30pm. Typical.

Facebook update

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25 June 2010 at 13:53

The ride throws no challenges, save for one. Spiderweb complains that his steed lacks power. The assertion surprises us for we have consistently seen him touch three digits. In time though the mighty Karizma will display signs of fatigue. We will mock Spiderweb by pretending to cowl and overtake him at speeds of a mere 60kmph. His steed now sails at 50kmph. Our tomfoolery will annoy him no end for he will consistently throttle up and attempt to gain on us. But the broken steed is no match for our healthy beasts. We continue to mock him but we do not desert him. In time, the mockery will get old and we ride beside him. Spiderweb continues to lead. We let him for his steed now determines our pace.

As night falls, hunger sets in. We ask Spiderweb to halt at the next dhaba. He nods. A few kilometers out, he passes a dhaba without halting. Then another. Then another. I catch up to him and ask him why he won't stop.

"I want to eat chicken", he says. "All those were pure veg.", he adds.


And so we race from one dhaba to the next, in search of chicken and while we find some that do serve chicken, none is available at the hour we approach them. As we ride away from settlements, the frequency of dhabas starts thinning out. We are exhausted, Romeomike rides precariously close to slumber for he hasn't slept a wink the night prior. But Spiderweb shows no signs of yielding.

Frustrated, tired and hungry, we, Motorbreath, Romeomike and I, will rebel against Spiderweb's childishness and turn our steeds into the next dhaba that we find. That's it. We ride no more. Eat what we get we will. Rest we will. Ride we will only once we are rested. Spiderweb may continue his quest for chicken at his own peril.

Spiderweb will not take the mutiny lightly. He will escalate his juvenile quotient accusing Motorbreath once again for riding slow at onset of our journey. This time though Motorbreath will simply ignore the rant for much has changed we first set out. Nothing, apparently, has changed at Spiderweb's end for he will continue his rant. He will reminisce about his time with Razor, Shiva and others, claiming they would have understood his craving for chicken.

The ridiculousness of his conversation lures me into anger as I suggest he ride with his favourites the next time round and leave us the fuck alone cause we didn't want to ride with him no more. In time, we will all settle down.

The next order of business is getting the clutch plates on the Karizma replaced. We are told that we will find respite only in the whereabouts of Jaipur. And so we continue to ride on a now pitch dark and lonely highway in our quest to find a mechanic. We will in a matter of hours as the clock strikes 11:30pm. As we enter Jaipur, I will ask of the others if they wish to break for tea. They agree, except for Spiderweb who will ignore my comment and continue riding, expecting us to follow.

We don't.

We part our steeds, the three of us now, and engage in long conversations about the life back home. In time Spiderweb will call, asking me of my location. I will tell him we are where he left us. He will ask why we chose not to follow. I will reply, "Because we didn't want to." It appears he has found a mechanic a kilometer from where we now stand. We tell him we will catch up with him. We have no intention to.

Several hours later, eager to head home, we will head in his direction. His steed will take another ten minutes to spring to life. And just like that, we're back on the road. We will lose the highway and for a brief moment, will find ourselves within the embrace of Jaipur. I long to see more, but we must continue forth.

As always, we will stop for Kulfi. In a bizarre moment, Motorbreath will walk up to a kid, point a finger at him and say,

"I know what you did". 

The child will burst into tears leaving Motorbreath embarrassed as he tries to console the guilty lad. Guilty of what? We might never know.

The engines roar once more and we push ahead. It's past mid-night. We have a long way to go.

Monday, November 28, 2011

Section 3: The Journey > Chapter 57: Chalo Dilli


June 22nd, 2010

We ride to Delhi today. A brief stop at Kullu. Torrential rains a few kilometers from Mandi. A power slide by Spiderweb directly in the path of a parked sedan, sending its occupants into absolute hysteria and us into hysterical laughter, brunch breaks, lunch breaks, pee breaks and a ride at a casual pace is all that we will see on this day of June. With oxygen levels rising to meet our decline, the steeds now breathe easy as their whimpers turn to stoic roars. Motorbreath and Romeomike will share a smoke at every occassion, sending Spiderweb into a rant about smokers wasting precious travel time. I will agree vehemently.

I haven't much else to say, except that I'll let the clicks do the talking. See you on the other side.













June 23rd, 2010

It's 6:30am. We've only just arrived at our destination for yesterday - Vasant Kunj, Delhi. We collapse under the sheets quickly...

Section 3: The Journey > Chapter 56: Reunion

June 20th, 2010

RomeoMike will relate his story, his thankfulness for the help of the thekedaar in getting a tempo to ship his steed, his desperation to ride, his crossing of Barlachala without halt, the expense of 3000 bucks to get here and his ever present desire to have crossed Barlachala beside us. I will ask for his forgiveness. He is quick to forgive. Motorbreath, the thekedaar and a couple of others will help dismount the steed. We will eat dinner, make calls to loved ones, sink into a peaceful bliss.

I have but one thought as I meet nothingness.

I want to live...
just a little bit longer...
just a little bit harder. 


June 21st, 2010


I can tell Spiderweb is in no mood to ride. He tries to convince us to stay but for a couple of days. We deny the prospect. I have lived every moment of this journey. But I need to return for I need to earn my living, as do the others. But before we depart, we must fix RomeoMike's steed. Fortunately, a mechanic is not hard to find. He will replace the clutch plates as the steed springs to life.

Spiderweb is determined to stay. He will delay our departure by asking the mechanic to make several minor and mostly unnecessary adjustments to his steed. Three hours past noon, he will have echoed decision not to ride any further for, he claims, he does not wish to traverse any ghats in the shadows of the night. Tired of his tantrums, once again, we give in.

But Spiderweb will go one step further. He will now try and convince us to make a 4 day stay at Delhi at the very same residence the housed us on our journey to Leh. He tries to lure us with the prospect of an exciting night life within the confines of Delhi. We refuse, stating lack of time. He then tries to convince us to cut our journey short - to ship our steeds from Delhi to Mumbai and to fly to Mumbai - thereby saving 3 days of travel and giving us an opportunity to explore Delhi. Once again we refuse, for we wish to do Mumbai-Leh-Mumbai, nothing less and now, certainly nothing more. He will give up in frustration, a frustration that will continue to grow at several ends.

As the day floats on by, we walk across Manali's market place. We will bump into the Poles who made it here at noon. We make small talk, they promise to meet us at the same location at nightfall, a promise they will not keep and one I did not expect them to.

We will sample the food, admire the gorgeous newly wed brides, explore a botanical garden, share memories of the days gone by and resolve to keep the biking spirit alive. By the end of the day I will have fallen in love with a punjabi girl who travels with her family and bumps into us quite often. I will not ask her her name, nor take her picture, merely revel in the joy that I am still capable of fleeting love, for I had once convinced myself that I should never love again.








And with that, we will return to our quarters. As we turn out the lights, Spiderweb will beg us not to snore. We will refuse to comply.

We hope to reach Delhi by nightfall tomorrow.


Section 3: The Journey > Chapter 55: Manali

June 20th, 2010

The snow melts away. The challenges recede. We ride free. Through tarmac, through dust, through streams seldom travelled. There's a childishness in our revs, a sense of freedom in our paths. We have entered Himachal. The terrain celebrates as lush green vegetation rushes up to line our path.



Many miles later, and riding several hours on reserve, we will find ourselves in Keylong. We halt for hunger. I halt in desperation to defecate. I will visit restroom several times. Each time, on my return,  Spiderweb and Motorbreath will let out "Aaahhhhhhh!"s in mock relief.

I find them whispering to a member of the fairer sex - perhaps informing her of the purpose of my regular disappearance. I find her laughing incredulously. We strike up a conversation, her and I. She speaks of her employment with Sony Big TV, of her solo travels across Ladhak, asks us of our adventures, aids us in getting quicker service, introduces us to some of her new found friends and finally disappears into her quarters. As a parting gift, she informs me that the nearest petrol pump is but a few miles away at Tandi - an unbelievable relief for we had expected not to get a drop until Manali. I had expected to run out much sooner. I will leave with but a thought thanking her.



Through ups and downs and mud and grime, we finally make it to Tandi where we will refuel our steeds to the brim. In a casual conversation with a curious onlooker, Spiderweb will concede that the R-15 outperformed the others owing to its FI, much to my disinterested amusement.

Many more miles will roll on by. Spiderweb will push harder. I sense he hopes to catch up with the Poles. We will hit a small settlement and find the Poles walking the streets. We will reconnect with them only to be told that they can go no further. A comrade has now has impaired vision due to a bee sting on his eye lid. I recall bees splattering on my visor a few miles out.

They ask us of RomeoMike. I grudgingly inform them that we left him behind. There's disappointment in their eyes. There's disappointment in my soul. We shouldn't have left him. I curse myself, a practice that will continue for the length of our journey to Manali.

Spiderweb will encourage us to camp with the Poles. There's just one problem. None has any money left. The last of our cash was spent refuelling the steeds. The closest ATM, it would appear, awaits us in Manali. We must not stop. We cannot stop.

We will trudge on, through thick and thin. The ascend to Rohtang will be choked by dense fog impenetrable by beams. We push through for we have pushed through far greater. Our progress will be commemorated by snow flakes shimmering around us like star dust. Several brooks cross our path. Our metal hugs their icy embrace.





We will eventually scale the pass. What I see will dishearten me. For the wretched hands of Commerce have raped the land. Tents in yellow and blue marr the landscape. Plastic waste suffocates the terrain.


My camera will take one last shot, before it gives in.


The descend from Rohtang is brutal. In a path laced with potholes, public and pissed off commuters, our steeds struggle for traction.  My feet grow numb and my wrists scream in agony as the R-15 gets knocked around mercilessly. 

In time, we make it, disheartened, disgruntled and with a great disdain for the commercialization of Rohtang. My mind turns to the several miles of freshly laid tarmac deep within the value, allowing for an increasing number of casual tourers, raping the land, stone by stone, bit my bit. Indeed we are the precursors to a much larger movement. One, if not contained, will some day bring the valley to its knees.

Twice over, Spiderweb will try and convince us to halt, to take refuge in a settlement. Twice over, we must remind him that we haven't a penny left. We will bear the brunt of misguided anger. In darkness and pain, we will make our way to Manali. Spiderweb will remind us, several times, that we had  slowed him down. For if it were up to him, he would have hit Manali several hours ago. We say nothing. His childishness exhausts me. My guilt over leaving RomeoMike behind devours me.

Exhausted, defeated, we will find shelter in the first lodge we find.

As night falls, my phone buzzes incessantly. This is the first time I've heard it ring in 15 straight days. The name the screen flashes brings a tear to my eye...

It's Romeomike. And a call from him could mean only one thing...


He's in Manali.

Thursday, November 24, 2011

Section 3: The Journey > Chapter 54: On conquests

June 20th, 2010

In the shadow of my conquest, my hopes and dreams turn to dust. How long have I said someday. How long have I said maybe. How long have I wished... wished to see that which I believed. I see it now. Several lives have I forsaken. Several lives have forsaken me. An uncertain, unpredictable, undestined chain of events leads me to where I stand.

I did not have to be here.

For I have once chosen to end my life, chosen not to be metaphorical, chosen to trade space and time for an eternity in peace. It seemed worth it. In time, I will have recognized that my immortality in non-existence awaits me not because I wish it, but inspite of it. I will have realized that in my quest to live with others, for others, of others, and by others, I had perhaps neglected to live for just one more...

Me.

My senses grow numb. My knees weak. The quest is over. Barlacha has been conquered. Its all downhill from here...


"What is the use of this plastic", says the Major inspecting the area as he taps my knee guards.

"It's to protect me from getting hurt."

"Does it protect you?"

"Better than most people."

Section 3: The Journey > Chapter 53: The final frontier

June 20th, 2010

"Motor! Motor!", Spiderweb's voice echoes.I scream for help hoping he hears me. He does. I see him running across the bend towards me. I no longer feel my right leg. The mind gave way several shivers ago. Spiderweb will push the motorcycle off my leg and struggle to get it upright. The slithering snow will make this meager task a herculean one.

As I massage my foot back to life, Spiderweb excitedly recounts his close encounter with an avalanche just minutes from where we now stand. As we drag the R-15 upstream and turn the bend, I see what he saw at the peak of its violence. Mounds of snow strewn across the narrow pathway. Grudgingly close to the cliff, Spiderweb was inches away from being swept into a fatal rocky embrace. His steed stands shimmering in flakes.

Motorbreath returns too for he does not see us in his rear view. It takes the might of three to pull the steeds through the freshly laid obstruction. The ride continues. Many will oppose our direction as they  find their way to Sarchu. We are but the first few to ride from thence. There were a mere four others, the Poles, that rode before us. Opposing cages will carve fresh tracks for us to ride into giving us some much needed traction on an otherwise tractionless terrain.

Three minutes, maybe four, a bend, a maladjustment by my now frozen hands and my rear wheel will slide out of the track and onto frozen ice. Once more I will hit the ground under the assault of gravity. This time though, Motorbreath will see me fall. He will halt and run to my rescue.

Neither Motorbreath, nor I, are now capable of breathing. The pursuit of bringing me to the vertical has left us crippled. We struggle for air as we seat ourselves in the snow. Our behaviour in the minutes to follow is bizarre. For not far from where we battle for breath, several motorists scream warning us against an impending avalanche. We can sense the danger, the deadly drip of the snow above us is unmistakeable.

And yet... we do nothing.

I cannot say that I am incapable of movement, merely that I have no desire. I recognize the urgency to move away, and yet, I cannot seem to acknowledge it. We sit motionless, Motorbreath and I, in the path of imminent danger. 

It will be several long minutes before we regain our senses. By now Spiderweb has screamed himself hoarse, asking us to get out of there. Eventually we will manage to find our way onto the steeds and out of harm's way. We will never see the avalanche come to fruition but our bizarre behaviour will leave me rattled.

As minutes melt away, Spiderweb stops abruptly. I look around - I see nothing of consequence. He seems to be pointing in the direction a few feet above me. I turn around to look in the direction of his point.

What I see numbs my soul.

Partially visible, white letters on green,

BARLACHALA.

Thursday, September 15, 2011

Section 3: The Journey > Chapter 52: Pwned.

June 20th, 2010

My last memory of RomeoMike is of him turning back. I had hoped he would, although my reasons remained selfish. I did not want to be anxious over him.

We begin the ascend, Spiderweb, Motorbreath and I, in that order. We will ascend without incidence for many minutes. Through freshly scraped pathways through snow, through camps where trucks rise up in a thunderous roar, across snow and scum. If only RomeMike could have made it till here, I think aloud. The Universe teases us with bursts of snow. It won't throw up much of a challenge. Not yet anyway.

We arrive at what looks like a pathway composed entirely of snow. A gentle stream flows from within its crevices. A few locals, presumably hired hands of BRO, are busy at work shoveling snow off a nearby patch.  Motorbreath hits the snowy pathway first. I follow close behind. Wrong call. This is no pathway. Merely a pond of sludge. Our steeds sink instantly, as liquid crystal begins its rise, shimmering dangerously close to my exhaust. I cannot move. The sludge grabs at my ankles and won't let go. Motorbreath, it would appear, hasn't much luck either as he pulls at the throttle in vain.

We turn around, ask Spiderweb to help us out. Spiderweb will do nothing. Absolutely fucking nothing. He will sit there, a few feet away from us in the clear, and watch us struggle against the might of nature. All requests to him to help us out will go completely unheard. We then turn to the locals and beg them to help us. They seem unwilling at first saying they do not want to get their feet wet for they intend to work through the day. They haven't the means to dry themselves. There's not a shard of wood in sight. The warm embrace of fire would be fantasy at best. They tell us that the foreigners that came before us, presumably the Poles, managed to help each other out of the sludge. I point to our only hope, Spiderweb, who sits there looking disinterested and ask the locals if they forsee us getting out of there with THAT help. They see my point and jump into the sludge, dragging us along with our steeds out onto a safer patch.

We will thank them and one by one, make our way through a long slippery pathway onto the other side, fish tailing through for the most part. As I stop to catch my breath, I run into an elderly couple enjoying the view sitting atop a Tavera. They seem American from their accents. They reveal they are originally from Poland but have lived in the United States since their teens. I tell them of the Poles that preceded us. They seems pleasantly surprised and amused for they had a conversation with the Poles as well but had no idea of their origin. They go on to tell us that the pathways on the other side of Baralacha La are completely devoid of snow. We only have a few kilometers to cover. We thank them for the information. They wish us luck. We wave and just like that, we're three revolutions closer to our destination.

We hit what seems like a gentle slope at first but are quick to realize that a stream flows through it. With zero traction, navigating against gravity will require our collective strength. This time round, we gang up. We first push Motorbreath uphill, Spiderweb comes next. I will follow close behind. But an oncoming steed, not one of our own, will slide into my pathway, fish tailing uncontrollably.  I slide my machine out of the way to allow him to pass. By this time, Spiderweb and Motorbreath have hit a bend and are out of my sight. I throttle back up, with a slight sense of urgency. Wrong call. The rear slides, taking the R-15 down. It happens too quickly. I find myself buried under snow and metal. 
Fortunately the engine cuts off.

I try to push the bike away, but its firmly seated on my right leg. Every push sends a seething pain across my foot which is slowly beginning to grow numb under the icy command of nature. A sense of acute claustrophobia envelopes me. I hasten to unstrap my helmet and pull it off. I breathe. I breathe long and hard. Something's not right. I hear loud thumbs just 2 feet from me. I crane to look, only to realize that the stream now grips my helmet and carries it with it down-slope as it bounces across boulder and stone.


With no traction to help me get on my feet and the might of metal pushing me against stone, I scream for help, hoping that either Spiderweb or Motorbreath is within an earshot. I hear nothing, except ripples in the stream, a sound that, to my exhausted mind, sounds more like ticking...



Saturday, September 10, 2011

Section 3: The Journey > Chapter 51: Excuse me Mr Baralacha La

June 20th, 2010

Perhaps I am in need for an excuse to commit the crime. For the Universe hands me one. There comes a vehicle from within the underbelly of the hilly embrace with denizens who advise us to go no further. The stubbornness of snow shall make our journey an impossible one, they prophesize. We convince them that we are determined to press on for want of choice. "The army has assured us of safe passage", we lie. They nod in grudging agreement. They tell us of their favourite spot at Baralacha-la, one that is invisible now for snow envelopes it all - keeping its vistas all to itself. "We could not find it, despite the fact that I come here every year!", one exclaims in a final bid to discourage us - a discouragement rooted in elderly concern I presume. We thank them for their concern and promise to ride safe.

They will offer to carry RomeoMike's saddle bags back to Sarchu to ease his burden. They will convince him of the futility to press further. In a moment of desperation, RomeoMike will turn adamant and exclaim that the best bet for him will be to stay put, and to wait for a vehicle to arrive. It sounded bizarre to me. Given that our trail had been closed for over a month, it would be a while before heavy vehicles started pouring in. A day, a few days, a week - I did not know. What I did know for sure was that if RomeoMike did not get to the safety of Sarchu by nightfall, he would freeze to death at the foothills of Baralacha-La. The terrain was unforgiving. The chill, lethal.

But perhaps he fantasized about catching up with us. Perhaps he felt he would ride with us, if only for a few moments. Perhaps he felt he could ride under the influence... under the influence of gravity, downhill on the other side of Baralacha La. All he wanted to do, all he needed to do, was ride. Just for a bit. Just to accomplish what all of us, each one of us had set out to accomplish.

But the fact was this... with dwindling fuel reserves and a few hundred rupees to support us, miles away from civilization, there was nothing any of us could do to make it happen. It tore me apart, ripped every ounce of my dignity, made me feel impotent.

And it dawned on me, that perhaps I did need an excuse. So that I may know of its futility.

I will judge myself on my actions alone. For in excuses lies no respite. Merely more self-loathing.

As I ride further, I look back one last time. I'm sorry my brother. The Universe will make me pay for this I'm sure. But I must leave you now,  for I have to go find someone I lost to the Universe.


Me.



Section 3: The Journey > Chapter 50: Breaking the biker code

June 20th, 2010

An engine roars in the distance - a sound that makes me uneasy for reasons that will elude me for many moments to come. All I know now is that its 4am. I have half an hour of dreaming within reach and I intend to make good of it; although I will confess, one inherits idle dreams when one is living one. Thoughts give way to action, dreams give way to reality, hopes give way to facts, fears give way to freedom. But at 4am, philosophy eludes me as I make love to the ecstasy of thoughtlessness.

8am: I'm conscious again, just barely. The Poles have awaited our awakening patiently. We suit up lazily only to realize two things:
  • RomeoMike's ride to Manali, a tempo, proceeded to its destination over 4 hours ago a fact that seemed all too intimate to my sleepy subconscious. 
  • We're fucked for, without clutch plates, neither RomeoMike nor his machine will progress beyond the first slant of the terrain.
We test the remainder of the rides. A Pole whispers - "You have the best ride amongst all". I silently agree. The Poles egg me on as I ride the track spewing happy dust onto an eager tarmac. Soon, very soon, we will have done all that I dreamed off. I know not what the moment will bring forth, but I do know that I will miss the journey above all. Heck, I miss it already.

RomeoMike remains adamant. He will ride with us. He will push his steed through slant and slopes, but he will not be left behind. Not now, not this close to triumph. We agree to give it a try, but we must let the Poles nudge on for our progress will be slow. And so we push, for a while, through slants and slopes to conquer Baralacha-La.

As the morn turns to noon, it is becoming increasingly apparent that RomeoMike's broken steed will hinder our progress beyond all reasonable assumptions. RomeoMike's suggestion to anchor his steed to one of ours with rope is met with Spiderweb's admittance that the aging Karizma was an unwilling candidate - an admittance that amused me for by now my ears tire of hearing falsehoods of the Karizma's infinite potential. Motorbreath will give in too, a denial I find justifiable for his Pulsar runs on broken fork seals, low fuel, a minor puncture, a questionable exhaust and bald tyres. I offer the R-15 to the rescue. Unfortunately, our experiments reveal what is self-evident, the R-15 is no bull. It's anchored panels display tell tale stress signs as its 150cc engine desperately tries to pull the Pulsar up the gentlest slope. Neither will last the journey at this rate.

Spiderweb and Motorbreath seem to be ill at ease. Spiderweb will whisper - we can't go further with him, the trail ahead is exponentially tenacious - we will not last if we do not move quickly. I agree. We've only just reached the foot of the hills and it's well past noon. We have much ground to cover. What's worse, our low fuel reserves have made it impossible for us to return to Sarchu alongside RomeoMike. He will have to make the return journey alone and await help from either military vehicles or goods carriers. I'll admit, we do have an option none of us are willing to admit to - return with RomeoMike and transport every steed in a military truck. But we've come so far, so close. Our desperation to consummate the dream will seduce us to override the most fundamental biker code:

Leave no man behind. 

Today, June 20th, 2010, I will fail my biking brotherhood. In a quest for personal accomplishments, I will leave this man behind...


Section 3: The Journey > Chapter 49: The bright night

June 19th, 2010

There's a little morsel of happy every where. Those that come bring dreams of departure to we who wait. "Your dream will soon be a reality", I am told. I lap up stories of their travails; secretly smiling for I know now what they will soon know - their journey has just begun. The Universe has much to share, an infinite to teach.

There is an eager mix of cages and two wheels - some equipped with Go Pros to document their travels. I'm told they intend to capture everything worthwhile within the confines of High Definition. I'm told what I already know - that it is impossible to do so. For every rock tells a story, every turn brings forth the possibility of great adventure and every gust of wind mocks the impotence of our equipment reminding us, we may never capture its essence, merely document snippets of its omnipresence.

Some point fingers and make demands from the locals like masters from slaves. The locals sneer, giving us knowing smiles - 'It's ok', they seem to say - we live lives they will never have. That, for them, is punishment enough. I laugh. Yes, I think to myself, that, most certainly is, punishment enough.


A helper, a mechanic, I learn, lies in agony - a splitting headache. I share my last tablet of aspirin. "Shukriya". My eyes turn to a Sardarji who entertains a back massage from an accompanying American of the fairer sex. His ecstasy is palpable.

I head out, leaving the din of arrival behind and walk straight into the thekedar screaming at another American, asking her not to pee close to his store. Frightened, and justifiably embarrassed she disappears into the nothingness. His amusement stands in sharp contrast against my revulsion. I say nothing and walk back to my tin roof. I'm told the Poles wish to leave by 4:30am so we may make it to Manali in good time. I nod in disinterested agreement. I'm done for the day. 

Wednesday, June 29, 2011

Section 3: The Journey > Chapter 48: Idle-ology

June 19th, 2010

The night was brutal. I haven't slept a wink. The combined effect of the frigid cold and the constant rattle of our tin roof has made me nauseous. I will stay in bed long after the rest have exited. Several hours later, I will emerge from the enclosure only to find Motorbreath, RomoeMike, Spiderweb, in that order, sitting in the middle of the lone road leading out of Sarchu, doodling on the tar. Amused I ask them of their intent. The intent, I'm told, is none. The motivation, I'm told, is boredom and lack of options. I laugh and join them. I have a headache. I hold a deadly mix of Rum and Royal Stag to be the culprit. "You shouldn't be mixing your drinks", says one amused Pole. I thank him for his timely suggestion as I splash my face with icy water only to regret it.

The remainder of the day will bring forth no event of note. We'll only have a semblance of excitement when RomeoMike will disappear for several hours leaving us wondering as to his whereabouts. He will return claiming he was at the army base camp trying to determine options to transport his steed to Leh or Manali. Then there is the incident of Motorbreath finally deciding that he could hold it in no longer, walking uphill for 15 minutes to find a suitable and secluded spot, eventually resting behind a big boulder and returning refreshed, rejuvenated but without a hint of water on his hand. He will drink from my bottle of water and when asked if he washed after wiping, he will grunt, walk to a nearby tap and unwillingly wet his hands with a few drops. I will not touch the bottle of drinking water from that point on. But I will grin at the thought how far the bed-begging, wont-sleep-in-the-mud Motorbreath had come in the course of this journey. Perhaps too far in my opinion.

RomeMike goes on to inform me that the army expects to have trucks crossing Baralacha-La over the next few days. However, the timing is uncertain. I rejoice at the thought of our finally being able to cross-over. But as day turns to dusk, information starts pouring in that we might have to hold on for a few more days. With money running out and no ATM for miles, we were beginning to feel the pinch. We'd last a couple of days more at best. And the next time we try, we better make it through for we were on our last few drops of fuel.

The Poles have invited us to a game of cards in their tent and perhaps a round of drinks. Spiderweb, Motorbreath and RomeoMike will head in their direction. I will prefer to give it a go for I am intrigued by the stories of he who runs the theka. He starts a fire using horse dung as fuel. He speaks of his experiences in Ludhiana. He advices me to bask in the sun more often - for it will, he says, make my bones stronger. He asks of my martial status and advices me to find me a bride. I ask him of his family - he tells me of his wife and child back in Ludhiana. He comments on my mates. Remarks that while RomeoMike seemed quite and sensible, Motorbreath should perhaps smoke less, and Spiderweb, he says, talks too much, boasts too much, but is, in his opinion, isn't capable of much. I laugh but say nothing.

Time flies in the company of his stories, his trysts, his hopes and his dreams. I smile a smile I have not smiled in years. A smile of peace and happiness. Here I am, with no place to go, no desire to go, in the company of one I've just met, and yet come to trust as my own.

It's past midnight. I am about to call it a night, but suddenly I see shadows scurrying in the distance. I hear someone scream.  We're caught off guard. I cannot see what the source of interest is. We move closer to the fire wondering if it is a carnivore they see. It is then I hear my companion scream "Oh teri! Oh teri!". He points towards the mountains in the distance. What I see dumbfounds me. I see it! I see it! As clear as day! The unmistakable view of beams of light moving through the mountains towards us.  It's happening!! It's happening!!

Baralacha-la is open!

Section 3: The Journey > Chapter 47: A big setback

June 18th, 2010

3 pm: The clouds are already encircling us. I don't like the way they beleaguer us. We've re-saddled and re-commenced on our course. We won't move but two inches though, for just round this bend, where we previously did not see, lies another sheet of ice. This time round though, Spiderweb suggests we power through adding that I should perhaps try first cause the R-15 is the lightest of the lot the consequence of which is uncertain to my logic. Nevertheless I decide to power through. With a little help, I make it to the middle, but I'm not going to make it out. My rear wheel badgers snow into slush; my steed sinks deep. Throttling, predictably, worsens the situation. RomeoMike suggests we create a rocky path across the snowy bed to give us traction. We find a few flat stones, but not enough to level the snow. The oxygen remains thin, we tire quickly. We can push no more. We can go no further. We realize that even if we did manage to pull through this sheet of snow, there's no telling how many more we will find further along. The Universe is turning hostile on us, the winds meaner. We have neither strength, nor support to push against it. There's is not a soul within our site. We will not survive the night in this terrain. Return we will.

There's a more immediate problem to solve though. My steed stands immobile, clutched within the sweaty palms of a deviant slush. With our throats parched, our chests heaving, we have neither courage, nor strength to rescue it. We idly stroll along a narrow path and find a pond - its surface rich with scum. So thirsty am I, that I push away the scum and take deep sips of the foul water. Spiderweb follows suit. Motorbreath and RomeoMike though will play it safe. On return, RomeoMike will manage to pull my steed out of the snowy rubble by grabbing on the wheel and yanking it across the sheet in a surge of adrenalin rush.

We make our way downstream. Motorbreath complains of a chest pain. I can see why for I can barely breathe as well. We must head back to Sarchu.

As we continue on our way, I notice RomeoMike is trailing. I let him catch up and ask him, "What's wrong? Why are you riding so slow?". 

"I think I burnt out my clutch pads. My steed won't roll."

This last piece of news will break everybody down. Motorbreath will suggest we return to Mumbai via Srinagar. Spiderweb will remain silent, but I can see he contemplates the option.  RomeoMike says nothing, reveals nothing. I'm no better. Eventually I will find myself saying, unwillingly, that perhaps we should differ making rash judgements, spend another day in Sarchu and then take a call.

The ride back is cumbersome, for RomeoMike's steed will need support to keep rolling. Eventually we will reach Sarchu, find our way to our hosts tent and get back under the sheets. From the looks of it, we have company. The Poles have made it to Sarchu.  Three of them find their way into the tent as well. Pretty soon we are engaged in a conversation with them.

While Spiderweb, Motorbreath and RomeoMike discuss India/Pakistan relations with two of the Poles, I find out more about their journey so far from one other. He tells me they've been travelling for six months in those six months they have visited every corner of North India. They did not all begin the journey together and they will not end it together. They do not share the same destination. Some will depart tomorrow for a mountaineering expedition deep into the Himalayas while the remainder will continue riding to Chandigarh from whence they will board a train, transporting their steeds - Enfields purchased in Delhi a few weeks ago - as cargo to Mumbai. They will eventually, I am told, ferry their bikes into Dubai and then find their way into Poland through whatever channels necessary, biking wherever possible.

Our conversation moves to alcohol and he shares that whilst in Poland it is common for him to begin the day with a drink. He clarifies that the alcohol only gives one the illusion of warmth and in fact causes the body to lose heat. However, the illusion is sufficient to allow him to get out of bed. It is the physicality of the everyday routine and a large portion of meat that gives him the necessary warmth through the day.  He adds that he usually avoids alcohol in the night for the very same reason - a motionless ie sleeping body which is also losing heat on account of alcohol is a recipe for disaster - a leading cause of death amongst the homeless in his country.

Eventually as is expected, the conversation converges to women which is always a fun topic of discussion.

Two more Poles join us and ask me if I can help them get a store-house for 4 days to keep their luggage whilst they are away mountaineering. I speak with a local and she says she has space in her shed. When I ask her of the rate, she says "Anything you find OK.". I communicate the same to the Poles and they agree to pay her Rs 400 for 4 days. She accepts it gladly.

The mountaineering duo will thank us with Rum and cigarettes. Spiderweb, in a drunken stupor will ask us to settle the amount for the Rum stating that he will eventually foot the entire bill and that we (the Poles and us) should consider this his treat. He never will foot the bill.

As night falls, we retire to our shed. Once again, our lights go out to the din of a shuddering shed...

Section 3: The Journey > Chapter 46: A small start

June 18th, 2010

"Motor tu puri raat hawaa gandi kar raha tha! (Motor, you were stinking up the air all night!)", exclaims RomeoMike. To be fair, we were all guilty. The excruciating cold, the alcohol, the semi cooked meals - had all taken their toll on us.

We jump out of bed, and take turns visiting the john. Motor has yet to excrete. Its been two days and he still won't go. I presume his constant worry about the hygiene conditions and his shyness to just "go anywhere" have put him in a perpetually constipated state. All this will change by the day next, but let me not get ahead of the story.

We scurry through the sparse population in a bid to determine if Baralacha-la was open to scaling. We are informed that while some snow has been cleared its still improbable that we might make it through. Most, if not all reports are discouraging as are our hosts. Most will tell us stories of those that came before us, waited for as many as 20 days and returned from whence they came. One army cadet will respond to our overconfident, "We are going to make it through Baralacha-la today", with an equally cocky, "Sure, take a round and come. I'll see you later in the day." 






I notice my fuel indicator is way below the half-way mark. I won't last long. But then again, I assume, naively, we don't have much to ride. "We will certainly find fuel once we reach Manali and I have about enough to get there.", I assure myself.

Bidding farewell to our host, we blaze on. A few minutes out, we are pulled over at an army checkpost. The guard suggests we turn back. The road is not open to the public, he says. I ask him to let us pass - pointing out that we are short on fuel and and cash. We cannot afford to spend another day in Sarchu.  We have no choice but to pass. Of course I exaggerate. But the guard takes our word for it, smiles, nods and lets us pass.










Realizing this is probably the last of our adventures, we take things slow - we take many breaks, pose some, chit chat some and ride some. We cross a brook on the way. Gentle in its demeanor, confrontational in its embrace - for it throws our steeds around on its slipper bed making it apparent that our presence in its path was unwelcome.

We have not ridden long, perhaps a little over 6 kilometers, mostly flat terrain. But no sooner do we begin our ascend, we are stopped short. For on a narrow path, our only way up, lies a thick sheet of snow - promising to engulf our engines should we attempt to pass. We try to move the snow with our bare hands, but realize quickly that we fight a losing battle. The altitude has us parched for oxygen. Our chests heave with a few pulls on puffs.

I sit steadfast on my steed as we consider alternatives. In the plateau below, I now notice an alternate pathway that I did not notice before owing to a motored cage blocking its view. The cage had since rolled back towards Sarchu and the pathway lay bare before us. The path seemed to connect to our current path, ahead of the snow and into the clear. We decide we'll take it.



As we approach the path though, we double back in horror for what appears to be a path from where we once stood is a gentle stream flowing down the curves. With a now shy sun, the clear liquid reflects none; its dark wetness the only visible evidence of its presence. As we close in on it though, the liquid is revealed. Nature, the magician, takes a bow as we stand dumbfounded at its feet. Not willing to give up, we decide to push our steeds upstream and get back on the road. I estimate it would take us no more than 5 minutes.

45 minutes into the ticks, the last of us makes it to the top - breathless, beaten. It takes an extreme combination of engine power, muscle and pure adrenalin to push our steeds against gravity, against the slickness of melted snow, against the treachery of rolling rock. But we make it nonetheless. RomeoMike begs Motorbreath to go downslope and fetch his bag - unsaddled to reduce weight. Motorbreath delegates the task to me. I remind him, I'm 33 years old, he's all of 23 or perhaps a shade more. Perhaps he should reconsider his proposition, I suggest. He is, however, unable to move. Our oxygen starved bodies have sent our heart rates spiraling. The surprising lack of oxygen (we have only begun to ascend), keeps the heart beating loudly, endlessly, dysfunctionally, uselessly. I grin and agree to do the needful, if and only if Motorbreath puts an end to his wisecracks on the subject of my age (he has made many, whilst in the company of Aman). He agrees.

Walking downslope that day, I say to myself, "You're a long way from growing old. Look at you, you walk lock-step with those a decade younger." I bring RomeoMike his bag, one painful step at a time. We are all drained. Each of us maxed out, though glad we made it. Little do we realize, our problems have only just begun...

Sunday, June 26, 2011

Section 3: The Journey > Chapter 45: In confrontation

June 17th, 2010

I can't see RomeoMike from where I stand - his fallen steed blocking my viewport. As I rush to his rescue, he lifts himself up. I find him unhurt but for a minor limp that will ease out in the minutes to come. He grins, exclaiming "Accha hua knee guard pehna tha!" (It was a good thing I wore the knee guards!). I grin too, comforted by the fact that he escaped unharmed.

But where are Spiderweb and Motorbreath? Surely they realize we're missing from their viewport for well over 5 minutes? Shouldn't they return to check on us? I learn quickly that they have covered a fair bit of ground without us. I find them waving at us from several meters above, a curiously twisted terrain displaying only a fraction of the ground they covered. We try to indicate to them that RomeoMike had a spill. But to our dismay, they interpret our gestures as playfully fanatical waves as they continue waving back. To my horror, they hop back on to their steeds and continue riding, disappearing into the curves above.

My head explodes. Here we are, minutes away from a spill that could have turned ugly - with only each other to see us through and two of the four, blissfully unaware of an accident that happened but meters away from them ride carelessly on so that they can make it to... make it to where? Where are we headed? Why are we in a hurry to get there? If it is to meet our maker, then the two have certainly adopted an apt  strategy. It bothers me that the Spiderweb that saw the disastrous consequences of being left behind in Khardung-La should be so indifferent to the possibility of the very same consequence to those that follow. It bothers me that the two did not witness a crash that was loud both in sound and sight. And where one might forgive the compromise on sound for want of harmonious distraction, one wonders why the compromise isn't offset by a regular check of the rear view to ensure the well-being of your comrades.

We rest for a bit, RomeoMike and I and begin following the trail once more. We find the two posing for pictures next to a sign that announces are arrival at Lachunglung-La.



What follows next is a confrontation between Spiderweb and I, while RomeoMike and Motorbreath watch in silence. I accuse him of being self-centered, of being naive, of being irresponsible, of not being worthy of a lead, for he leads us not - he merely rides ahead - he cares for us not - he cares merely of himself. Spiderweb argues that we should have indicated to him that we had a spill. I inform him that it was exactly what we were trying to do but they misinterpreted our gestures. With no cell phone network, I had no communication alternative. I argue that there is no reasonable excuse for them to be more than a few meters away from us. Riding ahead achieves nothing.

Motorbreath tries to interject and diffuse the situation by taking blame onto himself for not noticing RomeoMike's crash. Spiderweb plays along stating that so long as he saw Motorbreath in his rearview, he deemed everything to be OK. I counter their argument stating that I never stated that Motorbreath was in anyway less irresponsible. Furthermore, I state, its not difficult to keep 3 people in the rearview. Stating that he had eyes only for Motorbreath's well-being was simply ridiculous. When they saw us from above, they should have waited instead of creating more distance between us, I contend.

With tempers ripping through the ether, RomeoMike eventually suggests we keep riding. It would be unwise for us to waste any more time and tempt the terrain to devour us. Spiderweb howls that he will lead us no more - much to my satisfaction. I ask RomeoMike to take lead. With a compromised steed and a recent spill, it would probably be in his best interest that we match our pace with him, instead of vice-versa. Motorbreath follows RomeoMike; I follow suit; Spiderweb tails.

At first I assume I imagine it. But in time it becomes apparent that Spiderweb is lagging. I know his pace, I know he can more than keep up. I suspect he does it to agitate us - in order to prove how our pace feels to him. I ignore his antics and ensure I stop every time he disappears from my rear-view.  Anger or not, he is still subject to a spill as much as we are. RomeoMike and Motorbreath too ensure they await my arrival.  With time though, Motorbreath seems to be riding with Spiderweb again. As we reach Nakeela, our last pass for the day, both Motorbreath and Spiderweb will refuse to pose for pictures. I ignore the pettiness, get a click of RomeoMike and move on.










 As minutes turn to hours, we find ourselves blocked by a stream flowing across our path. A cage struggles to pull itself out of the boulders. RomeoMike hesitates, Motorbreath overtakes him in a bid to lead the way but hesitates too as he slowly makes his way across. Out of the blue, Spiderweb opens his throttle and rips across the stream in a single go, splashing clear liquid all over Motorbreath.

The move angers Motorbreath who, on a later halt, accuses Spiderweb of behaving like a spoilt brat. His disdain is palpable. In time we hit Gata Loops and pose for pictures once more. This time round,  Motorbreath chimes in and poses for several minutes with requests for angles. 









I recall Spiderweb awaiting the arrival of the Loops from his statements the day prior. He hoped to corner around the loops at breakneck speeds. I throw an open invitation to "those that wish to corner to ride ahead and wait for us if they so please". Spiderweb takes his cue and rides on. The loops though, turn out to be a lot less amenable to cornering. For pristine as they were in the year before - when our predecessors had past, they had since deteriorated aplenty. With gravel strewn across the pathways in no uncertain measure, cornering was not a possibility. In the moments to come, Motorbreath will once again change his mind about Spiderweb and leave us behind to catch up to Spiderweb. I remain lock-stepped with RomeoMike's tempered pace. We find the two awaiting our arrival at the bottom of the loops.

As we continue to ride, Spiderweb continues to trail. Eventually, frustrated with Spiderweb's antics, and aware that we are close to our destination with linear pathways, Motorbreath suggests we max out the throttle and let Spiderweb catch up if he so wishes. If not, we can always track his progress over the horizon. And so we do. We twist the throttle like we haven't in the days prior. It's a welcome relief. Spiderweb will realize quickly that we wait for him no more. He will end the trail game and catch up with us.







By the time we hit Sarchu, the sheer adrenalin rush of the journey so far and the prospect of conquering the final leg has put me in a non-confrontational mood. I believe Spiderweb experiences the same for within the hour we find ourselves chatting about the journey ahead.

Sarchu is brutal. The chill seeps into my bone with excruciating precision for it finds the weakest spots and drills right through them. I find myself shaking uncontrollably. We take cover under heaps of sheets but to no avail. Finally, the host suggests we take a few shots of Rum. To our delight, we find a theka right next door, stocked to the brim. We buy bottles of some local Rum, top it up with Thumbs Up and sink bank under the sheets. RomeoMike though, calms himself with swigs of Royal Stag. In time we will settle down, make friends with some local army personnel and find a way to contact our families using a satellite phone in the army base camp in the vicinity. With messages sent, we now sink back under our sheets and continue drinking. I will not move for several hours, until the host will direct us to our "rooms" - tin enclosures shuddering to the might of the wind.

Our collective lights go out quickly....