On the day prior, through twists of the tongue we have convinced the disbanded two to consider continuing. They have made us promise to abide by the tick of the clock. We have promised, but I have taken it upon myself to remind them that it is not we but nature that needs to comply. They have agreed, but have added that nature's compliance has worried them less in the trials so far. It is our tardiness that has brought upon them an uncertainty they have preferred not to experience. I have since retracted my promise. Yes, our tardiness, by now, has become legendary.
On the morning of June 16, 2010, we have whored ourselves to tardiness once again. The clock be damned. We awaken at 10am. The two have reconsidered their reconsideration and decided not to join us in our adventures after all. We find them busy unloading their fuel into our tanks as they prepare to ship the steeds back to Mumbai. For those that know not, steeds need empty tanks to be permissible cargo on rails.
I have paid for the fuel they give me in cash. Motorbreath has paid in charm, hugs, and thank you's. We pack, settle our bills, suit up, bid adieu to our mates and begin the journey. Things are different today. We move forward to move back. We leave to return.
We have skipped breakfast to save on clock ticks. We will cover miles before we allow ourselves the luxury of eating. But we won't get far, for an army checkpost will halt our progress within the hour. I am told that they honor the Martyrdom of Guru Arjan Dev and offer chana, puris, sweets and cool-aid to all who pass through their check-post. Famished, in more ways than one, we quickly forget our resolution to blaze on. We park our steeds and help ourselves to several helpings even as we watch several others do the same.
There are some that refuse graciously. I reckon they have not expected to encounter such generosity en route and have consequently devoured their share of bread before stepping forth. Some, though, refuse with a curt wave. One gets judgmental at such sights for our hosts have no need to offer; their generosity deserves a polite smile and a big thank you at the least. I have a sudden urge to drag these curt denizens our of the comfort of their cages and throw them onto the sidelines of our border. Perhaps that should induce humility into their over-sized existence.
In time, we will recommence our journey, but not before thanking our hosts from the bottom of our hearts.
Once again I have been warned. Try to keep pixellation to a minimum, for we have not the time. Once again I will nod in agreement. Once again I will do what I need to do - log what transpires for we must remember this till our last breath. Once again the rest give in to my need. RomeoMike will maintain lock-step with me, while Motorbreath and Spiderweb will usually be found not far from we are, waiting patiently for us to catch up, speaking of things I hear not.
The pathways won't challenge us today. We will conquer Tanglang-la - the second highest pass on the face of the planet - with relative ease. Sure, the climb will be accompanies by the customary sludge of snow and much, but it won't break us today, merely temper our progress. But Tanglang-la seems desolate today. There's not a soul within sight. On most days I'd welcome the emptiness. But today, right here, right now, an eerie chill comes over me. Khardung-la has left its mark. It will be difficult to erase. I fear Tanglang-la for reasons no different. We hasten down, fortunately, without event.
Soon we'll be riding through the Moore plains. We halt briefly for a snack at perhaps the only visible human habitation for miles. We are told that we'd be ill advised to ride along the plains in the dark of the night. We are offered shelter . We refuse politely choosing instead to cover some ground. We are offered advice "Take shelter in Pang. Go no further. Beware of unknown vehicles. There's rumours of decoits in the midst of the plains. Stick together." We accept the advise on good faith and blaze on.
Our host was bona fide in his view that we should have perhaps not pressed further. For, in the dead of the night, we see little. The tarmac gives way at several points, forcing us to weave through mounds of sand - following tracks left by those before us. On many-a-occasion, we lose sight of the tracks and lose our way - follow our own tracks back to the tarmac we left behind and try another direction. Fatigue kicks in. The relative absence of constructed and natural obstructions allows the chilly wind to roam free. It destroys our senses, little by little, lot by lots. We witness beams of light following us in the distance. We dare not discover its source. Motorbreath believes he hallucinates, for he believes he sees silhouettes of mountain peaks when there are none. Little does he know, we all see them, for they genuinely do exist. The faint glow of our head lights on the rockies in the distance, give them an eerie dreamlike glow.
As hours turn to eternity, we see camps. We hasten in their direction only to find that the camps belong to the army. They point us to a few tents in the distance - no more than three - and advise us to take shelter within them. We only hope they have place for us. Fortunately, they do. Our now motionless bodies give in to the chill. We shiver to the bone. We are treated to glasses of warm water and Maggie.We devour them, treating ourselves to several more glasses of warm water in parallel. Our inability to cope with the environment amuses our hostesses. They are polite in their laughter.
I assume my request for a nook to relieve myself will be met with "Anywhere you please." but to my surprise I am pointed to two wooden structures in the distance, each marked prominently as "Gents" and "Ladies" respectively. The structures are built around large pits dug into the ground. I'm told, when the structures get "full", another pit is dug elsewhere and the structures moved into place. I find myself grinning when I notice that neither structure has a door, merely a side missing for the entrance. What cracks me up completely is that while the Ladies' entrance faces away from the tents, the Gent's entrance faces towards the tents. In other words, I relieve while I reveal. I'm given a torch light to find my way across boulder and stone.
Relieved and making my way back to the tent, I see the silhouette of one other walking in the stillness. Assuming its one of our own, I shine my torch light in his direction. As he turns, I notice he wears a head mounted torch light that he directs towards my eyes. I ask him to switch it off or turn it away. He suggests I do the same. I have failed to realize but in a bid to recognize him, I've been blinding him all this while. In a brief conversation I learn he's from Poland and is on a biking sojourn across Northern India with some of his friends. We part ways wishing each other well.
Back in the tent, I find large beds awaiting us with more sheets than we will ever need. I pull several over myself, bid the rest good night and sink deep into oblivion.
I will awaken merely hours later...
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