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...
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