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.
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...
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