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.
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