We awaken to the smell of a late morning and the faint stench of Spiderweb's false promises of an early rise. The promise is old now; the deceit obvious. I've spent the night counting moans, Motorbreath's dreamy moans to be more specific. I am delighted at the particular discovery for just the night prior I have been accused of doing the same by the man who now lies before me whispering sweet nothings to an invisible damsel. Whereas as the author of this piece I can conjure up excuses for my own misgivings - I am asthmatic, the moans are on account of laboured breathing - the victim of my accusations shall have no such rock to shelter behind. He is open for ridicule, and ridicule him I will. Aman, despite our differences, chimes in for he was closer to the source than I. As we pack, suit up and find our way down one floor to reunite with our steeds, Motorbreath entertains Aman by falling off the stairs for no specific reason. True story. With no broken bones and a head full of laughter, we nudge on.
The morning so far has been sweet, soured only by Aman's off-the-cuff remark on his desire that I act my age; an attack I do not understand for I do not ridicule him for being young and I do not treat him as an imbecile. Had I considered him an unequal, I would not waste precious breath over lengthy arguments. I would simply ignore him. And that is precisely what I now set out to do for the friction bores me. But continue to ponder on the question of age I will. An answer lies in wait for me in the days to come.
I will learn about Kargil only now for in the day past, I was too fried to pry. And even though I've spent a large part of the day yester condensing pixels, I have no memory of it save for two moments - one where Aman willingly witnessed the demolishing of a beheaded goat's skull while I tried not to throw up and a second where Spiderweb did throw up while trying to hold down kebabs containing Yak meat. I do not know what chemical processes convert kebabs to vomit, but I assure you the puke cycle accomplishes its objective in the blink of an eye.
The structures in Kargil are no different from those in Drass except for the multitude. They are far more numerous. The population seems dense for a town that size, though vastly thinner in comparison to the city I once called home. The people seem less threatening now. Perhaps they are aware of our scheduled departure.
We turn our attention to fixing Spiderweb's steed. In addition to the gasps between revs, the tyre now seems to be flattening out and Spiderweb also suspects a faulty chain. We look for mechanics in vain for they have yet to stroll into their workspace. I deem the settlement to be one that starves and sleeps. We find one owner who knows only to tighten chains. For the tyre, we may have to wait much longer. As he gets to work on the steed, he informs us of a settlement ahead where we will find mechanics to do our bidding. We thank him for the information.
With the chain tightened and the tyre pressure maxed, we resume our journey. We must refuel for we are told that Mulbekh would be our last resource for fuel up until Leh. We take no chances and top up our tanks before exiting Kargil but not before we get trigger happy with our cameras, mingle with our fauji's and share a laugh with some children.
And onwards we go. We will break soon for Kargil, as was expected, has no breakfast to offer; merely empty goodbyes and promises of mechanics in a far away land. The road ahead will dampen our speed for it consists almost entirely of gravel and stone. But we have much ground to cover. Aman believes we will be in Leh by nightfall, reunited with the Puneri bandits. Spiderweb humours him with assurances of the same. We all know better. The road ahead serves up an exotic visual tapestry.
We find a stream once more and must make a mandatory stop. This time round, Aman is beside us and just as keen on getting his feet wet, literally and figuratively.
Many jumps, licks and tricks later, we speed ahead only to be drawn in to the scent of noodles and symbols of spirituality each occupying its side of the road. We get clicking again.
A sumptuous meal and several laughs later, we are back on track. We won't get far for Spiderweb's steed starts losing air pressure quickly as it gasps for power. As my steed and I carry only a tail bag, there is plenty of room for saddle bags. I make the recommendation, we agree and we make adjustments.
The road beyond makes us feel minuscule for it presents a grand spectrum of all that is Nature. Its magnanimity belittles our senses for not in our wildest dreams can we soak in all it has to offer. Our lenses struggle to pixellate for there is too much to condense. They do what they can.
I worry about the additional weight I now carry. I worry about Spiderweb's steed for it sounds alien and weak. For now, both steeds will hold up.
Before we know it, we conquer Namika-La, or more appropriately, it conquers us for we seek its presence to revere its might, not vice-versa.
With pixels saved and experiences experienced, we set forth on our journey once more. Motorbreath and Spiderweb ride ahead as I re-adjust the baggage to balance the weight. I jump onto my steed. Too fast, too furious. I lose control. Within moments, we, my steed and I, kiss the tarmac...
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