Section 3: The Journey > Chapter 45: In confrontation

June 17th, 2010

I can't see RomeoMike from where I stand - his fallen steed blocking my viewport. As I rush to his rescue, he lifts himself up. I find him unhurt but for a minor limp that will ease out in the minutes to come. He grins, exclaiming "Accha hua knee guard pehna tha!" (It was a good thing I wore the knee guards!). I grin too, comforted by the fact that he escaped unharmed.

But where are Spiderweb and Motorbreath? Surely they realize we're missing from their viewport for well over 5 minutes? Shouldn't they return to check on us? I learn quickly that they have covered a fair bit of ground without us. I find them waving at us from several meters above, a curiously twisted terrain displaying only a fraction of the ground they covered. We try to indicate to them that RomeoMike had a spill. But to our dismay, they interpret our gestures as playfully fanatical waves as they continue waving back. To my horror, they hop back on to their steeds and continue riding, disappearing into the curves above.

My head explodes. Here we are, minutes away from a spill that could have turned ugly - with only each other to see us through and two of the four, blissfully unaware of an accident that happened but meters away from them ride carelessly on so that they can make it to... make it to where? Where are we headed? Why are we in a hurry to get there? If it is to meet our maker, then the two have certainly adopted an apt  strategy. It bothers me that the Spiderweb that saw the disastrous consequences of being left behind in Khardung-La should be so indifferent to the possibility of the very same consequence to those that follow. It bothers me that the two did not witness a crash that was loud both in sound and sight. And where one might forgive the compromise on sound for want of harmonious distraction, one wonders why the compromise isn't offset by a regular check of the rear view to ensure the well-being of your comrades.

We rest for a bit, RomeoMike and I and begin following the trail once more. We find the two posing for pictures next to a sign that announces are arrival at Lachunglung-La.

What follows next is a confrontation between Spiderweb and I, while RomeoMike and Motorbreath watch in silence. I accuse him of being self-centered, of being naive, of being irresponsible, of not being worthy of a lead, for he leads us not - he merely rides ahead - he cares for us not - he cares merely of himself. Spiderweb argues that we should have indicated to him that we had a spill. I inform him that it was exactly what we were trying to do but they misinterpreted our gestures. With no cell phone network, I had no communication alternative. I argue that there is no reasonable excuse for them to be more than a few meters away from us. Riding ahead achieves nothing.

Motorbreath tries to interject and diffuse the situation by taking blame onto himself for not noticing RomeoMike's crash. Spiderweb plays along stating that so long as he saw Motorbreath in his rearview, he deemed everything to be OK. I counter their argument stating that I never stated that Motorbreath was in anyway less irresponsible. Furthermore, I state, its not difficult to keep 3 people in the rearview. Stating that he had eyes only for Motorbreath's well-being was simply ridiculous. When they saw us from above, they should have waited instead of creating more distance between us, I contend.

With tempers ripping through the ether, RomeoMike eventually suggests we keep riding. It would be unwise for us to waste any more time and tempt the terrain to devour us. Spiderweb howls that he will lead us no more - much to my satisfaction. I ask RomeoMike to take lead. With a compromised steed and a recent spill, it would probably be in his best interest that we match our pace with him, instead of vice-versa. Motorbreath follows RomeoMike; I follow suit; Spiderweb tails.

At first I assume I imagine it. But in time it becomes apparent that Spiderweb is lagging. I know his pace, I know he can more than keep up. I suspect he does it to agitate us - in order to prove how our pace feels to him. I ignore his antics and ensure I stop every time he disappears from my rear-view.  Anger or not, he is still subject to a spill as much as we are. RomeoMike and Motorbreath too ensure they await my arrival.  With time though, Motorbreath seems to be riding with Spiderweb again. As we reach Nakeela, our last pass for the day, both Motorbreath and Spiderweb will refuse to pose for pictures. I ignore the pettiness, get a click of RomeoMike and move on.

 As minutes turn to hours, we find ourselves blocked by a stream flowing across our path. A cage struggles to pull itself out of the boulders. RomeoMike hesitates, Motorbreath overtakes him in a bid to lead the way but hesitates too as he slowly makes his way across. Out of the blue, Spiderweb opens his throttle and rips across the stream in a single go, splashing clear liquid all over Motorbreath.

The move angers Motorbreath who, on a later halt, accuses Spiderweb of behaving like a spoilt brat. His disdain is palpable. In time we hit Gata Loops and pose for pictures once more. This time round,  Motorbreath chimes in and poses for several minutes with requests for angles. 

I recall Spiderweb awaiting the arrival of the Loops from his statements the day prior. He hoped to corner around the loops at breakneck speeds. I throw an open invitation to "those that wish to corner to ride ahead and wait for us if they so please". Spiderweb takes his cue and rides on. The loops though, turn out to be a lot less amenable to cornering. For pristine as they were in the year before - when our predecessors had past, they had since deteriorated aplenty. With gravel strewn across the pathways in no uncertain measure, cornering was not a possibility. In the moments to come, Motorbreath will once again change his mind about Spiderweb and leave us behind to catch up to Spiderweb. I remain lock-stepped with RomeoMike's tempered pace. We find the two awaiting our arrival at the bottom of the loops.

As we continue to ride, Spiderweb continues to trail. Eventually, frustrated with Spiderweb's antics, and aware that we are close to our destination with linear pathways, Motorbreath suggests we max out the throttle and let Spiderweb catch up if he so wishes. If not, we can always track his progress over the horizon. And so we do. We twist the throttle like we haven't in the days prior. It's a welcome relief. Spiderweb will realize quickly that we wait for him no more. He will end the trail game and catch up with us.

By the time we hit Sarchu, the sheer adrenalin rush of the journey so far and the prospect of conquering the final leg has put me in a non-confrontational mood. I believe Spiderweb experiences the same for within the hour we find ourselves chatting about the journey ahead.

Sarchu is brutal. The chill seeps into my bone with excruciating precision for it finds the weakest spots and drills right through them. I find myself shaking uncontrollably. We take cover under heaps of sheets but to no avail. Finally, the host suggests we take a few shots of Rum. To our delight, we find a theka right next door, stocked to the brim. We buy bottles of some local Rum, top it up with Thumbs Up and sink bank under the sheets. RomeoMike though, calms himself with swigs of Royal Stag. In time we will settle down, make friends with some local army personnel and find a way to contact our families using a satellite phone in the army base camp in the vicinity. With messages sent, we now sink back under our sheets and continue drinking. I will not move for several hours, until the host will direct us to our "rooms" - tin enclosures shuddering to the might of the wind.

Our collective lights go out quickly....

Section 3: The Journey > Chapter 44: The falling

June 17th, 2010


2 am: I suspect you expected this. I suspect you laughed all the while. For we all know what copious quantities of warm water lead into. My bowels scream for mercy as I desperately try to hold on. "Just a few hours and it will be day light.", I think to myself. Trapped under mounds of sheet - no pun intended - I wallow at the fact that my cell phone died several minutes ago. The torch light had been returned on the day prior. Finding my way to "Gents" in pitch darkness seemed like a proposition I could do without. But I suspect I can hold it in no longer. And so I must venture out into the darkness. There's one other problem - I've run out of toilet paper.

With not a moment to spare, I have no time to determine my options. As I exit the tent, I'm struck by the blackness of the dark. I can see little. I'll never make it across the boulder and stone. I decide to let it out in the open. I find a comfortable spot in the vicinity, hoist myself atop two stones and let it all out - all the while looking for movement in the terrains above - for I have been told that nocturnal beings scour the area. My strategy is to make a run for it and the first sign of movement. Having cleansed my bowels, I now turn to the problem of wipes. I have none. Unfortunately, I have failed to notice, that there's no evidence of shrubbery in the terrain about. I have a choice between rocks and sand. Desperate for a solution, I turn my thoughts to the apparel on me. There must be something wipe worthy. "The socks should work just fine.", I think to myself.

10 am: I'm awakened by the movement of the rest rushing to "Gents". Motorbreath awaits his turn. Nobody seems to have noticed that I have but a single sock on. In time I tell Motorbreath my story. He seems more angry than amused. On enquiry, it will be revealed, that he has braved a similar fate and that, had he known of my antics, he would have perhaps joined me in my mid-night shit fest. Frankly, I'm glad I didn't inform him. The last thing I needed was an audience.

We indulge in a brief breakfast. A discussion with a stranger reveals that it was his truck that was the source of the headlights that followed us through the plains. He too has heard of the draconian dacoits; he too feared for his life. He kept pace with us for fear of being alone. I grin at the irony for we fleed from him for fear of being followed.

We gear up. RomeoMike reckons he can skip wearing knee guards. Spiderweb insists he wear them. RomeoMike argues that we do not have much to travel and given that we intend to cruise at a leisurely pace, the probability of a spill borders on the improbable. Spiderweb insists he wear them. RomeoMike argues that the weather has made his skin itchy. We all insist he wear them. He wears them.

We bid our hostesses farewell, mount our steeds and hit Start. A few curious foreigners surround us and ask us of our path. I presume they are friends of the Pole I ran into yesterday. We inform them of our course. They explain their desire to do the same. They will, however, follow suit only a few days hence since a comrade is too unwell to ride. We wish them luck and blaze on.

We ride several hours at a leisurely place. We spot wild goats grazing on the slopes. We click pictures only to find that our pithy lenses are unable to separate their camouflage against the background. We fantasize our response to a snow leopard dropping in on us. We click more pictures.

In time, we discover a stream more more blue than the bluest blue, more pure than the purest pure. Spiderweb and RomeoMike decide it would be criminal not to experience it. They strip down to their underwear. The temperature is dropping fast, I'm breathing shallow. Motorbreath and I will watch from the sidelines. After much trepidation, Spiderweb decides to test the water with his foot. A blinding chill sweeps through his body as he screams "OH FUCK! OH FUCK! IT'S COLD! IT'S VERY COLD!". "Of course it is Genius!", I think to myself. I'll admit, it takes balls to strip down to the bare in the freeze. But you also risk losing them. RomeMike suffers a similar fate but he is far braver than Spiderweb for he spends more time tinkering with the possibility of immersing himself completely. He wisely decides against it.

With the two back in their gear, we ride on. In the minutes to come, RomeMike, engrossed in admiring his surroundings, will ride over a big rock and crash. Motorbreath and Spiderweb, both seconds ahead of him, will hear nothing over the din of music in their ears. The ear plugs will drown out the sickening sound of metal and rock against bone...

Section 3: The Journey > Chapter 43: Pinging Pang

June 16, 2010

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...

Section 3: The Journey > Chapter 43: Do It To Yourself

June 15, 2010

It has begun. A day I had hoped never to see and yet, known have I all along, that it will come. Two of the family three have decided to discontinue their adventure, to return to their obligatory obligations. And in the shattered pieces of their dreams for eternal freedom, I see the death of my own. I turn my thoughts away; for I dare not anger my peace, one that seems to have followed in my footsteps in the days prior. I have felt it; and yet, its unfamiliar touch has made me sick to the bone. Perhaps I fear it for in embracing it, I admit... admit that the father I watched die with his hand held in mine, I have lost to eternity. Admit that the mother that withered away while I stood by watching helplessly watches me no more. And in its admittance, in a peace as certain as death, as certain as the absence of the here-after, I fear I will be unfaithful to their remembrance; for if their memories cause my heart to ache no more, what reason have I to think of them?

I wave the thoughts away as pointless philosophizing. A desperate need for misery for misery is all I have cared to know. I philosophize not to philosophize no more, for the amateur philosopher in I seldom yields thoughts of value. The Universe is a far better teacher than I, its lesson far more direct and precise. I shall await its next lesson. And if none shall be forth coming, I shall assume I have nothing to learn. Only its presence to experience. And even as my reverie begins to dematerialize, a fleeting thought slips away - "Look at who you've become. A runaway from your past - a deserter of your future." As the chill breeze pales my skin, I now fathom who I've really become. For unlike the past, this time, neither the thought, nor its source go unanswered. The thought is razed before it experiences the ether. The source is responded to as thus:

"Dear Self Pity and Self Loathing,

I thank you for your esteemed company in my formative years. Your services are no longer required. In parting, I have two words for you:

"Fuck you."

Sincerely,

Alankar Misra,
July 15, 2010."

My reverie dwindles away into insignificance.

We will spend the rest of the day idly in Leh. I will utilize the time to transfer pixels from camera and phone to the world wide web. It would appear that Inder has not let us down. A pen drive packed to the brim with our pixellations of the prior had awaited our return. He had done as he had promised.

Tomorrow, we turn to return.