Introduction
Once I had decided that yes, I was still mad enough to do
it, the plan began to gather a momentum of its own. My old, but sparkling
Royal Enfield (1996 350cc.) found itself getting spruced up under the experienced
eye of my mechanic, who replaced piston rings, greased cables, adjusted settings,
installed the new electronic ignition system and gave it an oil transfusion.
I packed in spares to cover all possible contingencies. Extra tubes, tire-repair
kit, clutch plates, cables, brake-shoes, plugs, and more. Anything can happen
when one is planning to take a motor-cycle over 4300 kilometers of roads
from sea level to Khardung-La, the world’s highest motorable road at
18,380 ft. But nothing did! Happen, I mean. Not to the bike, anyway. With
only minor carburetor re-adjustments for the rarer air supply at high altitudes
and some brake-tightening, my lovely black beauty performed with precision
and without complaint over smooth roads and rough roads and even where there
were no roads–only slush. But I came back from the trip an old man.
I had been brainwashed! And almost everyone I met on the road seemed to be
part of an unspoken national conspiracy! The young army Jawan who was back
in his Himachal village and couldn’t stop emphasizing how unique it
was for him to see a ‘buzurg’ (elderly person) riding an Enfield
all the way from Pune and going on to the wild terrains of Ladakh; the 3
German guys in the Srinagar parking lot, riding in a group were amazed that
I was doing the 4300 km bike ride alone; and a host of army personnel, tea-shop
owners, dhaba-cooks, and everyone else’s cousin-all, in their own way,
made me feel I was doing something very unusual for someone “my age”.
It took me 2 weeks after my return home to de-brief myself.
In April 2004, as the plan began to take shape, my 12-year old daughter
Juhi asked me why I was doing it. Was I trying to prove that, at age 54,
I was still ‘young’ enough? What exactly was propelling me on
to this long journey? I didn’t know the answer to that one myself.
It all started as just a thought that grew on itself. A week-long bike trip
to Goa in February 2004 when I had ridden from Calangute Beach to Pune (450
kms.) in 12 hours, had triggered the desire for a longer ride. Gradually
the idea hatched. “Go to Ladakh” the hatchling whispered! In
retrospect, I realize that I never did ask myself whether or not I’d
actually be able to do it. I don’t know what my answer would have been.
Ask no questions and be told no lies! Just Do It! (thanks Nike). Age…is
a mysterious entity… and although it has a lot to do with the natural
state of progression of the body-material as it goes from birth to birth, ‘age’ is
only a concept for the mind. In today’s world, obsessed as it mostly
is with the physical, we look upon our bodies as indicators of our self-image.
A 50-year old man looks in the mirror, sees his thinning white hair and tells
himself he should now act and behave like a grown-up. He drops his spontaneous
child-like qualities, curtails singing romantic songs in the bath-room, and
begins to develop a serious demeanor. Society encourages him in this role
by providing ‘perks’ due to the elderly. Young women touch his
feet and ask for blessings! And the most comfortable chair always becomes
available to him! All this quietly but surely reinforces the idea that one
has indeed grown old. It’s a sweet, comfortable honey-trap, easy to
fall for. But it is a trap which first overpowers the mind. The body then
follows suit and begins to respond as an ‘old man’s body’ would.
Sidney joke: When an attractive woman once said to me that she feels very ‘safe’ with
me, I joked back that I would be complimented if she felt ‘just a little
bit unsafe’ around me!! My work involves facilitating attitudinal changes
in young adults and I frequently encounter some very ‘old’ men
aged 25! But I’m regressing (must be getting old!). Let’s get
back to the trip.
Everyday, I found myself ticking off one more items on my list of “Things
to do”. Two months of cycling with a regular half-hour at the University
gym; eating lots of nutritious food to store up energy, and surfing the web
for information on the Manali–Leh road kept my thoughts centered on
the journey. I discovered an Enfield rider’s dream website www.60kph.com
where I met a group of young bikers who also wanted to ride to Leh. An itinerary
evolved through e-mails and phone calls. The plan was to meet up with 4 other
riders in New Delhi and ride together all the way to Leh and then on to Srinagar
and finally Jammu. By a series of coincidences, the plan did not work for
me. The other bikers moved as a group all the way but I found myself riding
alone throughout the trip. Riding with a group provides tremendous support
to each member and the reasons are obvious. Aside from being mentally reassured
that help is available in case of an accident or mechanical malfunctioning
of the bike, a group provides evenings-full of entertainment. Songs, humor,
and good company can do wonders for the fatigued body after a hard day’s
ride and I missed out on that. Stopping on the side of a long and isolated
stretch of a Himalayan road, I frequently felt the need to have someone to
exchange ideas with (and to take pictures with me in them!!). But it was
only me, my bike and a sky named blue! There were some advantages in riding
alone too. And these revealed themselves slowly, in subtle and mysterious
ways. At times, riding those high-altitudes, snow-laden mountain passes,
with not a soul in sight, a feeling of aloneness cast its spell over me.
I felt like the only person on Planet Earth! As when I passed a pristine
Suraj Tal lake, nestled in the crotch of snow-topped mountains, just before
the Baralacha-La pass at 16,500 ft. An ethereal scene, with me to experience
it, all alone! There was no one around to applaud my ascent and no one for
me to tell how thrilling it felt. No one, but the wind, blowing in firm gusts
touched my chilled skin and welcomed me to participate in a cosmic dance.
The awesome peaks, stark against the background of an amazingly blue sky,
littered with tufts of angel-white clouds, no life-forms in sight, no birds,
no insects, nothing. Stillness. My consciousness vibrating to the celestial
beat. Powerful yet benevolent natural forces which could crush me without
effort but chose not to! At such moments, I could only surrender to the bliss
and be enthralled. Someone later suggested that this euphoria could be altitude-related
(by now I was at 17,600 ft), and maybe it was, but being alone was an integral
part of the experience. Riding alone one can think in the singular! And feel
secure in the singular! One doesn’t have to think conventional thoughts.
Traveling in a group, one inevitably develops a group-thinking, always conscious
of being accountable to the group and in return, expecting similar accountability.
A group is a life-support system. Maybe that was what I was running away
from! My secure life-style in Pune, where I went to bed feeling safe and
woke up feeling secure! In his book ‘Keynote’, JRD Tata says: “Live
Life a little dangerously”. And there were some moments of such ‘little
dangers’. Being stuck in the 2 feet deep, icy cold river (formed by
glacier-melt) as it rushed over the road to Khardung-La; and being rushed
at by a horde of dangerous looking men on the Srinagar-Jammu highway near
Doda were two such times. But my perverse desire to be kidnapped by “militants” and
held for ransom was to remain unfulfilled!
Well…win some, lose some! Up in the Himalayan passes, I had stumbled
upon the reason for my trip!
The Ride:
I left Pune on June 11, 2004. My first stop was Dahanu, a small coastal
town on the Maharashtra-Gujarat border. An easy, pleasant ride; up the Western
Ghats and on to the wide, Mumbai-Ahmedabad NH-8. I rode 300 km that first
day. The second day was a longer 440 km ride to Ahmedabad. After an initial
lovely 100 km, I came on to the chemical-industrial towns where the Narmada
begins to break down into a delta carrying effluent waste of vivid colors
into the Arabian Sea. The ride to Ahmedabad is filed under ‘insipid’ in
my cerebral hard-disk. The weather was hot those two days in Ahmedabad and
I was glad to leave it on the 14th, bound for Mt. Abu about 150 km away.
Except for the fact that it was cooler, Mt. Abu was a disappointment. Commercialized
to cater to tourists who come to drink the alcohol they cannot in neighboring, ‘dry’ Gujarat;
the one redeeming feature of Mt. Abu is the fabulous Dilwara Temple–an
ancient marvel of carved marble. It opened for visitor everyday 12 noon but
the riding-fever was on and it propelled me to move! I descended Mt. Abu
at 6:30 am, bathing in the early morning sunlight on the state-highway to
Ajmer-a fabulous ride. Around noon, it got toasting hot at 45 degrees C but
these roads, winding through the blazing desert sands, are a biker’s
delight. Stopping frequently to quench my thirst with cups of superb tea,
I met people I normally wouldn’t in my city avatar. My digital camera
became a popular attraction at road-side tea shops and made me friends, fast
and easy. Everyone loves to see his own picture instantly! Sitting on a charpai
at one such tea-stall, I saw an old man, dressed in green, cycling away and
decided I wanted to meet him. I finished my tea and soon overtook him, rode
on a bit ahead to a culvert and waited for him to arrive. After some initial
hesitation, he alighted and sat next to me. I asked and he told me he was
66 years old and cycling from Vasai (near Mumbai) to Ajmer and then on to
Mecca. That day he was planning to cover 100 km at 15 kph all the way to
Pali. He began to talk of the benevolence of the Almighty and I realized
that I was in the presence of a saint. His entire demeanor exuded loving
peace and I basked in this bliss. He refused to take money and only after
some heart-felt, but hindi-filmi-sounding-dialogues (“Babaji, Kuch
mera nahi hai…Aatee, jaatee maya hai”, etc.) did he accept what
I gave him. A genuine Sufi king, traveling incognito! Oh, wondrous India!
Where else would I have met someone like this Babaji? Before continuing on
his journey, the venerable man raised both arms heavenwards and said a prayer
for my safety. But not all ‘sadhus’ I met were saints! Later
on, that same day, I felt the brakes needed some tightening, and stopped
under the shade of a wide banyan tree, squatted to take out my tool-kit and
looked up to see two ‘sadhus’, complete with ash and iron chains
staring at me. These two were at the business-end of wearing saffron. Not
satisfied with the money I gave them anyway, they started hounding me for
more. Enough for one kilo of pure ghee which they promised to use in a yagna
to generate good luck for me on the trip! Exasperated, I told them I’d
bring them the finest Yak ghee from Ladakh and kick-started the engine to
ride on.
The ride from Ajmer to Jaipur became a test of endurance. With much of
the new highway still under construction, ‘diversions’ were the
flavor of the day. Traffic was heavy. NH-8 is the life-line of the country
and brimming full with heavily-laden trucks carrying everything from steel
and stone to finished industrial goods. By 4pm, the sand began to blow across
the road and found access to my nose and eyes! That day, those hot 480 km
from Mt. Abu to Jaipur had painted me black in skin and spirit. Too tired
to find better accommodation, I settled for a seedy highway lodge. An un-remembered
dinner later, slumber land opened its gates and let me enter. My last thought
that day was “Phew…what a ride!”
But I did not know what was in store. The Manali-Leh road was waiting!
The 250 km ride from Jaipur to Delhi was uneventful. The road was nice, wide,
flat and not quite so interesting. Delhi was a hot-house at over 40C and
I was anxious to leave it almost as soon as I had arrived! The www.60kph.com
group’s plan was to leave Delhi on the 22nd of June and ride on to
Manali via the tough Jalori Pass. Having reached Delhi on the 16th, 22nd
seemed too far away to me. My host in Delhi told me about a fantastic chalet
in Kasol (near Manali) where his friend had rooms available and I gave in
to the temptation of an easier ride via Chandigarh to spend a restful 3 days
in the lap of Mother Nature. Riding past Chandigarh on the by-pass, I got
a feel of the prosperous and aggressively-generous ambience of Punjab. The
roads were good but not wide enough for the light and heavy vehicles, zipping
past each other with not much room to spare, not the kind of riding a biker
enjoys. The sight of 3 fresh accidents (one fatal) did nothing to make me
alter my defensive-minded riding and by the time I approached the foot-hills
of the Himalayas, I was anxiously looking for a place to stay the night.
Hotels along the road, sparse as they were, had rates I didn’t feel
like affording, so I kept on riding. At a chai shop, the sardar-owner interrupted
the brushing of his long hair, his cupped palm holding hair-oil, and told
me about the gurudwara at Kirtanpuri where I could stay the night for free.
And so I did. The beautiful white gurudwara was placed across a small gushing
river and just as I passed over the bridge, a swarm of craig-martins did
a fly-past over my head. A good omen! The guy who gave me my room-key advised
that I park the motorcycle with me in the room–I first thought he was
joking but he wasn’t! I had thought that a gurudwara would be a safe
place and he assured me it was. The actual reason became apparent when at
around 9 pm, ten bus-loads of Sikh families from various locations in rural
Punjab descended on the gurudwara and pretty soon occupied every inch of
the corridors (no rooms were available by then). After an initial settling-in
hour, they all quieted down into sleep. The silence disturbed only by a lone
snorer who sang his hoarse lullaby to the rest of us!
Kirtanpuri is at the very base of the first climb towards Manali and just
20 minutes into the climb, the bike began to demand attention. The
engine was being starved of air. I stopped to adjust the carburetor settings
with
over 50 small and big langoors for an audience! Some made faces at
me while others sprinted around to get a better seat. It was a panoramic
setting:
rolling green hills, interspaced with ploughed brown farm-land and
with the snow-laden higher mountains, white in the backdrop. Then it began
to rain
and the road became messy. I detoured through a longish tunnel and
came up to the turn off which would take me to Kasol–30 km off the
road to Manali. This being my first experience of the rough, mountain roads,
a sense
of apprehension came over me. The heavy rain did not help and I crawled
up the stony mountainside road at a snail’s pace, finally reaching
Kasol in the early evening. Kasol delivered all it had promised, and more.
Alpine
Crest was right next to the River Parvati which was in gushing form.
The roar of the river masked all other sounds and formed a canvass even for
my
dreams! Those three nights in Kasol, I dreamt of oceans and water-falls.
And made frequent trips to the toilet.
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