The plan for the day was to ride north to a village called Losar which falls just below Kunzum pass. A hundred-odd kilometres away. And I’d return to Kaza through Kibber, Chichum and Key. A total of two hundred kilometres. An entire day’s ride. Possible. But it would be tough. And that was the first mistake of the day – underestimating the distance and also starting late. A fact that I was made aware of by the owner of the hotel Mandala – Amit. 

Nonetheless, I throttled on. But maintaining a fast pace after the first fifty kilometres proved to be quite a challenge. The scenery all around was painted white! And I could not resist stopping every few minutes to take pictures. 

And shortly after, I was slowed down by the terrain which I was itchin’ to ride on – Snow and ice! I had taken off-road training at Tribal Adventure Cafe in Bangalore specifically for this section of the ride! Although riding on ice is not something you can get coached on in a tropical city, but, riding on snow can be learnt by riding in slush. The key to which is to maintain momentum, smoothen out throttle input and to brake very carefully, only when necessary. And for riding on ice, without snow chains, it’s to follow the same procedure and to pray that the bike doesn’t slide out of control! I had these three principles etched in my mind and brought them to practice the moment the rubber hit the snow and ice. And the first few patches went much smoother than expected!

As I got closer to Losar, the amount of snow on the road was higher! I was cruising at a super fast and steady fifteen kmph on an incline and I thought to myself that I had mastered the art of riding on snow and ice! And just as the thought gave rise to a grin on my face, SWOOSH! The rear wheel slid under me and I landed on my butt! And it all happened in a split second! 

I picked up the bike. Tried and failed to gain traction midway on ice. Rode down the road, rode back up, and got stuck in deeper snow. The off-road tyres without the snow chains just could not move forward. With the time past 1 p.m., I decided it was best to turn around. Sunlight in the mountains, especially during winters is very limited. Sundown usually happens around 4 p.m. And this is where the first mistake of the day – starting late – would come back to bite me in the rear. I picked up pace wherever I could. I sped past dirt roads and cut through puddles – the second mistake of the day. 

As the plan was to make a round trip and return to Kaza via Chichum, I took that road. The first few kilometres were clear, just dirt. I was happy. Then a small patch of ice, then another, then another and then a never-ending blanket of snow lay on the road. The only vehicle track on it was mine – which meant that there wasn’t a single other vehicles that had used that road since it snowed in a few days ago. The clock struck four. The sunset behind the fifteen thousand feet high peaks. The temperature dropped. And I had my second fall. It was another uphill ascent and the bike slid under me, just like the first time. I was ever so cautious, but without snow chains, it had to happen. 

The next village – Chichum was ten kilometres away. There was no connectivity on the three SIM cards that I had with me. There was absolutely no one around. And getting stuck on the road meant spending the night outside in subzero temperatures. I turned around to connect back to the Losar – Kaza road. 

It was 5 in the evening. Twilight was all that I had. The multiple patches which I had completed with ease in the afternoon were now more difficult. The sun’s rays make the ice softer. That helped me when I was making my way up. Without the sun, the soft ice got back to being solid, glass-like ice. And I fell for the third time. 

I looked around. No one insight. I began contemplating what I would do if I wouldn’t be able to ride further. I picked up my bike. Slowly moved forward. Slipped again. And dropped the bike. But this time, I didn’t fall. The idea of abandoning my bike and walking for tens of kilometres or spending the night out in the open began to seem like a real possibility. Notwithstanding, I picked up the bike again, and prayed for some traction on the ice. And for my fortune, I got what I asked for. There were just a few more patches left. I told myself  “Maintain momentum. Smooth throttle input. No braking. And stay calm”. I was back on broken roads. 

Before I could breathe a sigh of relief, I thought I’d check on that tingly feeling that had been developing in my feet. I stopped on the side of the road. I looked at my boots and it had ice all over. I couldn’t move my toes by an inch. This is where the second mistake – cutting through puddles in the afternoon brought in a hefty fine. I had a plastic bag on my feet to keep it from getting wet. But my perforated boots would still let water inside the body of the shoe. The water which made its way inside stayed inside. As the temperature dropped, the water around my feet turned to ice. The unbearable biting cold made me feel weak and drowsy. I now had a bigger fear – of losing all my toes to frostbite! Sixty kilometres lay ahead (to Kaza). It got darker and colder. Yet, I had to ride as fast as I could to get some warmth around my feet. 

I reached the parking lot of Hotel Mandala at around 6:30 that evening. Amit and his wife Anju stepped out to get some groceries. I stopped Amit and showed him my feet. Amit, who hailed from Manali and had spent many years in Spiti, didn’t seem to be too worried. He asked me to get to the living room of his house – which also served as the ground floor of the hotel and undo my shoes. He started a fire in the ‘tandoor’ – a large, cast iron fireplace used commonly in the Himalayan villages. He brewed me a cup of hot chai. And baked a local delicacy called Siddu. 

Siddu 

Thirty minutes in front of the heat along with the chai and the food in the belly brought my feet back to life and awakened my drowsy mind. He even took the trouble of drawing me a hot bath. And later served rice with rajma (beans curry) and mutton – barley soup for dinner. An action-packed, thrilling, cold and adventurous day came to an end with hot food and warm company. 

Rice with Rajma 

Day 23: Kaza – Langza – Komic – Hikkim – Kaza 

I’d learnt very well from my earlier mistakes. I planned the day with a lot of room for delays. Started on time. And reached the Golden Buddha statue at Langza quite quickly. 

Golden Buddha Statue, Langza

I then reached the world’s highest post office at Hikkim which is at an altitude of 14567 ft.! To make sure I’d never forget that place, I picked up a postcard and mailed it home. 

Post office, Hikkim

All along, the roads were a mix of broken tarmac, dirt and snow. I slipped and dropped the bike a few times, but I handled the terrain much better than the previous day, despite the sun being under the clouds and the temperature dropping to below -15°C at Komic! The monk at one of the coldest villages in India gave me a short tour of the monastery and some hot chai later. 

Komic 

Day 24: Kaza – Kibber – Chichum – Key – Kaza

The weather was sunny. A welcome change compared to the gloom of the previous day. The day was again well planned out, comfortable. The small town of Kibber which is perched on top of a mountain looked magnificent from far. 

Kibber

The Chichum bridge which is Asia’s highest is another splendid location. But there was a little more snow on the road that day. It got a little tough. And I started losing a lot of time. 

Chichum bridge

Still, I wanted to squeeze in another location, a secluded little village – Tashigong, but that trail was entirely blanketed with snow. I maintained a whimsical average speed of five kmph for two hours and abandoned the plan midway on reaching the village Gethe. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have been able to make my way back to Kaza that evening. 

I reached Key monastery which is at almost the same altitude as Kaza and just a few minutes away. It was twilight. And getting cold. I entered the monastery just as it was about to close. And the day was done. All the places I had on my list, except Tashigong were ticked off. 

Day 25: Kaza – Pin Valley – Dhanker – Tabo 

Making my way back to the plains

The five nights that I spent in Kaza were highly memorable. Purely because of my hosts – Amit and Anju. They run one of the very few hotels that are open throughout the year in the village. The night when I reached Kaza, the village looked deserted. And with no internet facilities available then, I roamed street to street to find a shelter for the night and I found Hotel Mandala. I booked a room for myself only for the first night but the way they opened up their home and cared for me when I got my feet frozen made me extend my plan. 

I stayed with them for a total of five nights. Each evening after I returned from that days’ ride, Amit would prepare tea and fill it in a blue antique-ish glass flask (the kind that I’ve seen only in the mountains) and serve it in a glass chai tumbler. Anju would get the snacks and start the fire in tandoor (fireplace). The three of us would gather in the living room to share stories all night long.

The couple who have their origins in Manali have been together for sixteen years! But with the freshness they had in their relationship, I would have never guessed that number. Amit started this hotel three years back and stays here. Anju stays in Manali to take care of their daughter and comes to Spiti once in a few months to be with her husband. In my time at Mandala, I spent a great portion of it admiring them. It was evident in the way that they looked at each other, how much they missed the other when they were away. It was evident in the way they spoke, how much the other meant to them. It was evident, that they truly loved each other. A love that radiated like sunshine and made the -10°C evenings feel warm.

I left Kaza with a heavy heart, filled with adoration, admiration and the wish to be back in their company soon.

Anju & Amit 

The first aim was to reach the last village in Pin Valley – Mud. Pin Valley is in the Spiti – Lahaul district on the way down to the lower Himalayas from Kaza. A major chunk of the road was dirt and gravel, which was an absolute joy to ride on! But I would encounter snow closer to Mud. Probably, the last day of snow riding for the entire trip. 

Pin Valley

On each of the preceding three days, my luggage remained back at the hotel. If and when I dropped the bike, picking it up was easy. On this day, the bike was fully loaded – a whopping sixty kilograms of luggage! A drop on this day would lead to a lot of heavy weight lifting workouts! 

A bulldozer and a couple of buses had traversed the road earlier in the day. The sun was also shining bright and I was making the attempt at the peak of daylight – all of which provided me with a much-needed advantage! Yet, as usual, the bike had many slides, but I did not drop the bike even once! The thought of picking up the fully loaded KTM made me drive with extreme caution and awareness. It was tiring. It was stressful. But, man – oh – man, the joy of completing the patch without a single drop? Got me high up on cloud nine! 

Mud, Pin Valley 

I checked out Dhankar, a millennia-old monastery. And put head to a pillow in a small homestay in the town of Tabo. Where I’d wake up to the other millennia-old monastery in Spiti in the morning. 

Day 26: Tabo – Reckong Peo 

When I’d passed by Tabo about a week ago, I had only seen the one monastery in front. I had been breaking my head all along on why people would refer to the seemingly new monastery to be over a thousand years old! It was only when I saw a postcard in Hikkim (the highest post office in the world) that I realised that I had seen the new monastery built in front. And missed the old one behind. And that prompted me to halt at Tabo. 

In the morning, I loaded up my motorcycle for the long ride back towards Reckong Peo and the plains to make my way to the next leg of the trip – Bhutan. With little time available, I rushed into the Tabo Gompa (monastery). The monastery was built of wood and mud and I was stunned to see that such a simple structure had withstood the test of time for 1023 years! 

I searched and found a monk to help me know more about the temple. He opened the locked doors and took me inside. The temple was dark. No artificial light, to prevent damage to the paintings on the walls. The monk carried a small hand-held torch to use as a pointer. In ten minutes, he showed me all the paintings which were painted by Kashmiri Artisans more than a thousand years ago. The story of the life of Buddha, among many others, is depicted on those mud walls. 

When my short tour was complete, I was back at the entrance ready to head out when a couple walked in. They inquired with the monk about the paintings. But in reality, they were confirming what they already knew about the temple and the paintings.

During the course of the tour, the handheld torch had come to my hands. When the woman started talking more about the pictures, I gave her the torch as I was ready to walk out. She invited me to stay back for a while. My interest had peaked with their knowledge. And I decided to go tag along with them for a second tour. 

The couple introduced themselves as Gita and Pradeep Khar. The duo seemed to have amassed an ocean of knowledge about Buddhism and the temple. I was grateful to be around them. They knew the story behind most of the paintings on those earthen walls and I eagerly listened to them talk passionately about them. I felt like a kid in a candy store. I had my eyes wide open with excitement and admiration for their knowledge and the synergy that they shared with each other. Listening to them talk was like listening to a song, a duet. Their love for each other lit up the dark chamber like a supernova.

Pradeep & Gita

When we stepped out after an hour and a half! We got to talking more. I learnt that they’ve been together for sixty years, since their twenties! They were high school sweethearts! I could not and did not want to stop talking to these wise souls who to me, looked like the personification of Ying and Yang – perfect balance and harmony. And when they showered their love on me, I got lost! My heart was ecstatic to have met Gita and Pradeep.

Day 27 & 28: Reckong Peo – Rohru – Dehradun 

And on that wonderful note, the second leg of my 5 month trip of the Himalayas, came to an end. The roads leading South were much wider and warmer. I maintained faster speeds and stayed on the saddle for long hours. I reached the big city of Dehradun, where I rested in comfort and prepared for the third leg. 

I hope you all enjoyed reading Spiti: Part 1 & 2. 

Until next time! 

Ride mad! Ride safe! 

Coming next: Bhutan! 

Apart from the blogs, you can follow my entire journey on my Instagram @mentlmanja

Thank you

The post Overlanding in the Himalayas #8: Winter Wonderland – Spiti: Part 2 appeared first on Roadtales.

The smog in the Capital carried a strong sulfur-like pungent odour. The visibility was around twenty metres. And the citizens moved around with masks over their faces. I stayed indoors for most of my time in Delhi – the time designated to prep my bike and luggage for the journey ahead.

A good old friend Devender Bijania and new friends – Yuvan, Avi and Ana

Day 16:

The day’s ride to Narkanda in Himachal Pradesh was supposed to be relatively short – four hundred kilometres and a ride time of nine hours. The first half of the ride demanded throttling across four-lane highways till the mountains arrived. This was the first time I had clad my bike with dual-purpose tyres – the Pirelli Scorpion Rally STR and was worried about the performance on the canyons. I was amazed to see that they broke my insecurities by clinging onto the tarmac much better than most road tyres while leaned over.

Day 18:

I had ridden into the Last village on the Indo – Tibetan road Chitkul very late the previous night. I’d managed to find a decent hotel, one of the very few open. And woke up to some more snow-capped mountains. “Riding around in the Himalayas can never get boring,” I said to myself.

‘Overlanding’ has many meanings. One of them is “a self – reliant journey” – one that involves camping. I had never travelled in that fashion before and it became one of the goals of this ride. Hence the name – Overlanding in the Himalayas. I had rented a Quechua 3-person tent from a store called X-DOG Trekking in Bangalore along with my decent sleeping bag and other camping equipment. I didn’t have the tent with me in Ladakh and I’d been eager to use ’em. Spiti would be colder than Ladakh and I wouldn’t be able to use it there either. Reckong Peo in Kinnaur district of Himachal would be the perfect place. The weather on the day was forecasted to be cool at 8°C – the best conditions I could hope for.

The town is perched almost on the top of a big mountain in the Sutlej River Valley. I had heard that finding a spot to camp here was quite easy. Which I found to be untrue. The town reminded me of many other growing towns throughout India with reducing open spaces – ones not occupied already or not having a dry apple orchard. The two hours spent searching for a spot was a bitter reminder of the need for Humanity to ever expand. Notwithstanding I had to find a place to camp.

I wandered upwards into a smaller town with a sweet name – Kalpa. I came across a young boy who worked in a homestay nearby. He turned around and pointed higher up the mountain towards the alpine forests. Saying there’d be ample space for me to pitch my tent there. Ample free space. Along the way, almost everyone I enquired about a place to camp had pointed towards only one direction – Up! I was quite unsure if the teen’s suggestion was reliable.

Venturing up, I took a left turn onto a mud road. The kid had told me about this. The sun which was shining bright when I began the ascent a few hours earlier was now running into the horizon. The path turned dark. The evening breeze grew strong. A while after chugging through the loose soil, I found one flat spot. Eight by eight feet. Enough for me to set up camp. Not enough to light a fire and walk around. Covered by trees on either side, a cliff in the front and the road behind, it wasn’t the most tempting spot. But the only one I’d seen all afternoon.

A thin old man, who I’d passed earlier on the path caught up with my stalled bike. I asked him if the spot was safe. The question seemed to make him wonder why I’d wanted to sleep there. Alone. He gave me the same suggestion that I’d got all day long – “go higher up!”. He stopped my eyes midway, which had begun rolling by telling me that he’d show me the place.

The spot was at the very next turn up the dirt road. It was a big patch of absolutely flat land about half the size of a badminton court. The rear side was the mountain, the left was the road, the right was an orchard and in front was an uninterrupted view of magnificent snow-capped mountains – which the day’s last rays of light painted gold. One can try to imagine a better spot. But cannot. The generous man walked me further up to the house he lived in, to get me a 5 litre can of water and half a dozen apples – freshly plucked from the orchard. On my way down to the spot, I borrowed some firewood from their pile.

I had a warm fire started. My ‘ready to eat’ food cooked slowly on the butane stove. I sipped on my hot cup of water and gazed at the slightly cloudy, star-studded night sky. I am fortunate to have my first moto-camping experience high up in the Himalayas.

Day 19:

The night was supposed to be cool. Not cold. At around three in the morning, it started to drizzle. At around seven, the drizzle seemed to become lighter. But the ground grew colder. From atop the mountain, there was a voice. A man yelling “Tent wale babu, utho, baraf padh rahi hai ” which translates to “Tent man, wake up, it’s snowing”. I’d never experienced snowfall before, and I was tempted to get out and admire the phenomena. But the chill from the night had kept me mostly awake. I wanted to get some more sleep. But failed to. A little later the enthusiastic voice came closer. Next to my tent. He asked me to open up. He had chai, he told me. That always gets me right up. I unzipped my tent, and it was indeed snowing. Pure wonder. The mountains in front had disappeared behind the precipitating clouds.

The view from my tent

It was the first time I saw this stranger’s face and I let him in my tent. He had two cups into which he poured his hot tea. He told me that his twelve-year-old granddaughter had asked him to bring me the tea. His name was Mani Lal. A proud Kinnauri Himachal man with an old brown checkered blazer and a traditional ‘pahadi’ cap. As he left he handed me a dozen apples from his orchard. Of which I kindly accepted only a few.

Mani Lal

Worried that it would get difficult to pack up if it snowed more, I started getting ready. I heard another voice coming towards my tent. It was the old man I had met the previous evening. The one who showed me the camping spot. He had come down with another flask in his hand. Some more chai. I stopped my work and invited him in. He told me he was a daily wage worker. When I’d met him, I’d assumed he was the owner of one of these apple orchards.

Amar

He had come down from Nepal in search of work. To put his son through school to see him become a local doctor in his village. The man’s name was Amar. He was probably in his fifties. And I would consider him ‘old’ to be working as a daily wage labourer. But such is the reality of life.

Amar helped me pack up my tent. Mani Lal came down too to lend a hand. Two people I had never met before, showered me with love and generosity. Both of whom had no reason to do that. But such is the beauty of life.

It snowed till I descended to Reckong Peo, the big town below. Where the snow turned into the bitterly cold rain. The rain lasted for four more hours all the way till Spillow. My jacket and pants held up very well against the downpour. But my gloves and shoes did not. Two hours in, my hands and feet became wet. With the cold wind, they soon became numb. And riding became a task. I fell short of my destination of Tabo by sixty kilometres. With the weather getting worse again, I halted at the small village of Nako. It snowed all night long. I snuggled into my sleeping bag, under two blankets.

Friends made at the Dhaba in Nako – (from right) Karan, PK, Chacha, Kamal and gang

Day 20:

Spiti and Lahaul District begins at the check post at Sumdo. I took a right after the yellow coloured steel bridge to the village of Gue. A place that came under the spotlight many years ago for housing a naturally mummified body of a Buddhist monk. At noon, the place looked deserted. With not a human insight. And spectacular. With all the snow in sight.

The chilly, overcast day got cloudier, darker and colder. My visor fogged up and my face was exposed to the prickly wind. I entered Kaza, the biggest village in Spiti. This too seemed deserted. I went from street to street in search of a hotel to stay the night. All but a handful were closed. The only open shop at seven in the evening, in the market, directed me to a Hotel Mandala.

To be continued…

Instagram: @mentlmanja

Also Read – OVERLANDING IN THE HIMALAYAS #7: FINDING PASSION ON THE ROAD & DAY 10-DAY 11

The post Overlanding in the Himalayas #8: Winter Wonderland – Spiti: Part 1 appeared first on Roadtales.

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Day 10: Chumathang to Leh City

I woke up after a warm night’s sleep, the warmest in Ladakh, to begin the last day in the region. I packed my luggage and loaded up Ebony. In stark contrast to all the cold mornings, Ebony started instantly. The warm night and the instant start were attributed to the natural hot spring, which the valley was known for. I stayed in a budget hotel next to it. I let the engine heat up in idle and moved toward the compound to gaze at the sight in front of me. 

A hundred metres ahead, the hot spring released waves of vapours into the atmosphere. A little farther, the teal-coloured River Indus flowed north-west towards Leh which became my navigational guide for the day. 

The bike had idled long enough and it was time for me to get on the saddle. The road leading out of Chumathang was broken but was better than the road from Lukung to Chushul. My mind drifted back to the days I had spent in Pangong Tso, Nubra Valley, Khardung La, Lamayuru and Leh city. And further back to a burning thought that was the reason behind me starting this ride. 

Bangalore, the place of my birth, is the only city I’ve called home. My father and his fathers have their roots in Devanahalli, which is an hour away from Bangalore. In the 80’s he came here to study and eventually built a life for himself and the family. I came into this world in 1994 in the Kempegowda Institute of Medical Sciences hospital. I studied up till tenth grade in St. Claret High school and the next two years in Vidya Mandir Pre-University College. I graduated with a Bachelor’s degree in mechanical engineering from Sir. M Visvesvaraya Institute of Technology. All of my extended family live in Bangalore and so do all of my oldest and most of my closest friends. Bangalore, a city close to my heart, a city I shall always call ‘Home’. Yet, for the longest time, I’ve felt estranged here.

Like every other soul on this planet, I’ve been searching for that place which has my name written all over it. After riding through 20 of the Indian states in 2018, I thought I’d found it – Mumbai. I fell head over heels in love with the city of dreams! The hyper-fast life, the energetic people and the ambition that seemed to be dosed in the air of Mumbai drew me in like a flame that draws a moth. As a young adult, with eyes on the business world and making wealth, Mumbai seemed to be the perfect fit. But life had other plans. 

I had completed my previous trip ‘Long Way Round‘ in April of 2018 after which, I had a choice to either get back to work and travel once in a year or live life by and for travel. I had chosen the former. In May 2019, I went on a short 4 day ride to Kerala and this is what I had posted on my Instagram (@mentlmanja).

“Man, I had an amazing time these four days. I really needed it and I’m so glad I decided to take this break from work. But I’ve been wanting too many breaks, haven’t I?  Well, it doesn’t matter, I’ve got to push through it because I need the money to keep travelling like this” I said to myself. 

It felt good that my mind was looping back to the thought that I had on the day that I’d started this ride – the quest to understand this unexplainable, ununderstandable “want” to earn big money.

Ten years back, my family could not afford most of the stuff that we can today. My father gave his blood and sweat for his work and sacrificed ALL of his wants for the family and to get us to the place we are in today. He had to do it all alone as mum was a house maker. But no matter how tough it got, my parents made sure that my sister and I had a happy childhood and gave us all that we needed without a second thought. But giving us things of ‘want’ was something they had to think upon deeply. 

I remember an evening when I was in my 4th grade. My old rusty second – hand bicycle which I’d named Raja had been stolen a few months earlier. As a kid, I loved riding a bicycle! (perhaps my love for riding motorcycles began then) and I desperately craved for a new one. I asked Appa for a new Hercules, one of the popular brands then, that was priced Rs. 2500/-. An amount that was not as easy to earn then as it is today. He asked me to wait another year and I broke into tears! I threw myself on the floor and begged him for two hours! Unable to see me so sad, he finally took me out to fulfil my desire. 

A stark contrast to our limited lifestyle was that of my uncle, who was a man of rich taste. He indulged in the luxuries of life to which I was a witness. And I guess that influenced me. For the longest time, I’ve dreamt of wearing a Hugo Boss suit and a Tag Heuer watch, chauffeured in a BMW 7 Series to a 5 – star hotel to meet with HNI clients. For the longest time, I’ve wanted to live the ‘high life’. 

Maybe, the reason I chose to get back to work once I returned from Long Way Round was partly to live that life of extravagance, which I got to do this year. I got to indulge in some of the ‘rich’ experiences that I, as a kid, saw my uncle indulge in. I thought they’d make me happy but they never seemed to satisfy my heart. Something was missing. 

I joined this company with the sole intention to earn. Maybe the motivation to work for money has dwindled down since the life funded by that earning isn’t fully satisfying. Maybe, that’s why I’ve been wanting too many breaks lately. 

“I believe that a person finds motivation to work for three reasons – passion, money or gratitude”, I had stated in an IGTV video that I’d made. ‘Working for money’ could mean ‘working for sustenance’ and/or ‘working for bigger aspirations in life’ and at the time, I didn’t see a distinction between the two. After this trip, I see that they are two sides of a coin. ‘Working for bigger aspirations in life’ is a lot like passion, heck, it is a passion. It requires unwavering determination, relentless dedication and ceaseless effort. Earning ‘big money’ was surely a big desire of mine, considering it’s been with me for ages, but I knew that it certainly was not my passion. 

These four days of riding have given me more happiness than all the other experiences I’ve had in the city in the year that went by. Maybe, the road is where I ought to be.” 

What I was missing was the beat of my heart and my heart would beat only on the motorcycle. A city, any city, any luxury would not make me “dil se happy”. The path ahead was clear. 

The dream of living the ‘high life’ was retired, framed and placed on the mantle as a memory of a former self. 

I put my papers down in the last week of June ’19, spent four months trying to find a sustainable way to live a life of travelling. Once I did, I got on the saddle to ride the great Himalayas.

And that brings me to this final day in Ladakh. Where a long quest seemed to have come to an end. I had finally found what I was looking for – the place where I felt belonged. It was on the road and in the vast, barren, cold, magnificent land that I’d come to love so dearly. 

Ebony had to be returned that evening, which left me with little time to explore the many points of interest that lined the road to Leh. 

Stakna Gompa 

The first was Stakna Gompa. Gompa means monastery in Ladakhi. Gonpa, Gumba are other versions of the same. The monastery looked majestic on top of the hill, with the blue background. Unfortunately, I couldn’t go in. 

Stakna Gompa

Thiksey Gompa

Like I’d mentioned, this road is lined with attractions. After a very short time on the road from Stakna, I took a right towards Thiksey monastery. I was stopped immediately by the imposing view of the Gompa and the traditional Ladakhi houses built around it. I rode to the top and made my way back down to head to Shey Monastery. Then to the Druk Padma Karpo School where the iconic Bollywood film ‘3 idiots’ was shot. The Choglamsar Gompa had to be savoured from a farther distance. 

Shey Monastery

Druk Padma Karpo School

Choglamsar Gompa

NH 1: Srinagar – Leh

I reached Leh by 5 P.M. and dropped my dear Ebony off with whom I’d travelled for ten days and enjoyed every single moment. 

Ebony

A stone’s throw away from the bike rental shop was a German cafe with an open courtyard. As the sky turned dark, I sat relaxed at the centre table and sipped on a cup of piping hot tea. The owner, Stanzin, an adorable and sweet woman kept me company till I finished my cup. In a way, she was the personification of Ladakh with her kindness, beauty and joy. 

Day 11: Leh – Delhi 

A shared cab dropped me off at the very busy Kushok Bakula Rinpoche Airport of Leh city at 6 in the morning where I boarded my flight to the Indira Gandhi International Airport of a very smoggy Delhi. The first order of business upon landing was to pick up my sweetheart – El Poderosa! 

Up next: Leg #2 – Spiti 

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