Some would think it strange to ride to Leh and beyond on a KTM Duke. But new boy Divyanshu wouldn’t have it any other way. For him, this was a pilgrimage not only for the bike, but for the soul as well.
I have always found that writing about motorcycle rides is a difficult task. I wish it was as easy as just recording everything and presenting it to the world. But it’s impossible to do so in a magazine format. And so I met my friend and travel companion, Amber, a few days before writing this piece to recollect the finer details of our trip. But, more than that, to try and capture the essence of the trip. Should it be centred around the two days that we spent in Manali, during which time we were being dissuaded from riding all the way to Leh, or should it be about the military truck that almost ran us over at More plains, or the verbal diarrhoea that both of us suffered from every time we got hit by mountain sickness.
It all started when I was in the middle of changing jobs. And, as a ritual, a bike ride is mandatory. A regular dose of the mountains is necessary to stay focused in a city like Delhi, where the word ‘chaos’ takes on a whole new meaning. And so a destination was fixed. We had some money. Time was aplenty though, and the itinerary was flexible.
We took two days to reach Manali from Delhi – something people miraculously manage in eight hours sometimes. But that’s how this ride was meant to be. And, as a principle, I never hurry things much in the mountains. I love going fast and leaning into the curves, but I never rush. Manali was as it always is – full of energy, and we found the same guesthouse that I had discovered four years ago, which was letting out rooms at the same rate as back then. So, before heading further up, we procrastinated for a day feasting on some of the delicacies – most of which would cost a small fortune in Delhi.
We left Manali on the 15th of September, and I dreaded what I usually see at Rohtang Pass – premium cars with their boots open, serving as makeshift bars, playing loud music, and generally being crass. However, distractions aside, we continued our climb and I knew that the super sticky Metzeler tyres on the KTM would keep me ahead of most of the irritants in traffic – well, for as long as the tarmac stayed black that is!
After an extended period of riding, I stopped at a chai stall and asked how far Rohtang was – to which I received a surprising look and the response, “Didn’t you just cross it?” His statement was music to my ears. But we weren’t as lucky shortly thereafter though, as we got stuck at Keylong for two long hours as the Border Roads Organisation was repairing a bridge that we had to cross in order to proceed– and so our chances of reaching Sarchu by sunset looked bleak. The silver lining, however, was the road that lay ahead – let’s just say that it was worth risking your life on! The roads around Zingzing Bar put me on top of the world. All those in their cars, and for that matter all the bikers not on Metzeler rubber, were envious of the way the bike just stormed out of the corners – as much as gravity would allow.
We hit Jispa by lunch, so making it to Sarchu didn’t seem to be a problem after all. Baralach La (pass) was traversed around 4:30pm, and by 6:30 we were inside our tents at Sarchu getting ready for a very cold night. The caretaker of the tents made the situation worse by telling us that the temperature the night before went down to minus 6 degrees. Well, I survived the night and woke up the next morning to see a bucket full of ice – that was the water with which we were meant to conduct our morning rituals. People there were nice enough, thankfully, to provide us with warm water so that we could stay alive for the second leg of our journey.
Sarchu to Pang was anything but encouraging, but I kept telling myself, “You’re going to Leh, so the journey better be tough and cold.” After an overtly sweet tea at Pang, and a half-hour stint helping two other riders with a tubeless puncture, we were on our way again. Amber asked me to hold my breath for what I was about to witness. The More plains was so much more spectacular and magnificent than I imagined it to be. The vastness of it reinforced my faith in the guy above, and the smooth tarmac that stretched before me sent my respect for the BRO (Border Roads Organisation) skyrocketing. It was as if the Duke was saying “thank you” for the next 40 odd kilometres – during which it returned a fuel efficiency figure of 38 kilometres to a litre. Soon, the geography decided to act up and the terrain took a U-turn as we crawled towards Tanglang La (pass). Crossing Tanglang La, we moved onwards to Rumtse, which was almost 65 kilometres away. A brief tea halt at Rumtse, and we were all set to reach our destination – Leh – before sunset. The road from then on, especially the one from Karu to Leh, is quite clearly frequented by the army, and we even saw a milestone that read ‘Beijing 3,444kms.’
Leh itself felt like a bigger version of old Manali to me. We decided to spend another day in Leh in order to buy all the things that I had comfortably forgotten in Delhi. The important thing, though, was that the KTM Duke 390 had performed better than expected – and the Metzelers didn’t suffer a single puncture. Plenty achieved then, I think!
The next day we left for Hunder – a tiny hamlet in the Nubra valley – famous for its double humped camels and white sand. Some important information here– Indian citizens no longer need inner line permits to travel in these parts from this year onwards. Just prove your identity, and move on.
We were now headed to the ‘world’s highest motorable pass’ – Khardung La. And, as expected, it was overhyped. I mean, people taking selfies, vomiting due to the high altitude, trying to break the queue to get their hands on a bowl of Maggi – none of it was a very pleasant sight.
Another important piece of advice, you’re as fit on a motorcycle trip as you think you are. But don’t for a minute take things for granted. The most important thing in high altitude is to make sure that you keep drinking water. We felt a little nauseated on a few occasions, but nothing serious.
Thankfully, the road from Khalsar to Hunder was a pleasant surprise. We found a fancy guesthouse in Hunder, known as the Nubra Organic Retreat. Luxury tents that had running hot water and English toilet seats. That evening was all about the cosy bonfire and the apple trees. Hunder deserved another day, and we succumbed easily.
The next morning marked the beginning of the same 1,150-kilometer journey back home – to the same chaotic life that we were attempting to escape in the first place...
Write your Comment