India – Motorbiking Through Ladakh, Northern India

There are not many things that bring out a sense of freedom more than driving along a open highway on a motorbike. It's an unique feeling to crank open the throttle and experience that sudden rush of acceleration as the oncoming wind increasingly pushes you back. Adrenaline courses through your body as your senses are on edge for any upcoming dangers. There really is nothing comparable that gives you the ability to control, to exhilarate, to feel alive. So when I arrived in Leh, Northern India and found a tourist who owned a bike and then another who had rented a bike previously to explore the surrounding sights my mind started to wander. I hadn't been on a bike for, I reckon, at least 15 years. I don't have a motorbike licence. I am definitely not a great motorbike rider, average may even be pushing the boundaries. But I thought...I wanted to see many of the surrounds and being crammed in a jeep with other tourists usually meant delays and was expensive and restrictive. On the other hand there were the downsides. I had been told that the roads were of varying conditions, that there would be isolated stretches where in an accident if I got injured there could be an undesirable outcome, if I had a puncture or mechanical fault this could lead to long delays and expensive repairs, petrol stations were like snow leopards (rare and hard to find), and that some of the roads would be difficult to cross at certain times of the day as water runoff from the mountains above created fast flowing streams with uneven rocky riverbeds underneath. But in the final analysis I thought, hey if you worry about everything in life you would never be in Northern India, just take it easy and go with the flow. With that mind set I went about finding a bike. I ended up with a Royal Enfield Classic 350. With the luggage racks option I paid 1100 rupees a day, about US$15. Not bad. The other thing you need to get to visit these areas along the borders of Pakistan and China are permits that you photocopy and then give to police checkpoints along the way. You can get the original permits from travel agencies (or possibly the bike rental place) but unfortunately you need to be in a group of 2 or more to receive such permits. So, it was fortunate that Manuel and Fabian also wanted permits the same day I needed them. I never traveled with them and in fact never met them, and as far as the police were concerned I told them that one of the two had been sick and the other had stayed with him (nice considerate fella I guess). With all the groundwork done it was sayonara. And so off I went.

Derek, an Irishman who was the owner of the bike I mentioned above had decided to ride west towards the Pakistani border to a town he had previously been to a year before (most of the year he lives in Thailand but every year comes for a few months to India). The roads are some of the best in India and so I thought it would be a good place to start in honing my rusty skills. This part of my ride would be a 3 day journey and then I would continue on alone for another 7 days. Good plan. The first day (after the mandatory see a petrol station fill up) went west along the main road to Srinagar. The first thing you notice on the roads is the number of military bases scattered along the way. India has issues with both Pakistan and China and while the police make sure all permits are in place, military checkpoints closer to the borders take over and make sure tourists don't get too close to action areas where skirmishes have taken place in the past. The first day's ride was all about getting used to riding a bike again. In Leh, as we left, with all the cars, bikes and trucks buzzing around it was a survival thing. But once on the open road my focus shifted to gears, clutch and brakes and making these all automatic in my brain once again.

All of the riding on this trip took place over 3300m above sea level that removed many horsepower from the bike. The decrease in power was especially noticeable as you climbed a mountain pass of which I had 3 main ones, all above 5000m. The highest, Khardung La (4th day), being over 5600m. On 2 of these passes the roads towards the top became rocky, bumpy affairs. The pass called Chang La (Day 7, 5360m) was a killer with the front wheel of the bike jumping around and the steepness of the slope meaning momentum was a friend that needed to be looked after. Stalling would not have been good as slipping back down the gravel and rock road backwards could of ended disastrously. The upside of completing these passes was not only the relief at making it over the top with the views that came with it, but, after the easier rocky trail down the road would turn to back to asphalt ('black top' as the Indians say) and then the joy of being on a bike would come rushing back. On all of these passes the asphalt roads up to the pass on both sides were well maintained so the way down was so much fun. Left and right turns repeatedly flowing downhill. Bike leaning left, then right with a quick swing back to the left again. You get the drift. All the way down the mountains. On blind corners the mandatory horn blow occurred but, although necessary, the traffic was quite minimal. It was a lot of fast, great fun.

At the end of the day finding a place to stay was never difficult. From a very nice hotel with great views in Lamayuru to a luxury tent with bathroom attached at Pangong Lake. The people were always friendly and in the vast majority of places meals could either be bought or were included in the price. Sometimes (nearly always) a bit of bartering would be necessary to get the price down but between 600 rupees (US$8.50) and 1000rps (US$14) would always get the job done. My favorite places to stay were the homestays which as the name suggests are people's homes where they rent out rooms and provide local food as part of the price. One of the homestays, in Keshar, was so very traditional with the very large living room that was used for sleeping and the first floor toilet was a room with dirt floor with a hole in the middle of the room leading to what I thought would be called the ground floor shit room. It was in this homestay the lovely hosts continually fed me with tea and biscuits before providing a local Tibetan treat called momo's for dinner. Also in Nepal, momo's are dumplings, usually steamed but can be deep fried, that are generally filled with vegetables. Very tasty grub. In most places I stayed electricity was only turned on by the local government between 7pm and 11pm. Internet didn't exist. It usually made for earlier nights but after those long rides that really wasn't an issue.

During the days the scenery was outstanding. When not going over a pass the roads would usually follow a valley with mountains hugging you along the way, often accompanied by a river. Nearly always the river was the Indus, one of my favorites in the world, due to my memories associated with Pakistan. Sometimes the valley would spread out allowing cloud shadows to be seen over a multi-colored mountain range creating great photogenic moments (Hanley, day 9). Sunsets were special especially at the two lakes, Lakes Pangong and Moriri, which both sit at over 4,000m high. In the evening with the wind abating and the sun setting in the far corner of the lake, the doubling effect on reflections was brilliant at Lake Moriri. I went to a couple villages not often frequented by tourists. Tyaksi which sits only 10km from Pakistan is the last village on the road foreigners can visit along the Nubra valley. Most tourists will stop 10km before at Turtuk. I did get quizzical looks and was asked what I was doing there by an english speaking local. Perched high above the valley, it was a quaint village where they had channeled a stream to run through the village giving it a relaxing ambience with the sound of running water and a lot of shade from overhanging apricot trees. The other out of the way village I visited was Waris, again not far from Pakistan on a road that branched from the first. Going here was a split second decision as I wasn't sure how long the trip would take with mid-afternoon approaching. After a lot of rough roads and quite a lot of altitude gain I was glad to have made the effort. With Pakistani mountains in the distance, looking down on the village from the army checkpoint with the yellow fields of barley, ready to be harvested, contrasting with the green of adjacent fields is a fond memory I hope to keep. I liked the place so much I tried to stay the night but alas no hotels or guesthouses existed. Shame. There was a third remote village going north from Pangong lake towards China but I only made it part way up before the police caught up to me with a jeep and sent me back. Shame, should of rode faster.

Not everything was ideal on the trip though. Soft dust on some gravel tracks made going tough as your front wheel could catch and twist. Same with the stretches where sand drifts were blown onto the road (there were places with sand dunes here in the mountains). Slowing down and driving straight remedied the situation. While potholes were sometimes a concern you could usually tell if they may be around by the road condition. Not so easy were the dips they made in the road to accommodate water from the mountains above. Although made from concrete, quite often they would be hidden from view right up until the last moment and then it would take some heavy braking and changing down the gears to slow down in time. Sometimes slowing down in time was a bit late. There were no problems with speed when you were stuck behind one of the army trucks that were common in some areas. While the dust thrown up was always an issue (I always had to choose whether to put my baseball cap on to save my face from sunburn or save my lungs by putting the visor on the helmet down) the main issue here was them hogging the road when the asphalt was narrow or, if they were going uphill, the plumes of diesel that they extinguished from their exhaust. So many gulp fills of smoke this trip! Still I can't complain too much about the army. On my last day I woke knowing my fuel was very low (used my only two spare 5 liter containers the day before) and the nearest petrol station was over 120km's away. Being in a few house town (Keshar) meant I needed to go around 30km's through the mountains to the next town and hope I could sort something. The day before I had bought some petrol off a local and I hoped for a repeat. But...things got worse when not far from my start point a man came running down the hill to flag me down. When I found out that all he wanted was a lift all I could think of was that the additional weight would use more of my precious petrol. But being of the persuasive type he jumped on the back and away we went (first hitch on a bike for maybe 20 years, he was brave). We got to the town of Kiari and to my disappointment all that existed were army barracks. I gave my 'friend' the old heave ho explaining I could go no further without running out of juice. I then set about trying to find some petrol. After initial failures I came to an army supply depot and the guard after first saying no told me to wait. Over an hour later a jeep of a high ranking army officer (a lot of saluting going down) arrived and asked about my problem. Explaining he again told me to wait where I was. After another jeep arrived 3/4 of an hour later and took one of my petrol containers I knew everything should be sorted. 5 liters of petrol in my tank later I offered to pay but was politely refused. I like to think karma played a part in getting me petrol by giving that guy an initial ride. Of course, it was also the Indian army. Thanks! My last issue is ongoing. The last few days of riding involved some pretty rough and fast rippled tracks. For days after I finished I had no power between thumb and forefinger. Brushing your teeth with the wrong hand is tremendously difficult and not being able to cut your food with your knife is extremely frustrating. Even now my left hand is helping out doing things like squeezing the shampoo bottle. Oh well, it was worth it.

Oh yeah, last thing, the road signs by the road constructor (aptly named BRO) placed along the road. I don't know who thinks of them (probably a man) as a few are politically incorrect and sexist. What I would like to know is where are all he feminists in India? Where are the complaints? I am sure in the future the time will come when they will be removed but for now, rightly or wrongly, I perversely enjoyed them as they did offer some type of entertainment as to what may be written on the next one.