My ass hurts. There is a dagger between my shoulder blades that gets twisted every time I hit a pothole, which is a word that can be used to describe pretty much the entire road surface. Oh, and my hands are numb – vibrated into oblivion by the combustion engine that I’m sitting on. I’ve always said that I didn’t want to ever try riding a motorcycle. I’ve always told myself that I do enough injury prone activities already, why add another? But here I am, riding a motorcycle, up near 4000 meters above sea level; and I have to admit, it’s pretty damn fun. If I’m honest with myself though, I think the biggest reason that I never wanted to learn to ride a motorcycle is because I was afraid I’d like it this much.
Rohtang La, at 3978 meters, is one of the gateways to the high altitude desert region of Ladakh. It’s the first pass that you have to cross when you head north into the Himalaya from Manali and, while it is not the highest pass you have to cross on your way to Leh, it is the one most likely to be covered in snow and mud. A perfect introductory ride. We rented a 350cc Royal Enfield Bullet, one of the standard bikes here in India. Gina and Matthew are chugging along ahead on the Enfield while I, clad in a helmet reminiscent in shape if not paint job of Peter Fonda in Easy Rider, am riding Matthew’s 180cc Bajaj Avenger; a smaller, lighter, easier to manage bike.
The road leading out of town is paved, sort of. It reminds me of roads in West Virginia. You know the ones, with a strip of pavement in the middle that is just wide enough for one vehicle and gravel on either side of that. The idea being that you can drive along in the middle of the road, on the pavement, when there is no oncoming traffic and when you meet a car, you both put two wheels in the gravel and pass. That is how it works in theory at least. In India, there are too many vehicles and too many maniacs to allow for such order and organization. Everyone just drives as fast as they can and blasts a horn when they want to pass you, not minding that it is a blind corner cut into the side of a steep hill, when you are pretty sure that the twisted pile of metal that you can see a few hundred feet below is the burned out skeleton of a bus. No, just a honk and away they go.
We pilot the bikes away from town, switchbacking into pine forests. The road here is newly paved, a treat. Slowly the pines become smaller, more stunted, twisted by the howling wind. Then they disappear altogether, replaced by open meadows littered with stones and small cliffs. The road here is not newly paved. Hard-pack dirt, 4 inch deep sandy dust and rocky mud alternate, each pretending in turn to be the surface of a road. The trucks thunder along, their musical horns blaring, until they meet another of their kind. Slamming on the brakes, the outside truck must take his chances with the crumbling edge of the road. Still higher we climb, passing chai stands every so often. In places, the road is in a state of reconstruction – given that the pass is only open for 5 months a year, it makes you wonder if they ever stop trying to reinforce the road during the summer months.
As we near the top my excitement builds. 4000 meters above sea level, on motorcycles, and we’re still alive. Not bad for a newbie. We pull the bikes over at the top and join the throngs of Spanish, Punjabi and Israeli tourists walking to the highest point in the saddle of the pass for a view of the snowy Himalayas beyond. There are prayer flags waving from the electric poles and the chanting of Buddhist monks reaches our ears, carried on the wind. As we mount the bikes again the tiredness begins to creep in. Just like climbing, we have come up – but we still have to go down. And just like climbing, it’s the down that is the most dangerous. We take our time, focus all of our energy and make it back just as the darkness sets in – exhausted completely.
Yes, the roads in India leave much to be desired. Yes, the traffic in India is maniac. Yes, I’m probably slowly killing my mother with every word of praise I give to motorcycle riding. And yet, I can’t deny that it’s a beautiful way to travel. Good views, complete freedom to stop and go whenever you want, the ability to slip by massive queues of traffic (undoubtedly waiting on two psychedelically painted trucks who are trying to pass each other on an impossibly narrow mountain road while a shepherd deftly guides his flock down the road between them) are just a few of the benefits a motorcycle brings to the table. Plus, it’s just so much fun!
Mom, I’m sorry.
Tags: bajaj avenger, manali, motorbikes, motorcycles, Rohtang La, royal enfield
