"You guys from Bangalore?", asked the guy from the biker group, who had just joined us in Khoksar. We replied in affirmative but the very next question was in Kannada and the response to that gave away our ethnicity, or domicile ;).
It was pretty windy there and we decided to thump to our next destination before it would get any colder. As we rode down the arid route, the landscape changed color. From bright white on the Rohtang Pass to dusty green to brown on the slopes. And the road too from the bright bitumen color (blame my color blindness for not knowing the exact color) to grey.
We had made bookings at Jispa for our night stay and were pretty confident of making it without breaking a sweat. But it was near Tandi my bull had a sudden stop. Sonu Rajput had reminded us before we started from Manali that Keylong was our last hope of getting a bike mechanic; after which started the areas debarred of any civilization, except for the nomadic tents which are pegged only during the riding season.
A few quick kicks (personal feeling - I never trust the autostart and as the future route would prove I would use it only if it would be a matter of life or death) which literally took my breath away - the air was already thin - and the bull roared. We hopped on and raced towards Keylong going past the beautifully carved roads through the Keylong valley. Tandi, by the way, is also the last petrol pump (petrol bunk if you are a Bangalorean!) before Leh. The huge bluntly cut hills on both sides with dusty roads and a makeshift bridge connecting the two ends of the ridges was the most thrilling thing I had seen in my life. This looked straight out of a Quentin Tarantino movie set. Battling goose bumps, we crossed a narrow stream and it was then my bull hushed back to silence again. CDD, PP, SSS and I decided that we should not test our luck any more and should go back to the mechanic shop we had crossed a few kilometers back (cynically smiling as we did). A retrace would cost us some hours but it was better than getting stranded, ill-equipped, in a cold desert. Consensus was reached in a matter of seconds and after dropping the pillions at a small hotel, which served hot maggi and kachoris, we rushed to the mechanic shop.
"It is just because of the lack of oxygen here, could be because of the fuel tank lid. If it repeats just remove the lid and close it back...also don't use auto start unless it is a matter of life and death!" (my man ;)), thus spake the learned one, for whom a ride like the one we were undertaking, was a daily affair. It pulled our confidence a few notches up and we thumped back to our first maggi break. This was a rejuvenating break for us, not only for the sumptuous bhajji and chai that we had there but also for the amazing view from our dining area. It was halfway between the valley that we had to take and the snow capped mountains that we had left behind. We could afford to kill sometime as we were pretty close to Jispa.
After crossing the Tarantinoian landscape once again, we reached Jispa where our accommodation was in the tents pegged on the banks of Bhaga river. This being the first day of our ride and owing to the thinning of air while we were gaining altitude, was quite tiring. We posed for photos near our tents and walked around to let the feeling sink in. Ah! The dream ride and we had undertaken it finally.
As the sun started going down the huge mountain behind our tents we calmed our nerves and thought of taking a quick nap in our tents. It was pretty windy and we could feel the gust on the side walls of the huge tent. As soon as we crashed on our bed, fatigue got the better of us and we were almost snoring in a deep slumber.
What woke us up with a start was the loud music and people shouting and dancing! It is only in India where you find people, who move with not only their entire paraphernalia but also carry their huge music systems to dance and make merry at 10,000 ft altitude!! The loud music knocked off the sleep out of our eyes and we were left with no other option but to be spectators to a wild family dance. It could have gone well into the night but thanks to the tent management guys, who after several failed attempts at stopping this brouhaha, threatened to close down the kitchen. So we had a relatively peaceful dinner which was not short of its share of dramatics - with one member of the dancing family joining us for dinner in vest and shorts, while another loud one entertaining the dinner party with his loud talk and a fake accent.
Phew! What a night! The next day started with its share of concerns - we had to cross Baralacha La to reach vomit Hilton, Sarchu. Why vomit Hilton - 'cos according to SS this was the place where all riders are hit by AMS and vomit at least once! As if the Baralcaha La videos (never watch the youtube videos if you are planning a ride) were not scary enough, this unknown devil was hovering on us as we set out for one of the most treacherous of the La's, we were going to conquer.
As we neared Baralacha La we could sense a dip in temperature and to add to that the roads gradually became more like loose gravels placed just to keep them falling off the slopes.
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