It had been months since I had been on a ride or on a motorcycle, so my hands, butt and other associated organs of the body were itching to get the rust off of them. I called up everyone I knew in the club to ask if they would wish to accompany me on a 3 to 4 day ride to the Lahaul – Spiti valley in Himachal. None agreed. Finally, after days of nagging, whining and cajoling, I finally managed to rake in three candidates for the ride.

We were the only four members ready to ride to Spiti (I had actually decided to go to the Sach pass, but that was blocked with over 50ft of snow and had not opened yet)

Spiti, a remote region in the mountainous state of Himachal Pradesh (well… not as remote as most areas of the Lahaul valley which we obviously had to cross enroute Spiti… but oh well), is closed for the better part of the year and that’s remote enough for us!

We started from our respective homes/ offices at 6 am to meet up @ a petrol pump on the outskirts of Chandigarh. One of the participants was late due to which hunger pangs struck us about 50km enroute Manali, our destination for the day. Usually, it takes us about 10-15 hours to reach Manali after innuemerable breaks, breakdowns and pit stops but this ride was different. It was so different that I actually saw Manali at DAYTIME! In the Afternoon!! It felt weird. I felt as if I had hyperventilated. I needed to breathe into a bag. I pinched myself twice and I finally snapped back to reality!!!

But well, there was a catch though. The rain gods had decided to welcome us to Manali and we were half wet. So, the real job… Finding a room… We went to the hotel where we usually stay and surprise surprise, no rooms. We went to the one next door and they had a room. So we dried up asap and decided to go eat.
Right before we decided to move from our rooms, we met two motorcyclists from New Zealand. They had been staying in India for quite some time and had issues with their bike. I checked it and told them that it was ‘normal’. They were happy at that prospect and told us that they will catch us up for dinner

We moved to the riverside cafe for dinner and our neighbours joined us shortly. They complained about the exorbitant prices and asked us if we wanted to go to a Mexican-ish restaurant which was much cheaper. We agreed and dragged our tired butts to the other restaurant. We at our fill and decided to retire for the night.
Come dawn, we woke up, got ready, saddled up and listened to one of our co-riders’ rant. We then moved towards a petrol pump, filled up our tanks and moved towards Rohtang-Jot, the first pass on our way. We had gone halfway when we met up with some members of our riding club. They had had the good fortune of being blessed by a nail callously left on the ground. The nail decided to hide inside their tyre as it was too cold outside.

They’d tried to fill air into the tyre using their hi-fi electric pump but no to avail so I gave them my pump (why! wahayyyyy!) and decided to wait for them at a small village called Khoksar.

Khoksar is a small village in Lahaul, actually the first stopover for weary travellers on their way to Ladakh/ Lahaul. We met up with the rest of the club there and decided to wait for the guys who had our pump without realising that we could ask for a pump from the people sitting there and they could use ours. About 3 hours later, this thought struck me and I asked them, they agreed. I took a guys pump and moved onwards. I had gone about 5 kilometers when I saw that the advanced party was nowhere to be seen.

My co-rider insisted that we wait for them because he was sure that they had moved towards Manali ignoring the bright yellow/ blue sign put up by our callous government (the one that points towards Spiti, our destination). Half an hour later, I hear an infernal din emanating from my co-riders’ throat. I thought the Uruk-hai had arrived to cut us into pieces but I was wrong. It was the announcement that he had found the other two. Phew!

We moved on. By this time the clouds had started to roll in from the east. This was not a good sign. From my fogged glasses they looked like the grey fart of the pig in the ‘Jurassic Fart’ flick on Youtube.

Three gruelling kilometers hence the rains began. The clouds could not keep the rain in and decided to make us feel as uncomfortable as possible. My co-rider expressed his displeasure at this and informed us that he did not have a rain suit (At this I thought I should slap him twice across the head and tell him to go home). He said keep my bag with you and I will drive in the rain. So we did. 20 kilometers later, at Chhatru, we decided to stop before our organs shifted like the continental masses did due to the incessant shivers caused by sub-zero temperatures, the insanely cold wind and other inconveniences of nature – namely –  rain.

We found a little café (a couple of dozen stones piled on top of each other to make a wall, a few sticks to make a roof-like frame and a tarpaulin over it to make a roof) called the Chandra Dhaba.

We rejoiced. Our happiness could be comparable to the happiness felt by the Neanderthals who had just found a cave devoid of animals willing to eat them! We asked the owner and he graciously agreed to let us stay. We unpacked, took off our wet-ish clothes and decided to curl up and sleep like a hedgehog.We did just that and like a gift from the heavens, a bowl of soup appeared. We devoured it like hungry savages and waited for the next course. Out of nowhere, we heard the sound of a motorcycle. Two foreign nationals had stumbled upon the same dhaba and were quite wary of us.They wanted the cave for themselves.

We were too many for them to shoo off on their own. A few rounds of chitchat calmed them and somehow my co-rider and the others lured me into fixing their motorcycle for them. I tried the best I could and it somehow worked. They decide to make a move but came back after a few minutes. They were staying over.

An hour later, a guy on a jeep informed us that there was another rider stuck uphill whose bike had stalled and would be coming to this place too. He did, and we invited him in too, notwithstanding the angry glances from the dhabawallah who was muttering, “Oh! Great!” So there we were, four hungry Indians; two hungry, half-drenched-half-frozen Canadians and an equally-miserable Israeli motorcyclist.

We ate what was offered by the Dhabawalla and tried to sleep. I found a place at the corner and found out that the infernal wind blew in all night and made everyone nothing but uncomfortable.

I suffered the most because my sleeping bag was useless! I woke up at 4am and decided to take a walk. TAKE A WALK?? Yes. I ‘decided’ that. Even a 4-year-old, who is cold, has more brains than I did at that time. Altitude does take its toll on your brain cells.

We decided to move onwards to Batal and then Kaza (our destination for yesterday). We spent hours playing around in the snow, devouring all the good views Mother Nature offered.

It was sunny, warm-ish and just plain beautiful. My senses ran amock and so did my finger (on the camera shutter release button). I took photos like an asian tourist who had gone shutter crazy in Disneyland.

We reached Batal at 11am and decided to have breakfast – Omelettes, some kinda veggie goo and flatbreads. It somehow tasted awesome. I thought the ride was finally coming together but I was grossly mistaken! My co-rider (the one without a raincoat… ok lets call him the Man for now…) had left his bag behind (it was partially my fault, but I will blame him entirely as it’s more convenient to do so).

I nagged at him for a few minutes, he screamed back at me and we all screamed at each other for about 15 minutes, mouthing the foulest obscenities ever conceived and made some new ones while we were at it. It was good fun. The dhabawala thought it was fun too because we soon got tired and ordered more tea.

The Man decided to drive back to Chhatru and get his bag, apparently his treasure chest. It contained his mobile phone, wallet, vehicle registration papers and other assorted useful/useless stuff.
I told him he can go off on his own and I will wait for him here as it was more comfy to do so. He asked me to accompany him and I stubbornly disagreed. The way to Batal was exceedingly difficult, riddled with stones, water, mush, slush, gush and fush (snow, water, cold wind, stones and sand all at the same time in gregantouous quantities). He said, “FINE!” and went off on his own. I turned back to picking my nose and drinking the wonderful peppermint tea.

Five minutes later the dude was back. He said he was scared of going alone. Then we had another fight and I told him I will come behind him slowly. He can pick up his bag and drive back and we can go to Kaza together. He agreed and drove off really fast. I drove along slowly behind him taking pictures and talking to locals walking around thinking that oh, he might be coming back any moment screaming like a banshee. I was mistaken. After about an hour and a half, I realised that he had not come back. I took a deep breath and slapped myself mentally. Then I put the bike into the second gear and drove to Chhatru. I reached the godforsaken place in fifteen minutes to find that the Israeli dude was still sitting around smoking and basking in the sun. His bike had not started yet. I enquired about my dear fiend and was informed that the bastard had driven off with the Canadians towards Manali.

I cursed him twice and looked towards the heavens. It had turned dark just like the past day and was around the same time – it was 2pm. I mumbled, “Oh CRAP!” and started to drive back quickly. “Mother Nature’s beautiful environs can go screw themselves, its time to save my butt from the rain!” I drove rather fast and about eight kilometers from Batal, it started to snow.

Actually, it was not really snowing, it was a very annoying light spray of frozen water. I kept driving and in about three minutes I could not see anything at all. Somehow I reached the dhaba at Batal. “FINALLY!” was what I uttered. The dhabawala looked up and said, “You must go forward. It never rains much in Spiti, this will get worse here in the valley!” I heeded his advice, had some food and decided to push onwards. My head hurt, my butt was cussing at me and my hands had lost all sensation. I drove through the half-frozen road in the semi-blizzard and in about three minutes the blizzard suddenly disappeared. In a minute more, I saw the clouds under me! It was amazing! I was higher than the clouds.

Two kilometers further lay Kunzum-La and a hundred meters or so hence, was the traffic jam. A guy in a car told me that a glacier had slipped onto the road and it was not possible to go on. I decided to ignore his comment and drove on. The snow and mud was nearly knee-deep, I was off the bike, pushing it through while it were running and in gear and somehow managed to cross the muck. I sat on the bike and drove onwards.

By this time the cold and all the pushing-pulling and driving through a blizzard over broken roads had helped digest everything I had eaten and I was hungry again. Not normal-hungry but like I-have-not-eaten-in-a-week kinda hungry.

I thought food was just around the corner as Losar was nearby. I drove off again and found that Losar had nothing to offer in terms of food. All the shops were closed. The nearest restaurant would be in Kaza.

I didn’t even let the dude finish his sentence and drove off again. The road changed from a dusty valley to something like it came right out of the movie Mission Impossible 2.

It was the Grand Canyon, just not that grand. Amazing! The Spiti River had cut through this valley and made excessively beautiful hues and designs, denudation at its artistic best!

I kept driving and reached Kaza. At this point, I was so hungry that I decided to eat some of the grass on the road but then something made me go on thinking that my friends would be waiting in Kaza for me. I was wrong again. Those dudes had gone off to Tabo!

They had left a message with the petrol pump owner in Kaza about it but by the time I reached, he had gone home and forgot to tell his workers. I searched for these guys all over Kaza and finally decided to take a room on my own. I reached this hotel called the Sakya Abode and enquired about a room. They offered me one and told me that I can order dinner. I saw the menu, ordered spaghetti and told them that I had not eaten since the morning. They said rest and we will send some tea.

I have no idea what happened in the hour that passed. In a drunken stupor I had changed, lit a candle, found a quilt, covered myself and was fast asleep. The waiter woke me and said dinner was ready. I said okay and went off to sleep again. The dude didn’t give up. Ten minutes later he came back and asked me to come up for dinner before I have to cut it out of the dog’s stomach. I went up and saw spaghetti waiting for me which was steaming hot and surprisingly tasty. I finished it off, drank some more tea and stumbled back to my room. It usually takes me a while to sleep after I have dinner. This was different. I collapsed I woke up at 6am with no recollection of the dinner episode. I had completely forgotten about the events before dinner and I had forgotten to nag about my friends to myself.

I ordered breakfast and went to fuel up the bike to find that the pump opened at 9am. I cursed the dude and went back to the hotel, packed my bags, bought souvenirs, etc. and got ready for the ride ahead.At 10am I fuelled up and drove onwards to my next destination – Tabo.

In the hurry to catch up with my co-riders (who I learnt had crossed the check post an hour before me), I kept driving nonstop until I reached a small village called Nako, ate lunch and drove on.

Finally at a small village called Tapri I found a signboard titled ‘Airtel’. I screamed YIPPIE and turned on my phone. It worked. I called my parents to tell them I was in phone-able range, I called my friends and they were about 130kms ahead. I decided to drive on. About five gruelling hours of driving through mud, slush and bad roads created in the name of ‘development’, I reached Rampur. I refueled and drove on.

The moment I reached Narkanda, I snapped out of the haze and called my friends. They were 70 kilometers ahead, close to Shimla. I ate some food at a dhaba and realised that I was tired; tired beyond imagination. I had driven close to 140kms in the dark, a couple of hundred through the day and I needed a break. I found a room, told my friends to do the same and went off to sleep.

Woke up the next morning, drove straight to Chandigarh (all this while getting nagged at by my girlfriend), nearly nonstop and found that the others had reached Chandigarh at 4am. They drove on after sleeping at a dhaba for a few hours. They had rested for about three hours waiting for me and had slept for another 5.
As I write this article today, I look at the photos and the area I drove through, the worst part of the ride was being driven through twice – I see that this is an experience I will never forget and would never want to repeat. Spiti is an area which is best experienced in a ride that spans about a week with most of the time spent in Spiti itself, checking out the dozens of monasteries and, of course, the natural beauty that abounds this region.

//All the photos of the ride are available at the following URL:

http://picasaweb.google.com/djm263/SpitiExpress