Anastia and I spent three incredible days in Tabo in our guesthouse on the outskirts of the village starting at a monumental mountain jutting up from the ground only a few feet away. We were sorry to leave, but like they say, all good things must come to an end, plus we had to stay on schedule -- anastia had a flight to catch only a week ahead.
The roadblock had cleared and we left for Kaza, the main city in Spiti. We reached Kaza and found a rather ordinary and small city with a lot of closed shops, on account of everyone still not back from Nako and the Dalai Lama visit. I needed oil badly for the clutch and was prepared to stay in Kaza until I found some. The one store in town with oil was closed, but Anastia managed to find out where the owner lived, and somehow went there and came back with the owner's friend and the key to the story. This is how we got oil. I thought our problems were solved.
We decided to spend the night in Kibber, an ancient city perched on a hill at 4000 meters only 20 kilometers away. We had heard a lot about Kibber being the most beautiful place in the world etc... etc... and out high expectations led us to being slightly dissapointed at the view and the village which were not so different from the other villages we had been in. Nevertheless we took one of two guesthouses, ate some indigenouse food that resembled Argentian empanadas, met a danish couple who had been living and traveling in India for nine years and who we would meet again in the next village, and slept.
In the morning we returned to Kaza and ran into none other than Mati and Gali, again. We decided to proceed to the next stop, Losar, together. Mati has a thing about riding at an absurdly slow speed and stopping no more than every 10 kilometers for five minute "bong break". I was slightly annoyed by this, as I prefer to ride long distances and stop for longer periods of time, thus keeping up the momentum and arriving faster, but I did realize that riding slow has tremendous advantages, such as taking in more of the surrounding view and noticing small things that may otherwise go by unnoticed.
During one of the breaks Mati noticed that my back tire was deflated. Suspecting a flat tire we continued on at a slow speed to see if the tire lost more air: it did. Mati inflated the tire with a hand pump and we continued on slowly. About 10 kilometers from Losar the tire exploded and I lost control of the bike which swung left and right and left and right until I finally regained control. During this experience I saw my life flash before my eyes and was sure that we were going to crash. The bike had tipped over slightly when I managed to stop it thus grazing some of the luggage on the asphalt, and the tire had popped completely out of position. Anastia was in shock which expressed itself as hysterical laughter.
Mati and Gali who were riding ahead finally returned to see what was keeping us. Mati claimed to have expertise fixing tires. We took out the wheel and then, as he attempted to remove the tube with a screwdriver, he actually managed to create more punctures in the tire! He was working hastily and with obvious frustration, and didnt heed our warnings about damaging the tube even more. Finally he got the tube out and as he inserted my spare tube, he managed to ruin it completely with the screwdriver!! I was irate but Mati took control and would not let go of fixing the tire. He had simply gone crazy and would not listen to anybody. His girlfriend looked on in horror while making him a joint to calm his nerves. Anyways by and by he then took out his own spare and ruined that too, and we were completely stuck.
Eventually they left to Losar and promised to get a jeep to pick us up. We hailed the first semi to pass and got a ride to Losar with the flat tire, hoping that someone there could fix it. The ride in the semi truck was extremely fun and a nice diversion from our motorcycle troubles. We reached Losar and discovered that there was no mechanic who could fix the tubes that were now all beyond repair due to Mati's ridiculous stubborness. If only we had taken the tire as I had wanted to Losar they could have patched up the tire without any problems. Well eventually I realized I would have to go back to Kaza to get a new tube and the next day we took a local bus back to Kaza, a 2 hour ride. The ride itself was rough but a good experience seeing all the locals, some of whom take the trip every day to get to work. We reached Kaza, and I found a local with a bike who was kind enough to take me in search of a new inner tube. Hours and hours later after much desperation and heat, we found a tube that could be repaired. But then then it couldnt and more searching was needed. I was going crazy. Finally we found a fellow israeli with a spare tube, and after much convincing, he agreed to sell it to me. We thanked him profusely, knowing that he still had a huge ride ahead of him to Kinnaur and no spare, which was a risky situation. Anastia took a jeep back to Losar while I stayed to have the tire fixed. An Englishman named Adrien was heading to Losar and I hitched a ride with him while his friend whose name I cant recall followed behind. We shot some cool videos along the way. My butt was hurting due to English Adrien's fast riding, but I didnt complain. I was starting to know the Kaza-Losar rode intimately, and the only solace to the redundant riding was that this was a particularly beautiful rode full of all kinds of majestic hills and valleys and, well, you know all those jaw dropping himalayan views.
We reached the motorcycle where I had left it in before Losar and realized, to my huge huge dismay, that two critical pieces in the wheel had popped out during the ride!!!!!! FFFUCK was what I thought and I was literally ready to abandon the bike their forever and cut my losses. I was going nuts at this point. Nothing to do but continue to Losar. Adrien amazingly offered to take me BACK to Kaza the next day again, my third time! to get the missing pieces. We left early the next day while anastia stayed behind, and I endured yet again a butt-hurting ride to Kaza with crazy english adrien. He seemed to enjoy driving fast. We got the pieces from the tire walla who had an old identical tire, and rode back to Losar, not before stopping at the Key Monastery where i had already been! but which adriend wanted to see first. I couldnt say no to someone who was doing me this fantastic favor, obviously.
Finally we got going but of course adrien had to have his only flat tire on the way!! Three hours later we continued with a half inflated new tube due to a poorly functioning hand pump and made to my bike and fixed the tire. My bike was back on track, I put some oil in, and rode to Losar slowly. It was about four in the afternoon and having lost three days in Losar, we decided to continue with English Adrien to Chandra Tal, our next stop. This of course was unwise, seeing as how we'd heard that from Losar and onwards was the worst part of the Spiti Kinnaur rodes and we would hit darkness in a few hours, but we decided that in the worst case we'd camp with Adrien who had full camping gear. His buddy had already left Losar so it was just the three of us.
We rode through very bad rocky and muddy roads and reached Kanzum La, one of the high passes in Spiti. From here we reached a turn off from the main road to manali which heads to Chandra Tal, a lake in the middle of the mountains at 4200 meters of which we'd heard so much about.
Sunday, September 30, 2007
Wednesday, September 26, 2007
Kalpa
We rode the eight kilometers up to Kalpa from Rekong Peu and found the first decent guesthouse called Parvati guesthouse. Their we met Gali and Mati, two serious acid heads in their late twenties on their fourth trip to India. We sat with them and heard stories about various acid trip they had taken in random spots all around the world.
The next day Anastia and I took the bike down to Rekong Peu, though the bike stalled on the way and we had to push it through mud and seek help from Kalpa locals, most of whom are usually dressed in traditional green hats and brown frocks.
The next few days were spending the mornings at the mechanics trying to figure out what the hell the problem with my bike was, becoming convinced the mechanic had no idea how to fix the bike and was making up random solutions on the spot that made no sense just to get me out of there, and the afternoons, smoking with Mati, talking shop, lounging about and enjoying the stunning view of the tallest peak in this area (mount Kailish, 6500 meters). The weather couldnt have been better, and tourists were generally not around as the road from Manali was roadblocked and most had turned back. The food was surprisingly good at the guesthouse, run by Raj, a man in his thirties who cooked all the food himself. We ate thali usually, but the beans were of a different variety every night!
After four or five days and enough confidence that our bike would make it to the next stop, we decided to head out. We had this annoying oil leak that just couldnt be fixed, but the mechanic had fixed some cable and the bike seemed to be running better than before. We prayed we wouldnt get stuck on the way.
We made our way through and through the windy hills that slowly turned more barren and sandy, and also more beautiful, and decided our next stop was Chango. We reached Nako by evening, about 20 kilometers before Chango, and the Dhali Lama's stop for the next day. We wanted to sleep in Nako but the DL's visit was causing problems for us: all the guesthouses were full, literally. We decided to take our chances and head for Chango in the dark...whats the worst that could happen? The bike was underperforming again due to who knows what, and we rode slowly. Eventually we reached an uphill muddy slope and the bike stalled. I tried to start but nothing happened, and then it started raining, and then it got cold. We thought about what we could do, and then decided to hitch a ride to Chango and come back for the bike in the morning. After a few futile attempts, a jeep stopped for us and we headed for Chango. Right after where we stalled was a landslide area with a deep river to cross, and jeep handled it poorly. Driving in a jeep at night is scarier than many things I'd experienced, and when two jeep cross on a narrow dirt rode with a steep cliff on one side, theres many reason to close your eyes and pray.
We made it to Chango only to learn from the police at the entrance to town that everybody went to Nako to see the DL and that only one guesthouse was open two kilometers earlier. One of the policeman recognized us from Rekong Peu, he had almost given me a ticket for riding without a helmet, but warmed up to us and convinced the jeep driver to take us back to the guesthouse. We arrived, and were told we could sleep but would have to leave by six am because the whole family was going to Nako in the morning. We ate a dinner of leftover spinach and chapati and went to sleep. In the morning we took a jeep taxi back to the bike and managed to start it.
We crossed the precarious river, one of the hardest on this trip, and continued our journey, slowly. The bike was performing poorly, and I had to stop to refill oil in the clutch box from time to time. Nevertheless we still enjoyed the increasingly amazing views and took tons of photos. Eventually we reached Chango again, passed and continued on to Tabo.
We reached Tabo and had no choice by to stay there and not proceed to Kaza because a landslide up ahead had blocked the road and wouldnt be cleared until the next day. We ended up staying in Tabo for three days in one of the best guesthouses we'd been. We found Gali and Mati there also and we slacked off with them, building a homemade bong and chatting with Tenseen most of the time, the guesthouse owner from Manali. We had entered the Spiti Valley, and we were nearing Kaza, where I was sure to find a good mechanic.
I didnt have more oil and was worried about riding to Kaza without reserve oil, but Tabo, like Chango, was empty and the stores were closed, on account of everyone fleeing to see the DL in Nako. In Spiti everyone is Buddhist, but they are not considered Tibetan, rather they have their own Spitten culture, just like the Ladakhies and the Kinnauris.
We left for Kaza after a few extremely pleasant days in Tabo.
The next day Anastia and I took the bike down to Rekong Peu, though the bike stalled on the way and we had to push it through mud and seek help from Kalpa locals, most of whom are usually dressed in traditional green hats and brown frocks.
The next few days were spending the mornings at the mechanics trying to figure out what the hell the problem with my bike was, becoming convinced the mechanic had no idea how to fix the bike and was making up random solutions on the spot that made no sense just to get me out of there, and the afternoons, smoking with Mati, talking shop, lounging about and enjoying the stunning view of the tallest peak in this area (mount Kailish, 6500 meters). The weather couldnt have been better, and tourists were generally not around as the road from Manali was roadblocked and most had turned back. The food was surprisingly good at the guesthouse, run by Raj, a man in his thirties who cooked all the food himself. We ate thali usually, but the beans were of a different variety every night!
After four or five days and enough confidence that our bike would make it to the next stop, we decided to head out. We had this annoying oil leak that just couldnt be fixed, but the mechanic had fixed some cable and the bike seemed to be running better than before. We prayed we wouldnt get stuck on the way.
We made our way through and through the windy hills that slowly turned more barren and sandy, and also more beautiful, and decided our next stop was Chango. We reached Nako by evening, about 20 kilometers before Chango, and the Dhali Lama's stop for the next day. We wanted to sleep in Nako but the DL's visit was causing problems for us: all the guesthouses were full, literally. We decided to take our chances and head for Chango in the dark...whats the worst that could happen? The bike was underperforming again due to who knows what, and we rode slowly. Eventually we reached an uphill muddy slope and the bike stalled. I tried to start but nothing happened, and then it started raining, and then it got cold. We thought about what we could do, and then decided to hitch a ride to Chango and come back for the bike in the morning. After a few futile attempts, a jeep stopped for us and we headed for Chango. Right after where we stalled was a landslide area with a deep river to cross, and jeep handled it poorly. Driving in a jeep at night is scarier than many things I'd experienced, and when two jeep cross on a narrow dirt rode with a steep cliff on one side, theres many reason to close your eyes and pray.
We made it to Chango only to learn from the police at the entrance to town that everybody went to Nako to see the DL and that only one guesthouse was open two kilometers earlier. One of the policeman recognized us from Rekong Peu, he had almost given me a ticket for riding without a helmet, but warmed up to us and convinced the jeep driver to take us back to the guesthouse. We arrived, and were told we could sleep but would have to leave by six am because the whole family was going to Nako in the morning. We ate a dinner of leftover spinach and chapati and went to sleep. In the morning we took a jeep taxi back to the bike and managed to start it.
We crossed the precarious river, one of the hardest on this trip, and continued our journey, slowly. The bike was performing poorly, and I had to stop to refill oil in the clutch box from time to time. Nevertheless we still enjoyed the increasingly amazing views and took tons of photos. Eventually we reached Chango again, passed and continued on to Tabo.
We reached Tabo and had no choice by to stay there and not proceed to Kaza because a landslide up ahead had blocked the road and wouldnt be cleared until the next day. We ended up staying in Tabo for three days in one of the best guesthouses we'd been. We found Gali and Mati there also and we slacked off with them, building a homemade bong and chatting with Tenseen most of the time, the guesthouse owner from Manali. We had entered the Spiti Valley, and we were nearing Kaza, where I was sure to find a good mechanic.
I didnt have more oil and was worried about riding to Kaza without reserve oil, but Tabo, like Chango, was empty and the stores were closed, on account of everyone fleeing to see the DL in Nako. In Spiti everyone is Buddhist, but they are not considered Tibetan, rather they have their own Spitten culture, just like the Ladakhies and the Kinnauris.
We left for Kaza after a few extremely pleasant days in Tabo.
Wednesday, September 19, 2007
Kinnaur
Hey!! Im back in Israel now and Ive got pleeeenty of time to finish up my big india story...
Right, so I was in Manali with a bike problem. We rolled down the hill from where we stalled and when we got back to the start of Manali the road stopped going down. I told Anastia to wait while I went to find the nearest mechanic. I ran, and I sweated but I was determined to leave Manali the same day being as it was raining and all and I hate the rain. I finally reached a shop and the mechanic came back with me and we pushed the bike manual style.
I won't bore you readers with the boring details, but suffice it to say we spent the entire day at that shop with a couple mechanics who, I realized later, knew jack shit about enfields and how to fix them. The problem, I was told, was electrical. Later, after changing some parts that actually didnt need to be changed, the problem was boiled down to a busted alternator. OK. So fix this shit and lets get out of here! But no, they werent sure of what they were doing and had to call in another mechanic named Sonny who apparently is quite a famous mechanic! They fixed the problem but it was too late to leave. Also the spring for the kick start broke while they were fixing the other problems. blah blah blah.
We drove back to our guesthouse frustrated but then surprised to run into our friends who were supposed to also have gone to Spiti via Rhotang Pass in a jeep. As it turned out there was a massive landslide that made passing to Spiti impossible, and we were lucky we hadnt proceeded further, as we would have had to turn back to Manali anyways, as they had iin the jeep. Plans were delayed for a day and we would set out the next day.
The road was blocked again the next day and while the group abandoned Spiti-Kinnaur, Anastia and I were determined to make it. We had to do some more stuff in the shop of Sonny and Bonny, fix the spring for the kickstart and Sonny showed me that the chain itself was completely fucked and had to be replaced due to the poor workmanship of a Kashmiri mechanic who had put the new chain on without centering it. I had to put in a new chain, and I had him put new shocks in the back too because they were worn out completely and with Anastia on the back I wanted to make sure the shocks wouldnt explode in the middle of the mountains! This took a whole day and so we were delayed yet again. We also decided, since the road block to spiti, that we would head south to Kinnaur first, and then go up to Spiti and Lahaul and come back to Manali. This is the same thing we were planning just the other way around. By the time we got to Spiti the road would be repaired.
The following morning we took off to Kinnaur. We were on our way! Hurrah!
The first part of the trip out of Manali was fast and familiar to me, as I had ridden this way earlier in the trip on the way to Kasol from Manali. We reached Aut and turned off into the hills towards Chail Chowk. We road thru low windy hills covered in green and reached Chail Chowk where we ate dirty thali and found that bottled water was simply unavailable. We continued, thirsty and drank at our own risk from a random stream on the way.
I realized at this point that I had oil dripping from the clutch box. Shit! Not a good way to start the trip into what is commonly known as the toughest road in India! Sonny had told us quite clearly that the Spiti Lahaul part is the hardest road to navigate in all of India, even more than the manali Leh road.
We reached Karsog, a small beautiful village and took a nice room with a balcony and amazing view. We had bought a bottle of sketchy Indian whisky in Manali and sat drinking all night long on the balcony.
The next day we continued and were determined to make it to Kalpa, a small village a few kilometers from Recong Peu, the main village of Kinnaur Valley. Our determination didnt mean we'd make it however, as the oil leak got worse and the bike stalled a few times. The first time it stalled near a waterfall we were drooling over but we managed to jump start on slope. I was rather pissed that my bike was having problems after having been to Sonny and Bonny and demanding that they do whatever necessary to prepare my bike for the trip. My bike was failing me and we weren't even in Kinnaur yet!
the bike stalled again on a sandy dirt road in the middle of the day in scorching weather and I started cursing every member of Sonny and Bonny's family each time I tried to kickstart and nothing happened. Anastia was also pissed and we had to push the bike for some time in mud and dirt. It sucked big time! I thought it was over, we were stuck forever, I was gonna ditch the bike and become a homeless vegetarian nomad and make russian kids with anastia, but then the bike started all of a sudden and we continued to Luri. Luri was a hellish village mainly because of the hellish heat. I tried to find a mechanic but none was available in the village that ran for no more than 200 meters. The oil leak was getting worse and I tried to figure out what the problem was but couldnt figure it out. The bike was sputtering a bit and obviously something was not working right.
We left Luri and I prayed we'd make it to Rampur, a rather big city where a mechanic could help me out. We arrived and suffice it to say that by the next day, after a good nights sleep in a fine hotel on a majestic river and 700 ruppees in a mechanics pocket we left. The problem was the starting switch or something in the alternator again and the mechanic fixed it. Before we left though he took me to wash my bike and then see the building he owned. I smoked a joint with him and the contractor which was awesome. He had also claimed to fix the oil leak.
The bike was riding great now, but 20 kilometers later I realized I still had an oil leak! I called the same mechanic who rode out to meet us and temporarily fixed the problem. Somebody stole one of my gloves and we continued. We just wanted to get to Kalpa and relax!
After Rampur, which is on a fairly main highway, we again entered the mountains and headed for Recong Peu. The views were familiar to me as were back in Uttaranchal where I was in the beginning of the trip: mossy and bushy green mountains and verdant valleys with gushing rivers: amazing. And at least we had great weather now. No rain, no scorching heat, just perfect. We hit a couple stretches of bad road but nothing like what I had seen up in Ladakh. The 40 kilometers of road before Recong Peu were bad due to construction being done on the roads. The road up here was fairly decent for a place lacking in traffic and people. It would stay fairly decent until Spiti. We finally reached Recong Peu at night and drove up to Kalpa to a guesthouse and passed out immediately.
Right, so I was in Manali with a bike problem. We rolled down the hill from where we stalled and when we got back to the start of Manali the road stopped going down. I told Anastia to wait while I went to find the nearest mechanic. I ran, and I sweated but I was determined to leave Manali the same day being as it was raining and all and I hate the rain. I finally reached a shop and the mechanic came back with me and we pushed the bike manual style.
I won't bore you readers with the boring details, but suffice it to say we spent the entire day at that shop with a couple mechanics who, I realized later, knew jack shit about enfields and how to fix them. The problem, I was told, was electrical. Later, after changing some parts that actually didnt need to be changed, the problem was boiled down to a busted alternator. OK. So fix this shit and lets get out of here! But no, they werent sure of what they were doing and had to call in another mechanic named Sonny who apparently is quite a famous mechanic! They fixed the problem but it was too late to leave. Also the spring for the kick start broke while they were fixing the other problems. blah blah blah.
We drove back to our guesthouse frustrated but then surprised to run into our friends who were supposed to also have gone to Spiti via Rhotang Pass in a jeep. As it turned out there was a massive landslide that made passing to Spiti impossible, and we were lucky we hadnt proceeded further, as we would have had to turn back to Manali anyways, as they had iin the jeep. Plans were delayed for a day and we would set out the next day.
The road was blocked again the next day and while the group abandoned Spiti-Kinnaur, Anastia and I were determined to make it. We had to do some more stuff in the shop of Sonny and Bonny, fix the spring for the kickstart and Sonny showed me that the chain itself was completely fucked and had to be replaced due to the poor workmanship of a Kashmiri mechanic who had put the new chain on without centering it. I had to put in a new chain, and I had him put new shocks in the back too because they were worn out completely and with Anastia on the back I wanted to make sure the shocks wouldnt explode in the middle of the mountains! This took a whole day and so we were delayed yet again. We also decided, since the road block to spiti, that we would head south to Kinnaur first, and then go up to Spiti and Lahaul and come back to Manali. This is the same thing we were planning just the other way around. By the time we got to Spiti the road would be repaired.
The following morning we took off to Kinnaur. We were on our way! Hurrah!
The first part of the trip out of Manali was fast and familiar to me, as I had ridden this way earlier in the trip on the way to Kasol from Manali. We reached Aut and turned off into the hills towards Chail Chowk. We road thru low windy hills covered in green and reached Chail Chowk where we ate dirty thali and found that bottled water was simply unavailable. We continued, thirsty and drank at our own risk from a random stream on the way.
I realized at this point that I had oil dripping from the clutch box. Shit! Not a good way to start the trip into what is commonly known as the toughest road in India! Sonny had told us quite clearly that the Spiti Lahaul part is the hardest road to navigate in all of India, even more than the manali Leh road.
We reached Karsog, a small beautiful village and took a nice room with a balcony and amazing view. We had bought a bottle of sketchy Indian whisky in Manali and sat drinking all night long on the balcony.
The next day we continued and were determined to make it to Kalpa, a small village a few kilometers from Recong Peu, the main village of Kinnaur Valley. Our determination didnt mean we'd make it however, as the oil leak got worse and the bike stalled a few times. The first time it stalled near a waterfall we were drooling over but we managed to jump start on slope. I was rather pissed that my bike was having problems after having been to Sonny and Bonny and demanding that they do whatever necessary to prepare my bike for the trip. My bike was failing me and we weren't even in Kinnaur yet!
the bike stalled again on a sandy dirt road in the middle of the day in scorching weather and I started cursing every member of Sonny and Bonny's family each time I tried to kickstart and nothing happened. Anastia was also pissed and we had to push the bike for some time in mud and dirt. It sucked big time! I thought it was over, we were stuck forever, I was gonna ditch the bike and become a homeless vegetarian nomad and make russian kids with anastia, but then the bike started all of a sudden and we continued to Luri. Luri was a hellish village mainly because of the hellish heat. I tried to find a mechanic but none was available in the village that ran for no more than 200 meters. The oil leak was getting worse and I tried to figure out what the problem was but couldnt figure it out. The bike was sputtering a bit and obviously something was not working right.
We left Luri and I prayed we'd make it to Rampur, a rather big city where a mechanic could help me out. We arrived and suffice it to say that by the next day, after a good nights sleep in a fine hotel on a majestic river and 700 ruppees in a mechanics pocket we left. The problem was the starting switch or something in the alternator again and the mechanic fixed it. Before we left though he took me to wash my bike and then see the building he owned. I smoked a joint with him and the contractor which was awesome. He had also claimed to fix the oil leak.
The bike was riding great now, but 20 kilometers later I realized I still had an oil leak! I called the same mechanic who rode out to meet us and temporarily fixed the problem. Somebody stole one of my gloves and we continued. We just wanted to get to Kalpa and relax!
After Rampur, which is on a fairly main highway, we again entered the mountains and headed for Recong Peu. The views were familiar to me as were back in Uttaranchal where I was in the beginning of the trip: mossy and bushy green mountains and verdant valleys with gushing rivers: amazing. And at least we had great weather now. No rain, no scorching heat, just perfect. We hit a couple stretches of bad road but nothing like what I had seen up in Ladakh. The 40 kilometers of road before Recong Peu were bad due to construction being done on the roads. The road up here was fairly decent for a place lacking in traffic and people. It would stay fairly decent until Spiti. We finally reached Recong Peu at night and drove up to Kalpa to a guesthouse and passed out immediately.
Friday, September 14, 2007
Manali Again
Im back in Delhi waiting for a few days for my flight and I realized i havent written in my blog for nearly a month and so much has happened! Where do i start?
I arrived in Manali after the crazy Leh to Manali adventure that basically changed my life and the way I think about things in general. If I didnt get the message across in my earlier post, the ride was like travelling on another planet, probably mercury, though I wouldnt really know. Huge mountains, deep valleys, incandescent sunshine and no people make for surreal surroundings. The whole trip I was cursing myself for not buying a good camera, and now I was missing incredible photo opportunities. Oh well.
Anyways back in Manali I took a room at the Mountain Diew guesthouse and was shocked at my appearance when I glanced in the mirror. I was black, literally, from all the dust and sand on the road, and where my sunglasses used to sit were now two large white holes surrounding my eyes in a sea of ash. I was too weary to take a shower just yet, and walked around in the village, immediately meeting a host of friends from Leh and Kashmir. They had trouble recognizing me as my face was still black, despite some attempts to wash myself at the sink. My pants were covered in mud also and the internet guy thought twice before letting me sit down at the computer to check my mail.
I ran into Asher and Anastia here. Asher left the next day to Rishikish on the bike I had helped him buy and which he was now desperately trying to sell. I spent the next few days with Anastia and a new group of people she met in manali in the two weeks she had already been there. Among them were a flamboyant fashion designer, two young ethiopian israeli girls from netanya, a couple generic hippies, a lonely American named Lloyd from Louisiana whom everyone despised, and an Israeli-russian immigrant like Anastia who I just ran into again here in delhi yesterday. These few days were a recovery period for me from the crazy leh-manali trip that wore me out, and I spent the days relaxing, updating my blog and eating good food.
This group devised a plan to visit Spiti-Kinnaur, two adjacent valleys east of Manali that, like Leh, are closed eight months out of the year. The ride from Manali to Kinnaur and then Spiti leads back to Manali in a practical loop and makes for a perfect circuit trip. I was offered to join the group in a jeep expedition costing a small fortune but decided I would follow on my own bike. I had heard about Spiti Kinnaur but originally had little intention of doing this, as Olik and I had already decided to meet and ride to Nepal together- i was to wait for him in Manali. Olik however failed to arrive by his proposed date and I decided to go to Spiti Kinnaur and postpone Nepal for a few days, until I arrived back to Manali. I thought the trip would only take five days. Anastia and I were together quite a lot in Manali and she asked to join me on the bike, which I decided was an awesome idea since not only would I be splitting gas money, but Id have a pretty russian blonde at my disposal in case we got stuck in the mountains at night and needed to hitch a ride (two things that ended up happening).
I informed Olik that Id be meeting him later than intended which was fine because he notified me that he'd gotten sick and was staying in Leh for a few more days, and we left on Sunday morning, hungover after a long night of drinking. I had replaced a broken accelerator cable on the bike but did little more before leaving for Spiti as I had already serviced the bike in Leh and figured it was good for the journey. I was wrong. ten kilometers into the trip to Spiti via the Rhotang pass which I had just come down from on the way from Leh, the bike stalled. I checked everything I could think of, and a few indians on enfields also stopped to offer advice. They concluded the problem was electrical and I had no other choice but to turn the bike around and head back down the hill in neutral hoping to find a mechanic.
I arrived in Manali after the crazy Leh to Manali adventure that basically changed my life and the way I think about things in general. If I didnt get the message across in my earlier post, the ride was like travelling on another planet, probably mercury, though I wouldnt really know. Huge mountains, deep valleys, incandescent sunshine and no people make for surreal surroundings. The whole trip I was cursing myself for not buying a good camera, and now I was missing incredible photo opportunities. Oh well.
Anyways back in Manali I took a room at the Mountain Diew guesthouse and was shocked at my appearance when I glanced in the mirror. I was black, literally, from all the dust and sand on the road, and where my sunglasses used to sit were now two large white holes surrounding my eyes in a sea of ash. I was too weary to take a shower just yet, and walked around in the village, immediately meeting a host of friends from Leh and Kashmir. They had trouble recognizing me as my face was still black, despite some attempts to wash myself at the sink. My pants were covered in mud also and the internet guy thought twice before letting me sit down at the computer to check my mail.
I ran into Asher and Anastia here. Asher left the next day to Rishikish on the bike I had helped him buy and which he was now desperately trying to sell. I spent the next few days with Anastia and a new group of people she met in manali in the two weeks she had already been there. Among them were a flamboyant fashion designer, two young ethiopian israeli girls from netanya, a couple generic hippies, a lonely American named Lloyd from Louisiana whom everyone despised, and an Israeli-russian immigrant like Anastia who I just ran into again here in delhi yesterday. These few days were a recovery period for me from the crazy leh-manali trip that wore me out, and I spent the days relaxing, updating my blog and eating good food.
This group devised a plan to visit Spiti-Kinnaur, two adjacent valleys east of Manali that, like Leh, are closed eight months out of the year. The ride from Manali to Kinnaur and then Spiti leads back to Manali in a practical loop and makes for a perfect circuit trip. I was offered to join the group in a jeep expedition costing a small fortune but decided I would follow on my own bike. I had heard about Spiti Kinnaur but originally had little intention of doing this, as Olik and I had already decided to meet and ride to Nepal together- i was to wait for him in Manali. Olik however failed to arrive by his proposed date and I decided to go to Spiti Kinnaur and postpone Nepal for a few days, until I arrived back to Manali. I thought the trip would only take five days. Anastia and I were together quite a lot in Manali and she asked to join me on the bike, which I decided was an awesome idea since not only would I be splitting gas money, but Id have a pretty russian blonde at my disposal in case we got stuck in the mountains at night and needed to hitch a ride (two things that ended up happening).
I informed Olik that Id be meeting him later than intended which was fine because he notified me that he'd gotten sick and was staying in Leh for a few more days, and we left on Sunday morning, hungover after a long night of drinking. I had replaced a broken accelerator cable on the bike but did little more before leaving for Spiti as I had already serviced the bike in Leh and figured it was good for the journey. I was wrong. ten kilometers into the trip to Spiti via the Rhotang pass which I had just come down from on the way from Leh, the bike stalled. I checked everything I could think of, and a few indians on enfields also stopped to offer advice. They concluded the problem was electrical and I had no other choice but to turn the bike around and head back down the hill in neutral hoping to find a mechanic.
Monday, September 3, 2007
Leh-Manali Part Two
I slept in Sarchu inside a dilapidated one room tent serving fried noodles all night long to weary truck drivers. I slept in my clothing under a foot thick woolen blankets often supplied in cheap tents at high altitudes where no other guesthouses are available.
I left early in the morning with all the refreshed drivers and after dawning every article of clothing and covering m face with the pashmina started the long journey to manali. The sun rose behind me as I started down the road out of teh Sarchu valley and lit up teh entire mountain range before me. I began climbing to the second of teh passes I was to conquer and was stunned by the expanding range before me, climbing higher and higher. The mountains here were simply huge, and more than ever I felt like a space adventurer travelling on some forbidden far off planet. I saw more and more green, especially of the mossy variety - no trees, and the sun created so many shades of green and gold that I had to stop a few times just to take in all this beauty. Undoubtedy I was in one of the top contenders for most beautiful place on earth.
The road itself was surprisingly decent. With all the talk about the Leh-Manali being the hardest road in the world, having to climb three passes, ride through rivers, sand and mud, brave violent snow, rain, thunder, lightning and even dodge landslides, I was finding teh ride quite easy, even comfortable. Mostly asphalt, the road was broken in some places, and some stretches were rocky and sandy, but no big bolders bulging out of the road, no seriously steep hills, no potholes. The weather was perfect, I couldnt be luckier travelling alone on the worlds most dangerous road.
I reached a valley with a few dhabas and had an aloo parantha with egg and tea while drooling over the mountains climbing high over the river next to me. I continued to Keylong, driving through more and more greener mountains again ascending higher and higher over the widening river below. At certain points I found myself riding on narrow roads high near the mountain peaks at nearly 4500 meters, and down below one could see only a deepening void, far far away.
I reached Keylong and drove through the city, deciding whether or not to spend the night. While the city was pleasant enough, and teh views from the guesthouses amazing, I decided against staying since it was only eleven. I had the whole day and only 100 km to Manali. If the road was good I could make it by three.
I took a short break after Keylong and hiked up to a nice view point and drooled some more over the vista before me. The ranges were starting to look more like the mountains in Manali now.
I road and road and road an road on more high windy roads and eventually reached the most trying of hurdles. Before me was an actual river ON the road, flowing towards me. The road turned into giant boulders adn a river came from the right, flowed on the road for 20 meters, adn continued off to the left. I looked for a way around but found none. I went for it. The bike struggled against the strong flow and sharp boulders, heaving this way and that, nearly falling over. Both feet completely in the water, exhaust fumes rising fast with steam as the bike in first gear struggles against the current. Surely the other way is easier. Eventually I made to the end and breathed a weary but proud sigh of relief - I made it.
After this the road to Rhotang Pass was more of the same. I past the turn off to Spiti which I was to actually arrive from a few weeks later. After this turn I found myself entering a thickening fog. Up at Rhotang Pass, where a few months earlier I had seen Indians sledding and riding ponies on icy slopes, a heavy cloud submerged everything, and suddently I could see only two meters ahead of me. Nothing looked familiar, because I could see nothing. The cloud brought dew which created mud on the road. The road up here, like most passes, is unfinished adn the sand turns to mud in rainy conditions. I road slowly with my high beams on for a few kilometers down the Manali side of Rhotang pass and honked enthusiastically to any oncoming traffic, which appeared before me like ghosts coming out of dark clouds.
Eventually the cloud subsided and I saw once again the view familiar to me from my ascent to Rhotang a few months earlier which ended in one week of miserable altitude illness adn food poisening. I rode on, excited about getting to Manali in one piece, but still i had one more challenge ahead of me. A landslide had knocked out a couple kilometers of road a few months earlier and work was being done on the road. Teh rain had turned this entire stretch into thick, soupy mud and a semi had gotten stuck, creating a huge traffic jam. I rode through the mud slowly with two muddy feet on the ground. I tried to pass a truck on the right because there was no room on the left, and found myself riding seriously close to the edge on slippery terrain. I chastised myself for this, and asked an Indian man to push me back onto the road. I continued in the mud and in an instant saw the bike topple over into the mud. It slipped. I picked it up and continued. The same thing happened again two minutes later, to the amusemetn of some Indians who came to me and told me to stop using the front brake in the mud. I took their advice and continued on to Manali without any more incidents.
I left early in the morning with all the refreshed drivers and after dawning every article of clothing and covering m face with the pashmina started the long journey to manali. The sun rose behind me as I started down the road out of teh Sarchu valley and lit up teh entire mountain range before me. I began climbing to the second of teh passes I was to conquer and was stunned by the expanding range before me, climbing higher and higher. The mountains here were simply huge, and more than ever I felt like a space adventurer travelling on some forbidden far off planet. I saw more and more green, especially of the mossy variety - no trees, and the sun created so many shades of green and gold that I had to stop a few times just to take in all this beauty. Undoubtedy I was in one of the top contenders for most beautiful place on earth.
The road itself was surprisingly decent. With all the talk about the Leh-Manali being the hardest road in the world, having to climb three passes, ride through rivers, sand and mud, brave violent snow, rain, thunder, lightning and even dodge landslides, I was finding teh ride quite easy, even comfortable. Mostly asphalt, the road was broken in some places, and some stretches were rocky and sandy, but no big bolders bulging out of the road, no seriously steep hills, no potholes. The weather was perfect, I couldnt be luckier travelling alone on the worlds most dangerous road.
I reached a valley with a few dhabas and had an aloo parantha with egg and tea while drooling over the mountains climbing high over the river next to me. I continued to Keylong, driving through more and more greener mountains again ascending higher and higher over the widening river below. At certain points I found myself riding on narrow roads high near the mountain peaks at nearly 4500 meters, and down below one could see only a deepening void, far far away.
I reached Keylong and drove through the city, deciding whether or not to spend the night. While the city was pleasant enough, and teh views from the guesthouses amazing, I decided against staying since it was only eleven. I had the whole day and only 100 km to Manali. If the road was good I could make it by three.
I took a short break after Keylong and hiked up to a nice view point and drooled some more over the vista before me. The ranges were starting to look more like the mountains in Manali now.
I road and road and road an road on more high windy roads and eventually reached the most trying of hurdles. Before me was an actual river ON the road, flowing towards me. The road turned into giant boulders adn a river came from the right, flowed on the road for 20 meters, adn continued off to the left. I looked for a way around but found none. I went for it. The bike struggled against the strong flow and sharp boulders, heaving this way and that, nearly falling over. Both feet completely in the water, exhaust fumes rising fast with steam as the bike in first gear struggles against the current. Surely the other way is easier. Eventually I made to the end and breathed a weary but proud sigh of relief - I made it.
After this the road to Rhotang Pass was more of the same. I past the turn off to Spiti which I was to actually arrive from a few weeks later. After this turn I found myself entering a thickening fog. Up at Rhotang Pass, where a few months earlier I had seen Indians sledding and riding ponies on icy slopes, a heavy cloud submerged everything, and suddently I could see only two meters ahead of me. Nothing looked familiar, because I could see nothing. The cloud brought dew which created mud on the road. The road up here, like most passes, is unfinished adn the sand turns to mud in rainy conditions. I road slowly with my high beams on for a few kilometers down the Manali side of Rhotang pass and honked enthusiastically to any oncoming traffic, which appeared before me like ghosts coming out of dark clouds.
Eventually the cloud subsided and I saw once again the view familiar to me from my ascent to Rhotang a few months earlier which ended in one week of miserable altitude illness adn food poisening. I rode on, excited about getting to Manali in one piece, but still i had one more challenge ahead of me. A landslide had knocked out a couple kilometers of road a few months earlier and work was being done on the road. Teh rain had turned this entire stretch into thick, soupy mud and a semi had gotten stuck, creating a huge traffic jam. I rode through the mud slowly with two muddy feet on the ground. I tried to pass a truck on the right because there was no room on the left, and found myself riding seriously close to the edge on slippery terrain. I chastised myself for this, and asked an Indian man to push me back onto the road. I continued in the mud and in an instant saw the bike topple over into the mud. It slipped. I picked it up and continued. The same thing happened again two minutes later, to the amusemetn of some Indians who came to me and told me to stop using the front brake in the mud. I took their advice and continued on to Manali without any more incidents.
Saturday, September 1, 2007
Leh-Manali
I left Leh early in the morning after a quick breakfast with Olik who insisted I wake him before I left. A couple croissants later I was rolling down the major rode to Manali. I quickly began witnessing the impressive scenery that was to hold my attention for the next two full days. The journey began with large golden hills flanking each side, and a river flowing between them on my left. I was swept away by the grandeur of the mountains and stopped after a couple hours at a lone tea tent. I continued up into the mountains to the first of three passes I was to cross on my way to Manali. As the road ascended it also became less driveable (as is often the case) and my bike stalled in a muddy work zone next to a small group of tar-covered migrant workers from Calcutta or Bombay. After a brief panic I remembered what I had scene a mechanic do in a similar situation: change the spark plug. If the bike doesnt start, says the general wisdom, check the plug. I had a spare with me and copied the procedure I had scene the mechanic carry out, and after all was done and ready, the bike started. The tar covered workers were all impressed with my technical abilities, and I rode off in high spirits, having actually fixed my own vehicle for the first time in my life, and that, in the middle of the fucking himalayas!
I continued and rode through the pass, one of the highest in the world at about 4700 meters. I was at this point regretting not buying a new camera before the trip, because my camera was not working and I was riding alone, therefore no pics. And this is the most amazing place in the world damnit! At the pass a group of jeep drivers helped me fix a noise problem caused by my carelessly connected leg gaurds.
I continued down the southern side of this amazing pass (what's its name?) and came to a plateau with a river and a impassable bridge. A truck itself was sitting on the bridge with one of its massive tires blasted through one of the metal planks. A man on the side told me the only cross was through the river. I had seen this done a few times in a internet motorcycle tutorials i had seen before the trip, but I hadnt ever crossed a river before! I braced myself, put the bike in solid first, and dove in. The river was only 7-8 meters wide, but almost a meter deep! The water came up to my knees as I made my way to the middle, but in only 4 seconds I was out and heading towards Pang.
The scenery here was all Ladakhy desert mountains, golden ridges, huge spralling hills and wide sandy plateaus. No green at all. Eventually I entered a vast playa flanked by massive mountains on both sides. The rode between was straight and unpaved, rocky. I road fast, standing up on my bike at times to spare my body the abuse caused by the rocky road. Eventually we reached the pundras, and my bike slid this way and that the moment we hit sand. I tried to keep steady on the thick sand, but having little experience in this terrain, I came to a halt as the bike sank. As I tried to get out of the sand the bike kicked up clouds of dust which settled on me and everything I carried. I couldnt get out of the sand but luckily a group in a jeep came to my rescue and gave me a push out of the sand. As I road off I noticed the bike was coughing and sputtering, and after another half hour of brutal sand riding it stopped completely. I was stranded with a non-functional bike in the middle of the himalayan desert.
No worried however because just like with the spark plug, I also figured this problem out. I put two and two together and figured the air filter was loaded with sand. I didnt have the necessary screw driver but managed to stop a motorist with one. I took out the filter like I had seen the mechanic do, cleaned it by shaking it around and banging it on a rock, put it back in and amazing the bike started. I rode off, pleasantly surprised by my new ability to fix broken motorcycles!
After the pundra I entered one of the most beautiful rodes of the Leh-Manali route: a dusty sandy rode flanked by hills that sprouted actual sand castles, lots of them. The only downside to this rode was that the jeeps in front of me kicked up so much sand that it was impossible for me to pass them to get out of their wake.
I arrived at Pang covered in dust and ate at a Punjabi Dhaba tent with some Punjabi truck drivers.
After Pang I continued through more crazy sand castles, high mountain passes, golden hills, and saw as the golden brown mountains became randomly interspersed with varying shades of light green. A river seemed to always be somewhere to my left, and maybe this, along with the decreasing altitude, accounted for the increasing greenery. The rode itself, even from Leh, was mostly paved with stretches of broken asphalt and potholes. Some stretches were sandy and rocky, where landslides had destroyed the roads, but for the most part I had seen worse roads in India. The only major obstacle up to this point was the river crossing and the sand.
I was driving alone alone and therefore rather fast, and only later, in Manali, would I realize the damage that can be caused by driving fast over rocky terrain on a Royal Enfield.
I entered a phase of increasingly winding rocky and sandy road and had a seriously fun time. I stopped for a break and realized I had lost my keys, which must have lept from the bike when my bike flew off a bump. I decided to go back and look for my keys. After a futile attempt, I turned back and continued the ride. The sun was beginning to set and I was getting anxious to get to Sarchu, my destination for day one. At about six I reached the bottom of the descent into Sarchu, a long flat valley with more green than I had seen in a long time, and finally reached an inhabitable area. Most of the ride up to this point saw no villages, people or animals, except for the two tents in Pang and the one tea stall early on, as well as a dhaba at the first pass and the road construction workers. When I reached Sarchu I was dead tired, exhausted from the long tiring trip, about 200 kilometers, covered in dust and sand, and eager to sleep. Sarchu is not a city but basically a rest stop for truck drivers and groups in jeeps. I ended up sleeping in a restaurant's circus tent in the back with fifteen other truck drivers, mostly punjabi. I only realized the next day that 50 meters onwards were actual guesthouse tents, which were much more expensive. I went to sleep at 9pm that night and woke up at 5am to continue the second part of Leh-Manali.
I continued and rode through the pass, one of the highest in the world at about 4700 meters. I was at this point regretting not buying a new camera before the trip, because my camera was not working and I was riding alone, therefore no pics. And this is the most amazing place in the world damnit! At the pass a group of jeep drivers helped me fix a noise problem caused by my carelessly connected leg gaurds.
I continued down the southern side of this amazing pass (what's its name?) and came to a plateau with a river and a impassable bridge. A truck itself was sitting on the bridge with one of its massive tires blasted through one of the metal planks. A man on the side told me the only cross was through the river. I had seen this done a few times in a internet motorcycle tutorials i had seen before the trip, but I hadnt ever crossed a river before! I braced myself, put the bike in solid first, and dove in. The river was only 7-8 meters wide, but almost a meter deep! The water came up to my knees as I made my way to the middle, but in only 4 seconds I was out and heading towards Pang.
The scenery here was all Ladakhy desert mountains, golden ridges, huge spralling hills and wide sandy plateaus. No green at all. Eventually I entered a vast playa flanked by massive mountains on both sides. The rode between was straight and unpaved, rocky. I road fast, standing up on my bike at times to spare my body the abuse caused by the rocky road. Eventually we reached the pundras, and my bike slid this way and that the moment we hit sand. I tried to keep steady on the thick sand, but having little experience in this terrain, I came to a halt as the bike sank. As I tried to get out of the sand the bike kicked up clouds of dust which settled on me and everything I carried. I couldnt get out of the sand but luckily a group in a jeep came to my rescue and gave me a push out of the sand. As I road off I noticed the bike was coughing and sputtering, and after another half hour of brutal sand riding it stopped completely. I was stranded with a non-functional bike in the middle of the himalayan desert.
No worried however because just like with the spark plug, I also figured this problem out. I put two and two together and figured the air filter was loaded with sand. I didnt have the necessary screw driver but managed to stop a motorist with one. I took out the filter like I had seen the mechanic do, cleaned it by shaking it around and banging it on a rock, put it back in and amazing the bike started. I rode off, pleasantly surprised by my new ability to fix broken motorcycles!
After the pundra I entered one of the most beautiful rodes of the Leh-Manali route: a dusty sandy rode flanked by hills that sprouted actual sand castles, lots of them. The only downside to this rode was that the jeeps in front of me kicked up so much sand that it was impossible for me to pass them to get out of their wake.
I arrived at Pang covered in dust and ate at a Punjabi Dhaba tent with some Punjabi truck drivers.
After Pang I continued through more crazy sand castles, high mountain passes, golden hills, and saw as the golden brown mountains became randomly interspersed with varying shades of light green. A river seemed to always be somewhere to my left, and maybe this, along with the decreasing altitude, accounted for the increasing greenery. The rode itself, even from Leh, was mostly paved with stretches of broken asphalt and potholes. Some stretches were sandy and rocky, where landslides had destroyed the roads, but for the most part I had seen worse roads in India. The only major obstacle up to this point was the river crossing and the sand.
I was driving alone alone and therefore rather fast, and only later, in Manali, would I realize the damage that can be caused by driving fast over rocky terrain on a Royal Enfield.
I entered a phase of increasingly winding rocky and sandy road and had a seriously fun time. I stopped for a break and realized I had lost my keys, which must have lept from the bike when my bike flew off a bump. I decided to go back and look for my keys. After a futile attempt, I turned back and continued the ride. The sun was beginning to set and I was getting anxious to get to Sarchu, my destination for day one. At about six I reached the bottom of the descent into Sarchu, a long flat valley with more green than I had seen in a long time, and finally reached an inhabitable area. Most of the ride up to this point saw no villages, people or animals, except for the two tents in Pang and the one tea stall early on, as well as a dhaba at the first pass and the road construction workers. When I reached Sarchu I was dead tired, exhausted from the long tiring trip, about 200 kilometers, covered in dust and sand, and eager to sleep. Sarchu is not a city but basically a rest stop for truck drivers and groups in jeeps. I ended up sleeping in a restaurant's circus tent in the back with fifteen other truck drivers, mostly punjabi. I only realized the next day that 50 meters onwards were actual guesthouse tents, which were much more expensive. I went to sleep at 9pm that night and woke up at 5am to continue the second part of Leh-Manali.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)