Biking has been one of my recent ventures as has been writing. Sitting in an office, typing on the keyboard and taking orders was really getting on my nerves and was eating up my patience. Until I met these bunch of guys who had been riding for a while and had a penchant for the hills, which I realized shortly was the same with me.
After a few rides and assessing my riding skills, I prepared for scaling the heights of Ladakh, the Mecca of all Bulletier's.
But my friends had other plans in their minds. We were not to do the commercial route taken by most of the riders and ventured into the unknown and uninhabited land of the Changpa's, the Changtang plateau made famous and brought into the limelight by the famous Gaurav Jani and his award winning solo documentary, ''Riding Solo on the Top of the World''.
We planned to go beyond the village Gaurav Jani turned back from, after completing his study of the Changpa's. What we gathered from the local's was that there was a trekking route, taken rarely by the Army units for border patrolling.
Got a very basic and an amateur map made by one of the old timer trekkers in Leh, which actually proved to be our only saving grace and a permit from the District Commissioner office, including all the names from the map.
The Idea: Find an alternate route to Tsomoriri from Pangong Tso, covering Tsokar and all the lakes in Ladakh district.
Novice and insignificant as it may seem, we were quite adamant of trying this out, creating a niche for ourselves of riding on non - motorable roads, covering the borders and all the lakes.
Reached Pangong Tso after a 7 day ride, which was not very eventful as compared to the ride which was to change our complete perception about riding and life in the altitudes.
From here we began our off road journey to Chushul, riding besides the Pangong for the 45km of its 60km boundary in India and remaining 90 km being in China occupied Tibet. One of the most beautiful stretch and a photographers paradise, you can capture the lake in its display of most vivid and natural colors. With the crystal clear water reflecting the sun light with a magical effect, giving an impression of an optical illusionist at his job.
The next days ride from Chushul to Hanle was a little more revealing of what we could expect from the terrain ahead. Because right after covering the villages of Tsaga and Rongo, we encountered the famous Changtang desert, complete with the sand dunes and the Indus flowing near the rocky hills with a little oasis kind of appeal.
Picturesque as it was for the eye, we lost all our color trying to maneuver the bikes in the sand for the next 45km. Reached Hanle with just enough time to enjoy the sunset behind the highest observatory in the world. The tiredness from the ride was lost within minutes of reaching this beautiful valley surrounded from three sides by mountains and the only opening covered by the desert.
We took to a home stay for the next day and to fix our bikes which needed more rest than us for all the torture they suffered. Here was the resolution made not to turn back and head again into the desert rather to move ahead to face what could get worse.
Rode with the first light of dawn towards Chumur, passing the Salsa La, a pass very few are aware of, at a height of approximately 15000 ft. This stretch was relatively bestowed with lot of flora and fauna. With Wild Asses or the Kiang and Yaks running besides our bikes, it felt like a welcome reception from the wild. In fact for a second you would feel that they are the visitors and we are the animals sitting in our cages.
Coming down the sandy roads into the Chumur Valley, it was quite a respite, only to realize in a short while that we were into a semi solid marsh lands. And just when our legs were about to disown the body, we saw the Chumur ITBP camp and took refuge in for the evening.
Starting the bikes in the early morning is always a problem at such heights with the temperatures dropping really low. But look at the brighter side, gives you a good leg exercise. After sweating it out for about 10 minutes, and bidding adieu to the ITBP folks, we left the last inhabited area we were not to witness for the next 12 hours.
Started on the wrong foot and thanks to the many minds thinking or not thinking at that time, we went into a river basin and soon realized that we were off course. Had to retrace our steps and wasted about 2 hours. When we think of it now, no one can be blamed for it, we were completely on our own, the maps last boundary already touched and passed, and we were just relying on the word of mouth of people we encountered.
Finally found a jeep track and Army markings along with it. Figured this would take us to our destination, and followed it blindly. Water crossing's, sand, marshy stretches, rocks, gravel, loose stones, grass and no road is what that blind faith led us through. It's quite worth while mentioning here that we came across a village looking quite self - sufficient and prosperous but for some apparent reason completely deserted as if plagued by some disease. There was not even a single living soul and all the houses were locked or just simple shut.
A few more hours of ride and we realized the mistake we made, of not carrying any water to drink. But thanks to the streams or as locals call ''Chashma's'', were able to quench our thirst near an abandoned Changpa settlement called 'Ungti'.
It's quite interesting to know that these Changpa's take about 3-4 days digging trenches for laying out their Rebo's, building Pen for their livestock. Stay there for about 3-4 months till the grasslands around are depleted of its nutritious value. And take about 3-4 hours to pack up and leave the settlement in search of new lands. Leaving behind the stones, intricate design's and few of their worldly possessions for people like us to gaze at them and wonder if we as a race did ever grow out of our natural tendencies. Even in the city, we work around, earn our bread, eat, sleep and when the job begins to weaken (read as we lose interest in the work) we pack up and leave for a new job or destination.
Enough of self contemplation, cause when you get back on the back breaking road you don't think of any of this and just wonder if an invention called Tar Road ever existed. We finally reached the base of a hill and lost the jeep track, wondering if it was a plane that just took off from that base.
After a little closer look we figured that jeep went over the hill, thanks to its 4X4. Sitting there for about 15 minutes and contemplating a return, we gathered our courage and started the bikes moment of test and endurance. My 500 CC, even before I realized went up the hill in a matter of seconds and left my friends gaping at the skid marks. After a 20 minute exercise of push and pull, exhausted and breathless we managed the other two 350 CC's up the hill. That was the first of the two passes we were to scale, as related by the locals. Sitting at the top we were contemplating what name could we Christian it with and came up with 'Ungti Pass', as the last village we encountered with.
Coming down the hill was equally challenging, but required less energy thanks to Newton's law of Gravity. Rode on for few more kilometers and suddenly hell broke lose with the first glimpse of the Tsomoriri. We were scattered all over the plain, finding the shortest way possible to the lake. Riding on horse tracks that led to nowhere, from reaching the end of a cliff that invited nothing but a drop of about 60 feet into the blue waters of the lake. As soon as the calm prevailed, we took over the better side of our judgment and realized the jeep track going over another hill, steeper, longer and harsher.
A few more plans and idea's followed. Got disregarded the moment the 500 CC took on the hill and scaled it. Followed by 45 minutes of exercise this time to get the 350's up the hill, exercise regimes do get extended once you start getting used to them. This one we promptly named 'Trolley Pass', for the trolley tracks we saw on our way up. Another hillock and we were riding right besides the lake. Stopped for a little while besides the blue water, to admire, to take rest and to admire again, for the place had its own charm and poise with the snow covered mountains as its background.
Wondering if we should have named this route with our initials, since we were just about to get on a man made road all ready in the progress, we left the virgin track and moved on. A few water passes, wet shoes, sand, rocks and hours past, we met a Changpa coming back with his sheep. The first human being after 12 hours was a relieving sight.
When the saying was coined, ''save the best for the last'', was definitely meant for this place. As we began our last lap towards the main road with the accelerators being wrenched like the ear of a little school boy being punished for not coming on time to school, the headmistress stood before us in the form of a river in rage. Flowing with the full capacity of icy water, taking the complete day's load of melted snow, it did give us a while to think if the next step would be suicidal or an act of bravery. But since there is a very thin line between bravery and stupidity, we decided to cross both the line and the stream.
Step one, to remain warm one need's to get rid of the warm clothes to the basics to brave the chill. Step two, get your limbs frozen so that there is no more realization of the cold. Step three, four, five and so on follow underwater when you are in the water pushing the bikes half immersed. Repeat this exercise about three times and when you are half blue, half brown, you have achieved Nirvana.
Don't let the body relax, just start the bikes and find a shelter as we did at Korzuk, the village that is the tourist destination for Tsomoriri.
After a night of good relaxation, we started off on good roads towards the last of our watering hole, that's Tsokar. Crossing the Puga hot sulphar springs was quite tempting enough but time was the only factor we had to keep in mind. Tsokar was a different illusion altogether, the first look of what appeared to be of a half frozen lake turned out to be salt deposit, adding the icy effect.
A very secluded village with just one family welcomed us for a cup of tea. And after spending a few minutes of questioning and cross questioning the villagers about the roads out, we left with a sense of achievement and also a sense which I cannot explain in words about the places we were at.
This was a mixture of senses which someone experiences when witnessing something beautiful, huge, magnificent, natural, and which oozes an aura of something unachievable.