HIMALAYAN ODYSSEY 2009

  
"What`s your road, man? holyboy road, madman road, rainbow road, guppy road, any road. It`s an anywhere road for anybody anyhow." 

What Ernesto Guevara saw of Latin America astride his friend Alberto Grenado’s Norton 500 ‘La Poderosa’ was to change his life, and transform a thousand others. Jack Kerouac’s ‘On the Road’ still continues to inform and influence sensibilities of the post beat generation. That there exists a genre called Road Movies, which includes -my favorites- highly influential works like Thelma and Louise and Easy Rider, itself is an assertion of the fact that ‘the road’ is not just a metaphor. It’s a medium. It’s a medium that lets those who wander along it experience change and sense of freedom.
 
I eked out little pleasures from my everyday mundane rides. To the office and back. On the highway and beyond. I didn’t ‘need’ to go out in the wilderness to feel either happy or liberated. My road wasn’t the one Kerouac wrote about. ‘Anywhere road for anybody anyhow’. I didn’t really care about going anywhere. Perhaps I was wrong. All along.

Leaving home, going places, meeting people, to use a cliché, broadens our perspective. Ram`s reaching Ayodhya or Mohammed`s leaving Medina; Gandhi`s trek to Dandi or Mao`s haul to Beijing . These were some of the odysseys that have had lasting consequences. Would my odyssey be of any consequence? I didn’t know, but was eager to find out.
 
Let me make a confession. I don’t consider myself a good rider. So, as much as I was excited I was afraid too. Afraid, perhaps, is not the right word. Apprehensive.

I was forwarded an invitation to the Royal Enfield Himalayan Odyssey 2009 by a colleague who after expressing initial interest, decided not to go for it due to pressing personal commitments. The magnitude of the ride intimidated me at first. But since I’d been to Leh earlier, riding across 3 days in a Himachal State Transport bus, I said yes. It wasn’t easy; taking off from work for two weeks. Mails flowed back and forth between the RE office and mine, and it was decided that I’d only do the Delhi-Khardung La leg. Thank God! Delhi- Khardung La- Delhi would have been a bit too much for me.

By the way, why is this entire thing being called an odyssey? Why not just a ride, or a drive, or an adventure? The word odyssey seems to have grave implications! The last time I uttered the word was when I was discussing Kubrick’s famous jump cut from 2001: A Space Odyssey with a friend. Himalayan Odyssey…hmmm. Take out the Himalayan part and it sounds just like my thing!

ODYSSEY: 1601, "Odyssey," from L. Odyssea, from Gk. Odysseia, name of the Homeric epic poem of ancient Greece, relating the 10-year wanderings of Odysseus (L. Ulysses), king of Ithaca, after the Trojan War. Figurative sense of "long, adventurous journey" is first recorded 1889.  
 
Look now, I produce an automobile review show. I can tell the kind of shots I want or the kind of cut I’ve sort of imagined in my head. But here, I was supposed to do much more. Ride and tell the story too. If you see my point, these two are markedly distinct things. But a man’s got to do, what a man’s got to do!

Preparations began. I bought a new helmet. A full faced helmet that RE insisted on. Borrowed riding gloves and knee guards. Didn’t know anyone who seemed to have anything that could protect my precious elbows. So elbows went unprotected. Couldn’t find a riding jacket either. A friend suggested that I wear a normal jacket. It’ll look the part. I agreed. Bags packed, I lay down to sleep. I couldn’t. I went out for a spin on my Machismo 350 on the Western Express Highway in Mumbai, and I thought… ‘Do you even know what you’re getting into? All the other participants must be accomplished riders. The kind who eat and sleep with their bike. Who refer to their bikes as ‘he’ or ‘she’ depending on their gender and orientation. You at best share a platonic relationship with your bike. People refuse to ride with you. Even your own girlfriend doesn’t feel safe riding with you. Do you even know where its carburetor is? What were you thinking? Now of course it’s too late…” Mired in this deep internal dialogue I was almost thrown off the road by an auto rickshaw. There you go. I’m not cut out for the thing!

I reached Delhi with my camera person Abhay, and entering Vishwa Yuva Kendra, the place where we were put up, I scanned all those who were there for the rider stereotype I had created for my convenience. You know the stocky, bald/pony-tailed, tattooed, leather clad types. None of them confirmed to it. Thankfully.

I was supposed to ride a gleaming maroon RE Thunderbird Twinspark; henceforth referred to as TBTS. She (she!) felt a bit heavy initially, to move, to control. Nothing like my Machismo 350. She was a bit high too. But she was fun alright!
 
As we reached the flag off point, India Gate, I had a moment of epiphany. My road now was indeed the ‘anywhere road for anybody anyhow’. It was the road to Khardung La. Nothing less nothing more. ‘I’d do it alright’ I said aloud. It was my ‘Nam myo ho renge kyo’ moment. I was ready to embark on this Odyssey

Here’re some brief excerpts from “2009: A Himalayan Odyssey”!
 
Day 1: Delhi to Chandigarh  
The plan was simple. Go slow, don’t fall, don’t hit anyone, and don’t get hit by anyone, be cool. But it wasn’t easy to keep your cool. It was hot as hell. Powered by Rasoi Dhaba’s Dahi-Paranthas all the riders sped past me, one by one. Trust me, it wasn’t a good feeling. Trailing at the end of the pack, that too on the very first day. “Not at all good” Abhay exclaimed “for the show”. As we neared Chandigarh, the wind got stronger and I could feel my TBTS swaying. Was I hallucinating? I guess I was. After a pretty unremarkable and incident free day we reached Chandigarh.
Later that night, I had visions of careening into an oncoming truck.

Himalayan Odyssey Lesson # 1: CAMELBAKS. WHY DIDN’T I KNOW OF THEIR EXISTENCE?
 
Day 2: Chandigarh to Manali  
I’d decided to not smoke during the entire ride. Not that I smoke much, but I could’ve definitely done with a cigarette that morning. I was nervous and desperately wanted to take a few deep hurried puffs off a mild Classic. I decided against it. I can be quite superstitious when I want to. Up ahead in the hills I had a few close shaves. But I rode on and found a bunch of riders to stick to. The long ride had taken its toll on me. I didn’t see how I could ride and shoot together if the ride is only going to get tougher. The rider in me wanted to hit the bed, but the producer in me wanted to shoot more. Needless to conclude who really won in the end.

Himalayan Odyssey Lesson # 2: RIDE IN A GROUP. IT’S FUN AND SAFE.
 
Day 3: Manali to Keylong
Traffic jam in hills? Who are all these people and where do they think they’re going? Turned out Rohtang Pass is quite a popular destination amongst the holidaymakers from Delhi and Chandigarh. The ascent to Rohtang was sad, bad and mad. As if negotiating with the crawling traffic wasn’t enough, couple of riders were rear ended by black soot emitting tourist vehicles. Rohtang didn’t come across an interesting proposition to stop, and we kept on riding. The descent from R-Top was quite interesting. Little puddles and rivulets compensated for the absence of traffic on this stretch. Whoever said it’d be easy? Already behind schedule, we made a dash towards Keylong and the last petrol pump on this road. The next one was 365 km away in Leh!

Himalayan Odyssey Lesson # 3: WATCH YOUR CARBON FOOTPRINT.
 
Day 4: Keylong to Sarchu
I don’t remember much of this day except that we came across an even crazier lot of riders mounted on massive BMW Touring machines, attempting Nepal to Pakistan! Up ahead we caught up with them again at the water crossing where none of them managed to convincingly clear it. That’s me being mild. They all crashed there actually! I’d like to know if they managed to make it to their destination. I’m all for camaraderie and brotherhood, but those machines did look out of place there. No sooner than these sinister thoughts crossed my mind, it started snowing. Karma! Adding to our miseries were two trucks locked in a tight embrace right on top of Baralacha La, blocking the road. As I was trying to squeeze past them, my clutch wire snapped. I didn’t know what to do. In came a handy tip; ‘push it a bit…put it in second gear…and then just keep going…don’t stoooppp!’. I did as I was told, and rode the next 15 odd kilometers in second gear, while it kept snowing. Both I and TBTS were gasping for breath. I remember meeting Rinku from the service support team who amidst all the snow fall managed to partially fix my bike. My head was hurting and I was longing for some warmth. I’d have hugged a Yeti then if I’d seen one, if there’d been one! I reached the camp, tried to make coherent conversation with other riders over dinner, and crashed in my bed; in one of those small tents there. I don’t think I slept well that night.  

Himalayan Odyssey Lesson # 4: CARRY LOTS OF PLASTIC BAGS AND DUCT TAPE.
 
Day 5: Sarchu to Rumtse
I was feeling a lot better in the morning. Our bikes were covered in snow and I doubted that they’d start easily. But then the sun came out and thawed the men and the machines. I was looking forward to this stretch. Gata Loops and More Plains were, I was told, more than riders’, a cameraperson’s paradise. We reached a vantage point from where we could see at least 5-6 of the famed 21 hairpin turns and trained our lenses on the riders riding uphill. More plains was more fun. We could drive parallel along the riders and shoot them. We did that last in Chandigarh. We scaled Tanglang La without much difficulty. The ride was challenging yet good.  Each turn was a revelation. It bought an even spectacular view than the last one. Whoever thought of venturing into this part of the world first? Whoever decided to map this area and lay these roads? Traders? Wanderers? Conquerers? Riding late into the evening I reached our camping site at Rumtse. The tents were smaller here!

Himalayan Odyssey Lesson # 5: BE FLEXIBLE.
                  
Day 6: Rumtse to Leh
It was a piece of cake. It really was. I stopped every now and then- because I knew we were very close to Leh and could afford to stop and soak in the landscape. Julley! someone shouted and I Julleyed back! I remembered the song I learnt from kids at SECMOL, Leh during my last sojourn in Ladakh, and started singing loudly. We re-grouped at Upshi, 40 km before Leh and rode together. It was a sight to behold. I wish I could shoot it from a hilltop or, better still, from a chopper! The collective thump of 60 Royal Enfields drowned the deafening and unnerving silence of the valley. We entered Leh. After not having washed ourselves for two days, there was a mad rush for the showers. By then time I got into the bathroom, the hotel had run out of hot water!

Himalayan Odyssey Lesson # 6: SING WHILE YOU RIDE. TRY AT LEAST.
 
Day 7: Leh
I decided to explore Leh minus TBTS. On foot. I was feeling guilty about my- our? - huge carbon foot print, which, I reasoned out wasn’t as big as those vehicles at the Rohtang Pass. But still, to placate my guilt I marched out of the Hotel. I took me an hour to withdraw my OWN money from the lone SBI ATM (there was another one that didn’t ever work). I walked languorously around the Bazaar, tucked in a heavy lunch, and went back to the Hotel to sleep. We, I and Abhay, went out again, later in the day- this time in a car! - for some sightseeing. Reaching the now-widely-famous Magnetic Hill our driver promptly switched off the engine and dutifully orchestrated the entire demonstration drill. I didn’t even have to ask him. We also went to the Indus-Zanskar confluence and Likir Monastry that claims to house arguably the largest sitting Buddha statue. But my personal favourite was Gurudwara Pathar Sahib. Stories like these excite me. Later that evening I met and spoke to a lot of Migrants from Jammu who descend upon Leh every year during the tourist season. One of them fed me the best kebabs I’ve ever had. I also came to know, that you could get just about anything that you see in Leh- claims of authenticity notwithstanding- in Goa too! I found a lot of traders worried. Recession, I later gathered, was the cause. I shopped, ate out and tipped liberally, all in an attempt to boost the local economy!

Himalayan Odyssey Lesson # 7: TREAT LOCALS WELL.
 
Day 8: Leh to Khardung La
Sachin, team lead, and an important man at RE briefed the riders in the morning (I didn’t mention his briefings or KD’s mass texting anywhere in this post; they deserve a separate one!). And all my notions of achieving lasting glory shattered all of a sudden. It’s to do with something he said. I quote him verbatim; “this is just a ceremonial ride”. Ceremonial ride? C’mon. Ride to Khardung La must be the most challenging one. Not for nothing it’s the highest motorable road in the world. But that was that. It was indeed a ceremonial ride. All my dreams of riding up to the K-Top like Don Quixote with Sancho Panza a.k.a. Abhay in tow were dashed. Permanently. Anyway, we rode to the K-top. It was rather uneventful. While I was shooting my closing bits there, I felt like shouting Bharat Mata ki Jai, along with some of the army jawaans down the road. I resisted the temptation. But I did vigorously shake hands with a couple of them. We’ve come here seeking fun and adventure. But these guys serve and survive in these, and much worse conditions. While I was punching out this note, I came across this http://tiny.cc/LiiqO  . A nation’s fatal ingratitude indeed.
 
You know you’ve done something good and substantial when the only words and phrases that occur to you to describe the deed are oft-repeated done-to-death clichés. I won’t use them. But expect you to get the drift. I enjoyed each moment of the ride. Even the snowing part. Yes, the wet shoes part too.

Life post odyssey has been good. I’d love to do Leh-Delhi next year. On TBTS. One must leave home often.

The odyssey turned in some crucial lessons for me. Some manifest. Most abstract. But none whatsoever that could be called life transforming. And I’m happy with that.
 
“No zoo quest to find new animal or plant species; no anthropological fieldwork to do in a backwater of those tristes tropiques; no wretched tribe to evangelize; no gap year to dutifully fill; not even a notion of self discovery; that bathetic trip to nowhere of interest. Simply an overwhelming urge to be out of my own culture, beyond the reach of home, decisively elsewhere.”   
 
 
Written by - Mr. Fiaz Ullah
Photographs by - Mr. Harshman Rai
 
Reference:
- Jack Kerouac, On the Road
- A Ballad Against Work, Faridabad Mazdoor Samachar
- Source: Online Etymology Dictionary
- www.tehelka.com
- End of Travel, James Hamilton – Paterson, Granta, The Magazine of New Writing / 94