By Dr. Arnob Gupta

Part I

It was one of those hot and sultry May nights in Delhi. There was no movement of any sort. It was midnight, and I was on my bike stuck in a traffic jam for the past 15 minutes, only one kilometre from where the Chandigarh Highway started. On my left was an auto rickshaw, on my right a minivan. The motors had long been switched off, and a glance revealed that the drivers were on screensaver mode. In front were three cycle rickshaws, whose riders looked like they were cozying up for a short nap. For those who don’t know what a cycle rickshaw can do, here are some performance stats.

 (Top speed 15 kilometre/ hour, Acceleration 0 – 5 kilometre per hour = 30s Max grade ability = 5 degrees). And then, something up front stirred. In an instant the screensavers were off, all the engines came to life, gears slicked, grated, crashed, clunked into first, and everybody reached for the horn, both to wake up anyone who may have missed the momentous event and in celebration.The cycle rickshaws up front adjusted their pedals so as to make a blazing getaway. And we were off, eventually. It took more than an hour and a half to cover the five km leading out of the city that night. The first stop was just twelve-kilometers from the city to gas up, followed by another a couple down the road to replenish the fluids lost in the traffic jam. The road out of Delhi is full of detours, but after some time it is smooth flat asphalt and I did not have to slow down till I reached Chandigarh. It was now almost 4 am, and the well marked signs guided me out of the city on my way to Manali. The scenery changed abruptly as I turned towards Manali. Gone was the pancake like landscape that is characteristics of Punjab, small hillocks started appearing, and far away, the foothills of the mighty Himalayas became visible. Dawn arrived, and what seemed to be a gorgeous sunrise. I say seemed as yours truly doesn’t normally get up until the sun is almost a third of the way up back home, and the view is anyways obstructed by tall buildings… it appeared to me as if it did merit a few photos, which I took before moving on.  

Very soon the road joined up with a river valley (the Beas) which it would follow all the way till Manali, and the scenery got better and better, prompting several stops as photo opportunities presented themselves. After crossing the cement factory at Bilaspur, truck traffic thinned out as well. Fortunately as it was still early in the morning the towns of Kullu and Mandi were still not fully awake – this contributed to an enjoyable ride. There is a big hydroelectric project at Pundoh, and the dam spanning the river is clearly visible from the road. The steep drops from the mountain end in the river several hundreds of feet below and there is a section of road which is actually cut into the rock face in a manner that the entire road is covered by an overhanging rock. This “open tunnel” extends for almost a hundred meters and is pretty unique. Definitely worth another stop to take photos! To break the monotony, a local rider suddenly decided that no tourist was going to zip past him (me!) and he cracked the throttle open and started to shift. He was clearly familiar with the roads, so the slight power advantage of my bike was compensated for, and it was great fun streaking along the twisters, sometimes in front, and sometimes behind. He was not just fast, but a responsible rider too – no stupid risky moves, so it was a lot of fun. The most difficult of the mountain sections as been tamed by a long tunnel between Kullu and Manali, and as I rode into the tunnel; it seemed like an arcade game, that is, until it came to the end where another two wheeler rider had skidded on a patch of water in the tunnel just moments before. I moved onto the oncoming lane and used the headlights to slow down oncoming traffic, and the other guy assisted the fallen rider and helped him up. Fortunately, it had been a low speed crash; without any real injury or damage, and we moved on once more again at speed until it was time for the other rider to turn off the main road to wherever he was going.

Gone was the pancake like landscape that is characteristics of Punjab, small hillocks started appearing, and far away, the foothills of the mighty Himalayas became visible.

Soon the adrenaline rush of the sprint wore off and I began to get sleepy. I’d been up since eight o’clock the previous morning, and anyways, 24hrs without sleep and the fact that I get my best sleep at that time made me start hunting for some place where I could take a power nap which I found on the side of a parked truck. I put the bike on the main stand and my head on the tank bag and was off to the land of nod within a minute. When I opened my eyes after some 15 minutes, the truck driver was beside me, offering his cabin in case I wanted to rest for some time. Fortunately, I was recharged by then and I thanked him and moved on. A breakfast halt one hour later, I was on my way again and soon hit the roadblock placed outside Manali which has been placed specifically for the purpose of gouging tourists, in the name of “developing tourist facilities”. Essentially, a fine you pay for supporting the local population which is almost entirely dependent on tourist money. Manali, like any tourist town was crowded and overpriced, but unlike most tourists, who make it their base I did not stop there, for another reason. Manali is not at an altitude at which one can acclimatize, and I needed to do that as soon as possible. My friend Hitanshu had advised that I stop at the village of Marhi instead which is halfway up the route to Rohtang pass, at 11500 ft.

An hour later, I was there and decided to put up at the Chamba dhaba. The room was large, and all mine for 300 INR. There was a large pile of un-melted snow just outside the door, and till that point I have never stayed in a place with snow on my doorstep. By now, it was almost twelve noon and I was felt it was about time I had lunch and caught up with some sleep. The chicken curry was simply divine, and I am not saying so just because I was hungry by then, because I was not, even though I should have been. It should have given me a hint as to what was on its way, but at that point I simply put it down to some degree of fatigue. Mountain sickness has this habit of sneaking up to you, when you try to stay too long at too high an altitude. Symptoms vary, and I got to learn how it affects me. To avoid mountain sickness, it is recommended that you take it very easy the first couple of days, drink a lot of water. What had I done? Ridden up from the 40 degree heat of Delhi almost nonstop except for one power nap and drunk about two glasses of water over the previous twelve hours. By early evening it felt as though somebody was squeezing the back of my neck, and I was beginning to feel mildly pukey, and I put off plans to ride down to see Manali.  

The idea had been to set off early in the morning and head towards Sarchu but it became amply clear that I was not going anywhere that morning. I felt like the back of my neck was in a vise, and there was no way I was travelling until I was a lot better, which did not happen till noon. A light lunch, and I was off, after being advised by the hotel owner to turn back immediately if I felt unwell again, good advice which I fortunately did not need.

BIG RANT: The most disgustingly maintained strategic road in the world.

I am referring to the road between Marhi  and Rohtang pass. It’s 17km long. And it took two hours to traverse on the bike mainly because I could squeeze my way past bumper to bumper traffic which was gridlocked on account of the narrow road and the rocks, rivulets etc which turned the road one lane wide in several places. Had I been in a car I do not know how long it would have taken me to go up there? I am sure that most of the tourists travelling up that afternoon never did make it to the top that day. Tourism apart, this is a STRATEGIC road. I do not know whether the state authorities or the Border road organization (BRO) is in charge of maintaining it, but whoever, it is simply wasting public money in an absolutely cavalier manner. For it is the only place in the world where roads are “tarred” in an area with plenty of snowmelt without bothering to create adequate water channels to pass underneath the road. The BRO does a stellar job of maintaining roads in far flung places, all over the borders of India, and this doesn’t look like something maintained by them at all.

Finally, 17 km and two very irritating lung damaging hours later, Rohtang pass came up. For the tourists, most of who had never actually touched snow before, it was paradise, worth the hellish ride up. It was like a small market up there with lots of shops selling food, renting out snow gear, sleds etc. I knew I was going to see a lot more of the snow later, so I simply moved on. Besides, I had a lot of distance to cover, the target for the day being Jispa.  Rohtang is the lowest pass on that route, but is the most notorious for its bad roads, and inclement weather. Fortunately, none of them caused too much inconvenience as I slowly made my way down over the dirt surface with ice walls on either side. There was absolutely no traffic at all, everything being confined to the Manali side of the pass. The roads improved a bit, the scenery stayed breathtaking as ever as Koksar, Shashur and another small village got lost in the mirrors. Finally, Tandi, a very important stop as it is the last proper pump for the next 300 plus km. I had an auxiliary tank, so I was not particularly worried about my fuel situation, but in places like this, you cannot have too much fuel, so I gassed up and carried on. It was becoming dark as I passed Keylong and it was a relief to see the lights of the hotel at Jispa. Compared to the dhaba at Marhi, this place was expensive, and neither was the food was as good, but it was a clean place to stay. And discover that the auxiliary tank was leaking if tilted. I banished it to the bathroom, but not before the room stank of petrol, as I had been having dinner while the wretched thing was leaking. Interestingly, I learnt that the road had been reopened only the day before and it had been closed for more than a week before that due to a heavy snowfall. A pretty large group of tourists had to turn back after being holed up at this hotel for a week.

Here the weather Gods decide as to who goes where and when.  I went to bed early as I knew that there was a lot of riding to be done the next day. The bike was performing just fine and the slight altitude induced lack of performance at high rpm was nothing of concern. I woke up early in the morning, with the familiar headache and decided to take it easy and have a heavy breakfast as there was no certainty as to where I would lunch, and whether I would have lunch at all. Finally, all luggage and leaky tank in place, I was off. The road was surprisingly good and I was making good time as well. Darcha and Patseo went past, and I began the climb up Bara-lacha la, the first high pass of the day. As I started climbing, the familiar ice walls again appeared on one side. It was too cold for any significant snow melt, so the tarmac was dry – and smooth. Snow with beautiful ice patterns on one side and gorgeous scenery on the other, this was going to be good, until the point I crossed the top of the pass.  “The road has just opened yesterday” was what I got to see. Essentially, it means that the tarmac is still under snow that has been compacted by a tracked vehicle, and you have the choices of making a track of your own/ travelling through a snowy wheel rut/ travelling inside the snowmelt stream that is next to the snow wall. I chose the last option as it was not too deep and at least I could get some traction on the rocks there. These are places where you just want to stay up at all costs a get off here means a lot of struggle to get moving again. Every kilometre or so there were road crews at work as I gingerly made my way through the road, or should I say, stream. Like all good things, this too finally came to an end, and the surface allowed me to triple the speed to 30 kph.  A bridge was out, and it was a choice of either fording the river ahead or flying across. Fortunately, it was not more than a foot deep at the deepest point, so it was not too tricky. All this stuff is fun when you are travelling in groups with un-laden bikes, but it acquires a different dimension when done alone with a bike that is a lot heavier than the manufacturer ever made it, at an altitude where you want to avoid exercise as far as possible. The small settlement of Sarchu came up, but I was not hungry. Onto the Gata loops, where the road climbs on the way to Lalchang la pass. Must be one of the longest collection of hairpins in the world, as you go up, up and up, headed for another snowy pass. That done, it was a slow descent into the more plains where there is a road under construction (has been so for several years). Most of the road though, is dirt, and crosses the road under construction at various points on the route. It is completely featureless, very easy to get lost if you leave the wheel tracks. I had received dire warnings about it being more of a bog than a road in early summer due to snowmelt – fortunately, that was not the case, and I headed what seemed to be a low lying cloud in the distance, and prepared to get wet and cold. It was snow. Falling gently, without hindering visibility much. Quite a nice experience, did not feel wet either and the snow stayed on my jacket for a long time without melting. The road started to appear with more frequency, then stayed put and the surface improved too as we started to climb. I’d passed the settlement of Pang some time back, but did not stop as I was not feeling hungry or even thirsty. There was another reason for not stopping – it was getting late and I did not feel like climbing the last pass at night.As I climbed, snow started falling again. The road was pretty decent at this point, and I passed between the now familiar snow walls as I climbed to the top of Tanglang la, after which the road disappeared. In its place, was stones, dumped and flattened in a cursory manner, mixed with dirt. The stones seemed to have been purloined from some river below as they were nice and rounded and moved freely when stepped upon. Just in order to keep it from getting boring they were interspersed with some larger and jagged football sized rocks…so it was a slow and careful crawl all the way down, and it was dark by the time I reached down, and the road reappeared.

It felt really good to cross 25kph, on the speed again…

(To be continued.......)

About the author:

Dr. Arnob Gupta is a doctor by training, a biker by passion and a photographer by love. Though today it may sound strange, he did not even know to ride a bike even 1999, when he first bought ne and rode out of the showroom as a pillion rider. “I did not know how to ride a geared bike at that time. Until then, I had not even thought of buying a bike, thanks to being brainwashed by my dad as to how dangerous they are....”
Until, the notoriously famous Mumbai traffic forced him too. “The bike gives you the freedom to go places a car cannot even dream of going. Trails. Beaches. Mountains. And if you get stuck help is only another human being away so as to manhandle the bike loose and get going again. I remember the day my friends 4x4 got stuck in mud (the chap was showing me how his machine handles the great outdoors) while following my bike and we spent 4 hrs freeing it. Lesson somewhere.”