Malvika's Ramblings

Mountain biking in Ladakh

 

Appreciating the beauty of rugged mountains, silent deserts and powerful rivers is no fun until you conquer it all; or at least get the feeling you have. Miniscule and armed with Target Firefox cycles, we did a 250 km cycling ride in Ladakh, stopping at vantage points to look back and feel good about the distance we had covered. Except that one time, cycling the steep slope towards Lamayuru, when we would look back after 15 minutes of sweating effort to see doll-like Ladakhi women right behind us on foot; after EVERY 15 minutes.

The trip was organized in Aug-Sep 2008 by YHAI (yhaindia.org). Strangers from all over India, and an NRI or two, were thrown together to undertake this journey. My friend S.A and I planned and trained for the trip by cycling over Hyderabad and Delhi respectively, hoping to cut the mustard in Ladakh. On landing in Ladakh, my confidence fizzled out at the airport, where well built Russians hauled their special cycles from the conveyor belt. Real pros. We were up against some mean machines and I quietly flinched my calf muscles, hoping that I was in top form.

At the base camp in Leh, people trickled in. 10-15 faces would look up at a newcomer in the dining hall and wonder if he would make for rollicking times or admirable competition; even though it was an expedition and not a race. In came the smiling Ganesh; the Chetan who let us know in a matter of days that we were carnivorous-lusty-atheist Tamsik people who would simply never realize the higher state of his Satvik being; the Navy Lieutenant Loknath Maharana; the wildlife enthusiast Doctor; the straight-speaking (“Fuck off man!”) guy with a long history of Russian girlfriends - Anil. The chairman of yhai turned out to be a person who had once, in his younger days, visited Chandni Chowk and bought an old parachute to make himself a sleeping bag. In those days adventure gear wasn’t available in India at all; and he was an avid trekker. The Director had a hidden talent – Shayari.

Map by Anil Singh

 

After a few days of acclimatization, learning to breathe in the spare Ladakhi air, we were off on our trip on our sexy Target Firefoxes. That was the beginning of a special bond, getting to know just how much pedalling did the bike need to shift gears, she’s comfy in the fifth or fourth, which break was how sensitive. Hardly had we set out, than the sunny Leh sky turned ominously dark. It was morning, the beginning of our trip and a hailstorm had begun. We kept pedalling on. Fortunately, the weather improved and it was nice and sunny in the next 2 hours. After a while everyone lost track of each other. The photographer was pausing frequently to capture the glittering Indus. The marathon runner was furiously pedalling on. The road was straight. There was no way to get lost. Some people stopped at Magnetic Hill – a wonder where cars go up a slope on their own, in the neutral gear. They tested the phenomenon with a passing car and it did work! We all met at Pathar Sahib Gurudwara where I enjoyed the best langar of my life; it was prepared by Army jawans; then we invariably separated again.

After saying ‘Juley’ to lots of army guys and schoolchildren, almost 40 kilometers later, I started wondering where our destination Basgo was. We had just been told "You’ll reach the camp in Basgo." No address, nothing. That’s how it works in Ladakh.

Anyway, cycling past Nimo and a long stretch of villages, I finally saw a large banner across a gate. It said ‘YHAI welcomes you to..’ – words that would become very familiar in the next few days. And so we reached camp 1 Basgo. It had not been tough and we had become accustomed to the REAL use of gears. On entering the camp, I saw two guys putting all their effort into fixing a light bulb in a large, open tent. Looking at me, they followed protocol and handed me my ‘Welcome Drink’. Okay. Nothing to be said or done, I went to my room. That night, I discovered the joy of being the only girl in my group. A large double bed in a single room to myself; while eight guys stuffed themselves in another room.

Basgo to Nurla

The next day we left the green quaint village to cycle among such high mountain peaks, that we were way past valleys and depth. We only interacted with a vast sky. Hardly any vehicles crossed us. Not a soul was seen. Only 1 truck, bouncing on the track with strings of Bingo chips in it. Stopping our bikes anywhere, we napped on the roadside like desert reptiles. Utter silence and lots of space. It was here that I would find an ibex horn on returning. After this long, other-wordly patch, it was time to descend and taste the real thrill of mountain biking. The road was rubble and the decent was steep. With clattering teeth and bones, crouching forwards, butt off the saddle, feet firmly jammed on the paddle and knees close together (opening only at swerving turns) we didn’t cycle down; we flew. It took all the self-control in the world to apply brakes on turns. And so we reached Nurla – the camp right next to the river Indus. When I first reached the camp, there was no one there. I went around screaming all over and calling out for people; felt like a Robinson Crusoe. I went to the wooden bridge, gazed at the gushing river for ages, threw a few twigs down to see what my fate could be, even sang a few songs in my loudest voice and finally slept across the center of bridge only mildly disturbed by the idea of afternoon wolves. No one intercepted me. I woke up at my own pace. Later, the camp leader returned and joined me at the Nurla camp.

Indus, a companion on the expedition

 

The next day, Nurla to Lamayuru, some 30 kilometers, was only about the last 7 kilometers of the ride, the steepest. We had been asked to hitchhike, dump our cars in a truck and cover the stretch but invigorated by our past success, we were determined to make it on our own. And make it we did, to arrive, tired and happy, upon a large stuffed yak. This was the garden exhibit at our last camp in Lamayuru and let me admit, I have never felt more welcome than the time I read that banner saying “YHAI welcomes you to Lamayuru.” How nice it is to enter a village after a long ride through a lunar landscape with bare looking guesthouses with eerie names like “Moonland.”

The next day, the fourth day of cycling, we started heading back to Leh. We skipped a stopover at Nurla and went directly from Lamayuru to Basgo, making a very useful stop at Samyas restaurant – honey AND chocolate banana pancakes highly recommended. At this place, close to Nurla, you sit under trees weighed down by apples. You just have to reach up and pluck one for a juicy crunch. The waiters take your orders for pakoras, go to the garden next to your table and pick fresh spinach and cauliflower to fry pakoras with them!

On our way back, we were caught in a violent dust-storm on the slopes. We heard the distant sounds of a landslides, very common in treeless Ladakh. Visibility was low, we couldn’t see each other very well, all that we could do was stand with eyes scrunched up and our backs to the wind. Some middle-aged foreigners, travelling in a car, paused and took photos of us with their windows safely rolled up. After a while, we were pushing our limits, crawling on and trying to beat the dark. The possibility of getting stranded in a remote nameless area in far-out Ladakh in the dark with only our cycles with us seemed very probable. And of course, mobile phones had become obsolete instruments a long time ago. However, we managed to cover 81 kilometers of ups and downs in time and reached Basgo where everyone slept well.

The next day was a breeze and we licked up kilometres like it was nothing. Gentle downward slopes allowed us to simply sit back, and let the cycle rush forwards at a sweet speed on its own. We only saw 24 turn to 23 to 22 to 21 to 20 to 18 on the milestones. We took a break at the air field to see fighter planes swooping down and soaring up, one after the other. They were so close, it seemed like they flew over our shoulders and touched the ground. After we were gently told that we would be arrested for taking photographs of the planes and the airfield, we went on our way to reach the base camp at Leh. Everyone was glowing with a golden sunburn by then.

Another journey lay ahead. A 2 day bus-ride to Manali and then overnight to Delhi before life became the usual. But now, any journey was a piece of cake.