Swapping a bike for a BIKE

 

The front wheel skids to the left causing the motorbike to tip onto its' side. I don't have time to put my feet down as the full weight of the bike pins us to the planks of the bridge. I pull free while the back wheel is still spinning. No one is seriously injured, just a few scraps and bruises. We lift the bike back up to find the starter and air filter cover laying on the ground. In no time and with the help of a large stone, they are again attached to the bike. One kick and it roars back into life, only to die again 2 km later. Luck is with us as we are just outside a very run down guesthouse where we, after doing some major repairs on the bike, are forced to sleep the night snuggled up with some friendly bed bugs and curious flies.
My eyes become heavy to the sound of screaming babies, passing trucks and loud voices, the broken pane of glass providing little protection from the din outside. My thoughts wander back to the morning when we embarked on this adventure in Leh.
The roar of the Indian made 350 cc Royal Enfield filled the air. Its' tremendous weight requiring two people to pull it onto its' stand as we park it outside our current favourite breakfast spot. Swapping my bike for this poorly designed machine with a cool factor which can't be beaten in India. All walks of life straddle these metal beasts to cruise the wild roads of India in search of themselves (or, in many cases, others), and always to the most distinctive vroom which only an Enfield can make. At a rate of about 8 euros per day, you can't complain about much. No brake lights or indicators is no reason not to ride, so we're off, us and the open road.
It's not long before back brake locks up on one of the bikes, sending it skidding 30 m down the road. Two passing locals on a scooter lend a hand to get us back on the road. Soon after one bike skids on loose gravel and the other falls over while crossing a bridge. By now one is missing a foot pedal and the other has lost the starter lever and air filter cover, nothing that can stop us. But just a few k's later one of the bikes stops and refuses to start, petrol drips continuously from the engine. Locals are summoned but fail to solve the problem, luck has it that we are in front of a very run down guest house where we are forced to stay the night. Working in the dark I remove the carburetor to try to solve the engine problems, I clean it and replace it, still no luck, the engine is flooded. Waiting and hoping for the morning for it to have dried out is the only option.
I'm woken early by passing trucks, one after the other from 4 or 5 am. I drag myself up and head straight for the bike, with no key required (that surely broke off years ago), I kick the start (replaced with the help of a large rock) and Vvvvvroooooooom, it roars into life, yes! We're back in action. Not giving up easily we leave as quickly as possible, 3 out of 4 of us are left suffering from stomach problems from the dinner the night before, heading further to Lamayuru Monastery where we should have slept the night.
The road begs the nerves to remain calm as dozens of hairy switchbacks take us up up up to a cliff hugging road where each blind corner is made more exciting by the oncoming army convoys, with only the horn (working on just one bike) to warn them of your approach. With the rain starting we finally arrive to have a quick look at the monastery before heading back to Leh to re-acquaint myself with my far more reliable mode of transport. A two day adventure with more mishaps than 3.5 months on the bike. Lucky it wasn't for a week!

Delighting in the Dalai Lama

 

The sound chanting fills the air as tens of thousands of locals crowd around crowd loudspeakers to listen to the prayers and teachings of the Dalai Lama. After rolling the 7 km downhill to the venue, it was as if I was back in Delhi, soldiers with whistles guided traffic as car loads of colourful and enthusiastic locals arrive in droves to the event. Buses and trucks carry people from far and wide, many having travelled through the night in order to get a glimpse of their hero.

Bamboozeling Beauty

 

White waters cascade over huge boulders in a tremendous torrent towards the sea some thousands of kilometers away. The national highway which runs alongside resembles a river as water rushes across it leaving the road covered in sharp or round boulders and many small river crossings. The bigger rivers are bridged by many temporary Baily bridges which have seen better days, large gaps often have formed as heavily laden trucks noisily lumber over the creaking and bending structure. Great glaciers reach for the river like giant longs longing for a sip of fresh water. Boulders litter the surrounds as if pebbles in a giants sandcastle, and we, the minute cyclists roll steadily towards the next highway. The infamous Manali - Leh Highway where the high mountain passes quickly sort the men from the boys and entertain only those tough (or crazy) enough to negotiate the spectacular terrain and monumental passes. This gateway to Ladakh has earned a reputation as one of the most spectacular rides in the world and thus attracts an equally spectacular range of enthusiastic cyclists to it's windy way during the 3 month snow free season.
During the 6 nights on the road there was no shortage of characters to keep us in good company.
"Well f*#! Me, is this really it, f%&!, f#*!, f#%*!" were her only thoughts as she cascaded over the cliff in Bolivia while mountain biking on the worlds most dangerous road. Sipping chi outside a makeshift village made from stones and plastic sheeting we are entertained by a pair of Irish cyclists full of hair raising stories from the road. As a strong tailwind pushes me towards the next tent village, I come across a bike on the side of the road, it's owner struggles over another bike on the bank above. A scruffy looking guy in a sweatshirt explains that his tire is flat and he has spent the day trying to fix it with little success. 19,000 km after leaving Switzerland, the other cyclist tries to lend a hand. Finally we manage to get him back up and running with a new tube. We all cycle together to the next village to camp the night. The young English guy has managed to make it this far on a poorly adjusted bike which he hired in Manali while carrying a 25 kg backpack on his back. Stories quickly come out about a Japanese guy cycling the highway on a single speed Indian bike he purchased for just $24. Then there is 'dogman' who takes photos of dogs for a living. He is now several days behind because he doesn't like the rain so was waiting out a storm down the valley.
As we progress it becomes a game of tag has me travel towards Leh, the two English lads who turned up in the village pass us on a truck after discovering there is nothing in one of the valleys where they had planned to stay while the Japanese fellow labours endlessly to push his bike up the huge passes. There is no sign of the young fellow until well after dark when he turns up looking very dirty after pushing the bike up more than 30 km of hills before riding along cliff edges in the dark without a torch for the remaining kilometers.
And so it continues, three burly Czech guys in shiny Lycra arrive at the final pass the same time as we do, they have cycled the 10 day trip in just 5 as if they are going for some sort of record in a whirlwind tour of northern India.
The mountains continue to amaze with there diverse colours and photogenic landscapes. Soon the valley widens and we arrive, after a final 5 km uphill, in Leh to an official welcome from the Dalai Lhama who waves to us from his vehicle as we pass through the entrance to the city. A perfect welcome!