September 26, 2016

It seems that no matter what, wherever you look in this region, you are surrounded by daunting, ominous, beautiful, and inspiring mountains. They are so tall that even though the sun rises at about 615 a.m., it does does not crest the tops of the peaks and warm the valley until 8 a.m. I was happy to take advantage of the opportunity to stay in a hotel in Karu and recharge the batteries in my devices, but mostly in my body. Little did I know that today I would be cycling over the 2^nd highest motorable road in the world. How did I miss that?

The road out of Karu, which is about 50km south of Leh, is a bit busy. There is a heavy military presence with several army bases and seems to continually be a convoy of trucks going by. By noon, I had reached my stopping point of Rumptse. Most of the people that I had talked to about this route suggested stopping here and not attempting Taglang La and for good reason as I leaned later. There are a few hotels that look appealing, however, it is only noon and I’m feeling remarkably rested. I quickly ate a plate of dahl and rice and decided to push on to Debring, which was only 40km away…in spite of being cautioned by the man who served my lunch. Two hours rolled by before I could blink. I was feeling great. The road began to wind and climb ever higher, and the temperature dropped. Both were barely noticeable…until I noticed. I passed a cyclist coming down, an Australian, heavily loaded with gear and wearing a winter weight down jacket. “You’re going the wrong way!”, I jokingly shouted at him across the single lane paved road. “You’re going the wrong way. You’re going the easy way!” he playfully responded back. “You’re nearly at the top. Hard to believe it’s the 2^nd highest motorable road in the world. I have to say I got a little emotional up there.” Uh…hmmm. Again, how did I miss this? I guess now I understand why the people back in Rumpste looked at me a little crazy eyed.

The road continued its gradual ascent and the temperature inversely its gradual descent. Fortunately (or unfortunately), the road did climb so gradually that it was not until 4pm that I reached the summit of Taglang La. Oddly enough, there was only 1 totem, buried in prayer flags, denoting this accomplishment. Unlike Khardung La, no one was around to take any photos. I quickly snapped a memento pic, layered up, descended off the 17,500 foot pass, and set my sights down to Debring at just over 15k ft. where I would hopefully find a place to sleep before it got dark.

There seems to be 1 thing constant. Wind after 2pm. Fortunately the descent from Taglang La deposited me at Debring, my first dhaba. A dhaba is quite simply a temporary shelter of either tents or other basic construction. There is a hard packed dirt floor and no heat, but it is shelter. Hopefully you brought warm clothes. Because the route from Leh to Manali is so long, these areas are necessary for people to sleep and eat. There just literally is nothing else in between. In this particular dhaba, there was one shared room that slept 12 people in the back of the restaurant, again a term I use lightly. The woman and her mother who ran this dhaba, saw the chill and fatigue in my face, and quickly presented me with a bottomless plate of dahl, rice, and roti…and bottomless cups of chai. It later struck me that they did not have a vehicle here. They lived here, day and night, for the season, which typically runs May or June to October (whenever the snow is gone). They are stranded here, in a tent with dirt floors, no electricity or running water, until supply trucks bring in items each week, which usually consisted of drums water (for cooking, dishes, bathing),Coke, bottled water, rice, lentils, and ingredients to make roti. These ladies were constantly singing and always had the biggest smiles on their faces. I think to myself…wow, their life is hard. Then I wonder…maybe they think my life is hard in America. Something to think about…

As soon as I inhaled my gaping plate of food, it was refilled, as was my cup, as I quickly thawed out and came back to life. Note: whenever someone in India asks, “Chai?”, the answer is always, unequivocally, “Yes!”. “More chai?”. “Yes please!”. I don’t know how they do it, but every place I have stopped for chai, it has been consistently amazing. I don’t drink coffee (and rarely drink chai at home), but my friends that do, have sometimes complained about a bad cup of coffee or their favorite place to get good coffee. India = good chai, everywhere. I hope this never changes.

The 2 kind women, still smiling, still singing, upon taking my empty plate, showed me the room in the back. It is a 12’ x 12’ common area with rugs laid out covering the dirt floor, surrounded all around by heavy blankets. It is essentially a dorm. The price was rs300 (about $4). There were 3 other Indian men already settling in. All 3 had strong, deep coughs as they were either ill or suffering from some altitude sickness, neither of which made me overly interested in sharing a room with them. Instead, I opted to pitch my tent out back, next to an abandoned bombed out jeep that I used to shelter me from the escalating wind that just rips down the valley. I settled in, read a little, then drifted off to sleep by 8pm, shattered, but warm, nourished, safe, and anxious to see what tomorrow brings. Side note: A great way to combat altitude sickness is hydration. Drink water. A lot. I did. As a result I had to haul myself, unwillingly out of my fully cocooned mummy bag and out into the sub 30F calm, cloudless night. Have you every camped at 15k feet, where there is zero light pollution, and looked up at the stars…the stars that are now so close that you feel like you can simply reach out and grab one…if only you weren’t being blinded by their potent sparkle? I got up 2 more times that night, and didn’t mind a bit.