September 27, 2016

I woke after 10 hours of sleep, sleep that was interrupted several times by the need to put on increasing layers until I found my sweet spot, and of course my star gazing. My water bottles were frozen. It was 630 a.m. I didn’t want to get out of my tent. The sun had yet to hit the valley and it was simply too cold to go out. Grudgingly, I crawled out of my sleeping bag. It had a thin film of ice around the area were I was breathing. I went into the dhaba. Already, the younger woman was boiling water for chai and rolling out dough for fresh roti, while her mother was finishing her morning prayers and proceeded to sweep the floors and fold up their blankets from the night before. The 3 men who slept in the back has already departed. I moved slowly, with no intention of cycling anytime before the sun hit the road around 8 (and my water bottles thawed). I enjoyed several cups of chai, a bowl of maggi, an omelet, and 3 roti. By then it was 8 a.m. I strung my tent and sleeping bag out to thaw over the jeep that I had used for shelter.

Each day there is a mix of stress and excitement. Excitement to see what the day brings, what the terrain will look like and where I will sleep and find food. Stress at the same time for the same reasons. I’m still at 15k feet, in one of the most remote parts of India and my phone does not work. This is the life of a wanderer. I packed up my gear, purchased more supplies, and set out on the 40km stretch to Pang, stressfully anticipating my day.

Today is a much needed short day with mostly a flat road. These are the Moray Plains, notorious for paralyzing wind. It is only 40km of mostly forgettable terrain, but could take the entire day if the winds come up and are not in your favor. I put on my trucker hat and flipped up the color on my shirt to shield my face and neck from the intense sun at 15k ft, and clicked off the kilometers. Fortunately I got out early enough and reached the end of the plains before dropping down the 5km snaking descent into Pang, another dhaba. It was 1130am and I was done. I never even considered Lachalang La, another nearly 17k ft pass, which awaited me immediately as I would leave Pang. My legs and body felt the effect of yesterday’s climb over the 17,500 ft Taglang La. In addition I have been living above 14k ft for a week, and also climbed over another 17k ft pass the day before. My body will absolutely not let me forget about Khardung La at 18,500 ft. The woman who runs this dhaba offers me a private tent for RS500 (about $7.50) and I spent the day eating, drinking, and recovering. Tomorrow will not be easy. This much I am told by everyone at the dhaba. The temperature is only about 50F, but at this altitude, is too intense to be out in, so I spent the day in my tent, napping and coming out for the occasional food and water.

I am constantly reminded with invigorating yet brutal force that everywhere in this area is big. There’s nowhere to hide. It is simply a byproduct of this experience but by no means why I am in Ladakh.   I am here due to the remoteness, difficulty to live, and desire to live simply. I have the opportunity to experience a culture that most of the world, at best, will only read about, but will never fully comprehend. Life is hard here. The altitude, the dryness, the climate, the remoteness. Through all of this, I have met some of the kindest, most giving and generous people in my life. I’m continually asked, “Are you alone?” with a perplexed look of disbelief as if to really say, “No way are you alone.” I am not alone.

All my travels through Vietnam, Zimbabwe, Madagascar, Bolivia, Peru, and now India, I have experienced an odd paradox. I’m anonymous because I’m a foreigner in a far off land, and nobody knows me or my story. I don’t speak the language. I’m a stranger, and I love it. It’s where I’m most free. Conversely, I’m not anonymous. I stick out. No matter how tan my skin gets, no matter what color I paint my bike, I’m not from around here. All of the places that I have visited, especially the remote Himalayas, they see so few western travelers, fewer on a bike, and fewer still who are solo. Their looks of curiosity that give way to beaming ear to ear smiles, warm my soul and get me out of bed (or sleeping bag), every morning. I greet everyone with a smile and good intentions even though sometimes things don’t go my way or as planned. In the end, regardless of where I travel or live, people really are just people, searching for connection, trying to get by.