September 28, 2016

Ups and downs. Highs and lows. Literally and figuratively. Nothing is easy here. The terrain is unrelenting, physically and emotionally. It will pick you up and knock you back down. Will you get back up? Even when not climbing a 16k ft, 17k ft…or 18k ft pass, you’re still pedaling and simply existing at those heights. I have not been below 14k ft since I left Leh over a week ago and have consistently been above 15k ft. Today, there are actually 2 passes: Lachalang La (16,616 ft) and Nakeela La (15,541 ft). Check. Check.

I slept for 12 hours and have been off the bike for 21. I know full well what today has in store for me. I set out of Pang, immediately up hill, on a broken road, through what feels like the driest and harshest terrain yet. The wind has scoured this place for centuries carving out jagged spires and smooth peaks, almost as if some master sculptor had molded them. Although I am in awe of these new features, I am quickly snapped back into reality when I notice a delivery truck that had rolled off the 1 lane road and down the embankment several hundred feet below, crushing its body, ripping off its axle, and scattering its content (most of which had already been scavenged). The terrain is unrelenting, vicious, yet inspiring. The single lane, dusty, busted hint of a road climbs slowly and steadily until I reached the summit of Lachalang La. It is another crystal clear, indescribable, bluer than the bluest sky you’ve ever seen. Look at the photos below. No filter.  Almost simultaneously, I met a Spanish couple cycling from the other direction. They have done a fair bit of touring but on this trip, they opted to buy bikes in Delhi, which I thought was an interesting move. They asked if I saw an Australian guy whom they were riding with. I had, 2 days ago at the summit of Taglang La. After some photos, we shared route tips of what we both had to look forward to, exchanged contact info and proceeded on our way. It’s always good to meet other bike packers and wanderers, and to compare passions and experiences. It serves to inspire future wanderings.

I descended down from Lachalang only about 1000 feet before clawing my way up another 500 ft to Nakeela La. From here it was the start of the Gata Loops, a series of 22 flowing hair pin turns and switch backs meandering down nearly 2000 ft to the valley floor. It was still another 30k to reach Sarchu, my dhaba for the night. There is one thing on a bike that infuriates me. Wind. Nothing else. Just wind. It blows through my skull, scrambles my brain, and shatters psyche the way a wrecking ball demolishes a building. It doesn’t stop until I’m rubble. I could feel it picking up as I descended the Gata Loops and I knew that by the time I was down, it would be a factor. What should have taken me at most 2 hours, took nearly 4. Not a cross wind. It was a direct hit and I was losing.   At one point, I was 15km from Sarchu, yet I could see shiny buildings in the distance. I know the visibility is not that good. As the crow flies, it was at most 5km. I came around a bend and the road retreated 5 km back into the canyon and 5 km back out in order to cross the river. I could see Sarchu fading in the distance, and with it my composure and optimism. I came out of the canyon, back into the blunt force head wind and got within 5km. I could see Sarchu again but could not reach it. The same way a baby tries to reach candy on the counter. Futile. I tried to flag down a truck to hitch a ride. There were none. Where were all the trucks that have been zooming by me the past 4 days, blowing diesel fumes in my face?!? The 2 trucks that did eventually pass me were both full and thus no place for my bike. The final insult was that they both responded in very broken English that Sarchu is only 5km away as they pointed helpingly at the oasis in the distance.

Four hours of war later, I arrived in Sarchu. Unlike the previous dhabas, these were basically corrugated steel boxes, the kind I saw in the movie Cool Hand Luke when he was put in the hot box. At this time of year and altitude, this wouldn’t be an issue. I stopped at the one that had a sign that read, “Private room, hot water”. Sold. In fact, my room actually had the word “Room” painted on it, which was helpful in my dilapidated state. I was fried. I was wind burnt. I was salty and sand blasted. The woman who ran the dhaba had a huge smile and the cutest and most curious 9 month old son. She offered the usual food of rice and dahl, but first I just wanted to rinse my day from the film of salt and sand. I asked her for a bucket of her advertised hot water. Well, it was just a bucket sitting out in the sun, so it was warm-ish. I went around the side of the building, mostly to shield myself from the wind, and less from the few people who may get a glimpse of a naked American. That was irrelevant to me. Ten minutes later, I was clean, refreshed, and enjoying rice, dahl, and of course several perfect chai.

Two hours later, my body was demanding more, so I ordered another round of the same, this time with a couple fried eggs on top. I am eating everything that is in front of me or in reach. It is clear to me that this woman, in addition to the others that I have met, take immense pride in their business. The floors are hard packed dirt, and are constantly being watered to keep the dust down and also swept, with make shift brooms. The food is always the same. Rice, dahl, maggi, omelet. Simple but nutritious, cheap, and consistently good. They are also fully stocked with bottled water, coke, and other sweets that will give weary travels a lift. In the middle of this particular dhaba, there is a makeshift stove for heating that vents through the roof. It is the first heating apparatus that I have seen since arriving in India. Somehow she and her husband are able to scavenge pieces of shrub on the hillside although I’m not sure where. I haven’t seen anything other than rock and sand for 3 days. What they do find is oh so dry. It burns fast but the heat that is given off, even for 10 minutes, is a nice reprieve in the morning before the sun warms the valley. I am at 14k ft, the lowest point I’ve been in a week, since I left Karu. The extra bit of oxygen is noticeable and the night slightly warmer.

The people that I have met in Ladakh live so simply but seem so happy. Sure, they have their struggles and their challenges. Of course. We have so much more in the US but we enjoy our stuff so much less. Why is that our pursuit? What really makes us happy? This first week in the Himalayas has made me feel like a little kid again.

WIND!!!

His first selfie.  So pro