North Sikkim Ride: Day 2 - The Ride to Gurudongmar Lake II

The darkness pales out and the sky appears to be a little bluer. There are peaks and ridges which appear all around me and overlook the valley.

By now the light is warm and diffused. Sometimes, you can see a band of light emerge from the edges of the hills behind and shine over the craggy peaks.

Sometimes the visor of my helmet gets foggy from my breath.

Sometimes I find frozen ice and slush along the track that I am on.

Sometimes I stop and place my gloved hands on the engine to warm up.

At a point I see a 13000 ft marker. The reading on the odo indicates that I have covered around 30 kms. The wide, brown track snakes its way through the mountain and I rise along with it. On my right side is a long column of motionless army trucks. And on my right are Army barracks, separated by wires and meshes. Tashi speeds up and crosses me. He indicates to look out for him nearby. And in the maneouvre, I miss a short stretch of a frozen stream, just ahead.

Bang!

The motorcycle slips and skids and hits the ground.It does not spare me either and I fall down.

The landscape has turned into different shades of brown, white and black. It is time to pull over. At 14000 ft above MSL, I reach Thangu, the last inhabited place on this route.

Tashi leads me to a small café. It is smoky and pitch dark inside and it takes time for me to adjust to the change in light. The almost square room has two beds placed at right angles. In the middle is a smoking wood fired oven. The guests are all huddled on the bed, numbed by the cold. They talk animatedly and almost everyone exclaims “Never knew that it can be this cold”. The host hands me a tall drink of tea. Then, she tosses a few breads in a momo steamer over the oven and fans the oven. The oven belches out more smoke and heat and roasts the bread slices which were tossed over it.

I take 5 to 6 cups of tea in the half an hour that I spend there.

It is time to leave. Almost everyone warns me not to ride ahead.

But there are a few, who urge me to ride ahead.

I spend some time thinking, but the clocks keeps on ticking.

It is 7 AM now .

There is some pessimism, but also a little encouragement.

And it is with that little encouragement that I bring the motorcycle to life.

I continue the ascend and hit the snowline. Normally these places are devoid of snow in November. But Western disturbances, a few days back, caused heavy snowfall. No matter where you look, you won’t find a single shade of green. Strange rock formations, blankets of snow and dust envelope the sight. All around are military camps. And photography is prohibited.

I cross the 15000 ft marker. The switchbacks decrease and I see the land flatten out. It is like a vast field, with towering peaks dominating the periphery. Like the Gods, they watch me play, as I ride along the track which has ripped through this field. This is a place thick with military camps and movements.

All around is stillness.

The grey and brown hills. The rocks. The frozen river.

None. Nothing speaks and moves here.

Only I make too much noise but the noise seems to get absorbed into the walls of ice.

A few kilometers from the icy stretch, I see a heavy artillery presence all around. Smoke belching tanks pulverize the ground beneath the chains. They move lightning fast in this back breaking terrain. There are igloo shaped huts which serve as accommodation points. There are ammunition depots with sealed doors. Mine fields stretch out beside the track.

And then as I think, I have crossed all the technical sections; I come across another rare icy switchback. I stop the motorcycle a few feet away from the icy zone and get down on the ground to inspect it. The ice is packed hard and there are few chances that it will melt, since it is in the shade of the sun.

I ask Tashi to get down from his vehicle.

“Let us try to push it up the slope”, I say

“Okay”, he says. He sounds unsure.

So, I employ the strategy that helped me cover the earlier icy stretch.

I start the motorcycle and put it in the first gear and Tashi supports the tail. I use the clutch liberally as I navigate a few feet up the slope. But it proves to be an arduous task. Negotiating the clutch comes with difficulty. Sometimes the motorcycle over speeds itself, whereas at other times, it slips further. We try to keep it from falling, but over the packed ice it becomes impossible to control and it fall down with a thud. We get it back on the ground, but I run out of breath. I take rest at the side of the road and my breathing gets heavy. And before I can regain my energies, Tashi screams, “Sir”

And my immediate thought goes to the motorcycle.

Even with its side stand on, I see that it slips over the ice with increasing acceleration and falls down again. I wanted to arrest it from falling, but I lack the energy to do so.

Both Tashi and me look at each other with dismay.

But before I abandon all hopes, I give another push. This time I sit on the motorcycle and turn it on, shift to first gear and swing the accelerator. But the cycle does not budge. So, out of desperation, I turn on the full acceleration and the rear wheel frees itself from the ice. But it does not stop there. It cuts loose and leaps out like a wild horse and there is no way that I can manage it. It crashes hard on the ground and I see a chunk of ice scatter away due to the impact. And unlike the previous times, I cannot escape the cycle either and it falls upon me. The motorcycle lies over me and I cannot come out of it. Tashi tries to free me from under the motorcycle and somehow I manage to wriggle free. But my jacket, socks and shoes are all wet and cold.

The effect of the rarefied air is pronounced and heavy. I run out of breath and my throat becomes dry and I gasp for breath. I open up the tank bag and gulp all of the 1 litre super cold water. It does me some good.

The ordeal over the last 30 mins has opened up a gaping wound in my journey. And even though I am loathe admitting, but the bitterness of defeat is something which lasts even today. So, at 15500+ ft, just before the Giagong army check post, my journey on the motorcycle is over.