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

 “What are you going to do sir?”. Tashi asks me.

“I haven’t thought yet”, I reply in disappointment.

I sit on the side of the road, listen to my heavy breathing settle down to normal, and try to think about what to do next.

 “The thought of taking the motorcycle back to its base came to my mind, but I was preoccupied with the failure of taking the motorcycle up to Gurudongmar. May be a group of fellow riders would have helped. May be I should have carried a shovel to dig my own path. May be the weather Gods could have been a bit kinder. Or maybe this failure was a lesson of how much prepared one needs to be in this terrain.

There were several ifs and buts. However, at the end of the day, I should have calculated more precisely. This was November, and these were areas where disruption was routine. You needed to think about more ways that could cut short your journey; than ways which could make your journey. I looked at the limping motorcycle that was shining under the intense sunrays. It lay cold and lifeless.

‘Badlands. These were absolute badlands.’ I thought.

All around there was a gloom and disappointment. But there needed to be a way forward. And for that, I turned to Tashi. His support vehicle was the insurance to carry me all the way to Gurudongmar, should my motorcycle fail.”

 “I think we can get on your vehicle, Tashi”, I reply after a long pause.

Tashi is glad with my reply as I get on to the Bolero.

Atleast I get to see Gurudongmar, I think.

This transition of landscape, from the conifers of Lachen to the cold, dry desert of Tso Lhamu is the most striking transition that I ever witnessed in my life. It is an arid, lifeless desert that lies in the rain shadow area of the Kanchengyao range. In the months of May and June, patches of green appear in the bleak, grey landscape. But now, there are only vast expanses of brown fields that extend as far as the eyes can see. Sometimes the brown is interspaced with patterns of enormous white snow fields that blind the eye. The dirt track pierces through this plateau, on while we travel along. For miles, there is not a soul to be seen.

I envision the sublime picture of a motorcycle rider, riding ahead. His arms are high, holding the handlebars. His legs resting on the foot pegs. And he sits in a relaxed, cruising position. Sometimes you can see his buffs sway and sleeves flutter in the wind as he rides on. And in his mind is boundless freedom.

But the picture is only a mirage.

Yaks. Tashi told me, that they were being prepared to be slaughtered. Dried, yak meat is a diet in the dry, cold winters in these places.

The return journey is fast and unassuming. The feeling of saturation is overwhelming and I long to reach the motorcycle.

While returning back, the motorcycle feels as heavy as an elephant. It seems that its reluctant to travel. There are streams of water which are coming down the edges of the path, but the ice seems to have frozen solid at the middle.

At Thangu, there is some population to talk to. I pull over and explain the condition of the cycle. And they call a BRO worker. He fixes the self starter spring. But, he cant fix the dangling side stand. Instead, he ties the side stand with the motorcycle frame by a piece of cloth. Simple fix, and it solves my problem, albeit temporarily.

I feel hot and remove the sweaters after sometime. There are flowers and trees, but they are no more beautiful. A dusty wind blows continuously and adds to the ferocity of the situation. At one turn, I notice a lone Army Gypsy going up the mountain, nimble and agile. Its windows are closed, covers all rolled down. The Gypsys really seem to have some character. Iconic!

The road winds down in sharp turns. And it’s a path over gravels and boulders and the brakes don’t seem to function and the motorcycle continues to skid. The drops appear human hungry and a single topple will push you down by several feet, straight into the river. When the motorcycle skids violently, I try to arrest the movement using my feet. At one of the turns,I try to stop the speeding motorcycle, even after full brake and engine braking, but still the skid continues. But my body has grown tired and the legs lack their strength. My head does not feel clear and I am in total disarray. A last ditch attempt to support the cycle fails, and I fall down. And I continue to lie down on the ground. I cannot lift myself, let along pick up the vehicle.

I reach the hotel and crash on to the bed. It is 1 PM and I call it a day. Lachung needs to wait, I think. I don’t have any energy. But later I get up. Post lunch, we start the journey from Lachen to Lachung.

When we reach Lachung, I am shivering again, but its intensity is lesser than yesterday. Guess, I am more prepared now.

As I go off to sleep, the thoughts of different things come to the mind - initially they are distinct, but gradually they mix up and start forming a cocktail, the divisions of thought never really remains. It means sleep is coming. Gradually the hills are drawing to a close. The motorcycle and me and I had always wondered what was there in life and finally found that there was an unbridled joy. The joy when you can do what you really want to do. That night my body shakes at times and I wake up from my sleep.

 It is like you are in a train and you know you cant sleep and so you drift into little sleeps, half conscious of the surroundings. Here too the body was too tired, the tiredness beat the sleep, but there is another long day the next day.