1. That’s how we roll
The Ladakhi sand on my clothes is drained away with the water from washing machine, flowing somewhere through Mumbai. The prayer flags, carrying the winds of Ladakh lie on my table. I will be travelling to office tomorrow in a car through a four-lane highway. Life will be same again. Except that it won’t.
I might forget how the approaching road was to that particular mountain pass, I might not be able to remember the aunty at Pang or the mechanic at Zing Zing Bar, the sight of beautiful Pangong Tso might fade away, the memory of the magnificent landscape near Rumtse might get erased; the water-crossings and the wild horses, the mountains and the marmots, the valleys and waterfalls, the More Plains and the Gata Loops, the milestones and the Border Roads Organisation’s slogans, the green fields and the wastelands, the red-cheeked children on village roads and wise old monks in the monasteries, the cafes of Leh and the tents on one of the highest motor-able roads — all might fade away someday from my memory. But I will never forget how I felt then. I will never forget the feeling I got when I rode through the Rohtang Pass, how small I felt at the Taglang La, the calm I felt at the Pangong Tso, that feeling after the first fall and before the last ride, how ordinary I felt at the hall of fame in Leh, the chills I got after the first water-crossing, the cold whistling winds, the hot piercing sun, climbing the high mountains on first gear and racing on the straight roads at fourth gear; it was something like love.
I understood the meaning of when people say that they can’t get enough of something. I couldn’t get enough of the green meadows of Koksar to Keylong, I couldn’t get enough of blue waters of Suraj Taal on the way to Baralacha La, I couldn’t get enough of straight roads of More Plains, I couldn’t get enough of the beautiful descent from Taglang La, rivers of Rumtse and driving by Indus on the final stretch to Leh. I don’t know if I want more of back breaking bad roads or shoe soaking cold water crossings, as if I have a choice. Ladakh left me wanting for more and satisfied at the same time.
It was like a dream. And like all the great adventures, this too started with a dream, a dream to ride on the highest motorable roads of the world. So, that’s how this adventure started, four friends, two bikes, and a dream, with some chilly water crossings, stupid jokes, senseless fights, embarrassing falls, mighty mountain passes, seventy degree slopes, and some good old music; because that’s how we roll!
