Unexpected thrills
Trip Start
Apr 2005
1
3
7
Trip End
Apr 2005
Tapri-Kaza, India
Tuesday, April 5, 2005
Fortunately, there is an army post nearby and a Sardar from there offers me free lunch and some free encouragement to go with it. He even dispatches his orderly to help me push the bike, if required. Finally, half-pushing, half-riding, I manage to get past Maling.
Today seems to be a day when my mortality will be thrust in my face again and again. Between Ka and Khab, the huge mountains are made of nothing but loose stones, with not even a single blade of grass holding them together. The road is shockingly narrow, with no barricades. The only thing that stands between a 500-feet mountain of rubble and me is my good karma and I hope I have enough of it to keep me alive.
I do survive the mountain, but my karma runs out soon enough. The clutch on my bike snaps suddenly and I forget everything, the amazing moonscape-like vistas, the cold breeze and even the bottomless valley running alongside all the while.
I spot some kind of an army post about 200 m away and recalling my contingency plans, push my bike till there. They do have a mechanic, but he cannot do the repairs as he needs some spares for it. He informs me that I can get them if I choose to travel 77 kms in one direction or 50 kms in another. So I sadly say good bye to my sole companion and set out 77kms towards Kaza by bus.
The bus journey makes me realize that what happened to my bike was probably for the best. There are multiple landslides along the way, nothing for a bus but probably too much for a 2-wheeler. Even so, everytime the bus lurches to the side, I feel a heady rush of fear and excitement.
Arriving at Kaza, alive and not so well, I discover that there has been no electricity supply in the town for 2 days now. And if that sounds bad, the phones have been out for 4 days. A kindly soul leads to me a guest house, from which my expectations are a bed and a blanket. Nothing more. Checking into the guest house, I inquire about restaurants, but its too late and none are open. With my stomach ruling my head, I knock on the guest house owner's home and ask to be fed. He invites me in and I am treated to some delicious, home-cooked momos. He refuses to accept money for the meal!
