The Last Ride
I always thought it would be much easier since I knew it was coming. The foreknowledge I believed, would act as a cushion protecting me from the shattering blow that would fall upon mankind. How wrong I was. It wasn't easy. It was like realizing that I'd fallen off a thirty storey building at the exact moment when I had still three feet to go before I hit the ground.
The announcement came just three days before. No more petrol for civilians. You could buy petrol only if were either in the army, serving the country or if you were a politician, pretending to serve the country. I knew this was coming and had saved some petrol for this journey. This last journey. It's not like I wouldn't ever get to ride or drive again. It's just that riding or driving would never be the same again. That's why this last journey is so important.
I borrowed a hydrogen powered pickup from my cousin, loaded the bike and the last precious drops of fuel onto it and drove to Manali. From there, it was just me and my bike. I rode on and on, not for stopping for anything. The cold desert welcomed me back. The roads seemed more than glad to bear the burden of me and my bike. It felt good, very good. Trying not to reflect on the future I sped on, trying to relish every bit of the experience. The petrol burned with fury in the small confines of the engine, releasing huge quantities of power, throwing out very little smoke compared to the bikes I'd ridden as a teenager. Like I said, it felt good.
I was soon stuck behind a dust cloud raised by a very expensive hydrogen powered army truck. I couldn't see much, but there was nothing else in the arid desert so I just kept going. All of a sudden I knew something was wrong. I couldn't see what was coming, but I knew I had to brake. I did, yet my sixth sense as accurate it was, didn't kick in until it was too late. I crashed into something that was alive. I still remember the momentary, but terrifying darkness that followed. Take my word, there is nothing more scary than not knowing.
I woke up lying alongside a temporary shelter. I picked myself up and walked ahead to find carnage. My bike, a dead goat and an old woman. She smiled at me, a sad smile. I was dumbstruck at the woman's strength to smile, when she'd lost probably the only living soul she ever had in this remote land. I felt apologies wouldn't make much sense now. I could only watch as she came up to me, said 'Be Careful' and started packing up her things. She started walking away towards civilization with her meager possessions.
I picked up my bike and started towards the highest roads. At the peak I was struck hard by the beauty of the mountains. It was still incomparable to the old woman I'd just met. I wondered, how resilient the human race is. Taking all losses in stride, getting up again and again after all the blows to keep going. At the end of it all, living matters to us more than just survival. As I rode back towards Manali, my mind wandered to the fact that exhaustion of fossil fuel resources only signified the end of one chapter and the start of another. We'd always find things to be passionate about . We'd always try to be more human than ever.
Authors Note ( should I add Artist too now :P)
I'm training under Mr. Solomon D Vedamuthu who has been doing an awesome job of draggin me off the path well trodden and landing me in a zone where creativity flows without inhibitions. This was one assignment where I had to write a short story and draw a visual for the story. Thought I ought to share with you guys 
Disclaimer:
1. I've never been to Leh, or Manali.
2. I do not know whether there are old women who setup shops on the way to Leh and have goats.
3. I would never buy an A-Star glove coloured blue if I was riding a Kawasaki