Thanks for liking the thread!!


I must have gotten off the wrong side of the bed. Or perhaps it was one of the numerous omens we Indians believe in. It had been an uncomfortable night; petrol spilled on my luggage had made me open the windows, allowing freezing mountain air all night long in the room. Now the bike was throwing tantrums as well.
I had dragged down my luggage after an ample breakfast of omelet and tea, and a goodbye to the lovely couple who owned the home-stay. Bullets are (in)famous for cold-start problems, but this was turning extreme. After 50 kicks with the choke on, I realized that fuel know was turned off. Slapped my head and turned it on, then another 100 kicks. Still no life! Fear started creeping in, was it the same thing I had went through in Kangan? I decided to try a rolling start, and used foot power to propel the bike in the direction of Leh, the road thankfully being a decline. Trying to roll start did nothing but reduce the speed, the bike wheezing like a sick dog. As all good things that come to an end, so did the decline, ending on the broken road. I pushed the bike, loaded mind you, to the next flat patch of road. Seeing that there was no other option left, I opened up the now-dreaded tappet cover and thanked the Gods, residing perhaps a few kilometers above where I was stranded. Another 50 kicks later, the bike was still unresponsive. Next check, the spark plug, rather I replaced it with a fresh one. One kick and the cursed bike starts. If there had ever been a miracle in the world, I was witnessing one: how stupidity overpowers sensibility!


I am not going to stop today, I though, as I overtook a few folks who crossed me while I was stranded. The roads were God-sent for that purpose, hardly breaking surface at some places. I passed through small villages which were having a good amount of green cover, sharply in contrast with their surroundings. The roads passing through these villages were in bad shape, possibly to ensure vehicles do not speed through them. The taxi vehicles are notorious in these areas. At one such village, I came upon a bridge where only one big vehicle can cross at a time. A Maruti Van taxi in front of me, seeing a bus approaching from the other side, backed up his vehicle to give way. Only, he forgot to check his mirror and backed straight into my bike. I honked and shouted loudly, which caught his attention and he stopped. The bike didn’t tip to the side thankfully, which would have required a few people to lift it with the amount of luggage loaded. The driver exited his taxi and came towards me, I prepared mentally for a fight. Rather, he apologized for not looking back! My bike’s front wheel had left a serious dent in his rear-bumper. The fiasco was over and I proceeded towards Leh. The taxi was in front of me most of the time.


Before entering Leh, there is a stretch of heaven: a plain road, straight as an arrow, for many kilometers. The views were amazing on the sides, but the road in front was too inviting, after day of driving on curvy mountain roads. I started with deciding to be careful not to push the bike to its limits, but as the joy crept in, all fear of speeding on the heavily loaded bike went away and I was raring to hit the ton on the speedo. The bike had comparatively less power on mountains owing to the oxygen level, along with the load, but it gained a lot of momentum. So much that, when the first slight curve came, I had to use all my skills to keep the bike from running off the road into the ditch alongside. Phew, what a rush! I had heard stories of a bike falling off the road into a river a week back, but didn’t find any such spot on my way. My learning from my teacher, The Road, was:


Entering Leh was an experience in itself. The walls of mountains that form the backdrop of the city look daunting from a distance. Coming in different shapes, sizes and colors, they may very well be the entry point for the plunderers in our history from up north. I took a moment in the outskirts to enjoy my victory, what is called as getting Leh’d in biker lingo. The city demands a modest entry fee to protect the environment, which I happily paid before heading to the DC office inside the city. Asking my way around, I pass through a busy marketplace before landing at the office of the gatekeepers of the inner line permit, overlooking the famous Leh polo ground. I was lucky to find a biker Atit, travelling alone like me, who had just received the permits. He helps me with the process, and within ten minutes, I am holding the keys to the beautiful border villages. A slight disappointment was not getting permit to Marismek-La, the actual highest motorable road in the world. But it was also a blessing in disguise, given the situations I had faced so far with my motorcycle. I bid goodbye and good luck to my newest friend Atit. Next on the agenda was to find a hotel!


I headed to Chanspa Road, where almost all bikers hole up in cheap hotels, looking for two things: safe parking and hot water, in that order! The cheaper deals were after Chanspa Road, but I took on right on it, a gated hotel with a friendly manager. Still not having eaten, I hauled luggage to room and decided to get my bike looked at. I found myself looking for Mohan Sharma, a guy who has been recommended as a Bullet expert on biking forums. I detailed the issue I faced to him and he looked at the engine, wrenching away for some time. Apart from that, there was a leaking front shock absorber which he had his guys to attend to. He assured me, that I should go fearless to my destinations, and not be bothered by the bike. I marked his words (you should too), and headed back happily to Chanspa Road to find lunch, as I was feeling lightheaded due to the heat. A hotel with open eating area looked inviting and I settled down for a heavy lunch. The city felt bloody warm for the altitude, and I was easily reminded of Bhubaneswar. The climate had changed in the last few days, I was told.

I soon found myself napping at my hotel, satiated with the food and exerted by the consecutive riding days. Waking up in the evening, I decided to do a recce of what was being offered in the markets. I looked at pashmina shawls for my family and decided to buy it when I come back to Leh from further up north. Having heard good things about it, I located the German bakery and packed dinner from there. On return, I chatted up with the hotel owner and came to know quite a lot about the city. Travelling alone is an introvert’s way of knowing the world; I would never have interacted with so many great people had I come in a group. The owner told me a nice anecdote; he once visited Shanti Stupa at night alone and heard voices of children. Being near two graveyards, the area is known for apparitions seen or heard. The hotel owner became stubborn and spent the night there alone! With this story, my plan to visit Shanti Stupa at night to capture Leh city went for a toss. I ended the day on a lighter note, reading through the Calvin and Hobbes book I had picked up before sleeping.

Salute to your biking spirit man. One thing I can say, when the tough time is passed, Look back to it, and thank your luck, that it happened with you. You now have the experience and learned how to survive. The best part is, you can be the mentor for others now. Heartily thanks to you for the write up. Truly inspiring.

Thanks Sambit. It really was a time I would cherish and remember all my life. But this is not the last trip, there are more in the pipeline, maybe once every two years if life permits. I am back in BBSR long back.

Awesome write-up Sunil. The pics and descriptions are superb. All my memories of the same trip in June last year came haunting! Guess, I got to go back soon.

Eagerly waiting for more.

Day 4 - Loafing around in Leh

The sun was up in the sky when I woke up, thereby ruining plans for capturing sunrise from Leh Stupa. Without wasting time, I packed a small bag with my needs for the day and headed to a dosa place in the main market. Unluckily, they were serving only aloo parathas, which were devoured happily with tea. At the city entrance, the road was blocked in front of petrol station by vehicles queuing up to fuel up for their outings for the day. I waited patiently for my turn and filled as much as I needed.

My first destination for the day was Shey Palace, located on the Leh-Manali highway. The hills on the way look quite rugged up close, as beautiful as they might seem from afar. I passed a patch of road with small, crude gompas covered in white plaster on both sides. The roads were mostly devoid of traffic, allowing covering the distance quickly. There was a narrow canal running alongside the road, perhaps carrying water to some village. The Shey Palace is located on a hill, and my first thought was, am I going to climb this? The uphill path is lined with prayer wheels, some in motion along their axes. An elderly person on his way up confirmed that I can ride my motorcycle right up to the stairs of the palace. A minute later, I was at the bottom of the staircase. That was not even the beginning of the battle.

The stairs to the palace looked bloody difficult to climb, with high steps and steep gradient. I lugged along my bag, the camera bag and helmet with me. With no less than two stops on the stairs, I reached the entrance of the palace. A walk around the courtyard revealed more prayer wheels, and I set them in motion as I walked past. The person I met at the bottom had reached by that time as well, walking all the way and perfectly composed, unlike yours truly, who was wheezing like a sick animal. He shared many facts about the history of the palace; it used to be the summer home of the royal family, which now has moved to another town, Stok, which he pointed out at a distance at the bottom of a hill. The view is spectacular from the top of the palace. Blossoming green meadows contain marshes intermingled, in front of the hill that houses the palace. My guide claimed the Indus River used to flow with wider banks long back. Soon, he got busy answering questions from a family which had just arrived, and I thanked him and left. I saw more stairs and decided that I had climbed enough, so climbed down and started towards my next destination of the day.

Thiksey Gompa is located further ahead on the highway, following the two-lane roads that brought me till Shey. It is the largest monastery in the Ladakh region. From afar, the sheer size of the monastery makes it hard to believe that it was built a few centuries back. The road to Thiksey diverted from the NH and took me through a short, but scenic drive to the gates of the monastery. The parking area had a number of vehicles, indicating the presence of tourists. The entry gate, vibrant and massive, leads to an inclined path towards the start of a set of stairs that lead to the monastery. On the way, a massive prayer wheel on the right, adds color to the backdrop of the dull mountains and the bland skies. I took a break to take off my body-warmer; the sun was apparently doing a good job keeping me warm. The stairs here were steeper and the steps higher than Shey Palace. I took stops on the way up, and was put to shame by elderly foreigners who climbed without breaking a sweat. A ticket is required at the entry of the massive courtyard of the Gompa.

The courtyard hosts a tall flagpole in the middle, and is surrounded by a gallery with slightly recessed walls around it. The gallery houses an array of gorgeous wall paintings of Buddha in various forms, which I studied for a while. By now, it was close to mid-day and the courtyard felt warm to the feet. The buildings in the courtyard were reachable by (more) stairs, so I scurried across the courtyard like walking on burning embers and hurried up the stairs. The complex on the left is an assembly hall that contains murals, which were being explained to the tourists by a guide. It also houses a dimly-lighted prayer hall with a statue of Lord Buddha in the middle and seating places on the sides. I put a lot of effort to capture the scene with the light available, then moved to another smaller room behind the statue, where tourists were heading to. The small room is wide but not too long, and houses a statue of Buddha in a seated position. Owing to the low-light condition and narrow area, I camped on the floor with my camera and tripod, and tried to get at least one picture which was symmetrical and doing justice to the statue. A disturbing habit I noticed was that despite multiple signs asking tourists to avoid using camera flash, none paid heed and blasted away. The flashes are damaging to the delicate works of art and lead to a quicker deterioration of the subject; the fact is either unknown or take for granted by tourists.

At the other end of the courtyard is another hall, reachable from climbing more stairs. I braved them, thinking that these are the last ones I climb today. The hall contains a colossal statue of Maitreya Buddha, which is two stories high, and was constructed in 1970 to commemorate the visit of the 14th Dalai Lama (as per Wikipedia). I joined the hordes of tourists to capture that one perfect shot of the statue and the massive chamber. I was feeling a little sore by then and decided to head back to Leh. On the way down, I purchased some chocolate bars and soft drinks from a counter. I couldn’t help wish seeing the Stok Palace once as well, knowing I may not be back for long. As it fell on the way, some distance off the highway, it was not worth leaving behind. The diversion from NH through towards left at Choglamsar took me through a bridge with hundreds of prayer flags tied to the beams, creating a vibrant imagery. The roads past the bridge were not in good shape for a distance, and directionally ambiguous. I ran around a couple of times before heading in the correct direction of the village.

Once I reached inside the village, the road became narrow and threw one blind turn after another. The palace is more recent and colorful in design than the structures I had seen so far, but I decided to be happy watching it from the outside itself. No more stairs for me today! On my way back, I picked up a villager looking for a lift to Leh. I was happy to have someone to talk with since the morning and asked details about the royal family. The scenery I had before my eyes was beyond words, yet I will give it a shot. The narrow road leads straight through some arbitrary town, dwarfed against the walls formed by the mountains behind them. The sunlight dances over the majestic mountains, playing hide and seek among clouds and painting a scene that is a wonder to behold. I had made a video recording of this stretch and keep revisiting it to relieve the grandeur of Ladakh. Entering the highway was close to waking up from a dream. I was soon in Leh and dropped my newest friend at the town square, then headed to pack some lunch.
By now, I had an awful realization: my lower back had taken a hit from the monkey business of the day with my camera and tripod. I headed to the German bakery and had my lunch there. Back at the hotel, I rubbed a pain ointment and went to sleep, hoping the pain would go away when I wake up. The short sleep failed to provide relief. The tap water was warm and I went for the bath that was delayed by a few days now. Unable to bend down, I had to sit on a plastic chair while bathing. I found my lips cracked up by the cold even after daily use of lip balm. I headed to the market to get a hot water bag, pain relief spray, plus some other things I needed for my travel. I purchased a hot water bag, plus some medicines and other paraphernalia. With a damaged back, riding around a 180kg iron lode is not a bright idea. After picking up some warms socks and a bandana at the main market square, I dropped my bike on the road side after taking it off the stand, unable to hold it due to my back. The bike went belly up and I had to shout to gather a small crowd to pick up the bike. The damage was done, though slight; a few dents and a shattered headlight, an indication hanging off the wires. I called up Mohan Sharma and he asked me to bring around the bike. I dropped off my shopping at the hotel, used the hot water bag on my back for a while, and then headed to the garage before it got too late.

The resourceful Mohan fixed my bike’s headlamp and I thanked him before I left. After the remaining chores, namely petrol, a lumbar support belt, packing dinner and breakfast for the next day, backing up of memory cards, I returned to the room. I cursed myself, as I had forgotten to take copies of the permit, which need to be submitted at the check posts when heading towards the border. I headed out again, wobbling in pain and finally came back to the room.

Settling down with a refilled hot water bag in the bed, I was wondering what will happen with the next day’s ride, if it were to take place at all, as I drifted to sleep.

Amazing!, that is the only word i can say about your ride and writing style . I am planning to do the do the Leh trip since few years, i am not sure when it will materialize, but you are living the dream of my life, bring it on, i can't wait to read more.

If you must, then there should be nothing stopping you!! I had not rode a bike for more than a 100km for 2.5 years when I undertook the trip. Personally, I was under the impression the world was gonna end in 2012 (damn those Mayans, lovely movie though!!). I knew I had to do this, that it would give me happiness even if something unwarranted happens during the course of or after the trip .

Amazing post. It makes me want to leave everything behind and go to leh.. Keep posting every day..

Day 5 - A letter to my Dad


Dear Dad,
What I have been hiding from you in the past few days will be the biggest lie I have ever told you, or ever will. There you are, thinking I am in Bangalore on a short-term assignment; the truth cannot be farther than that. I am sitting alone in a dark tent in one of the last villages on LoC in Kashmir and pondering the decisions I have taken in recent past, and how they led me to my current predicament.

The day had started like any other, except it started a long way north-by-northwest where I usually wake up. I was to scale the highest motorable road in the world. Khardung La, also known as K-Top among the travelers in this region, was to take me to a vertiginous 18,380 feet. The pass connects the city of Leh to the beautiful, yet desolate moors of Nubra Valley. The pass is 40km from Leh, so I started late thinking it would be a piece of cake. It was still early for the city and I passed households in the outskirts starting their day by sweeping their front. The roads got better as I travelled farther from Leh increased.

A butt-break

A few water crossings and one-way traffic sections later, I was at a point quite well known as India Gate. No, not the one in Delhi; this one has a massive chunk of rock that stands vertically on the deep-side of the road, and along with the mountain face of the other side, gives an impression of an ancient gate without an ach. This called for a photo stop, few and far apart till now. K-Top was another couple of kilometers from there; I took a small break to pour water down my parched throat and enjoyed the vistas from the height. I had been tailgating vehicles out of nervousness, and hit quite a few bad spots on the road. By now, I was celebrating small destinations enroute with fist pumps; that included one for each milestone I saw on the way to K-Top. The temperature was cold but not uncomfortable when I set my eyes on the much-photographed board, welcoming me to Khardung La top.


A blanket of snow was laid across the peaks around me. A million prayer flags flowing in the icy wind added color to the scenery. The top was littered with people all around, some taking pictures with the boards welcoming to K-Top, some seeing the temples at the top, others heading to the restaurant nearby for steaming tea and Maggi. The black tea they serve there was the sweetest I had tasted ever. Despite my back pain, I took photographs all around, knowing the moment has to be frozen in time. I wonder what you would feel on seeing the photos: proud, angry, concerned? A big board had stickers of many motorcycle and adventure clubs who have been there; I wished I had something to leave behind too. The not-so-good thing was a huge garbage dump on one side of the K-Top. Why do we have to disfigure anything that is pure and good? A Western couple kissed next to the ledge overlooking the dump, further highlighting the irony.


After a few moments near the top of the world, I wanted to descend down and head to my destination for the day. Not long after, I stopped at the sight of walls of snow; it was incredibly enchanting and I knew I had to leave my mark, even though temporary. Dad, did I ever tell you that I was part of a tiny motorcycling group called BULLZzz, all of us fast friends now for more than four years? Each one of us has a sizable amount of travel on motorcycles and few have carried our dreams overseas as well. I carved the name of our group in the virgin snow, which would perhaps be replaced in a few hours with a new layer of snowfall, or melt away into a million drops. But it was good knowing it was ever there.


Riding with few and short breaks in-between, I reached Khalsar. I had been anxiously looking for an air station. I was informed by the owner of a dhaba (where I had my lunch of rice, daal, paneer and omelette) that a puncture shop exists on the outskirts of the village. As I neared Diskit, I could see a point where the river was running along the roadside, and a few tourists sitting on rocks, dipping their feet in the ice-cold water and reading books. This was my high point during the trip - I promised to myself I would start early on the return journey and spend some time here. At Diskit, I finally saw an air station and got my bike checked. Opposite to the shop was the highly-unreliable hand operated fuel station of Diskit where fuel was more absent than found. I was already seeing signs of sand on the roads, which increased as I neared Hunder.

Amazing post with Breathtaking photos[What is the camera?]

Please continue, waiting for the next update.

Thanks mate...I was using a Canon 500D with mostly Tokina 12-24mm lens. Pics are heavily processed to highlight the dynamic range of colors.

Amazing pics & awesome writing skill...... loved it

great writing,great presentation I would rather say.

Excellent diffuser... Now waiting for more... Bring it on...

Excellent narration and pics .. Next Installment please ... !