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Thread: Ladakh on Electra CI (Or why I almost decided on selling my Bullet)

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    Rusted diffuser911's Avatar
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    Default Ladakh on Electra CI (Or why I almost decided on selling my Bullet)




    The story behind the ride


    “Know yourself before you head out to discover the world”

    I don’t know who said this, or if someone said it at all. But this became my prime force to undertake the ride, the story of which I am going to share. It must be evident by now that I am an ardent motorcyclists. Around two years ago, I had stopped riding in the truest sense when I opted for an assignment in the Middle East. The assignment was optional, although long term; but it came to me at a point of life where I was looking to escape my demons rather than face them. Two years and tens of thousands of air-miles later, I returned back but my demons awaited me. My plan was set. I needed some answers from life. I needed a direction. I needed a long ride.

    The Road had been my teacher for long. I read the signs it throws at me and try to see an analogy they hold in real life. I wanted to unravel some jumbles that life was stuck in using these small fortune cookies that The Road had in wait for me. As we go on together on this journey, I will share my interpretations of the messages from The Road with you.
    Fate had its own plans for me. My two buddies who were supposed to join me for the ride were forced to take a rain check a few weeks before due to their personal and professional commitments. I moved back the dates of the ride to suit me and went into consultation with the members of BULLZzz to finalize routes, and seek advice based on their experience from the ride last year. For those who do not know, BULLZzz is the name chosen by the group of motorcyclists for themselves, who share a common passion of riding their motorcycles to beautiful destinations. I cannot thank my friends enough for the immense help they provided in terms of advice, riding gear, a postpaid connection, heck, even a place to stay until I finished my trip. They had their apprehensions, yet they trusted and supported my decision to ride alone.

    Going into flashback, some members of the DC may remember me as the guy who used to provide some entertainment by sharing our group’s weekend escapades and a couple of longer rides as well. Members of the group turned up the flame brighter and did some momentous rides: Sikkim (which I just missed), two trips to Bhutan, and to the Mecca of all motorcyclists, Leh-Ladakh. They went on to tease me with the pictures from the rides, and I was dreaming though the eyes of my friends. A temporary measure to keep my flame burning was to buy a pocket-rocket, i.e. a superbike at onsite and push the speed limits for a while. The small island nation, however, had its limits in terms of size, and it would have required me at least eight rounds of the roads, tip-to-tip, to achieve what we like to call a normal day’s ride.

    Back to the present, I returned back to India and had around twenty days in hand to prepare for the ride. Preparation is required at multiple levels for the rider and the motorcycle. I myself had to prepare myself physically and mentally before I could seriously consider undertaking such a trip. The most I had ridden till date was 1300 km on a road trip, riding on non-consecutive days with two friends on a reliable Japanese bike through inhabited places. This trip demanded just the opposites; at least 2000 km, riding back to back for days, alone, through places uninhabited most of the year, on a bike the British left behind to torture the Indians even 65 years after freedom from their rule. Psyched, aren’t we? That accounts for preparing myself mentally. Avik, Nilendu and Somnath helped a lot with that, assuring me nothing would/could/should go wrong in unmanageable proportions. We’ll see!

    I was supposed to get back on my cardio regime at onsite, but lethargy was my best friend there. I started when back in India, too late for the ride. I managed to do some running on the days that I had left with me, either on the roads in the office campus, or near the place where I stayed. Swimming would have been good to make lungs stronger, as the diluted atmosphere requires a lot of energy just to breath normally. A proper training should have included some exercises to strengthen the core, which I dutifully skipped. And how did I pay the price later on!

    Next comes the other part of the equation for the perfect ride: the bike! A day after arriving in BBSR, I took the train to my hometown Jamshedpur and drove down on the way back. My poor ride had suffered a lot in the hands of its caretakers, but I had blind trust on the machine and didn’t think twice before the ride. The riding gear and tools were loaded and I took some 11 hours to drive down the 400-something km. The bike was handed over to service center for the routine maintenance, plus fixing niggles I had noticed. A trip was made to Cuttack to get some genuine spares direct from the wholesale shop. A set of offroad tyres were shipped from Delhi by a college friend and mounted on the bike. I learnt to unmount tyres, replace a punctured tube with a new one and mount it back – survival on the road in the middle of nowhere! The authorized mechanic gave a brief how-to session on replacing some vital cables. No hands-on there.

    Collecting the items required for the trip was the last phase. Bike was shipped by then, along with some luggage, all the way to Jammu via GATI, a renowned logistics company. They charge a bomb but they deliver safely. I went around hunting for toiletries, medicines, eatables, clothes, more spares, quick-fix items, a cheap bag to carry them all, etc. The list was huge, will happily share if someone needs it to prepare for their ride. Document copies, originals, storing them safely. To think back now would surely give me a headache.
    Let’s move on to what I would call Day - 1, when I undertook the journey to Kolkata from where I was supposed to catch my flight to Jammu. The damned Dhauli express had it’s up and down trains at nearly the same time. And it was around the same time I lost my common sense that day. I rushed to platform 4, lugging my bags and helmet, and boarded the train, only to realize it was heading to Puri. As I was getting off the train, the loudspeakers boomed to announce the arrival of the up train. I rushed back to platform 1, panting in the heat and staggered into my coach. The journey was dull and I landed at Howrah at the right time. The Yatri Nivas at HWH station was luckily having a vacancy and I bunked up there for the night. After a couple of tries to capture the Howrah Bridge at night, I had my parceled biryani and dozed off, for the next day had to start early.

    Day 0 - Reaching the town of mischief
    Day 1 - The day "it" happened

  2. #2
    Moderator The Monk's Avatar
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    Travelogue Approved


    Finding it very hard on the eyes to read white text. Others please give your opinion, so it can be edited to Black if required.

    Thanks
    Biking is not about what you have between your legs, its all about how well you use it!!!!!!!

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    Rusted lockhrt999's Avatar
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    I'm hooked to this thread. Nice write up.
    ----
    @the monk: what white text?

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    Moderator The Monk's Avatar
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    Quote Originally Posted by lockhrt999 View Post
    I'm hooked to this thread. Nice write up.
    ----
    @the monk: what white text?
    Nothing. Antz has edited it.

    Thanks Anant
    antz.bin likes this.
    Biking is not about what you have between your legs, its all about how well you use it!!!!!!!

    Give your details here if you want to help your fellow xBhpian stranded in your city

    Touring Blog: Cycling in Mongolia!

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    Rusted diffuser911's Avatar
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    Quote Originally Posted by The Monk View Post
    Travelogue Approved


    Finding it very hard on the eyes to read white text. Others please give your opinion, so it can be edited to Black if required.

    Thanks
    Quote Originally Posted by lockhrt999 View Post
    I'm hooked to this thread. Nice write up.
    ----
    @the monk: what white text?
    Quote Originally Posted by The Monk View Post
    Nothing. Antz has edited it.

    Thanks Anant
    Thanks all. White looked better in post preview, but black seems good now!!

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    Rusted diffuser911's Avatar
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    Default Day 0 Reaching the town of mischief



    Day 0 Reaching the town of mischief

    Day 0 began with hastily packing up at 4 AM all the stuff I had scattered in the hotel and checking out, then heading to the taxi stand and booking a yellow cab to the airport. Kolkata has its distinct charm in the morning, passing through the back streets where the pavement dwellers start their day early and loiter around by the time the rest of the city is still getting its newspapers. I had my breakfast at CCD at the domestic lounge at Kolkata airport. The flight till Delhi was nothing to speak of. I picked up a Calvin and Hobbes book for some light reading during my trip, and a journal to jot down some memories, maybe even create a scrapbook. The food served abroad the Delhi Jammu AI flight slaughtered a few thousands my taste buds; I could literally feel them dying as I took a couple of bites from that horrible sandwich. I pocketed some tastier options for snacking during the ride.

    As the flight started descending, the orange-red Tawi River reminded me of the grim atmosphere of the state of Jammu and Kashmir. The weather was no relief either once the aircraft had landed. It was quite a surprise for me; I had imagined a year-long chill to be present in the entire state. The taxis which do local drops were outside the airport, so I dragged my luggage that far and went with a fixed rate taxi union to reach the godown where the bike had been delivered. As the bike had been drained of petrol, I picked up half a liter in a soft drink bottle to help me get to a filling station. After a little delay, the bike was unpacked and lifted down from the garage to the ground outside by the competent men. I loaded my luggage and noticed a few things amiss with the bike; someone suggested going to a mechanic in front of the office. He took a minute to fix the mirrors, and fit a missing bolt that held the bikes crash guard. Next, I headed to Chaudhary Paratha, a place recommended by an online forum. Great parathas indeed, I wished I could pack a few, but the thought of trying new things stopped me from it. Next stop was to tank up my motorcycle and then get some more spares I had missed getting in BBSR. I also got my handlebar straightened while at it, which must have gone askew during the transportation. The thought of bringing out riding boots from my packed luggage in the middle of the road seemed unwise, so I chose to waste my Ecco shoes for the day with a heavy heart.

    Having set the destination to Udhampur for the day, I soon touched the highway. The smooth NH reaffirmed my belief that it would not take long to reach Udhampur. The name Udhampur translates to the town of mischief, hence the title for the days journey. The scenery had turned to bushy hills, not much to write about. It was not long before the roads turned bad and to make it worse, I took a wrong turn into a road under construction. So much for following the signboards! Traffic had thinned out as the road went on and I had to stop and reconfirm that the road indeed joined back the Jammu-Srinagar highway. The highway was not much better, offering uneven surfaces at times but I was happy to be back on the correct road! The road had started climbing and I was able to make out the river bed from the road side. There were some traffic jams at places, but mostly bearable. Langurs were omnipresent as in the rest of India and one had to be careful not to run over one. Army trucks were now making their presence felt in the region. At certain sections, traffic was made one way to allow vehicles ply through a narrow patch of road. I could see lots of motorcycles coming down, as in descending from the mountains, perhaps in the last stages of their journey. A lot of thumbs-up were exchanged; me offering respect to the fact that they have finished their journeys, they wishing me best of luck for what lay ahead. One troupe contained around seven KTM Dukes that I could count of, if not lesser!

    I was near Udhampur and decided to stay in a hotel on the highway. The bypass took me right beyond the town and there were no hotels in sight, so I had to turn back into the town to find a place to stay the night. I stopped at the second or third hotel I saw and negotiated the rent from 800 to 500. The name was Krishna Palace if I remember correctly, and the room was on the second floor. The luggage was unloaded for the night, not an easy chore mind you. I decided it was high time I get some cash on me, so went out to find an ATM. Also on the agenda was to get a rally light fixed on my bike, which took most of my evening. I retired after a heavy and spicy dinner of paneer and rotis. Sleep feels good when the body actually feels tired!

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    Rusted hhsplendor's Avatar
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    bring it on

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    Default Day 1 - The day when it happened



    The day when it happened

    A day in the mountains! It could be as joyous as thinking of it is. I envisioned the day ahead as I got ready for the ride. The route was to go through Srinagar, going around the beautiful Dal Lake. I had spent some time to find a route which goes around Dal Lake, since Srinagar was not my halt for the day and yet I wanted to witness the beauty of the lake, even though it was just in passing.

    Quarter to seven was when I left the hotel with my bags packed. A quick fuel refill was done to ensure I had enough fuel to cover the days road. The roads were nice with bearable traffic till Chanani. I took a short break to mount GoPro HD Hero 2 on the bikes front, since I was a bit lazy to take too many picture breaks. The next break was to pop in the Diamox pill along with some ripe bananas to counter any effects of AMS, a problem some face during climbing high altitudes. I was still getting acquainted with the rules of the mountain roads, and had my share of narrow misses for the day quite early on. On the way, I saw dust rising from the left of the road, where the road fell into the deep valley; a truck had just rolled down the valley wall and people were running towards it. I sad scene indeed to start the day.



    Greenery all around



    Trucks take a dip here!



    Farms outside Srinagar

    My dear friends had advised me to stay in the middle of the road when riding in Jawahar Tunnel. I was under the impression that the Jawahar Tunnel, that connects the cities Jammu and Srinagar would be a three-lane mega-tunnel, worthy of being featured on the Discovery Channel. So imagine the surprise when I entered the tunnel behind a truck and the road narrowed down to just one lane! For the next two-and-a-half kilometer, I followed the bloody truck at a crawl speed of twenty. Add to my misery the dust penetrating all the exposed pores on my body, a car honking madly behind me and the half-century old engine heating beyond measures. It is a claustrophobes worst nightmare come true. As I counted down each 100-meter mark, my curses to my dear friends boiled down. The moment I left the tunnel, I knew I had to stop for a big and deep breath. And the stop was just a short distance down the tunnels end.



    From Titanic View Point - even a 12mm lens can't do it justice!

    Titanic View Point is the name given to the place that gives tourists the first view of the deeply mesmerizing Kashmir valley. Perfectly located for me, along with a food stall, I gave me time to relax my nerves. I placed an order for a Maggie and a tea, and paid attention to my camera which was lying mostly unused till then. While I failed to capture a panoramic shot of the valley, what I captured with my own two eyes was more than enough a pointer of good things to come. An experience that left me a bit sour before I left the place was when I saw police arrive and round up hawkers who were peddling their shawls and other wares; they were snatching away the items on display and throwing it away. I finished my brief lunch and left for Srinagar, quietly thinking if this was the picture that would get etched in my mind about the beautiful state.



    Dal Lake - not so heavenly

    It was quite difficult to tell that you are in the mountains when travelling towards Srinagar. The lush green farms on either side of the road, along with the hot weather would have you believe otherwise. I took a stop or two to ease up my feet, which were still adjusting to the shin-length riding boots. Srinagar came up soon and I could feel the conscious presence of armed forces in the city. I decided to drop the GPS, relying on the people for directions. I was guided to the correct road and the Dal Lake came into view with a mountain in the backdrop. To tell the truth, I was in no awe at the sight; it looked like any other lake from the road beside it. I stopped and took a few photos just for the sake of it. If the real beauty of the lake is to be explored, you need to kick off the riding boots and enter the maze of shikaras on one of them to see the sights hidden from the road. I had, like a famous poet said, miles to go before I sleep, hence on with the road! I was keeping half an eye on the lake, and the other one-and-a-half on the road. The circumnavigation of the lake, while sounded fantastic in my thoughts, became pretty monotonous soon, and I was looking to escape from it. Thankfully, I found the exit from the city going thorough narrow lanes, and finding a fuel bunk, topped up my bike to the brim.

    The outskirts of Srinagar became a bit of a hassle for me. I was seeing droves of young men riding three-up on motorcycles and interfering with the other drivers on the road. At times I felt I was being followed by a certain bike or two. One such group drove along with me and tried to get some details about my ride, which I wanted to avoid disclosing to stay out of trouble on the road. It turned out to be a psyche; as the road headed farther away from Srinagar, this particular crowd thinned out gradually and I breathed more freely. But was this the last trouble I faced that day? Read on!


    I might have heard demonic laughs here if I listened closely!

    My journey carried me through good roads and bad roads. One particular stretch I remember was crossing the village of Kangan, which was around 30-40 km from Sonamarg. The roads were merciless on the ride and the rider, owing to narrow streets and countless potholes that would put the moons surface to shame. At the very hint of good roads and a nice view, I stopped my bike, jumped off the saddle and put my rear on a hard cement block for a change. The camera was put to work to capture the captivating scenery below; the foaming azure blue river flowing in torrents through its twists and turns, villagers washing their utensils near a small dam, green carpets laid in steps behind the river, a house or two in the distance, the bushy-green hills transforming into the barren rocky landscape behind them. It would have been an idlers dream location to settle for a lifetime. Now, for the horror of the day.



    As ominous as it looks

    I went back and kick-started my bike. Or at least tried to. The bike wheezed and died down. Another try, same result; and then another and another, until my leg hurt and I knew something is not right. I ducked down beside the motorcycle and go busy with the toolkit. Out of nowhere, a Maruti 800 stopped and four guys jumped out. In their teens, or just out of it, they tried to assist me to diagnose the problem. They also created a ruckus on the road by shouting curses to any passing vehicle who tried to honk at us, or stretch their necks out of their windows. I got on call with my mechanic back in BBSR, who asked me the symptoms and if I had tried the usual troubleshooting steps. Upon further investigation as suggested by him, without going too technical on my readers, the engine was screwed and it needed to be fixed. The bike needed to be carried down to a mechanic and instructed on what needs to be done. We stopped stopping an Army truck and see if they could help us carry the bike, but they offered only to carry me to the next village; I declined, afraid of leaving the luggage and the bike. Another couple of young fellows on a motorcycle had stopped by and tried to help us out. We tried push starting the bike and it failed, so a tempo was waved down. The first group of boys had left by then, and the remaining two took my number and told me to call in case of issues. I could not thank them enough and bid them goodbye and luck with their journey. The tempo driver loaded the bike with help from bystanders, then asked me to sit on the bike and hold the brakes, since it was barely fitting into the rear when placed diagonally, and there was a chance it could come down crashing on the bad roads.

    The journey back to Kangan was a mini-ride through hell of sorts, with my spine being twisted into all shapes due to the road. I was holding the brake with one hand, and the side of the tempo with other. The tempo was on a run on the bad roads as if chased by wolves, and the driver was driving nonchalantly with one hand, the other in use for holding a mobile phone against his ear. No wonder my shouts to take it easy fell on deaf ears! We reached Kangan and thankfully the mechanic was working that day, despite a statewide bandh. The motorcycle mechanics of India can roughly be classified into two categories: the minority who work on Bullets, and the majority who dont. This one was of the second kind, but my BBSR mechanic explained to him what needs to be done and the fellow understood. I, by the way, was the sensation of neighborhood where hardly anything happens, and quite a crowd gathered around to see what the occasion was. My bike setup quite fascinated them, and I was happy to answer questions while the mechanic did his thing. I took note of what he was doing while he worked on the engine. I took the mechanics number to contact in case of emergency. My last meal till then was the petty Maggie that I had had at the Titanic View Point, and my energy levels were down, which my face must have told.

    An Army officer, posted in SSB Guwahati and on a leave, invited me to his house for tea. By then, the mechanic had fixed and tested my motorcycle, the tempo guy had left after offering me a place to stay in his tent and the sun had receded behind the high mountains. I was skeptical of leaving behind my luggage loaded, plus scared to ride late, but it felt foolish to let go of food at this juncture! A small walk down a lane led us to his house. We crossed a small patch of grass and took a seat on his porch, while he went in to ask his mother to prepare tea. As the location of the house sank in, I was amazed to see that the house faced a mountain, and had an extended lawn where apple trees were blossoming. It was a poets dream and a romantics reality. I was floored to learn that the gentleman and his mother were observing a fast in the holy month of Ramdan, and were yet gracious enough to provide me with tea and snacks. The lady did not know if she had added enough sugar to tea, but it was the sweetest that I had tasted in my life. Before I took my leave, the officer gave me a few apples for the way.

    My lesson from The Road for the day was:
    You are never alone on The Road even if you think you are; even strangers become companions where the need arises.

    It was a quarter to seven by the time I left and still a little light was there in the sky. With 40 km to cover, I took it slowly on the roads. I was skeptical if the bike would be able to reach Sonamarg without failing me again. I caught up with the tempo which was heading to the owners tent and politely declined his offer to house me for the night. The light was slowly receding and I was unable to catch the scenery around me, my main fear being that the bike stalls again and leaves me stranded. That, thankfully, did not happen and I reached Sonamarg in an hour. A quick enquiry at the first hotel prompted me to mount my bike again and look for cheaper alternatives. The second hotel I turned towards looked desolate, so I was turning back to the highway when the hotel guys started shouting, asking me to take a look. I reluctantly parked and went inside. The room was the first one on entering, as the season was low on tourists. The wood-paneled walls, along with the Kashmiri rug on the floor, made it look quite cozy, and the double bed was ideal for throwing my stuff all around the room. The rent was negotiated down to 500, while the owner claimed he rented out the same room for 3000 during high season!

    The hotel staff was sitting on sofas outside, the owner, the cooks, the waiters; I unloaded luggage from my bike and I requested for a nice cup of tea. I shared my adventures of the day and was all praises for the people of J&K as being the most helpful and gracious I have met. The owner, on his part, shared stories from around. The owner was not particularly appreciative of the role of Army in the state and shared an incident which I would refrain from sharing. He has had his experience, I have the right to have my own before forming an opinion, and so do the readers. I went back to the room with a jug of hot water, freshened up, and then lay down to let the days images flow in front of my closed eyes. The electronics were put on charge and I went out to the restaurant building to get dinner. By then, a large group of fifteen from Mumbai had gotten down from a bus and the hotel lounge was swarming with them. The owner was busy with making arrangements for them, so I chatted up a couple of the tourists. They were on their way to Vaishno Devi. They soon discovered my motorcycle and asked me about my journey, which I happily shared. I took my vegetarian dinner, cooked and served by boys from Jharkhand, my home state, who were in Sonamarg on temporary employment.

    Dinner was followed by an unsuccessful try at taking photos of the meadow in front of the hotel, where the bright moon was making the mountains look pitch black. Planning to take these images early next morning, I returned to my room, turned down the lights, pulled up the sheets and rolled into deep slumber.

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    Addicted drifter's Avatar
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    good going bro
    ASHWIN NARVEKAR

    My Blog - http://driftwiththeclouds.blogspot.com/
    Leh Ladhakh Trip
    Sikkim - Bhutan Trip
    My Bikes: Honda Unicorn, RX 135(Sold)

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    Nice travelogue diffuser911....BTW what are those Tyres F/R fitted? Is it Michelin?

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