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Two hours into this, I was almost about to give up for the day (it was just 2 pm!)when we entered the military cantonment area of Udhampur, a place notorious for being in the news for all the wrong reasons! I spied a board proclaiming the presence of a Kendriya Vidyalaya, and my first thought was to ask mom to take a transfer here, so that we could shift here, at least for some time. We stopped, took a break, had a light lunch, clicked pictures in front of a board announcing Udhampur, and refreshed, moved on. After all, apart from the regular shelling that Pakistan carries out in the vicinity of the place, the town itself is nothing to write home about.
Immediately after leaving the town of Udhampur, the road became worse, with my speed reducing to 10-20 kmph, while Shekhar sped on at 30 kmph, which allowed him to put a lot of distance between him and me. Half an hour into the ride, we hit a traffic jam, which, I later estimated to be 3 km long on each side.
To understand the reason behind these jams, let me paint a pen picture of the scene. The Himalayas are a young mountain range, and they are growing by a few centimetres every year, due to the Deccan tectonic plate pushing under the Eurasian plate. While a few centimetres might not sound much, they wreck havoc on the stability of the mountains, which makes them extremely prone to landslides. This coupled with the near vertical mountainsides ensures that whatever narrow roads the Border Roads Organization (BRO), the construction arm of the Indian Army, has tried to build and maintain in Jammu Kashmir over the last few years, are simply pummelled into extinction. In some parts, the landslides are so destructive and frequent, that BRO has simply stopped trying to resurface the roads, they simply try to ensure that the path remains open for traffic, hence the rough nature of the roads. The BRO has heavy earth movers stationed every 20 or so km that can be rushed into operations as soon as reports of a landslide reach them .
Coming back to the jam. A portion of a bridge under construction had given away, which had caused a truck, which was crossing the said bridge to get stuck in the soft mud below. This had caused the traffic on both sides to stop completely. Adding to that the classic Indian impatience with standing in a queue and both lanes were now filled with traffic moving in the same direction. Being on a bike gave me the freedom to push past this heavy stopped traffic, albeit at a slower rate, and after crossing the stuck truck, I made my way on the other side, facing the exact same problem, only, in the opposite direction.
The terrain was hilly, road conditions bad, and traffic heavy, mostly trucks. Jammu Kashmir has almost no railway system, all equipment, material is transported via trucks. As a result, the truck to other vehicle ratio is heavily lopsided. Add to this the bad condition of roads and what we have is crazy localized air pollution in one of the cleanest parts of the country nay the world.
Progress continued, very slowly, and our chances of reaching Srinagar before dusk went from good to bleak. My bum was paining big time, and I had to stop frequently to relieve the pain. On the way we crossed many riders coming the opposite way, their ordeals almost over as they made their way towards Jammu and beautiful roads beyond.
The roads were also full of tempo travellers and Tempo Toofans chock full of pilgrims on their way to Balthal to start their Amarnath Yatra, and many mistook us for fellow pilgrims going to the same place. I have no idea what gave them this impression, hopefully not the bright green ninja. Apparently there are enough people coming from every state or region that there were multiple langars regularly coming up which offered food of a particular community free of cost, for the said pilgrims. Not that I was the least bit hungry, the constant jolts and movement had curbed my appetite completely. But they did serve as the point of catching up with my partner, because he stopped every few dozen kilometres in one of them, waiting for me to catch up.
We reached Patnitop around 4.30 pm, and because my uncle Sandeep mama had specifically mentioned the place, we took a brief halt there. It is basically a (relatively) low mountain with tall trees and green grass, and the top is perennially blanketed in mist. The whole sleepy village charm is present in that area, and it is hard to imagine that just round the corner a busy road bustles with continuous traffic 24X7. After a photography session and some rest to the tired bones, we set off again, all hopes of reaching Srinagar lost, hoping to reach as close as possible.
I purchased a couple of heavy duty dust masks, the pollution and dust loading was so great. Earlier I could see not the road from the mountain top, only the cloud of dust all over it, such is the amount of pollution. Inside my helmet, it had become an all black affair, and it was difficult to breathe with the thick mask, but I figured it was all for the best. Presently the road opened up, after all, the region was not mountainous anymore, wider, better topped roads allowed for faster speeds, and around 10 am, we were in Srinagar.
Dal lake is snow melt fed, melting snow caps flow into the Dal lake via the Mughal gardens. The beautiful houseboats and shikaras have a fairytale like quality to them. Shammi Kapoor romancing Sharmila Tagore on shikaras painted a mesmerizing picture of the world famous Dal lake. So imagine my shock, when I found the place a smelly dirty and congested, with shikaras and houseboats. Even Powai lake is cleaner than Dal lake. The whole picture was quite underwhelming. There are some positive signs, dredging is being carried out to remove the silt and hyacinth, oxygenation through water fountains, and beautification of the banks, but its simply not enough. The only saving grace is the snow capped mountains in the background, which gives the Dal lake a unique beauty which can never betaken away from it. Since Shekhar had already visited Dal and the Mughal gardens in the past, I elected to check out the Shalimar garden, supposedly the best of the 3 Mughal gardens. It was a beautiful experience, which I was able to enjoy, considering Shekhar had stayed back outside in a roadside restaurant resting, and babysitting the bikes.
We had reached Sonmarg fairly early, it gave us time to roam about the town a bit, do some sightseeing. I went to the barber shop to get a shave, my 6 day beard was starting to itch. He was a Muslim fellow, with plenty of stories to tell about everything under the sun, from bollywood to the Indian military to the militants to the soccer world cup, to what was happening in his neighbours house. I asked him about the must see 5 tourist spots of Sonmarg, to which he guffawed and informed me that those were just fabrications of the tour guides to justify their high charges for the tours.
He told me to take the only other road out of town and follow it till I reached the glacier. In between he told me about the yatra sim card which BSNL offers to valid Yatra ID card holders for a limited validity. In this particular case, with demand supply economics, I was able to procure said Sim card, which basically works like a VOIP sim, and hence was able to contact the outside world for the first time since entering JK, as here, national prepaid SIM cards do not work. I spent an hour or so trying to relay the message that all was going well in the trip.
Notification of aliveness complete, I set out to explore the said glacier. It was getting late, almost 7 pm, but here in the high mountains, light stays on till longer, so even at 7, it was quite bright. The road was narrow but well paved, and the scenic beauty is indescribable. All that can be said was, the tiredness of the long ride from Beniwal just melted away. Presently I reached the end of the road, I changed my mode of transport from a 39 bhp motorbike to a less than 1 bhp mule, after some haggling, the mule operator agreed to give me a quick tour till the foot of the receding glacier. It was a sorry sight, the glacier, much of it had melted away, rest had become dirty with hundreds of tourists walking all over it. I have seen cleaner and more impressive glaciers during my trekking experiences in the Himalayas. But the scenery was mesmerizing, managed to get a couple of shots of the mostly virgin landscape.
It had gotten dark by the time I reached back to the hotel. And quite chilly. I was glad we had taken a decision earlier to have dinner at the hotel itself, it being a simple dinner of chicken and chapatti. The hotel manager had his toddler along with him, a sweet blue eyed kid, full of life and curiosity. He regaled us with more stories, about how the entire town of Sonmarg gets buried under 3-5 feet of snow, that it becomes a ghost town with all its inhabitants moving to the lower climes for the winters, the season being open only 6 months in a year. He himself rented the hotel from its owner for as much as 10,000 per day, which is a lot of money, considering the hotel consisted of just 6 rooms. Comfortable ones at that. We rounded out the night by giving the bikes a nice bath and some oiling; the next day was going to be one of the toughest yet; and retired to bed.

u can say that again!!! i was ready to get an ass transplant half way through the trip.

i know its a lengthy/wordy travelogue, but do take the time to read it all, i promise you wont be disappointed

il keep posting as my internet connection permits.

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Day 7:
This was the day we had aimed to reach the main destination of this trip. Many had told us it would be difficult. But we were ready for the challenge. The road out of Sonmarg was good, and started climbing almost immediately. We crossed the base camp for Amarnath yatra travellers, Balthal. There was a continuous movement of helicopters for the well heeled, all others travelling by foot. After about 10 km of excellent roads, they took a turn for the worse. And what a u-turn it was.
The danger was very real here, and after completing the trip, I can say that it was the most dangerous leg of my trip. A solid 5 hours of riding in 1st gear, engine screaming, tyres skidding, and trucks crossing closer than a Best bus in a crowded Mumbai street. It was the adrenaline rush of a lifetime, never felt it before, will need to go there again to feel those levels once more. Even as I write this travelogue, I feel like doing it all over again, such is the pull of the place. After 5 hours of riding, it was around 10, the sun was directly in front of us, as we finally entered the Zojila Pass, 14000 ft above sea level. A board of the Indian Army welcomed us, and the army checkpoint was a welcome sight indeed.
The angle was stupefyingly steep, and one can only imagine the physical strength of the brave soldiers who man these rugged posts, our only sources of warning in case of an adventurist attempt by Pakistan. We were told that these forward recon units only come down about once a week or so, when their supplies run low, food, fuel or other basic necessities. And when they did come down, they would race each other up the mountain just because. Talk about supermen! Truly awe inspiring in the highest manner possible. Across the valley, we could see a village similar to the one we had crossed on our way there, we were told that was a POK village.