Manali to Keylong

This post has been looooong overdue. Got busy with few other things in life, that has left this blog unattended for sometime now. Let me complete the story before I forget the details. Actually my friend just reminded me that I completed the first anniversary of my road trip a week ago :-). And guess what he too just quit his job recently and is leaving to Leh tomorrow (bad influence????;-)).

For those who have just entered my blog, I request you to flip through my previous posts on my roadtrip to freedom, with the Manali post being the latest (http://royalenfielddiaries.blogspot.in/2012/01/misty-manali.html).

Having spent a couple of nights in Manali, I decided to leave to Ladhak the next morning. Martin surprised me by offering to ride upto Darcha, which was a huge boost for someone riding up the Manali Ladakh route for the first time that too during the wettest time of the year. We left the guesthouse at around 8 in the morning and just as we started our motorbikes Martin asked me if I had extra clutch plates. Since I did not have them, I rode up to the workshop and purchased a set of 4 speed clutch plates and pressure plates for my Electra and caught up with Martin at the Petrol station. We rode for about half an hour before stopping for breakfast at a base camp which was about 50 kms from Rohtang. Having filled ourselves with the usual quota of Maggi noodles and tea we rode straight ahead to Rohtang.

About 8kms before Rohtang I encountered a road block, first of its kind actually. A stretch of about 150 meters of slush, two feet high. Martin had already crossed it and a JCB had just followed him out of the pit. This made things worse for me, since the entire strtch was now churned up by this monster vehicle. I could see Martin waiting on the other side, whicle a bunch of vehicles waited helplessly along with me on this side. Most of them turned back to Manali, since there was no hope of that getting cleared without a days sunshine atleast. I could now either go ahead or return to Manali, which would have been very depressing. So I decided to take the risk and went ahead into the puddle. In less than 10 meters I realized that slush reached my knee and my chain sprockets disappeared too. Managing to gain another 20 meteres, my engine gave up. The clutch was almost dysfunctional now; I could see people and vehicles on either side of the stretch now, while I stood alone in the middle of the puddle like an idiot. With some effort I cleared some dirt around my bike with my hands and even managed to start my bike, but unfortunately the clutch was nearly dead- I could smell the burnt plates now. I waved to Martin to go ahead and pushed my fully loaded bike out of the puddle in about half an hour- the longest 30 mins of my life. By the time I came out of it, my bike refused to move because the constant revving jammed the clutch plates. To compound my vows, the JCB went back and cleared about 2 meters of road after an hour, which cleared the way for the remaing vehicles on either side.

I lie exhausted along the roadside along with my bike for sometime hoping for a miracle to happen. On my left was a deep valley which enjoyed the company of a few horses grazing on very steep slopes. After 3 hours of helplessness and waiting, one empty truck which was to bring back vegetables from Keylong came to my aid. After some negotiation, they agreed to transport my bike and me to Keylong for thousand bucks. The three of us loaded the bike into the truck and anchored it with some ropes, while I was crammed in between the driver and his assistant in the front. The driver who was all of 23 years old (by now I realized that it is very difficult to predict the age of these people, who had been battered by years of hard work and exposure to extreme weather conditions) was from some village in Himachal and married with a couple of kids. This truck was gifted to him by his wife’s family, with which he could work for 5 months a year, transporting vegetables between Manali and Keylong to be stored for the winter. Since it was extremely risky to drive in this terrain, he did not have much of competition. His assistant an 18 year old boy from Kashmir, was very enterprising. They couldn’t understand why I wasn’t married yet and had no clue where Chennai or Cochin was. They infact thought something was wrong with me when I told them that I was riding alone.

After an hour or so, we stopped at the only eatery until Keylong. To my surprise Martin was waiting for me there; he had reached there some four hours back and knew I would stop here for food. In this age of mobile phones, when we keep calling our friends every five minutes asking ‘Where are you?’ before meeting up, this was very refreshing. Basic trust and understanding alone can bring people together. With another bowl of maggi and chai, we decided to catch up at Keylong.

While he went ahead in his bike I trudged along behind in the truck reaching Keylong by nighfall. It took me more than eight hours to cover 100 km, that’s how bad the road was. Martin had reached a hour earlier and booked a guesthouse for about Rs.250/night. Thanking the truckwallahs, I unloaded my bike, which had leaked all the petrol in the truck carrier and decided to attend t the next morning.