and some more... Day 7
The night sky in the mountains and the explosion of stars that are visible to the naked eye is always awe-inspiring. The milky way extends all the way across the sky and the colder it is, the closer and clearer it seems. And boy was it cold… at 3:00 am.
Even with Angelina valiantly cutting out a major part of the wind whistling around my ears, a lot of it found it’s way into the sleeping bag like an insidiously cold finger. Finally at about 4 in the morning, I sat up to huddle near the clutch cover of the motorcycle. With dawn breaking pretty early around here, I brushed and washed up at first light. Soon thereafter, as I was loading the bike up, a white Bolero screeched to a halt to unload a harrowed looking Ashwin. One look at him and I knew that he’d had a worse night than me!
With less than 5 words exchanged between us (across a road) he re-alighted the death trap Bolero and sped off uphill, to look for the missing men and their machines. About 20 minutes later, I heard the unmistakable sound of an Enfield coming downhill as a flash of chrome and blue came around a bend.
With a wildly gesticulating and hysterically screaming man.
All that I could make out was, "therearaxleonashwinsbikecameoffandnitinalmostkill edhimselfsowestoppedatrhumseforthenight." Translated – on the way down from Tanglangla, after repairing the twins carrier as best as they could, the nut (pun unintended!) on the rear axle of Ashwin’s motorcycle had come undone. Nitin (or was it Jitin) who was riding the bike down remained blissfully unaware of this significant little fact, till the rear drum brake just exploded the expended brake shoes onto the road.
Then he pretty much crapped himself.
With the 22 group riding just ahead, Topi (our friendly neighborhood spiderman!) came to take a look to see what he could do to help. He pretty much crapped himself.
Knocking the axle back into it’s slot, the guys had gingerly pushed the bike to a little house that had offered to take them in, at the princely sum of a 100 bucks a head. Unloading the rides, 2 of them had contemplated riding out to Upshi to let us know the situation, but with some convoluted logic that they came up with – they deemed it a better idea to remain warm, cozy and snug where they were! Jackasses.
Ashwin the sorry sod had finally given us up for dead (at the very least) at 12 at night. With no money to pay for lodgings or food (all his stuff was still on his bike in Rhumse), he had fortified himself against the neighborhood dogs with a battalion of dhaba chairs. Said neighborhood dogs were displeased with the unwanted entry of, ‘the big doh’ in their hood and were making it abundantly clear by growling and occasionally charging the leather clad Ashwin. The night was spent fending off the, ‘advances’ of a pack of stray dogs. The joys of being single eh? You wild dog you...
To rattle back to the present, with the spare throttle cable firmly entrenched in the throttle housing, we headed back to Rhumse, where a grinning Digvijay, wildly smiling twins and a pink colored Ashwin greeted us like long lost brothers!
Over hot chai and the most delicious omelet in roti, is when the truth came out that Jaiveer had actually pulled the short straw. For who was going to bell the cat (myself), now knowing (Ashwin had done the honors) that Ashwin and I had spent a very cold night in the open on the road…while they slept without sleeping bags in a very cozy room!
Which explained, "therearaxleonashwinsbikecameoffandnitinalmostkill edhimselfsowestoppedatrhumseforthenight."
As they say, attack is the best form of defense. Following the principal, Jaiveer was trying to get the whole story out before I ripped him a new….*ahem* orifice.
With Ashwin’s rear wheel and axle now jerry rigged, all of his stuff was distributed amongst the other 4 bikes. A group of Germans also on hired Enfields kindly offered to let Nitin ride in their support vehicle with the completely destroyed Ladakh carrier. So we set off in what was fast becoming a common sight and the de-facto norm… 1. Ashwin sat astride a dead bike. 2. Coasting downhill, scrabbling uphill. 3. Almost killing himself messily (on a number of occasions) since his life hung by a thin wire (literally) 4. Cursing like a sailor except when he was stoic as a monk (very rarely!) 5. With no rear brake and a very fragile front brake. 6. Being pushed from the rear periodically by either Jaiveer or me.
Although in all fairness, Jaiveer did do pretty much 80 percent of the pushing. We covered the 30 odd kilometres till Upshi in a little over 40 minutes and then another 15 or so kilometers in thrice that time. Then we quit.
On a particularly long uphill push which involved all six of us pushing a darned 200 kg piece of utterly useless and mind numbingly temperamental piece of crap (and I’ve not even got to mentioning the bike yet…) Hailing down a goods carrier and negotiating with him to transport the bike till Leh, still about 35 kilometers out. I then set out ahead to look for accommodation for the night, while the rest of the guys loaded the bike and accompanied it to a mechanic.
With Ashwin’s bike deposited at the mechanic (it needed a whole new rear hub), and the twins carrier being repaired, we all jumped onto the remaining three bikes and headed to the lovely hotel we had found refuge in…
Wooden floors. Running water. Flushing toilet. Soft mattress on a real bed. Clean linen. We were in civilization!!!!
Bath’s, shaves and unmentionables dispensed with, we headed out to the German bakery for some much needed lunch at 4:30 in the evening. We were back at said German bakery at 7:30 in the evening for dinner! Gluttony at it’s best (worst).
In the meanwhile, a raging debate had broken out over the route back to Delhi. The planned itinery (which was now shot to hell) was for us to ride through Kargil / Srinagar / Jammu / Pathankot and head to Delhi, thereby completing the loop. The only fly in the ointment was that Srinagar was under curfew.
An officer who had been my dad’s ADC was posted in Srinagar and had organized acco etc in Srinagar and R&R in Sonmarg at appropriate Army transit camps. He was also keeping us updated on the situation in Srinagar itself and according to him, if we made it in before nightfall, we should be okay. Reassuring? Not even remotely.
The choice was whether all of us were to die ducking stones and bullets in the Kashmir valley or, retrace our way to Manali through torrid water, terrible roads and have only Ashwin die on us of AMS. The discussion was going nowhere till I stepped in and announced that Srinagar it was to be.
That settled, we picked up the bikes that had been repaired, had the rest of our bikes looked at; Angelina had a wash / wipe and wax and we headed back for dinner, a scant 2 hours after finishing lunch. Post dinner I headed back to the hotel, since the rest of the guys wanted to tank up tonight itself. I didn’t. About 15 minutes after getting back to the room, I get a phone call. It was one of the twins, I forget which.
The opening statement with laughter and mirth in the background, “Err…(ha ha ha ha) our bike’s caught fire...”
I of course thought they were being idiots. Till it turned out that they were dead serious.
Sat on a motorcycle with flames licking at your nether regions, directly below a 14 litre tank of petrol, while sitting atop a petrol pump with a gazillion litres of highly inflammable fuel is never a good idea. That is exactly what one of them did.
Someone started throwing sand and mud onto the fire, while others ran around to figure out what else to do. A bored petrol pump attendant actually looked the other way. To cut a long story short, putting the fire out, they then pushed the bike to a mechanic who was miraculously open at 11.30 pm. He then changed the entire wiring because a short circuit in the ignition cabling had started the fire in the first place. All for a very reasonable 100 rupees. They then all came back to the room(s) an hour after that, to collapse into bed.
I was fast asleep long before this time. to be contd.... |