Human beings have always had some obsession about heights since God knows when. It’s like gravity in reverse which pulls us in the opposite direction when we know there’s a higher place where we can plant our own little flag of accomplishment. RE’s marquee anti-gravity ride, the Royal Enfield Himalayan Odyssey was back this year after taking a break for the same reasons as the rest of the world. To make up for lost time, it dangled a carrot at the highest motorable pass in the world – Umling La. And as soon as the invite landed in my inbox, my mental compass was spinning in glee like it was an altimeter.

However, before I could join like-minded nutcases and their machines in Leh, I had to prove my physical ability to ascend by running half naked on a treadmill, with plugs glued to my skin, in front of a pretty lady doctor. I must’ve smashed a personal record for holding my tummy in on that day, but I passed! With that out of the way, it had been almost three years since I last swung a leg over a motorcycle and I was a little apprehensive about riding in an atmosphere where they say even breathing’s a chore. But for the old friend that the Himalayan is, it made me realise within minutes of being in the saddle that a dog never forgets how to wag the tail.

While we’re on the topic, for this ride, RE got brand new bikes in two new colours for folks from the media – A glacial blue and a camouflaged brown.

As I boarded a flight to 10,000 feet from sea level at Mumbai, here’s what the plan was. I would land in Leh to do absolutely nothing for two days while I acclimatised and then we’d begin riding to Loma near Hanle, before our ascent towards Umling La. We’d then climb down from 19,000 feet to our camp at Loma, stay the night, ride back to Leh, and then move towards Sarchu, Keylong, Kaza, Kalpa, and Narkanda, before pulling the curtains down at Chandigarh.

If I may divert for a bit, AMS is a real killer if you don’t know what you’re doing at these places. The key is to acclimatise for at least a couple of days if you’re flying in and climb gradually if you’re taking the road to Leh. Gulping down enough water is as important as breathing and although these places are now easily accessible, medical facilities are still as rare as the oxygen up here. So if you’re about to visit this place, it’s no walk in the park. Be careful and allow wisdom to be your guide.

Right then, after two days of warming the chair at the hotel, I was finally in the saddle of the Himalayan as we began riding towards Loma. The bike vaporised all my apprehensions about my out of sync riding muscles within minutes and I was looking forward for the tarmac to disappear. But thanks to our evil neighbours, we’ve built some amazing roads in these areas for our brave women and men to get there and respond in time. There were some patches though where the Himalayan did make me feel like an off-road hero for how capable it is on home turf. Once at the camp, we circled around a bonfire in the evening and later in the night, it felt like our eyes were fitted with the same equipment as the James Webb.

After spending a night at 13,000ft, it was a big day as we were to climb up to 19,000+ to register a personal achievement in all our memories. So we began riding towards Hanle, from where a truly Martian trail would take us to a stretch of tarmac which climbs up to the Nurbula Pass (Hey Transfăgărășan! Take a break!), and then climbs down and takes a right turn towards Umling La.

Since the entire stretch was layered with tar, reaching the highest motorable pass was rather easy. But once there and when the helmets were off, the struggle to breathe was real. Made me think about and respect the truly brave women and men who must’ve built these roads for nobodies like us to reach there easily and feel special.

While coming back down, we gave the Nurbula Pass a miss and instead, took a shortcut which would first make us descend on a hairpin section full of thick, black dust, before presenting a gentle, arrow-straight trail of maybe 30 odd kilometres to go crazy on, mad max-style! Back at the camp, we were to ride to Leh the next day, from where we’d take the now sort of busy Leh Manali highway towards Sarchu and Keylong. The latter is also a place where the first tree line appears and the blood-soaked gunk from your nose begins to disappear. I’m no doctor, but it’s common for the blood vessels in your nose to burst at high altitudes and if you face a situation like this, do not panic. Consult a real doctor instead because Google will tell you it’s cancer.

From Keylong to Kaza, it’s a stretch which first gives the Atal Tunnel a miss to its right and snakes towards Gramphoo. From here, until Losar, the road is in the same state as it was before Christ. Okay we’re kidding. There’s no ROAD! At all! It’s a rocky, but magnificently pretty trail which will either make you see a chiropractor or a dentist if you make it to the destination. But if you have machinery like the Himalayan under your bum, you’d do just fine. Although by the time it was tractoring its way up the Kunzum Pass over a bluntly serrated and hard surface, even the bike was now wishing for something paved. Which does show its pretty black face before Losar, where the Spiti Valley welcomes you with its magnanimous and larger-than-life charm.

From Kaza, as we rode into the apple-filled shadows of the Kinner Kailash at Kalpa, we were now inching closer towards the chaos of civilization. The next day, Narkanda’s Tethys Ski Resort presented itself as the ultimate penultimate destination for a motorcycling adventure like this, before we rode into Chandigarh with our soggy frames and a head which was acting like a bioscope.

We were back from what they call the “Mecca of Motorcycling”. And that evening while Royal Enfield was felicitating all the participants, I thought to myself, maybe it’s time they officially declared Motorcycling a religion. It binds people, makes them worship an idol, which like a God, is actually capable of doing magical things, and best of all, it’ll be the only religion where the God takes the devotee on a pilgrimage. No wonder I stood with hands folded in front of a glacial blue Himalayan at the end of the journey.

— Story and Images by Karan Tripathi

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