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And replace I did. My (Royal Enfield) Himalayan and I completed 4 years together this June.
One thing that I always used to find overrated was the question have I gone riding to Ladakh or not. “What was the big deal, man?” or “why does that have to be a benchmark” I’d ask myself. And while I write this, I’m mentally shielding myself from all the eye rolls and shocking gasps that I’m imagining my fellow bikers are sending my way. Little did I realise that these questions to self were a way to avoid my age-old fear: “what if I have a really bad fall out there” or “what if I’m not able to handle the terrain and the strain”?
Oh well … the only way I’d find out was by actually going there and doing it, right?
The Road To Ladakh
My search on Instagram led me to an organisation that conducts trips to Ladakh. Conversations followed and finally in May, I decided to be part of a batch that was starting on July 11. The countdown had started.
There are 2 circuits that travellers to Ladakh take — either from Manali or from Srinagar. I opted for the one from Manali as the dates matched my work schedule. A whole lot of Google searches and conversations happened to figure out the packing, clothes and gear. I’ve never been more confused about what to pack and what to leave, but realised that “layering” would be key during the ride as the weather changes are very unpredictable.
I was the only person in the group who was riding solo. None of my biker buddies could make it because of date problems. Let’s be honest, I did not relish this fact. But my determination to complete Ladakh this year won over all such apprehensions. The group had 29 people and I was the only woman rider. There were 3 other women who were travelling pillion with their spouses.
The Solo Act
Let’s talk about the solo part. It can get tricky. Why, you might ask. All the other people in the group already had their own mini-groups; they were friends who knew each other very well and “breaking the ice” was not exactly on their agenda with each other.
Interestingly, none of them were from the North.
The group had 29 people and Arunima was the only woman rider.
We had bikers from Pune, Mumbai, Ahmedabad and Hyderabad. A very interesting mix of people and languages and it was entertaining listening to them and understanding snippets. It became an amusing pastime for me. So, when I realised that I was the only odd one out, my “solo traveller” instincts kicked in strong (almost like a survival instinct) and I was thankful for the years of experience I’ve had travelling to destinations alone. You learn to strike the correct balance between getting to know new people and loving to spend time with your own self — or “me time” as we are fond of calling it.
Fast forward to an overcast and rainy July 13, 2022, in Manali where the rain gods glanced down and smiled to see a lone female rider on a Himalayan among a group of 21 men on their bikes. Amid all the adrenaline rush and excitement, a tiny voice in my head kept asking me if I was making the right decision and that there was still time to back off. The only way to shut that voice was to start the bike and let the beautiful roar of the engine take over. I was finally off to Ladakh.
Cruise Control
Manali to Jispa was a pleasure ride via the Atal Tunnel. Jispa to Sarchu via the Baralacha La pass was exciting but the night in Sarchu gave us our first taste of what “struggling to breathe” means. The pitch-black nights just made it worse. I remember I’ve never waited for dawn so desperately. People in other tents had a similar experience, making you strike a kinship of sorts.
Sarchu to Leh was the most challenging day of our ride as we crossed the Gata Loops, a series of 21 hairpin bends that took us to the top of Nakeela La. Navigating these bends was super challenging as the road was narrow and the tarmac mostly broken. We had to make way for trucks or had to overtake them using the narrowest way given to us. It was exhausting. But reaching Pang after these loops, I heaved a sigh of relief — Gata Loops are considered to be the worst part of the journey and they were behind me now. I had done it.
Sarchu-to-Leh was also the day I experienced my first snowfall, at Tanglang La pass (17,800 ft). I now wish I had enjoyed it more but when the fingers are frozen and soaking through the gloves and paining to the point that you feel they’ll fall off, you don’t exactly stop to take in the breathtaking white surroundings. You only concentrate on the road ahead and pray that the bike does not slip on the thin film of ice that forms quite rapidly.
A roller coaster of emotions sometimes overwhelmed Arunima at the end of each tiring day.
When I look back now, this was undoubtedly the longest and the most difficult ride day for me. I had come closest to giving up. Of course, today, pride has replaced the extreme exhaustion that had threatened to take over that day.
In The Lap Of Nature
I cannot talk enough about the unbelievable terrain in this side of the country. The sunny road to Jispa with picturesque villages; the unending plains of Sarchu, the bare mountains which look like they’ve been painted against the horizon, and not a single tree in sight; riding through the mist and fresh snow to Khardung La — all were wonderful experiences.
It can be disorienting, and somewhat miraculous as well, to suddenly see a vast stretch of green in the Nubra Valley as you ride past the sand dunes. Sighting double-humped camels in Nubra was a big delight. The first sight of the vast blue that Pangong Tso is makes you wonder which side of the lake you should be looking at. It was all so spectacular. The huge bare mountains and long stretches of absolute nothingness on the plains will stay with me forever. The freedom I felt riding alone and sometimes shouting out loud in pure joy still makes me smile like I’m hugging a precious secret to myself.
I rode through 9 days of unparalleled beauty, warm hospitality at the stalls we’d stop for food and chai, challenging terrain and camaraderie with fellow riders. I would feel physically broken some mornings. But that superb sense of achievement was always present whenever we reached a new destination. There was also a new-found respect for mother nature.
A roller coaster of emotions sometimes overwhelmed me at the end of each tiring day. We rode in the rain, strong winds, snow, scorching sun and biting cold. I now know what it’s like trying to apply brakes or change the gear with frozen fingers; look at a river crossing and then just stop thinking while I ploughed the motorbike through; fighting to keep the vehicle steady while ascending the passes with winds threatening to blow us over. Oh yes, I’m now absolutely convinced why fellow bikers would always ask me “have you done Ladakh yet?”
Arunima said that Sarchu to Leh was the most challenging day of their ride.
And while I reminisce, it brings me to my biggest learning from the trip: -we all need to cut ourselves some slack and not be afraid to ask for help or say “I don’t think I can do this, can you help?”
It’s Okay, You Are Not Alone!
I realised that I do not need to put undue pressure on myself to be able to navigate every tough patch alone, and that too perfectly. The moment this realisation hit me (on my way from Sarchu to Leh, the most challenging day), a load lifted off my shoulders. I asked for help when I felt it was getting too much for me. I said “I can’t do this alone, you’ll have to help me”. I’ve been telling everyone about this, hoping there’ll be more who would be willing to try this out.
I still wake up most mornings with this unreal sense of “being” and wonder if I really was navigating steep slopes and blind curves just a few weeks ago. I look at the calluses on my hands and they bring me back to reality, even as my heart says with delight, “yes woman, you were and you did it”.
In her day job, Arunima Sinha is an experienced HR professional who shuttles between hiring talent and Zoom calls and spreadsheets. At other times, she is busy exploring new horizons in unknown corners of the country, and world too!
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