Motorcycles Diaries by Anindya Sunder Banerjee

Alone on a bike, Anindya Sunder Banerjee of Kolkata makes a journey to Leh which leaves him spell-bound by the beauty of the land. A first person-account.

It was all about discovering beauty of the mountains on my own. So on a rainy day, I pushed my bike out of the New Delhi railway station. Before that I had to do lots of paperwork and loading the bike in and out of the luggage van from Kolkata. Not a perfect start to my dream trip!

I ended the day at Rai (Haryana) with a delicious dinner at the tourist lodge. Next morning, I filled up the tank, flew past Sonepat, Panipat and Ambala in a few hours.

The road signs were neat in Chandigarh. So I easily found my way to Kiratpur, changed gears and started to climb the hills. Not many Avenger bikes from Kolkata has been to there yet, I believe. Off Bilaspur, the road was unexpectedly clean and my bike went roaring next morning.

Then I saw the apple trees! I had to steal one at least, not because I was hungry, but because I had never done it before.

A cup of tea at Kullu and some words from an old man charged me up. "Off Rohtang, you are going to see beauty of heaven," he assured me. By dusk I was in Manali.

The road to Rohtang was extremely dirty although I successfully avoided a mud bath. Atop Rohtang, you could hire some poor yaks to go up but I trusted my bike.

The other side of the hill was sunny, and we breezed through to Keylong by evening.

The board at Keylong petrol station read: "The next pump is 365 kms off". It scared me a bit the next morning as I started out. I was all alone, but hey, I was loving it!

Back on the mountain road, I saw large Enfield bikes coming down from the other end. The dirt on the bikes and the tired-looking riders made me wonder if I was ready for the challenge. At places, there were no roads at all , just a stream and you needed to make your own way through it.

It was cold and getting worse with the rain, I needed a wiper on my helmet. The woollen gloves were wet, the shoes were dirty. I was stopping every 15 minutes to hug the engine to warm up my fingers.

I was shivering and even the engine became cold soon. But I drove along, saw some wild horses, and there was a herd of wild antelopes too. The loud noise of my bike shooed them off.

Suddenly I saw, encircled by the mountains and a river about a mile off, a green plain dotted with about one hundred tents. The guys who maintained them were hoteliers in that place called Sarchu, open only for four months a year.

After leaving Sarchu, I understood why this is one of the world's 10 roads you need to travel before you die. Riding towards Pang, it was as if a museum of landscape paintings lay open. The stones and the hills were sculptures in pure modern art. I drove slowly, savouring it all, meeting people on cycles and motorbikes.

The sound of mountain breeze and the water flirting with the stones were so beautifully orchestrated that I stopped the bike, stood there and let it all sink.

In Pang, I hired a bed in one of the tents for the night.

Later, I walked three kilometres off to watch the mountains in the full moon night. The moon got brighter, the water in the small river transformed into a stream of liquid diamond. I didn't want to die of cold, so I walked back to the tent. Thanks to the amla, tulsi and neem capsules, I survived that night.

Off Pang, the river vanished, I drove along a desert-like platue, and soon started ascending another mountain.

Soon I was closing into the topmost place of my journey. Tanglangla Pass at 17,582 feet. I had to drink a lot of water to stay fit at that high altitude. It was raining very heavily now; I could not drive sitting upright. Slowly I climbed above the clouds, and got to the top of Tanglangla. I picked up a stone from that highest point of my journey which I had promised to a beautiful lady back home.

I felt as if I was in Tibet now. Ancient gumphas with their colourful prayer-flags fluttering in the wind greeted me at every corner.

Near 'Rumtse' the hills changed their colour once again with layers of green, brown and red stones. Only once in my entire trip, near Upashi, I lost control of my bike. I was covered in mud all over.

I zoomed past the Pashmina goat farm and a place called Karu. The road was smooth here. Surprised, I drove on.

Leh was another 40 kms away. I found a bargain motel room near Thikse.

Leh felt like a magnificent deal. The petrol pump read: "You are at the top of the world" and I was feeling exactly so. It was a relief for the bike too, she was thirsty indeed, and drank a lot of petrol that evening.

In the market area, I discovered a few German bakeries and a beautiful open air restaurant. From Israeli to Spanish, they were selling all kinds of food; an open air fireplace made the whole eatery look warm and exotic. I ordered for Fala Fel with Lafa - an Israeli dish. I took almost an hour to finish that huge wrap.

On my way back to the motel, I stopped near a place called Sindhu Darshan, a large open space with some small streams. Moonlight was crashing down on the water and then jumping off to the hills of sand on the other side of the road. There was also a palace beside the road.

The next day I met a French writer; she took a lift on my bike. We fought over world politics, but it was fun having a hot coffee with her by the roadside. Soon ,
I drove through the tiny alleys towards Leh palace.

They say, you will find Bengali travellers even on Mars. No wonder that I found a family with oversized bags in Leh palace. They wished me luck on my solitary journey.

Back on the streets of Leh, I was not in any particular rush, so I kept driving from one lane to another, buying yak wool shawls and apricots.

The bike needed a bit of facelift. So I searched for a mechanic. His name was Mohan Sharma. Someone told me he was the best motorbike mechanic in Leh. He was working on an Enfield when I approached him. Almost all the bikes on the mountain road I had seen so far were authentic Enfields. They all sported a large cage-like structure to carry tents and other stuff. Mohan was too busy to attend to me. His assistant fine-tuned my bike with such efficiency that I soon discovered that he left the oil plug open!

By now, I had completed half of my journey. I thought about visiting some other places too but the huge task of going back was looming ahead. More importantly, I was on my own and the bike was tired. So I made a promise of coming back again.

The way back was all fun. It was raining even more badly. But I laughed all the way, crossed the rivers without wetting my shoes and mastered the art of doing it !