Leh

66 km, 1200 vertical metres, lots of acclimitising.

It had been a hard few weeks for our bikes. Abandoned in the carport of a very nice villa on the outskirts of Bangalore, they endured the tropical humidity without enjoying the Bangalore metro, watching cricket with cousins, eating jackfruit paysum, or seeing elephants and gaur in the forests around the Nilgiris. Then they were hauled on a flight to Lucknow and baked in the 40 degree heat of Shar (my sister) and her husband Oak’s house. Despite their impeccable derailleurs and comfortable geometry they were shunned for rattly steel bikes, safer (and not likely to be stolen) on the green corridor along the grey Gompti. Another prolonged travel interlude, a day being babysat in their boxes in Delhi Airport while their owners regretted their ‘preponed’ flight.

But it was hard to regret the hassle of dragging the bikes thousands of kilometres around India once I was reassembling my Avanti in our hotel in Leh, feeling a bit sleep deprived and weary from the sudden gain in altitude. This is the fourth time I’ve unboxed this bike this year, and the rhythm of pedal reattaching and handlebar aligning feels much less intimidating now.

Leh is the capital of Ladakh, a Union Territory (directly governed by the federal government rather than having a full state legislature) in the most northern part of India, where the mountains are big and the boundaries are contested. It shows, mostly, in the military presence: the small airport is shared with the army, and the walls outside have a painted sign announcing that trespassers will be ‘shot dead’. There are army trucks on the roads and some extra layers of permission to get permits to travel through this area, as it is so close to the Chinese border.

We had six days to acclimitise, thanks to some poor planning/complicated scheduling around when Shar and Oak were free. This was the longest we had slept in the same place since we left Aotearoa at the end of March.

There were a few fiddly things on our bikes to sort out so we headed to the local bike shop. Ali replaced my valve core for free then pumped my squealing hydraulic brakes a few times and assured me they were good enough to ride on.

I really loved exploring Leh, and didn’t really mind that it was a bit of a tourist trap. I puffed up the stairs to the Shanti Stupa, admiring the view of the Indus below, a blue ribbon beneath the military camps. I bought bananas for breakfast every evening from the same vege shop, Ali invited us to try his Bihari dahl, I talked to another traveller called Dani while waiting two hours for our permits, I met Taha at the dried goods store and he let me try Omani dates and smell Afghan saffron.

That store, particularly, felt like a reminder of how Leh was historically much more closely connected to China, Tibet, and Central Asia, not India. The wonderful Central Asian Museum – a beautiful building made in the traditional style in Leh’s Old Town was a reminder of that. Tibetan influence is evident everywhere, with all the stupas and long prayer walls of carved rocks in the entrance to the town. But there were photos of Bactrian camels crossing glacier fed rivers, and caravans of horses and donkeys picking their way over passes, bearing fabric and carpets and probably dried apricots similar to the ones I had tasted at Taha’s. It made me think about borders, and how the borders of the modern state, firm, defended and GPS referenced (even if India, China and Pakistan aren’t using the same references) are very new in human history – at least in continental areas. Our hotelier playing the Indian national anthem while entertaining his baby daughter, or the flags and monuments to dead soldiers (some from the 1999 Khargil war) are a type of patriotism which is new to this place.

Cruisy bazaar riding didn’t really count, so the next day we planned a 30 kilometre Indus triangle, looping around Leh. The first ten kilometres were (not incidentally) downhill, and my heart was soaring like my wheels. I kept turning my head to Shreyas and saying things like ‘I love my bike so much’ and ‘I would take my bike through 100 more airports for this feeling’. It didn’t really matter that my words were snatched away by the wind. The road politely split so traffic from both directions could skirt a stupa on the right, then we crossed the Indus to the much quieter roads on the other side. Snowy steep mountains kept popping out from new angles like promises of what was in store over the next weeks. I thought about the people of Harappa and Mohenjo Daro, the ancient Indus River Valley civilisation in modern Pakistan. Did they know that the river they lived beside swelled out of glaciers and snow in this high place? After a stop for ice cream, the last 10 kilometres up were a bit of a slog through the more industrial town of Chogalamsar. But we were so back!

The main cycle attraction in Leh is called ‘ride up, roll down’. A 4WD takes you and your bikes about 2000 metres up, to the 5350m Khardhung La pass, then you roll down the road 40km back to Leh over about two hours. Even though we had our own bikes, this was going to cost $65 NZ each. Surely it would help to acclimitise if we just rode up ourselves? Because we hadn’t planned this when applying for our permits, we would only be able to get to the army check post at South Pullu, halfway up… but that might be plenty given we were still getting used to the altitude.

Despite how many snacks I had bought for this expedition, the grey dripping rain didn’t make me want to leave the next morning. “The rain is going to stop,” said Shreyas, checking the forecast, trying to hype me up. “We’ll be back by the afternoon and can rest then,” I said, persuading myself. It always surprises me how the desire to be a brave and intrepid person can really help me overcome wanting to read books all day and never do anything hard, which still seems like my truer self.

We were quickly out of the main town of Leh, experiencing Khardung La morning traffic: dozens of motorbikes (this is one of the most popular areas for recreational motorbiking in India), a school bus full of kids waving out the window, lots of ‘contract carriage’ cars filled with tourists, ten big army trucks, small local cars stuffed with mattresses to take to (presumably) the burgeoning homestay industry on the other side. The rain stopped and the big golden Buddha in the valley was gleaming. I put some sunblock on, optimistic.

Lots of zigzags, the road stretching, the clouds getting thicker. Experimentally, I rode a shortcut between the switchbacks and felt my heart clenching, my legs very aware of oxygen deprivation. Then it started to rain, the temperature dropping. We were at 4200 metres, and almost immediately soaked. “Turn around,” called someone helpfully from a car.

The map had an intriguingly marked “glacier viewpoint” 500 metres ahead, which seemed worth investigating. No dice: lots of clouds smothered the mountains and some motorcyclists were taking selfies. We persuaded them to take a photo of us, dragged on all our layers (I have no idea how I did this without taking my shoes off), and headed downhill as the hail started. Within minutes, the brown hillside had turned white and the road was slushy.

Tense with cold, I got very sore shoulders juddering over ruts left by big trucks, and had the novel yet highly unpleasant feeling of having dust blown onto my teeth while my face was pelted with hail, my hands were numb up to my wrists and lighting illuminated the other side of the valley. But it was less than an hour until we were back in our hotel, huddling under blankets for an hour or two as the chill subsided. A reminder of how fast weather changes in the mountains, giving me quite a lot of cold anxiety for the trip ahead – I had packed for summer in an alpine desert, not rain and ice at high altitudes!

A day later, Shar and Oak arrived. They were happy to see the mountaineering gear they’d left here last year (a quote: ‘I’ve missed my harness so much, look how light it is!’) and we had a lot to learn from their knowledge of Good tramping food in Leh stores. (Lots of nutrela, like chunky soya TVP and the one place that sells fried tomatoes). We greased our bike chains, made a short excursion to Leh Palace, and arranged to store all the non-biking gear during the trip. I felt a bit anxious but very excited. Acclimitisation over (well sort of) and big mountains ahead.