The blues

The next camp at Shoja is 7 km on the road but is about 3000 ft higher. The road is covered by snow in winters and it is under repair. It isn't paved, and nor is there a layer of tar. It is all layered with gravel and dust and is extremely narrow. When a vehicle does pass by, one if forced off the cycle towards the hill side choking in the dust that fills the air. But the hills lining it are heavily wooded with Deodar (Himalayan Cedar) trees. The snow-capped peaks of the Dhauladhar range of the Himalayas makes their mighty presence felt.

My stomach however pains severely. It is badly upset and feels bloated up. Even my back pains when I try to pedal. It is supposedly on the most challenging stretches for any mountain-biker and we are told that rides up to Ladakh and even Khardungla Pass do not see stretches like this. After every kilometer, the water bottle is empty. Even the glucose does not help. The lips are parched and dry. We search for trickling mountain streams to fill up our bottles. This stretch, given the altitude and weather conditions on that day is easily as tough as a 70km stretch in Delhi, which I would perhaps complete with much more ease.

But as the pain sears down my body, I am forced to get off the cycle and drag it along. One of the small reasons I had chosen the trip was to challenge myself as well, but I see no option but to give up. I ride only about 50% of the time otherwise it would have been too risky. Even as I walk up with the cycle, I am out of breath and I move in slow motion. Each step becomes a herculean effort but I trudge along, taking in at least some of the beauty of the surroundings. One day, I would like to cycle up that road, when my health won't deceive me. I find it unfortunate that my stomach decides to desert me on this day.

We put up in a room in small village hut overlooking the high Himalayas. There is much silence here. The houses are all wooden, built to conform. They look beautiful. The air is thin and after few steps the breathing becomes heavy. The inhabitants of the area have the challenges of life at a high altitude etched over their faces. And yet they seem like a friendly, happy people. Everything is unhurried. But there are loads of insects to negotiate with. Some flies suck upon the little wounds all across our shins, some bite us through our socks, some wild leaves sting us leaving us with the painful sensation of having pricked us with hundreds of sharp needles. But it isn't at all about nature being mean to us, it is about nature being nature, being consistent in its variety and teaching us to find our way, perhaps to find ourselves. We hike all around the hills on little trails of exquisite beauty until the sun is replaced by the moon high up on the sky.

I shall remember the curve of the road where we put up, the way the dust swirls every time a heavy vehicle passed by, the cool air under the shade, the thick forests all around and the mighty snow peaks of the Himalayas at a distance.

My rumbling tummy continues to make life difficult for me. Not only does it take away my hunger, it brings in a great amount of tiredness and doesn't even allow me to sleep in peace. There is only one advantage to it. As I am forced to wake up at 3 AM, I walk out in the chilly air to find the almost-full moon in all its splendour floating just above the hills... the little peaks seem to be juggling it around. Bathed in moonlight, that is how the place is. The army of firs wave their goodbyes as the moon slip below the hills.

I often return to memories of such moments.