He leans on his bicycle and looks down the stretch of road from Karu that runs into the rocky moonscape of Leh. Chortens line the sides, a brisk wind whips up the prayer flags strung like festive buntings and the glow of the setting sun bounces off the jagged Karakoram. Praphul Kumar has another 38 kilometres to complete his solo ride from Manali to Leh. He knows his triumphant entry into the Ladakh capital will be a quiet one, witnessed only by the dancing Milky Way that lights up the skies in this part of the world.
It’s July, a month of chilly but largely favourable weather, but the 490-kilometre-long Leh-Manali Highway is distributed evenly between tarmac and slippery yak tracks flanked by dripping ice walls.
There are soldiers in Army trucks, tourists in buses, gangs of motorbikers and the odd adventurous cyclist who brave the blind hairpin bends and switchbacks that scallop this route, among the highest on Earth.
“I had earlier motored down with a friend,” says Praphul. “We drove from Nahan in Himachal Pradesh via Udhampur, Gulmarg, Drass, Kargil and Leh to Manali over a week. That’s when we saw several foreigners, including a lady with a child who had his own cycle, on this stretch. So, when I got the chance, I decided to do it.”
Constant companion
Praphul completed the route in five days, with a day for acclimatisation (which he wryly admits is not enough), on his green Trek Marlin 29er, an all-terrain bike. Carrying 15 kilograms, he cycled 10-11 hours a day in the mountains, covering 140 kilometres; it called for more than just physical stamina and mental grit. It also required meticulous planning.
Praphul’s travel journal is filled with hand-drawn maps, elevation of major towns along the highway, places to transit overnight, lists of bicycle essentials such as pumps and reflector tapes, suppliers, and entries on every day of travel.
Some of it makes for interesting reading, such as cycling through perilous mud tracks washed over by ferocious flowing streams, being held up by crossing herds of sheep and being lulled to sleep by bells of grazing yaks.
He also carried medicine to beat nausea, dry rations, the odd pair of trouser clips, knee caps and a sleeping bag.
“I set off at 6.30am the first day to climb Rohtang pass at an altitude of 3,980 metres. The roads are good on this stretch, although the weather was in single digits. The descent to Gramphu is steady but pretty steep,” says Praphul, adding that the views are astounding when cycling on the roof of the world. “There is always the smell of wood smoke and the sound of gushing water. Some places required me to kick off my shoes and wade barefoot through freezing water.”
Praphul, who stopped only for small breaks, cycled from sunrise to sunset, and ensured he reached his next transit point, often a PWD guesthouse bordered by orchards and a lilac dusk, well before nightfall.
“It’s important to keep hydrated or acute mountain sickness (AMS) can overwhelm you. By the time I got to Tanglang La (5,328 metres) I was nauseous, and had to administer myself Diamox and ORS, to fight it off. With no one for help in any eventuality and no satellite phone, it was a low point, but I had been warned sufficiently by family and friends,” he laughs.
The off-road experience
The other challenges came with the constant ascent and descent, as Praphul cycled past Khokhsar with the Bhaga river playing hide-and-seek with the road; a spell of cold rain; taking a detour for hot local food and the odd cycle breakdown. “Beyond Baralacha La and Sarchu where Himachal ends, it’s almost offroad. The terrain also changes, the green tree line is gone and you are surrounded by high brown mountains. There’s plenty of rocks, shale and scree, and suddenly you feel like you are riding a Boneshaker.”
But this boulevard of broken dreams soon gave way to Gata Loops with its 21 bends that resemble a toddler’s crayon squiggle. Beyond the flat Morey plains with the road bisecting it like a grey tear, lies Tanglang La. “It was snowing and the plains were filled with nomads and their flock. It’s a cold desert, a place to find something lost within us.”
Praphul admits that doing the trip in a stipulated time was tough, and he even waved on many friendly foreigners who asked if he wanted to exchange his Trek for their motorbikes.
“It was a test of my capability. Given a chance I’ll do it again. Alone,” he says, adding that he hopes to someday cycle the Lahaul-Spiti route from Shimla, the Konkan coast and bookend India between Kashmir and Kanyakumari. “The best of journeys are those without maps. On a cycle.”
