It is difficult to get off your new bike, even if it is no Ducati. I too was bitten by this bug a few years back when I got myself a 150cc bike.
Often, I would kick it to life and roam around endlessly, aimlessly. The raw whirr of its spanking new engine was intoxicating and I spent each spare minute with it. So, when the suggestion came from a group of adventurist friends to go Auli, a popular ski resort in Uttarakhand, I lustily accepted the offer. We set off on a Friday night, with Bubbles as my pillion, while others in the group took an overnight UP roadways bus to Hrishikesh. It wasn’t an easy drive, considering moody truck drivers on NH24, and the fact that my pillion loved lecturing against the vices of drinking. Add to that two hurriedly-bundled rucksacks strapped to the bike, and you have a wobbly pair of tyres, negotiating long stretches of badly tarred road.
Most of the time I was at the receiving end of either the fellow road-users or my own pillion. Every time I reached out for my ready-mix rum-coke, disturbing noises came from close behind. A couple of large swigs made the journey bearable. After a crisp ‘midnight dinner’, full of oily paneer and mushroom buttons at Cheetal (some 100 km from Delhi), we reached Hrishikesh a little before dawn. My watch told me that I had about an hour before other friends joined in. Deciding in favour of a short nap, I laid myself outside Glacier Tour office—our trusted stopover to pick up camp equipment—and with rucksack serving as a pillow, crashed for more than an hour.
A couple of hours later, we were on a tortuous mountain road to Joshimath, around 250 km from Hrishikesh. Every time I stopped for breakfast or rest, pahari kids hovered around my skinny bike and fiddled with the kick, gears and wheels. This fuelled my ego. I was a hero in my own immaterial right. The only shortfall of riding the bike was not to be able to see the Alaknanda valley view sideways; yet the pleasures of negotiating the turns on two precarious wheels were heady enough.
By five in the evening, I touched Joshimath. The notoriously reckless bus drivers were still to catch up with my wily mobike. While looking for a campsite, a friendly hotel boy offered help with an irrefusable offer—Rs 150 for a room overnight with two beds and quilts (extra quilts to cost Rs 50 each). Drunk to my gullet, I accepted. Supriya, Vipul & Sukriti, who arrived later, appreciated the decision and dropped wherever they could find space in that 10x10 room.
The next day, we took the ropeway trolley to Auli. There was no snow at that time of the year, but the peaceful hill surroundings, occasionally pierced by chiming birds, was the stuff most travel brochures are made of. The only decision we had to make now was to try Valley of trek, up and down the day next and then be back from there in time to reach Delhi by Monday evening. It looked tough.
The jeep-drivers going to Govindghat from Joshimath rid us of our dilemma. It was planned that we would take the jeep to Govindghat, stay over the
Sunday night at the Gurudwara, and then move up early in the morning to the Valley and be back the same night to Joshimath. “Thoda tej chalna padega (you will need to walk a bit fast),” the jovial driver convinced us. It meant that instead of Monday evening, we would be home a day later. The contorted face of my boss appeared briefly before my eyes. Then I let it be. Valley of flowers overpowered the Devil of the Desk.
The walk-a-bit-fast proved much more than we had expected. It took a toll on my thigh muscles and nearly killed all the zing in Bubbles. But the sit-out at the Valley, with carpets of sprouting fresh flowers of various hues, and crossing a large slippery glacier, and the misty walk downhill made our day. At Bhigunder, the point where the trek bifurcates to Valley of flowers and Hemkunt, we had large helpings of milk-jalebis, and down we scooted like a sting of powerhouse. Although jeeps had stopped plying by the time we landed at Govindghat, we took an empty truck full of sadhus from Badrinath to Joshimath.
Thought tired, it was time for more celebration when we came to know it was Sukriti’s birthday. Out came the reserve money to fetch a bottle of booze from the local shop, probably the smallest boozeshop in the world. Fortified with alcohol we spent the night in peace and massaging each other sore shoulders. I woke up early, as if the boss had himself come to see me in office by evening. The rush toward home is another adventure story but suffice it to say that we made it back in time to save my job, also ensuring the EMI for the bike that month.
Often, I would kick it to life and roam around endlessly, aimlessly. The raw whirr of its spanking new engine was intoxicating and I spent each spare minute with it. So, when the suggestion came from a group of adventurist friends to go Auli, a popular ski resort in Uttarakhand, I lustily accepted the offer. We set off on a Friday night, with Bubbles as my pillion, while others in the group took an overnight UP roadways bus to Hrishikesh. It wasn’t an easy drive, considering moody truck drivers on NH24, and the fact that my pillion loved lecturing against the vices of drinking. Add to that two hurriedly-bundled rucksacks strapped to the bike, and you have a wobbly pair of tyres, negotiating long stretches of badly tarred road.
Most of the time I was at the receiving end of either the fellow road-users or my own pillion. Every time I reached out for my ready-mix rum-coke, disturbing noises came from close behind. A couple of large swigs made the journey bearable. After a crisp ‘midnight dinner’, full of oily paneer and mushroom buttons at Cheetal (some 100 km from Delhi), we reached Hrishikesh a little before dawn. My watch told me that I had about an hour before other friends joined in. Deciding in favour of a short nap, I laid myself outside Glacier Tour office—our trusted stopover to pick up camp equipment—and with rucksack serving as a pillow, crashed for more than an hour.
A couple of hours later, we were on a tortuous mountain road to Joshimath, around 250 km from Hrishikesh. Every time I stopped for breakfast or rest, pahari kids hovered around my skinny bike and fiddled with the kick, gears and wheels. This fuelled my ego. I was a hero in my own immaterial right. The only shortfall of riding the bike was not to be able to see the Alaknanda valley view sideways; yet the pleasures of negotiating the turns on two precarious wheels were heady enough.
By five in the evening, I touched Joshimath. The notoriously reckless bus drivers were still to catch up with my wily mobike. While looking for a campsite, a friendly hotel boy offered help with an irrefusable offer—Rs 150 for a room overnight with two beds and quilts (extra quilts to cost Rs 50 each). Drunk to my gullet, I accepted. Supriya, Vipul & Sukriti, who arrived later, appreciated the decision and dropped wherever they could find space in that 10x10 room.
The next day, we took the ropeway trolley to Auli. There was no snow at that time of the year, but the peaceful hill surroundings, occasionally pierced by chiming birds, was the stuff most travel brochures are made of. The only decision we had to make now was to try Valley of trek, up and down the day next and then be back from there in time to reach Delhi by Monday evening. It looked tough.
The jeep-drivers going to Govindghat from Joshimath rid us of our dilemma. It was planned that we would take the jeep to Govindghat, stay over the
Sunday night at the Gurudwara, and then move up early in the morning to the Valley and be back the same night to Joshimath. “Thoda tej chalna padega (you will need to walk a bit fast),” the jovial driver convinced us. It meant that instead of Monday evening, we would be home a day later. The contorted face of my boss appeared briefly before my eyes. Then I let it be. Valley of flowers overpowered the Devil of the Desk.
The walk-a-bit-fast proved much more than we had expected. It took a toll on my thigh muscles and nearly killed all the zing in Bubbles. But the sit-out at the Valley, with carpets of sprouting fresh flowers of various hues, and crossing a large slippery glacier, and the misty walk downhill made our day. At Bhigunder, the point where the trek bifurcates to Valley of flowers and Hemkunt, we had large helpings of milk-jalebis, and down we scooted like a sting of powerhouse. Although jeeps had stopped plying by the time we landed at Govindghat, we took an empty truck full of sadhus from Badrinath to Joshimath.
Thought tired, it was time for more celebration when we came to know it was Sukriti’s birthday. Out came the reserve money to fetch a bottle of booze from the local shop, probably the smallest boozeshop in the world. Fortified with alcohol we spent the night in peace and massaging each other sore shoulders. I woke up early, as if the boss had himself come to see me in office by evening. The rush toward home is another adventure story but suffice it to say that we made it back in time to save my job, also ensuring the EMI for the bike that month.
ET
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