The ride up to Sarchu was just
as challenging as the previous day.
As the road got higher, and the
temperature dropped, the greenery
disappeared to be replaced with
horizon-to-horizon rock as we
climbed into the Himalayas.
Most of us were taking altitude
tablets to help adjust, and those that
weren’t were wishing they had.
Stopping for lunch, the lack of
oxygen was taking its toll, and faced
with a warm tent at the temporary
settlement at Darcha, most of us were
happy to stop and snooze. By the time
we reached camp at 4pm, we were
knackered and needed a few hours
to recover before the box of beer
became our friend again.
Suitably fuelled, we messed about
with slalom challenges and slow bike
races as the locals looked on with a
confused smile. A hearty meal was
followed by a campfire from the
wood we’d brought in the support
truck. We sat at 5400m above sea
level, drinking beers and chatting to
fellow travellers and it felt the best
place in the world.
After a poor night’s sleep, our
bodies struggling with the idea that
we were not suffocating, it was an
early start for the 250km trek ahead
of us.
We left the vast plain, the army are
playing cricket in the morning sun, it
suddenly seemed very colonial. The
roadside signs on the way from the
valley floor warned of 21 hairpins
in succession, but as we climbed,
muscling the Enfield’s ever upward it
seemed much, much more.
Intense concentration required
as the prospects of a mistake in this
landscape involved more pain than
any of us were ready for. The Aussies
established that they liked to ride at
the front and that was cool, none of
us were arguing, just taking in this
epic landscape.
We stopped for coffee at Pang, by
yet another vast military base, and
discuss the crashed truck that we’d
TRAVERSE 102