05.17.06

Pune to Ladakh and beyond: The Mother of all Drives

Posted in Travel at 8:34 am by PuneTalks

Take equal parts of

One middle-aged couple,

A 7,736 km driving route,
The highest motorable passes on earth
And A thirst for adventure.
Put into a metallic orange Bolero SUV, shake well and serve.
The cocktail’s called-Mother of all drives.

Ladakh. Where India meets Central Asia. A hop, skip and jump from Kashgar, Gilgit, Yarkand and beyond, where, centuries ago, the Mongol cavalry thundered across to conquer everything in sight. Where the mighty Indus, which gave its name to a subcontinent and mothered a civilization, flows brown and muddy from the highlands of Tibet. A land dotted with richly decorated monasteries rising like citadels piercing the cloudless blue skies.

Ladakh. Where a midnight drive is the rule to avoid Pakistani shelling. Staging post for Siachen where two armies eyeball each other in the world’s most senseless military confrontation at altitudes of over 20,000 ft. Where tough or easy, according to young Lt. Sachin Kulwe of the Gurkha Regiment, is just a state of mind. Where vintage minefields and unmarked battlefields litter the desolate landscape, mute witnesses to the bravery of our soldiers who sacrificed their tomorrow for our today.

Ladakh. Where Bactrian camels and wild horses roam free. Where snow clad peaks are higher than any in Europe. Where the sun can burn and freeze you at the same time. Where trees hang heavy with apples and apricots. Where lush green fields of millet and vegetables form oases in an arid landscape. Where rivers teem with trout you can see but not trap. Where salt water lakes the color of lapis lazuli contrast with mountains of garnet.

Ladakh’s call was clear and loud. And it could not go unanswered.
The two-day drive from Pune to Delhi was uneventful. Our friend Mahesh Wagle flew in from Pune to join us and we hit the road to Manali, a day’s drive away.

At 10am, Aug 7, 2002 began the mother of all drives. The 475 km road from Manali to Leh is a challenge for man and machine. We were going to climb from 9,000 ft to 17,582 ft in 2 days on a narrow lonely road where accommodation meant a tent of parachute fabric, food was noodle soup and the next fuel station was 375 kms away. Roadside help could only be had from a passing vehicle. Nothing, except the army’s transport check points (TCPs) and isolated villages, stood between Leh and us. As we climbed, the lush greenery of the hills gave way bare rock and mud and we left behind the hullagulla (noises) of the city and entered the silence of Ladakh.

The highway was single lane and winding as it climbed up, up and up. The rising altitude forced us to breathe deeper and driving was an effort. You wished the lungs could take in more air. Turning the power steering became more difficult and the reflexes slowed down. The rarified air caused the acrid choking diesel fumes to hug the road and the smell hit you hard if you opened the window. There was not a habitation to be seen and the only vehicles were occasional army trucks interspersed with even fewer taxis and buses. The loneliness of the road in the middle of the day was eerie. We were covering 20 kms per hour.

To counter the lack of oxygen and consequent Acute Mountain Sickness (AMS), we favored the homeopathic pill ‘Coca ‘ to allopathic alternatives. Drinking 2 liters + of water per person per day meant more loo stops but prevented dehydration and kept our oxygen levels up. We read later that in Peru, the hotels give a tea made of Coca leaves before the ascent to Machu Picchu. Yes, the same plant from which cocaine is produced.
138 kms and 7 hours later, we reached Jispa (alt. 9,850ft.) where we checked into its only hotel, scenically located by the river Bhaga. Walking up the 20 steps to the hotel’s entrance itself was such an effort that we were forced to ask the staff to fetch our bags.

Where a road existed, it was motorable. At many places streams fed by the snowmelt breached it. As the day progressed, water, mud and rock flowed with greater force down the mountainside. The gushing streams made for a beautiful sight but driving thru them was another matter. Many a small vehicle had to return, unable to counter the speed of the rushing water and drive over the strewn boulders. Thankfully the Bolero could ford them easily.

After Sarchu we climbed the 21 Gata Loops, which make a dramatic sight with a convoy of military trucks driving on it. Many have described this as a really difficult stretch. But it was a breeze compared to the treacherous climbs between Mysore and Ooty.

A kilometer or two short of Pang, going downhill, a scary sight awaited us. The slope ended in a river! A mountain stream, sounding like a tiger’s continuous roar, was in spate submerging the entire road. After the breach, the road climbed up steeply. Tall steel drums weighed down with sand and rocks and meant to mark the road’s edge, lay scattered helter-skelter, no match for the immense force of rushing water.

Scary, in retrospect, was an understatement. The silence in the Bolero, as we took in the view, was complete. The hum of the engine was drowned in the roar of the river. The end of the ‘mother of all drives’ seemed imminent. The stab of disappointment was painful. Looking up from the steering, I turned to Mahesh and Sheela and uttered an exclamation of despair. A small voice in the subconscious screamed, ” Shankar, you were looking for adventure. Here it is.” No way, I thought, could we make it across. Stepping out, Mahesh walked ahead, assessed the situation and returned. He was cool. “Shankar, ” he said, ” you have to drive straight as an arrow and fast. Don’t hesitate or slow down. The water is gushing at tremendous speed and no way can you allow it to push the car to the edge.” Realizing that I was unequal to the challenge, with a quaver in my voice, I said, “I can’t do it. You better take over.”

So Mahesh took over the wheel, revved the engine, held the steering firm and in a single burst of speed, drove fast and straight as an arrow thru the water body, ensuring that the vehicle’s speed and trajectory perfectly countered the force and direction of the water. A slight miscalculation and the Bolero with contents would have gone over the edge and down the ravine. The tension was so high that we forgot to switch on the camera. In a flash, which actually seemed like eternity to us, the Bolero crossed the water and climbed the steep incline on the other side to safety. God bless Mahesh and his skills.

At that moment, in my mind’s eye, I saw the slogan on a tee shirt Mahesh often wore. Gifted by his daughter Katya, it had a simple message-U Da Man. Those three words said it all.

We spent the 2^nd night in the Traffic Check Point at Pang, which, at an altitude of 15,500 Ft., is 3^rd level acclimatization for the army. Here a jawan is permitted to carry only half a bucket of water. The air was so cold and thin that untying one’s shoelaces, getting in and out of bed, walking 10 feet to the rudimentary toilet left us gasping for breath. Sheela even insisted we drive her to the dining room that was 50 metres away! My plan to have a drink with dinner was scotched by Sheela and the unit’s doctor. Mahesh, without wife in tow, had a drink with dinner. Next morning he suffered from such a massive, splitting headache that he could neither look at any food nor was he in any condition to drive! My wife, as usual, was spot on.

Next morning, as we prepared to leave, I was dismayed to see that one tire was flat. The OC (officer-in-command) told us that though he could get a truck repaired, he had no facility to fix a puncture!! The thought of driving 175 kms to Leh without a spare on a lonely road with two of the world’s highest passes was enough to make me rue the decision to start on this drive.

The OC’s driver stepped forward and volunteered to get the puncture repaired. Where and how we wondered. At that altitude, it took two jawans 30 mins to remove the tire. We then drove to, hold your breath, Pang’s sole puncture repair shop just outside the TCP. Owned and operated by an enterprising Sikh, this frontier facility consisted of a tent, made of parachute fabric, which doubled as home and workshop for his staff of three, a contraption of welded steel which was ostensibly designed to remove the tire from the metal rim and a diesel powered air compressor. Within minutes of trying, the handle of the contraption broke in two due to the extreme cold. The owner sat down heavily and said, ab kuch nahin hona (nothing can be done now). At 15,500 ft even a burly Sikh could not swing a sledgehammer to dislodge the tire from the rim. No problem said the OC’s driver. As the others held the tire, he drove his Mahindra jeep over it repeatedly and within 15 minutes had sufficiently loosened the tire to free it from the rim. The puncture was duly fixed, air filled, bill of Rs. 150/ paid and we were ready to go. God bless Sikhs for their enterprising spirit and jawans for their ‘can do’ attitude.
The 175 Km Pang - Leh drive on the 3^rd day was very picturesque. In the Morey plains a shepherd, running onto the road from the surrounding plain, flagged us down. His skin was sunburnt to a crisp and the whites of his wild eyes were a stark contrast to his dark, cracked, puffy lips and cheeks. His throat was so dry that it took us a couple of minutes to decipher his raspy whisper. Paani (water) he begged, paani. We were so shocked, it took us more than a minute to react. We gave him a few bottles of water and biscuits. The jade green plains, looking so lush and inviting, where yaks grazed lazily had not a drop of water for a human. There was not a water pool in sight and the far hills were bare of snow.

All along, the weather was clear and pleasant with a light breeze. We drove thru Tagalang La, the second highest motorable pass at 17,582Ft. The arid landscape gave way to small settlements with lush fields by a swift flowing river coming from Tibet. At Upshi we had our first glimpse of the Indus, which stayed with us all the way to Leh.

Leh. If there’s a place like the Last Outpost of India, this is it. Clusters of migrant workers hanging out at roadside eateries, sipping tea, munching samosas and chatting; small shops selling clothes; crowded bazaars full of frontier wares-jerry cans, kettles, stoves, blankets, unknown brands of rough terrain boots, pots and pans and what have you. 4WD vehicles rushing around jam packed streets full of vegetable and fruit vendors squatting on the footpath selling cauliflowers the size of watermelons and potatoes bigger than a giant’s palm; hole-in-the-wall bookstores packed with old and new issues of newspapers and magazines in every possible Indian language. Leh, town of a hundred languages and an equal number of cuisines, literally united the colors of the world. You could eat Yiddish falafels, converse in Tamil, listen to Italian music, get your clothes washed in an eco friendly laundry, have Yak butter tea with German bread and read a Delhi newspaper. Ask and you could get it. The view of Leh from the Japanese Shanti Stupa revealed a sea of green surrounded by rocky hills-an oasis in a high altitude desert.

Khardung La, the world’s highest motorable pass at 18, 380 ft, offered, contrary to all expectations and guidebooks, clear views, a crisp morning air and no diesel fumes! It was so pleasant that Mahesh and I walked around in tee shirts. At K top, we felt on top of the world.

As we drove down to the Nubra valley, the road was edged with what we thought were black rock walls. A closer look revealed that everything was solid frozen ice. Ice blackened by the diesel fumes of trucks. In Hunder we stayed in a Ladakhi home cum guesthouse set amidst apple & apricot orchards. The veggies for dinner came from the garden and a bottle of Chang, the local brew, set the mood for the evening. The Ladakhi kitchen, the pride of every home, is a sight to behold.
Villages dotted the banks of the Shyok and Nubra rivers, wide and muddy with the summer snow melt. Lush green fields were a treat to the eyes. In this remote area, we discovered, to our most pleasant surprise, kids spoke Hindi better than children elsewhere in rural India.

The roads in Ladakh, maintained by HIMANK of the Border Roads Organisation (BRO), are certainly better than Pune’s. Undulating in many places, they are, as promised, pothole free. That takes some doing considering the altitudes at which the men have to work. All over Ladakh we found slogans painted on rock faces, mileposts, walls and signposts. Himank’s Homilies, as Sheela called them, were presumably erected to encourage safe driving habits. Whether their intended purpose has been achieved is not known but they certainly brought a smile to our lips. Sample these:

Be gentle on my curve.
Divided attention equals multiplied troubles.
Sky is our limit. We take you there.
Road Signs. They are signs of life.
Your hurry may cause my family worry.
Drive on horse power, not on rum power.
Do not be rash and end in crash.
Feel the curve do not test them.
Shooting stone area.

We knew that the road beyond Panamik, the last village on the map, leads to Siachen glacier. So we drove on till we reached an army barrier where a jawan held up his hand and asked, “kahan jana hai (where do you wish to go)?” Siachen, said we. He smiled and said “nahin ja sakte hain (you cannot go)”. We had reached Sasoma, the northern most point in India a civilian can travel to on his own. 40 kms beyond it lay the Army base camp for Siachen from where the glacier was 28 days walk for the last man in the column. From Pune to Sasoma we had done 3,015 Kms!

Returning to Leh, we drove to Pangong Tso a salt-water lake bordering China. Despite having driven for over a week at high altitudes, the drive over Chang La (17,350 Ft) was tough. Frequent rock falls had turned some sections of the road into a dirt track. The weather turned with a cloud cover lowering the mercury and threatening rain. Holding the steering wheel took a huge effort and breathing was laboured. On this route, just the previous day, an Army Supply Corps truck had gone over the edge taking 5 jawans to their death. The key to safe driving in such mountainous territory was to go SLOW and give a wide berth to oncoming vehicles. Loose gravel with water on top can cause hydroplaning and a fast moving vehicle can very easily slide out of control and head down a ravine. Next stop 3,000 ft. to the south with zero chance of survival. On this road, which is a feast for the eyes, we had our first glimpse of wild horses.

An overcast sky, cold weather and a steady light drizzle ensured a muddy, dull and listless Pangong Tso. A far cry from the azure blue scintillatingly beautiful lake all our friends had seen!! Such is life. Enroute we passed barbed wire enclosed vintage minefields laid in the ‘62operations. Sections of the black top road skirting the lake were submerged in more than 1.5 ft of water and the Bolero went through easily under the guidance of Lt. Sachin Kulwe, our escort, who knew the terrain like the back of his hand. In one section we had to take a muddy kuccha (rough) track because the road was under 6-7 ft of water. On the return, the track had turned to slush and before we realized it the Bolero sank in the mud. Trying to improve traction, we switched to a lower gear but the vehicle freewheeled in the slime, tilted to the right and the rear started sliding into the lake! The rear tires, coated with smooth clay, just spun with zero traction. That’s when we missed the 4WD option. Mahesh took a look and under his advice, Sachin and I started packing flat stones in front and behind the tires. Lifting and placing the stones made me breathless. The effort was major. After a suspense-filled, scary and agonizing 20 minutes during which the Bolero threatened to tip into the lake, Mahesh managed to pull it out of the rut and drive ahead to a safer spot. Boy, that was some adventure. The entire episode, videotaped by Sheela, makes for good edge-of-the-seat viewing.

Back in Leh, Mahesh took a flight back to Delhi and we continued our drive. We visited the Buddhist monasteries at Hemis, Thiksey, Likir and Alchi. The highlight was sitting on the dais with the Dalai Lama at a public meeting in Choglamsar.

About 27 kms beyond Leh, past Gurudwara Pathar Sahib, is a painted grid on the highway. Stop your car in neutral and idle the engine. Lo and behold, the car will start moving by itself, up a slight incline, pulled by the mysterious Magnetic Mountain ahead. The magnetic force was not strong enough to pull the Bolero from a complete stop. But when I drove the car slowly to the grid and brought it to a dead stop, the vehicle started moving ahead. It worked in reverse too!!
It was time to head back to Pune. After much debate the idea of the two of us driving back to Manali was abandoned. Instead we decided to take the road to Srinagar via Kargil and Dras.

The Leh-Kargil road, passing thru a number of villages, was a very comfortable drive. Where there is habitation, there is help at hand and food too. Anxiety level was low. Though the road was narrow, the surfacing was rather good. The worst that could happen was overtaking a convoy. The terrain turned from rocky, sandy to absolutely dusty. After Lamayuru nearing Fotula everything was just fine dust, which entered the vehicle every which way. 233kms and 7.5 hours later we arrived at Kargil. Army, army, army. It looked like a battle zone all right with bunkers next to each office. We took time off to visit a grain mill, which uses river water as the driving force. Open 24 hrs!! At Drass we drove on the short strip of road protected by a high stonewall-the favourite practice target for Pakistani artillery gunners.

On the army’s orders, traffic movement from Kargil to Srinagar was one way after midnight. Departing at 12.40am we drove for 3 hours in the dead of night to Ghumri 90kms away where we joined a long line of vehicles waiting to cross Zojila Pass (11,575 Ft.). We caught a few winks till 4.30am when the traffic was allowed to move. All of a sudden I saw cars to the left and to the right racing like crazy. It was pitch dark and except for the kuccha road, visibility was zilch. I thought the other drivers had gone mad. Everybody was rushing as if the pass would vanish! Reminded me of the scene from the movie McKenna’s Gold. Keeping my sanity and my eyes 20 ft ahead, I drove carefully. There is no road over Zojila. Just a track with stones, rubble, mud. In the dark, one could see nothing of the mountains. You just followed the taillights of the vehicle ahead and hoped he would not go over the edge. Finally when we descended to a valley, the light improved and I discovered why everyone was in a rush.

Ahead was a serpentine line of vehicles. To the right was an open ground by a river where the army had a couple of cabins. Each vehicle had to drive slowly to the cabins over a designated path and stop. The vehicle was emptied of baggage and passengers. A sniffer dog and metal detector toting jawans checked each item of baggage and frisked the passengers. Once the inspection was over, the vehicle proceeded towards Sonmarg and into the valley of Kashmir. This entire process took at least 30 minutes per vehicle and only one vehicle was checked at a time. I dreaded the thought of unloading all the stuff. When our turn came, the dog, a golden Labrador, jumped into the car and sniffed all over. The jawan looked at the Bolero’s license plate and asked “kahan se ayein hain (where have you come from)?” Pune, we replied. Turned out he had spent time in Pune and had happy memories of his stay there. He expertly checked the baggage without any fuss and waved us through. We were out in 5 mins!!! Thanking our stars we headed for Srinagar.

The valley of Kashmir took our breath away. It was a sight for the Gods. The green meadows, hill slopes covered with fir, pine, and deodars presented a beauty beyond compare. The other green, olive to be exact, peppered the road to Srinagar. The army was everywhere. At Srinagar, we found a hotel room with a balcony overlooking Dal Lake. The weather was warm and it even rained! We seemed to be the only tourists around.

Approaching Shalimar Gardens, we saw a huge board in Urdu over an eatery. We had visions of Kashmiri cuisine. Of Kabargah, Seekh Kebabs and Rogan josh. Till we read the English translation-South Indian dishes Idli, Utthappam, Dosa, Sambar available here. The tables were crowded with Kashmiris gorging themselves on southern delicacies.

Driving on to Gulmarg, we found ourselves the sole occupants of the hotel. Which meant we had to eat at the nearby fast food joint. But we did have the pleasure of a breakfast on the lawns of the still impeccably maintained Gulmarg Golf Club where the last tournament was played in 1987 and whose greens, lamentably, are now grazing meadows for ponies and cattle. The weather was great and the vistas awesome.

The 300 km drive from Srinagar to Jammu was one looooooooong ghat. The winding road just went on forever. Never make the mistake of joining a line of trucks. Most of them stop to take in the view, do paperwork, catch up on the gossip or just hang about waiting for the engines to cool down. Just overtake any which way and move on. We took 8 hours (including a 45 min lunch stop) to reach the Jammu bypass. An average of 40kmph!! That’ll give you an idea of the terrain. The next 230 kms to Amritsar took 4 hrs. The Golden Temple was serene and beautiful in the early morning light. Gurudwaras, I discovered, are open round the clock and have no doors. The roofed parikrama (perimeter) has hundreds of marble plaques, with inscriptions, donated by individuals, families and army regiments. Sheela, curious about the messages, was idly casting her eyes about when by sheer chance they fell on a plaque donated by 18^th Battalion, the Sikh Regiment. Seeing her father’s name in the list of commanding officers put her on cloud nine and made her day.

On the Amritsar-Delhi highway, the toll was waived for us simply because the booth attendant was a fellow Maharashtrian from Buldana! Dismissing our protests, he said that if the Sardars could let their friends thru, why couldn’t he? The contractor, I expect, has by now gone bankrupt.

A two-day drive after a short break in Delhi saw us back in Pune.
In the 30 days from August 3, 2002, we had covered 7,736 Kms of India’s toughest roads, driven thru the highest motorable passes on earth and survived to tell the tale. Not once during the entire journey, not even in Kashmir, did we feel unsafe. Having Mahesh with us on the scariest and loneliest stretch of all-Manali to Leh-was the greatest comfort.

Contributed by B Shankaranarayan b.shankaranarayan at gmail dot com

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