Motorcycle Diaries (Part IV) Kaza & Cheecham
I downed yet another Tsampa pancake with butter tea before heading towards Kaza. With the Spiti river on my left and the mighty Trans-Himalayan range overlooking my ride, the sun shone and intuitively hid behind the clouds, making it a dreamlike ride.
By now, the Triumph Tiger 660 a.k.a. the Baby Tiger had become a reliable, almost protective travel companion. He covered up for my tiny fumbles as a rider and rode impeccably through loose gravel, water streams and potholes. Even though his real merit lay over tarmac, not once did he betray me under his sports tourer demeanour. A futile hunt of off-road tyres across the country rendered me with a spare set of conventional road tyres, which was a huge respite amidst Spiti’s unforgiving tracks.
I had even installed crash guards, bearing in mind the dozen falls that I had anticipated between Bathal and Chhatru. I’d end each day’s ride mentally saying, ‘So far, no falls’, knowing that was bound to change soon. But I would soon discover the Baby Tiger’s sheer defiance of gravitational physics, the details of which I have saved for another part.
Getting back to today’s ride, I was engulfed by the magic of crossing the Tabo bridge and gorged over Tabo’s scenic fields and the gigantic mountainous backdrops. The road broke up again, and as I rode past mounding ranges of piled up loose gravel, admiring the Jenga skills at play, a few rocks crumbled down and across the road a few feet ahead of me.
I immediately braked to a halt and looked upwards, seeing a few more dusty crumbles hurl down. I used my feet to roll my bike backwards, such that there was more safety buffer space between me and the rumbling tumble. A few seconds of silence prompted me to prepare and zip past this stretch. And in no time, it was all behind me. The accompanying Endeavour too made it through, and within a scenic hour, we had entered the less quiet town of Kaza.
Without a second’s delay, we were making our way for our much-awaited dining destination, Hotel Deyzor. A personalised home stay run by riding and adventure veteran Karanbir Singh Bedi, Hotel Deyzor has a distinct authority in Spiti for its unmatched hospitality and lip-smacking food. Like an excited school girl, I led Karanbir to the Baby Tiger immediately after meeting him. After all, it was his recommendation that made me opt for this bike blindly, and he needed to see it! Karanbir’s approving nod mirrored what I had envisioned on my way to Kaza. Needless to add, the Baby Tiger was a sheer head turner and attracted many doting glances wherever it ventured.
My accompanying team’s stomachs were rumbling, and Milo had already ordered her favourite mango shake from the menu. I could well believe that it was Deyzor’s mango shake alone that inspired her to make this arduous journey, such was her dedication to that tall yellow glass of bliss that seemed to leave the mythical som ras behind.
A mighty plate of Turkish eggs and a protein shake later, I blissfully mounted my steed to navigate to what would serve as our home for the next three days. Roughly forty minutes from Kaza past Key and Kibber, Cheecham was a rustic hamlet best known for the iconic Cheecham bridge and breath taking vantage points. A Navy veteran turned adventurer, Mohit Gulia had set up a little piece of heaven at the tail end of Cheecham village, known to all as Tethys Himalayan Den. The latest talk of Spiti, Tethys set a new level of hospitality standards in Spiti, with its eclectic style and massive bay windows. Delicate whites against pastel pinks and bright teals, Tethys breathed the boutique into Spiti’s remoteness in the dreamiest way that one can imagine.
At this stage, I was slightly concerned about my mother, for we had escalated from Tabo, amongst Spiti’s lowest altitudes to Cheecham, one of its highest, in the matter of a few hours. Her saturation levels in Tabo had dipped slightly, but the sense of alarm voiced by our doctors back home is what worried us. Both, Karanbir and Mohit reassured us of the normalcy of it, and cautious as I had promised my father to be, I ensured that my mother was inhaling frequent doses of oxygen from her cylinder.
Being over-prepared in these matters is always a good idea, which is why I had sent Manoj ji to scout for a medical cylinder earlier in Kullu. An ex-pharmacist, I thought Manojji would be the best contender to make this preparation. He had laboriously trailed the tall silver repository of air all around Kullu, Rampur, Sangla and Tabo, only to find out at the Kaza hospital that we weren’t odd in failing to fit in the modulator. The cylinder had been empty all along! But thanks to my Zen mother and the surplus tinier cylinders that we had carried, she had cruised through her first night in Cheecham, going light headed solely because of how stunning the views had been.