há 3 meses // atualizado há 2 meses
They tell you about the altitude. They warn you about the cold. Nobody tells you about the silence. Up at 5,000 metres on the way to Umlingla, there's a point where the road flattens out across this vast brown plateau, and the only sound is your engine and the wind. No birds, no traffic, no chai stall uncles shouting at each other. Just you and the top of the world, literally.
The GS handled it better than I did, honestly. I was popping Diamox like candy, breathing like I'd just run a marathon while sitting perfectly still, and my head felt like someone was slowly inflating a balloon inside my skull. The bike? Stone cold reliable. Fuel injection doesn't care about thin air the way carburetors do. Started first time every morning at minus eight, which is more than I can say for myself.
Best moment was the descent into Hanle. You come over this ridge and suddenly there's a valley below you that looks like it belongs on Mars - red and brown and completely empty except for one monastery perched on a hill in the middle of nowhere. I stopped the bike, turned off the engine, and just stood there for ten minutes. A local army guy on patrol drove past in his Gypsy, slowed down, gave me a thumbs up, and kept going. That's Ladakh. Everybody understands why you're there. Nobody needs to ask.