Keylong to Tso Kar, Zanskar and Ladakh - June 2022.
Day 1: Keylong to Darcha (17.06; 30 km; 900 m elev. gain)
Although I had originally planned to start cycling from Manali to acclimatise better, the crowd at Manali and delay from the bus made me get down at Keylong (3000 m elev.) late in the evening the day before.
To test my legs and lungs after the long period of inactivity and get a base test at this altitude, on Mohit’s suggestion, I cycled to the Sheshar monastery, some 5 km above Keylong, a fairly steep 400 m climb. I felt quite good and immediately thought of skipping the rest day at Keylong and head for Darcha, a short and sweet 30 km ride.
The only cause of worry was the weather. Not only it remained overcast pretty much the whole day, but it drizzled at irregular intervals. A fellow traveler then informed me of a bad weather forecast for the remaining week!
In Darcha, I met a few other cyclists heading for Leh, although along the NH3. Together, we pitched camp under a school roof, with a view of the wide Bhaga river flowing down from the Baralacha Pass. In the late evening, returning from eating at a roadside dhaba, the weather cleared briefly and I saw the Mulkila peaks, part of the central massif in Lahaul.
Day 2: Darcha to Lakhang (51 km; 2,000 m elev. gain) — Breaking Myself
I slept uneasily in the night, the enormous climb to the next pass, Shinko La, and the weather forecast was on my mind.
It was still drizzling when I left Darcha. On the way up, a kind old man offered to tow my bike up the steep incline! I smiled and waved him goodbye. A new shiny road sign announced the way towards Shinko La, some 40 km away.
The road was a joy to ride on; traffic was non-existent. The clouds hid the mountain tops and deep glacier valleys but I was happy it had stopped raining. The Jankar Nala flowed to my left, joining the Bhaga river at Darcha.
Although most of this road was mettled, many of the bridges were still under construction. Troops of labourers, wrapped in scarves and caps, marched from their labour camps to the designated spots. Most were from Jharkhand.
After passing the BRO post at Chika, the valley widened considerably until Zanskar Sumdo. Here, in a neat roadside dhaba, I got some tea and was soon joined by a shepherd (who earned my deepest respect in the mountains) who had come all the way from Kangra with his flock of 500 sheep and goats, and 4 dogs, to the grazing areas in this valley. As the rain turned to light snow outside we talked of the dying craft that he practiced. Maybe what we know is important, he said, but nobody gave money for it.
Betting on the weather not getting worse, I left the warm dhaba up the steep ascent. Now within the clouds, the snowflakes grew larger and the wind picked up speed.
Near the dhaba settlement of Phulwari, many people wanted to take selfies with me. I didn’t mind the attention! I didn’t stop for tea but climbed straight to Ramzaak, which was crowded with BRO trucks and yellow tarped dhabas, mostly run by Nepalis. This was the destination that I had originally planned for the day.
The Shinko La was still 12 km and 600 m elevation gain away. Although considerably tired and feeling breathless on the climbs, I got enticed by the spell of good weather visible all the way ahead. Moreover, I had still over 6 hours of daylight left, plenty of time to drag my bike if need be.
The climb up brought me to my knees. I stopped every 100 m, my eyes were shutting down from the fatigue, my lungs ached for air and although the views were beautiful, the sun hammered down! 5 km away from the pass, the asphalt road ended. Unable to cycle, I got down and dragged my bike up the inclines.
The last km to the pass was exciting! The road flattened out and I could ride again. Snow capped peaks became clearer and closer, large snow chunks piled on the sides. Across the river valley, a small glacier was visible.
At Shinko La, the weather became extremely moody. Snow mixed with rain and wind stung the face. A bike had broken down and was being hauled by people atop a truck. Many people whom I had met on the way congratulated me.
The way down was a blur. Bikes and cars moved fast to escape the weather - as more snow piled on. With the steep descent and roads filled with rocks and puddles I was awake again. Muscles were taut from the braking and the balancing.
After this rapid 500 m drop, the road levelled and the weather eased. In front, was the sunny, brown mountains of Zanskar. I stopped at the only dhaba at Lakhang for the night.
Day 3: Lakhang to Khangsar via Thangse (18.06; 44 km; 275 m gain, 900 m loss)
Lakhang at 4600 m was the first stop on the Zanskar (Ladakh) side. Outside, an inch of snow covered the landscape, making it even lovelier. Tudup, my host at the dhaba, told me to visit his village of Thangso on my way.
The gravel road stayed close to the river, however my eyes constantly gazed at the different faces of the 5800 m mountain Gonbo Ranjon, its clean vertical cliffs daring to be climbed. Wisps of clouds constantly formed and disappeared like magic; no wonder it was considered a local deity, I would bow to it too!
The mountains of Zanskar were noteworthy for their spires, like inverted screws they twisted and turned in different directions.
After the village of Kharyog, where stood the lone communication tower for miles, I crossed a wooden bridge and cycled a couple of kilometres on a wide, sandy ground to the village of Thangso. Autumn and I seemed to have made quite an appearance, for people stopped their house work to gawk at us. At the village centre I asked for Tudup’s house and I was shown the way. There I met one of his sons who offered me tea and afterwards gave a tour of the village!
Purne was the confluence of two rivers - the emerald waters of the Tsarap river joining the muddy waters of the Kurgiak Chu. A couple of kilometres further up, at Khangsar stood a lone house, surrounded by a thick grove of willow trees. I would stay here for the night, visit the Phuktal monastery early next morning and then cycle as far as possible.
Day 4: Khangsar to Phugtal Monastery to Padum (19.06; 55 km; 1,000 m elev. gain)
Wanting to go to Phugtal and return early, I left Khangsar at 7 AM on an empty stomach (which I would regret later). Two roads are under construction to reach Phugtal - one from Khangsar, the other much higher up from Cha. Until then, Phugtal remains one of the few monasteries in India not connected by road. Supplies have to be brought the same way as 1,000 years before.
The trail to the gompa remains one of my favourites. It was never boring - descending to the river, then climbing up through stone pillars, then walking in the shadow of great cliffy mountains. The mountains opposite were layers of impressive vertical fractures pressed together. So high they rose that they seemed to be curving up into the sky.
The first look at the monastery and my mouth fell wide open. Some 100 m higher, what should have been ordinary stone towers and rocks stood row after row of block houses in the local fashion, brought level by stacking stones underneath. As I entered the main complex, I was expecting to see the sounds of drums, chants of prayer, or morning activity of lamas. Instead, stair after stair that I climbed I heard or saw no one. Finally, what would have been the fourth floor, I saw a man painting white colour on brass pots. I uttered a faint greeting; he got up, went noiselessly past me, into a room, fetched a key and made me follow up a flight of stairs to the main prayer building. The interior was the usual monastery atmosphere - except that old thangkas were stuck on the wall. The whole thing gave an incredibly shabby look, like a five year old boy who had found glue and decided to put his favourite posters on the wall.
Another flight of stairs and I was staring at a spectacular cave. It was here, thousands of years ago, that great lamas came to meditate. But now the cave had a few old houses in disuse and odd wooden items which gave it a feeling of a storage shed.
From any of the balconies was an equally impressive sight, that of the village of Yugar, on the opposite river bank. Consisting of only 8 houses, on its left stretched green fields and on the right was a thick grove of willow trees.
Unable to control my hunger anymore, I walked briskly back and reached Khangsar around 12:15. There, I took a power nap, ate sattu and tea, and left for the road.
The road from Khangsar first descends down to the river and then climbs steeply some 400 m before descending again to the village of Cha. The stretch was a construction mess, full of dirt and sand.
From Cha, the gravel road runs on the right side of the river, going up and down. Most villages were spread on the other side of the river bank. My small reserves of sattu were depleting fast.
From Reru, the road turned to asphalt. Construction workers, now going back after the day’s work, huddled together on BRO trucks and cheered me on! I reached the wide flat plain of Padum at 7:30, the sun’s mellow glow still spread across the blue sky. Completely exhausted, I ate some noodles in the main market and went in search of a homestay.
Day 5: Padum to Zangla (21.06; 35 km)
Although planned as a rest day, my body and legs already missed the motion and I left Padum around 1 PM to cover the easy stretch to Zangla, along a broad valley.
Zangla proved to be more interesting than I thought. It was at the Zangla fort, now in ruins (but efforts being made at restoration), that the Hungarian scholar Alexander Csoma de Kőrös, known as the father of Tibetology, spent a year writing the first Tibetan-English dictionary and grammar. On the other end of the village is the Zangla nunnery, housing two beautiful prayer halls but only a handful of nuns.
My host Dorje, whom I had met on the road before approaching the village, was exceedingly kind and welcoming!
Day 6: Zangla to Photoksar (22.06; 98 km; 3,700 m elev. gain) — Brown Desolation
Leaving Zangla at 6 AM, I wake up the policeman at the check-post to scribble my name in his register. After 20 km, the valley closed considerably and turned into a gorge.
I pitied the construction workers on the road. Immense grey-brown peaks and cliffs in both directions clamped down on the sun and warmth; the muddy Zanskar river flowing below. Memorials stood for people who had died while building this road; rock fall was naturally an imminent danger.
Some 45 km in, I crossed a small stream leading to the start of the notorious climb to Lingshed, about which I had been forewarned. Indeed, some way in and I am already pushing my bike up steep gradients.
Although sufficiently hard to call it a suffer-fest, at 12:30 I am at the top of a ridge, one road leading down to the green fields of Lingshed, another to the pass and valley beyond. I meet two guys from Mumbai, who are kind enough to give me water and a few protein bars.
I cross Netuke La at 4,400 m and descend into a depressing horseshoe shaped valley, with the lone village of Stumpatta some 300 m below. The road then climbs again to the Kyupka La and stays more or less even until the base of Singe La.
It is 2:15, overcast, windy, and I am contemplating if I should cross this giant of a pass today. Although tired to the core, I see no other alternative. I am unwilling to descend down to Yulchung and actually eager to get away from this brown-grey mass surrounding me.
And so, looking only a metre ahead of me and with immense patience, I reach the pass at 5 PM, overflowing with joy and hearing the congratulations from the peaks on both sides.
Unfortunately, my joy is short-lived, for after a steep descent I find myself climbing again. This must be wrong, the next village of Photoksar was a straight descent. I check again and feel agony spread end to end - it is an undulating stretch of 14 km and now, on top, a headwind is blowing fiercely.
Despite the numerous complaints and cursing from my body, I wheel into the roadside dhaba at the bridge to Photoksar and announce that I am going to sleep here.
Day 7 and 8: Photoksar to Timosgang, Tsekarmo Monastery (23 & 24.06; 83 km, 1,500 m elev. gain) — The Army Takes Me Sightseeing!
Eating omelettes and drinking chai in the sunny mountain mornings - such a simple act but it brought so much joy, especially in contrast to my cold, tired landing here the night before.
I left the kind Tashi at the dhaba (he had insisted that I sleep on the sole bed, as he slept on the ground) and immediately began the long tiresome climb to Sir Sir La. Over the last days I had developed tiny blisters on my left glute from all the chafing, which were now becoming very uncomfortable.
Crossing the pass, I descended rapidly, rattling over the gravel path until the green fields of Hanupatta, which were a balm to the dry, scorching landscape. I was treated to chaang by a gang of village oldies sitting and gossiping by the roadside. After 4 glasses, I merrily sat back on the saddle and descended further, passing first through a wonderful gorge and then entering the lush green willow plantation near Fanjila.
Since the Rinpoche and his followers at Lamayuru had just stopped here for lunch, I was again treated to leftovers and tea! The course all through to Wanla was along green willows and farms spread along the valley floor. The supply of wood ensured beautiful woodwork on doors and windows.
I joined the Srinagar-Leh highway and felt restless to change course. There was heavy construction on both sides of the highway; plastic refuse and bottles lay strewn in ditches by the roadside; the smell of smoke from trucks and the sight of skinny village dogs - all of this was too much of a shock, too soon. From Nurla, therefore, I ascended up to the village of Timosgang, where I ended up staying two days.
The Timosgang monastery was the erstwhile castle of the Kings of Ladakh. Thick mud walls around the complex are still visible, though without preservation, bound to disappear. From the top, one saw the green valley floor up until the village of Tia.
On the walk further to the newly built Tsekarmo monastery, an army truck stopped by my side and the officer asked if I would like to hop in. I said I preferred to walk.
After a long stay in the gompa complex, I walked up to the 800 year old meditation cave and sat there, absorbing the silence and history of the place. On my way down, I was called upon for lunch by the monks and ate rice with dal, green salad, aloo baingan and tea!
I spotted the two jawans sitting under a tree and they too saw me and insisted on a second lunch! While one jawan slept, the officer and I walked and talked for hours - on life, the army, the flora and fauna of the region. They then told me to hop on the truck and took me sightseeing to the under-construction figure of Buddha atop the village of Tia. Dropping me back at Timosgang, the officer asked if I would be around tomorrow and would like another tour. I was leaving tomorrow, I told him.
Day 9 and 10: Timosgang to Leh, and Leh (25 & 26.06; 107 km)
Refreshed from a first real day of rest, I was rearing to reach Leh and end the second stage of my trip, the first being Padum.
From Timosgang, I climbed on gentle roads with almost non-existent traffic to the village of Ang, after which the route takes a very circuitous path to reach the Chhaga Che La.
All through this stretch, the rocks on my left looked like an unexplored climbing paradise; they seemed sound and had plenty of clefts and cracks to make it rather easy, level climbing.
I descend and reach another cute pass, the Ronghtil La (the first pass where I lost elevation) with two tin toilets in the middle of nowhere. If only the rest of India was so particular…
In the whole of Zanskar, and now on this stretch, I have met so many people who have lost their livelihoods, first from Covid and now from the built road. These routes used to be popular hiking routes, mostly for foreigners, whose long halts and need for food and porters brought money to many. Now most of these guides and horsemen run roadside dhabas or do odd jobs. The current tourists - the bikers - stop little and far between, and don’t spend much. Still, most people appreciate the construction of the roads but don’t seem to have grasped its long term consequences.
From Hemis Shukpachan, I crossed three more passes on the way to Likir - Sarmanchan La, Charatse La, and Pobe La. With no traffic on these asphalt roads, gentle inclines and beautiful villages in between valleys, it was proving to be a lovely day.
After Likir, the road to Leh was a task that needed to be done. I took another rest day at Leh, trying to decide where to go next.
Day 11 and 12: Leh to Chumathang (140 km), and Yaye Tso (42 km) — 27 & 28.06 — Getting Baked
From Leh, I cycled almost nonstop to Upshi (45 km). Stopped here for breakfast and then took the road going to Eastern Ladakh - the Chumathang plateau.
Traffic here was mostly convoys of military trucks returning from the border with Tibet and the odd group of motorcyclists with their support cars trailing behind.
By 3 PM, the sun was radiating so brilliantly that water breaks and rest stops were not enough - constantly feeling hot and fatigued. The brown clay-like landscape now felt like bread baking in an oven and the blue Indus, which had invigorated me before, now was a mere trickle in this vast, unforgiving desert.
I found a military run cafe near Kiari and dozed there for one hour, before being woken up by the sounds of soldiers getting tip-top for a surprise visit from their commanding officer.
Chumathang was one of the biggest villages in the area with almost 70 houses. Wanting to hike for a few days, Angdup, my host at the homestay, suggested I cycle to Yaye Tso and spend time there. He gave me some kerosene to put on dried gobar for fuel, and instant noodles.
The 25 km to Mahe were horrible. If the dirt road and scorching sun weren’t enough, a convoy of 40 army trucks passed by me, covering me in a layer of dust.
The area around Yaye Tso (a fresh water lake) is a summer grazing ground for the cattle and, built on its far north-eastern shore, are 4-5 houses. After admiring the clear waters of the lake and lucky enough to spot black necked cranes, who breed here in the summer, I went back in time to the tiny settlement to witness hundreds of sheep and yak being driven back to the houses for the night.
I slept in a building some distance away, still under construction. Someone from the village invited me for tea and lent me his kerosene stove for cooking. The air was surprisingly warm at this altitude (4,700 m) to sit outside. The stars in the black sky shined like pearls. Gazing at them evoked a deep sense of loneliness - what am I in this grandeur of time and space, a leaf on a living tree that will someday wither away.
Day 13 and 14: Mentok Kangri, and Karzok to Thukje
Leaving from his house the next morning, Tashi and I move steadily up the mountain - stopping only once by a stream for tea and breakfast.
Behind us, the mountains are covered in the morning haze and, in front, the ridge line of the Mentok peaks is getting closer.
At 10:15, we are at 5,800 m and on the glacier, the ice crunching beneath our feet. A bit higher and the snow is so soft that we are being buried up to our waists. On one of these drops, Tashi’s foot gets stuck so badly that it takes us 10 minutes to dig it out. We realise we must turn back.
Without summiting, the walk back feels even longer and dreary.
Although wanting to explore the area, Karzok has left me with an unpleasant vibe - everyone seems keen on making money: people ask me how much I have paid for my room, and food prices are similar to Leh. But I sympathise - its challenging accessibility and climate allows only a few months of tourist season.
The next morning, the prospect of going on the road back to Sumdo Gongma seems daunting but, fortunately, a camper truck takes me in and drops me at Sumdo.
On the way to the next village of Puga, the air is acrid, reminding me of my time in chemical laboratories. Yellow sulphur crust covers rocks and smoke oozes from hot water springs. I was told that somewhere a geothermal project is underway.
Just beyond Puga, I stop at a shelter constructed for the nomads but which someone has converted into a dhaba cum house. I go in and ask for butter tea with sattu - they are pleasantly surprised but gladly invite me in.
Further on the road I pass long stretches of silence and solitude.
Much of Ladakh has an otherworldly landscape but the area around Tso Kar looks unreal to the extreme. People are making bricks from clay which look like cement, and nearby, green grass grows in tiny undulating mounds.
I stop at the village of Thukje, which has unusual houses for Ladakh in that they only have a ground floor. Then again, this whole region is inhabited by the Chang-Pa, who do little farming, spending their time tending their yaks and cattle.
This is my last proper day in Ladakh - the next day I will touch the Leh-Manali highway and try to hitch a ride to Keylong.