Okay, no more lazy. This post isn’t going to write itself.
So where were we?
Ah yes. Chindi. All suited up, wearing our fancy ass bandanas and shades and leg guards and dipped-in-awesomesauce jackets. At 8:30 am, loading the fancy Ladakh carriers with our luggage and flashy yellow tarpoline sheets.
Yes, we carried tarpoline. Mister is paranoid when he travels. And also, we are the more prepared bikers you’ll ever meet. Yeah. That one sounds about right.
So imagine this. Two cool-as-hell bikers, so cool that people were stopping and clicking photos of us. One guy asked is he could click me on the bike. Kinda sorta posing like this:
After I had responded to that question with a resounding imaginary slap and sure-as-hell-no-you-jerk-get-out-of-my-face-you-on-crack-or-what, I turned to Mister, rolled my eyes suggestively, and mouthed the words: You saw that right?
Let’s just get out of here. He didn’t look amused. Wonder why not.
And then the fucking bike just refused to start. All the know-how I had gathered about bike mechanic’ry was bubbling inside of me and so I went batcrap crazy on Mister, bombarding him with questions as onlookers marveled at how savvy I was.
Is the fuel tap on? And the ignition? It can’t be the spark plug, we just changed it! It must be the rain.
That R-word brought back memories of all the hanky that was pankied the night before, but then I looked at Mister and that brought back memories of my dad glaring at me for interrupting him while he fiddled with the cooler or the fridge or any other sundry household electronic item that needed his immediate attention.
He poked into various parts of the bike with his toolkit for a good ten minutes. That’s funny, right?
While Mister did the poking, I went to the reception to check if they could find us a mechanic. The nearest one was about 10 kms away, and I batted my eyelids and made puppy faces until the manager finally called him.
It took an hour and a half for the guy to reach. He fixed the bike after some tinkering. Apparently rain water had seeped into one of the engine thingies.
Mister was really pissed that this happened, but then he realized that it was our honeymoon and he was really bringing my spirit down, so he calmed down. I was also all oh let’s just put this behind us and enjoy the ride, but to be honest I’d had enough, and then some.
But the rest of the ride was pretty (and) uneventful. Like, really really uneventful. So uneventful that I nearly jumped off the bike because I was bored and had nothing to do.
Until this happened.
A couple of hours later, we reached Tirthan Valley, which is where the next horror took place. And no, it wasn’t the bike. Not this time. Something else happened. I’ll tell you about that in my next post.
I know you hate me for dragging a story (that you probably aren’t even enjoying that much) out like this, but good things come to those who wait 😉
I know I told you Chindi was awesome and showed you pictures to prove it, but Tirthan is even better.
My next post will have tons of pics of me and Mister in this setting:
So I’ll see you soon, then?