of endurance

Show us what endurance means to you.

Fifteen non-stop hours of a back-breaking, bike-breaking journey from Manali to Delhi.

If this is not endurance, I don’t know what is.

 

Honeymoon Horror Stories – V

You know that the horror series has been on the back burner for a while now. But then I saw this daily prompt in my reader, and it gave me a gentle nudge in the right direction.

Last time I left on on what I’d like to believe was a cliffhanger. Yeah I know. I’m bad at building build-ups. Not surprisingly, I’m not a real writer.

Anyway. We reached Tirthan at 4 in the evening afternoon evening pm and parked our bike on the hillside. The view was amazing. Imagine the hills on one side of the road and a resort next to a blinding white bustling river on the other. Just that the resort wasn’t exactly as close as that sounds. We had to climb down, cross the river, and then get to the resort.

Honeymoon Horror Stories – IV

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:

Yeah. You wish.
*pic borrowed from the huffington post site*

Honeymoon Horror Stories – III

We threw away the old spark plug and a precious couple of hours in Shimla, and left for Chindi. We were both a little tired, our backs aching (mine more than his, thanks to the fucking sprain). But we were just happy to know that we still had the bike and that it was functioning just as it should. Nothing else mattered at that point.

Some might find the road from Shimla to Chindi picturesque, but it was the same as all roads in the hills are. Mountain looming over you on one side, and the depths of hell on the other.

Honeymoon Horror Stories – II

You’ve heard me ranting on Facebook about how two of my published blog entries just vanished. Don’t know if this is God telling me not to bore you with details of my honeymoon, or simply WordPress acting up.

This, then, is my last ditch effort to try and talk about the crazy adventure that my honeymoon was. If this one disappears too, I give up!

So where were we? Uh yes. Stranded. In a secluded area early in the morning.

We were pretty demoralized, both of us. And an awful lot of quiet. Mister made a desperate attempt at conversation.

So nice trip so far, eh?

Nice? Nice? We’ve covered like one fourth of the distance, and we’re already stranded in the middle of nowhere. Even the fucking sunrise looks like a fucking sunset. What if someone kidnaps me? What if there’s a potential rapist nearby? What if someone robs us? What if the bike just dies? What the fuck do you mean ‘nice’?