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.