A perfect mountain destination opens up the imagination of a place surrounded by tall snow capped peaks, streams, beautiful lush greenery, freshness in the air and finally an idyllic spot with very few people and concrete. May be you want to add the drama of a spectacular road trip leading to the “perfect” destination. Well, you got all of this in Chakrata, a hill station very few know, let alone visit.
So when Aadhar, Gaurav and I sat down with our maps and truckloads of searched internet data and all sort of stuff to pick our spot for the next mountain biking destination, Chakrata won the ballot hands down. For pure cycling enthusiasts, this was a trip which would make you drool. You would be climbing from Vikas Nagar at 1450 feet to Chakrata at 7000 feet in 52 km. Actually the climb begins at Kalsi, 11 km from Vikas Nagar. In next 41 km the road climbs 5000 feet. That would be one hell of a climb to do and we all agreed to give it a shot.
The action began at 6 am the next day, July 4th 2009. We readied our mountain bikes, calibrated our instruments, stuffed in some omelets and bananas and off we went. The weather was good with no sign of rains and we all felt good. I had a bad start though. I discovered that I had forgotten my sipper back in my refrigerator, which was 250 km away. Also, I had a slight doubt about my form as a stupid fall from stairs a day before had given me a back sprain, a niggled groin and an occasional hurting shoulder.
This route is out of bounds for foreigners on account of this being a high security zone. The check post soldier, after looking at me, arrived at the conclusion that I was definitely not an Indian. I do not know why this keeps happening everywhere. It had happened in the past while we biked from Paonta Sahib to Nahan and again when we went from Kalka to Kasauli, and hey presto it happened again. Thankfully, I was carrying my driving license and it saved my day and this would be the order of the day in all of the check posts en-route. I envied Aadhar and Gaurav who would breeze past these annoying check posts grinning widely while I would be flagged down and forced to produce my papers and use my vernacular prowess to prove my Indian-ness.
Just after we crossed Kalsi, the scenery changed dramatically. Suddenly the boring straights gave way to winding tarmac with huge eucalyptus and deodars flanking the sides. I was feeling great and loved the narrow winding route that all of a sudden culminated into a series of switchback climbs.
We had barely crossed the first set of hairpin climbs when misfortune struck. Gaurav who had been complaining about his rear derailleur ever since we started, declared it busted. It meant only one thing, we would have to decide if I and Aadhar would push on or we all go back. Being a great team man, Gaurav egged us to go on as he had to take the tough decision of returning to the hotel in Vikas Nagar some 15 km downhill. It was sad to lose a comrade. We bade farewell and saw Gaurav go downhill and I could not help but feel sad. Gaurav is a live wire and is an amazing source of enthusiasm, losing him was a cruel blow.
Finally, when we ran out of all the water, I had no option but to flag down a passing military vehicle and beg for water. We got some and it was ice cold. It felt great. It did a great deal of good to our spirits and we pedaled hard and ate many kilometers in quick time. We went through some army constructed temporary wooden bridges. The bridge would sway violently when a vehicle would go over it. When we crossed through them we could see what the car drivers can never experience. The wooden planks had 2-3 inches gaps and through them we could see the bottomless drop. Scary, but interesting nonetheless.
We stopped for snacking on some chocolates at a dilapidated and condemned government building. We met with a group of horsemen who transport sand from downhill side to the villages above. We talked to them and we learnt that they were local tribesmen called “Jaunsaris”. It is believed in this region, that the Pandavas stayed here for some time during their 14 years’ exile and these communes practice polyandry till date, just as Pandavas did.
May be Aadhar got buoyed by the talk of marriage and decided to try some horse riding, as a prelude to his marriage that is due late this year when he has to ride the horse as a part of the standard marriage rituals. I also followed him and it was fun.
It seemed that we had hit the small village with a squall of some sort. I and Aadhar were mobbed in no time from all directions. We looked way out of line with our strange biking attires and geared mountain bikes. All sorts of questions rained. How costly are these bikes? How fast do they travel? Where are we going? Why are we biking? Are we racing? Why do they have disc brakes? Why do we wear gloves? One shopkeeper commented that we would not reach Chakrata before evening as it was a steep climb away.
Finally, at the 17 km milestone I and Aadhar separated as I went ahead. Separation from my other biking mate had a sudden demoralizing effect on me. There was no intermediate chit chat and laugh to be shared now. I hated everything- the climb, the sun, the distance. It took some hard focus from my side to remain on top of the climb.
The road became very beautiful soon after. I would see Himalayan oak, deodar and rhododendron all around the path. I would see the wonderful green cultivated step farming fields downhill. The lush green mountains would show a grayish-white carved spine, which was the road I had already climbed and to add drama to it, the whole mountain face would have fleeting cloud shadows passing over it. It was magnificent and amidst all tiredness the sight would mesmerize me.
7 km from the top and at an altitude of 6000 feet, I suddenly started to feel a little strange. It seemed I was not producing enough power to climb anymore. This was my second experience of bonking. Last time I remembered being bonked out in one of my weekend rides of 70 kms to Greater Noida from Noida on a very hot and extremely strong headwind day. There was no way I was getting anything to eat here unless I do a Bear Grylls of the discovery channel series “Man vs Wild” and eat a bug or snake or something. I egged myself on and continued pedaling.
I would tell myself that heroes do not quit, that people who have conquered have hung on to hope in face of dire situations. I would remember the stupendous survival stories that I absolutely love to watch in National Geographic. This entire emotional payload resulted in some inspired mountain biking albeit at a snail’s pace. Later my GPS would tell me that my overall climbing average was a little over 9 km/hr. That’s not really a race tempo, but when you compare that cars average at about 20-25 km/hr for climbs on the same road, it is not too bad either.
Then came the best part of the biking tour. The downhill was a fast affair and it was there when the enormity of the climb really sunk in. It was a 41 km long downhill and we had great fun doing it. We would overtake cars, buses, pick-up trucks and even bikes in the downhill. Aadhar’s bike is a Tuscano full suspension disc brake laden downhill expert and he stormed ahead at such a speed that he vanished from my sight in no time. I was a little conservative with my hardtail Trek 4300 but managed a respectable top speed of 64 km/hr.
If you go asking people to name something that makes them instantly connect to the childhood memories, chances are that the cycle would probably feature prominently in that list. The romance of the cycle is undying. Yes we love our fuel guzzling sedans and motorbikes, but the cycle tugs the strings of the heart as it reminds us of the sunny days of our childhood and passage to adulthood.
One last reason for choosing this route was because the road from Delhi to Kalka (approximately 275 km) is a straight dash across the 6 lane highway which meant we could easily reach Kalka, bike up and down and come back without spending an eternity travelling in our cars.
The road was dotted with some very scenic and quaint villages in the backdrop of the mighty Dhauladhar mountains. All the settlements had one thing in common, a large white board on which the name, the population and the altitude of the village was inked in blue. None of the villages had population more than 500. Farming was the business of choice and we could see lush cultivated landscapes scooped out in steps on the mountain sides. The color scheme was magnificent. The deep blue clear sky blended into the dark green tall tree tops and rolled down to light green colored cultivated fields. The black pitch of the tarmac served as an excellent contrast.
Finally, we had our encounter with bad luck. Gaurav had a flat tire. We were 8 km from the summit and at 4700 feet, thanks to our GPS device lent to us kindly by Aditya, a colleague of mine. Just as what team mates do, we walked our bikes with Gaurav. Barely 100 meters from the bad luck spot, had we found a truck filling up water from one stream. Gaurav packed his bike on it and hitched a ride to Kasauli to get the tire fixed while we continued our climb.
Slowly and steadily the countdown reached 0 and I met up with Gaurav. We had climbed to an altitude of 5900 feet from our starting altitude of 2100 feet, covering 26 km in little less than 4 hours. We gulped down another bottle of cold drinks and began the long descent to Kalka railway station.
