THE KTM Duke 250 is starting to fishtail as I braked as hard as I dared from 120kmh. The single front disc is earning its keep but the rear tyre is giving up its grip on the asphalt. It’s 10.30pm and a 12-wheeler, 3-tonne truck is completely blocking three lanes of highway.
Several months earlier, a friend and I discussed travelling to India to Khardung La, the highest motorable road in the world, over a teh tarik (as you would). But a chance encounter with Datuk Chia Beng Tat of KTM Malaysia at an Orange Day in Kulim committed me to the trip. KTM would arrange two KTM Duke 250s for the trip and also provide gear for two riders. With time running out, me and Tunku Mezal (Ah Boy), my partner hastily arranged flight tickets and other necessities, like visas and international driving licences.
Before you could say “masala”, we were on a plane watching the lights of New Delhi’s Indira Gandhi International Airport on our landing approach. It was just the two of us, our bags plus a single name and address on an email from KTM’s Chia.
Delhi does not properly wake up before 10am. The airport taxi brought us to KTM Connaught Place at 8am. No telephone and no shops were open for breakfast. Finally, the travel agents’ office was the one who opened first, allowing us to arrange our itinerary, and included free were his advisories. There would be plenty of army checkpoints, he warned. Kashmir was currently on standby in case of incursions, he said. Don’t speak to the beggars or more will appear out of nowhere, and so on and so forth. John Riyaz of Perfect Holidays is a very knowledgeable man and hails from the very place we were heading to.
The initial plan was to pick up our Duke 250s early and get a headstart as soon as possible. However, Murphy’s Law prevailed, and we were only able to get our bikes a little before lunch. The man from the email, Mr. Neeraj, was extremely accommodating and friendly. Just like many others we met on this adventure, Neeraj also gave us plenty of useful advice. It’s best to start the journey early tomorrow morning, he said. The traffic snarl in New Delhi rivals anything Bangkok or Jakarta can offer, with the added cacophony of myriad honks and horns. Leave before 6am and take the rest of today off, he advised.
So the first day consisted of parking the bikes at our hotel in New Delhi and taking a sightseeing trip to Agra, the home of the Taj Mahal. Mind-blowing doesn’t come close to describing one of the Eight Wonders of the World. Even by taxi, we were worried by the barely controlled miasma flowing in and out of New Delhi - for the traffic, too, is one of the wonders of the world. How it all doesn’t grind into one massive, shuddering pile-up is anybody’s guess.
Before 6am the next morning, we were all suited up and filtering into the early morning traffic. With my trusty GPS leading the way, we headed for Manali, where we hoped to spend two days acclimatising before heading onwards and upwards towards Leh, the town on the foothills of the Himalayan Range.
The Dukes were very frugal on fuel, a 91 RON petrol which costs anything upwards of RM3.40 per litre. This meant we were able to cover a good distance between fuel stops. National Highway 44 is a long, hot ride and the many dhabas (restaurants or rest stops) provided us with life-sustaining chai (milk tea, sometimes with added spices). Regarding the chai, the further north we went, the better it tasted.
Turning off NH44, we were properly into rural India, where the dusty roads are interspersed with charming, rustic villages and their attendant village motorcycle racers. Almost everywhere we went, the Dukes attracted these Indian ‘rempits’ and proceed to attempt to show us a clean pair of heels. Much to their dismay, a Bajaj Pulsar is no match for the Duke 250.
So far, we were running smooth and with Manali approximately 530kms from New Delhi, (the GPS showed an approximate 11 hours of riding), most of the traffic was trucks, minibuses and buses, with the odd 30-truck convoy of Indian Army personnel, heading the same way we were. The private cars mostly consisted of Suzuki Maruti 800s, driven the same way a Myvi would be here in Malaysia.
A favourite manoeuvre of the Marutis would be to drive in the emergency lane, in the reverse direction of traffic. Quite alarming at first, but we got more and more used to it - that is, until a big truck drove in the opposite direction, in the FAST lane.
These many trucks are usually gaily coloured, and bear the legend ‘Horn Please’ and ‘Wait For Signal’ on their rear ends. And the Indians love their horns. They honk everywhere - on long straights, before tight corners, overtaking or simply seeing a friend by the side of the road. We too, utilised the horn button judiciously, but to little effect, until we realised the REAL unwritten law of the road in India: The larger vehicle ALWAYS has right of way. In the narrow roads of Highway 3 meandering together with the Beas River, it is always important to bear this law in mind.
Approaching Manali, the temperature starts to drop and with night falling, we finally reached our hotel around 7.30pm. Thankfully, the famous night market and walking streets of Manali were open ‘til late. Manali is a tourist attraction and is a bustling town in the Beas Valley in the state of Himachal Pradesh. At night, the traffic jam along the narrow street to the walking street is a virtual standstill. We parked our bikes two kilometres from the centre of town. It was actually nice to be walking instead of riding that night. Tonight we would ask the traffic police or any knowledgeable person (read: Google) regarding the road to Leh.