The Road over Kunzum La Riding the Indian Himalayas with my father Story by Tore Groenne • Photos by Tore & Poul Groenne leeing clouds sped over ward, Poul was getting higher than he had later, two days after he turned 60, we left sitting cross-legged and lazily gazing as a deep blue sky as if ever been on a bicycle before. After all, this for India and the foothills of the Himalayas. the hours of the day passed by. they sought to travel was his first long-distance bike ride. The plan was to start in the old British The next day, after following the river faster to see more of the hill station of Shimla, cross into the lush NATHAN TAYLOR farther up the scorching valley, we set out white peaks, flowing It’s not too late Hindu valley of Kinnaur, and slowly ride on an 11-mile switchback side trip to get to glaciers, and deep val- In some ways, my mother started it all. up until we reached the barren, dry, and the ancient wooden Hindu temple in tiny leys before vanishing When I visited my parents, we talked about desolate Spiti Valley with its 1,000-year-old Sarahan. We zigzagged past apple orchards into thin mountain air. traveling to remote corners of the globe. Buddhist monasteries. Finally, before fin- as little kids ran along the bikes smiling They seemed to be in too much of a hurry, And we talked about bicycling. Over the ishing in Manali, we would cross over the and cheering, and we got a room in the Fbut had they peeped way down below, last 12 years, traveling by bicycle had in main Himalayan range — twice. temple complex. We were getting farther they would have seen two little dots mov- many ways been a path I followed in life. into the Himalayas. The ride up had been ing at a snail’s pace up a valley with rocks It started when I was 20 years old with a A few worries warm but good, and it was a tremendous painted in reds, oranges, yellows, browns, four-month solo ride through the Andes, On the southern edges of the Himalayas, treat to take off our shoes and wander and blacks. If they had come down far the same year my parents spent eight the monsoon was upon us. It was drizzling, through the temple as the sun turned red enough, they would have heard the labored months backpacking around the world. and clouds obscured the green Himalayan above the mountains. breathing of two bicyclists pedaling up and The following year, I bicycled from China foothills above Shimla when we packed the The wish of the goddess up and up on an empty road where asphalt to Denmark and the next from Mexico to bikes on an early, chill, July morning. We After Sarahan we climbed the road that had long given way to gravel. They would Argentina. Many trips followed — in the were thrilled to start cycling and chatted was cut into vertical cliffs a thousand feet have heard my father Poul gasping, “This Middle East, North America, and Central away until the road soon became too steep over the roaring river below. Sometimes is killing me! Phew, this is tough!” before Asia, in the Himalayas, Hindu Kush, Pamirs, and our breathing became heavier. The air we were overtaken by a truck with Hindu a wide smile covered his face and lit up his and Andes. Every time, my father followed was fresh, and the road was narrow and gods dangling in the front window, and eyes, and he added, “But how truly amaz- the route on maps in his study back home. winding. All day we pushed uphill. I knew other times cows had taken over the road ing this is!” My parents had traveled all over the world my father had a few worries about the ride and were lounging in the blistering sun. Of course, I was the only one to hear him too, but by bus, train, car, and rickshaws. ahead, but I also knew he would be just We had enough time to explore the little in this brilliant corner of the Himalayas. I One evening during this visit, my father fine. I’ve always thought that the most side valleys along our loop, and one of couldn’t help but think how many times said that he wished he had seen some of the important thing when it comes to cycling And it wasn’t like Poul hadn’t prepared. The first switchbacks those was the alpine Sangla Valley with during the last six months we had talked world from the seat of a bicycle. He wished isn’t your physique but your enthusiasm. If In the three-and-one-half months leading On Day Two, after a phenomenal its gushing streams, green, tree-covered about this particular moment. Ahead of us, that he had done it when he was young. you love being out there and you have the up to our departure, he had been cycling 25-mile, 6,500-foot descent, we were slopes, and snow-capped peaks. Our shad- up there somewhere, was the highest point “It’s not too late. Why don’t you go on a time, most things will work out fine. And for at least an hour a day. Some days he had riding in dry, dusty heat on the old ows were long and narrow when we got to of the trip, Kunzum La, at almost 15,000 trip together?” my mother exclaimed. one of the many things we share is the love gone on longer rides. Hindustan-Tibet route. Marijuana was the end of the road in Chitkul village. A bit feet, and for every meter we moved for- And that was pretty much it. Six months of being in mountains. “It’s probably not enough, but that’s growing tall and wild next to cacti and ahead, India would become Tibet, and the the time I could squeeze in with work banana trees on the roadside, and the road would be closed to curious cyclists. and everything,” he said and talked about cloudy waters of the Sutlej River came Old wooden houses were connected by how he had mentally prepared himself for rushing down from Shipki La and the little trails and dotted the green slopes some grueling physical exercise that would Tibetan border not too far ahead of us. where water streamed down everywhere. probably surpass what would be pleasant. We ended the day by rolling through the Up here people had different facial features But he wasn’t going out there to break narrow, bustling bazaar streets of Rampur than those farther down the valley. Men any records; either it would work out or full of colorful spice racks, women in and little boys wore grayish homespun it wouldn’t. There was nothing more to beautiful, flowing saris, and shop keepers woolen suits and traditional green and red be done but to pedal away and see what happened. I asked him what his biggest worries were. “The thin air combined with steep ascents, a loaded bicycle, and the physi- cal ailments of a 60-year-old — some back problems and chronic knee pain cause a bit of concern,” he said, but somehow that all seemed to be over- shadowed by our excitement at getting out there on the bikes, experiencing the freedom, being in the rough mountains, and taking it all in. I had little doubt we would be just fine. I could see it in the smile that was to become more or less permanent on his face as the days went by. That he would per- manently bicycle away knee pains that had been there for years did, however, surpass my expectations. Through the bazaar. Poul riding into Rampur, the first town the travelers visited in Kinnaur. Quiet days on the road. In Spiti, Tore and Poul often had the road to themselves. 12 ADVENTURE CYCLIST APRIL 2013 ADVENTURECYCLING.ORG ADVENTURE CYCLIST APRIL 2013 ADVENTURECYCLING.ORG 13 Kinnauri caps, and women wore golden saddle. We constantly stopped to take pic- jewelry in their noses and ears. tures of each other rolling along the peace- Nuts & Bolts: Indian Himalaya That night we stumbled upon the year- ful road. Otherworldly villages surrounded ly flower festival. By the ancient-looking by green fields were tucked in between When to go: The summer in Lonely Planet’s Biking the all along the route. It does multi-storied wooden temple in the center high mountains casting shadows over the months when the passes Himalayas. get a bit primitive between of the village, people were dancing and valleys. A few weeks into the trip, we were are open. Be prepared Kunzum La and Manali, singing in the dust. We chatted with Babu, now in the rhythm of being on the road. for rain on the southern Road conditions: The but places to stay do exist. who in a low whisper explained what was We got up, ate, pedaled, snacked, chatted slopes of the Himalayas majority of the roads are At Chandra Taal, you can going on. In the darkness, all I could see with people we met, ate some more, and near Shimla and Manali, for fairly decent with asphalt typically stay in a tea house were his warm eyes and his mustache danc- slept. We talked about good memories that scorching sun in Kinnaur, or some decent gravel, but tent. ing up and down as he talked.