fleming
01-06-2009, 05:32 AM
Karanbir can you hear me?" asks Vijay Parmar, the Raid de Himalaya organiser. "Don't worry, you're okay. Can you move your arms and legs?" he goes on.
Yes, I can hear well enough and my limbs are in tact. But the flecks of blood on my spectacles had me spooked. It seems I lay unconscious for a few minutes after my bike and I crashed some lOkm from the finish line of the last timed stage at Penzi La. When I came to, I was so disoriented I could not recall a thing. It was like 'Where am I and what the hell am I doing here?' Of course, I soon got my bearings but I could not help thinking, I could have
heen taking in the sights of Europe as part of my job rather than putting my life on the line, riding the Raid.
My Sparx was shattered but my Karizma had a charmed life with just a totalled footrest and twisted gear lever to show for the crash. Why, the front forks showed no trace of the disaster.
Yogesh Lakhani who eventually finished third overall and first in Group C had gone past and the 34 second deficit that separated us that morning nearly cost me my finish.
My tale, of course, is not unique since many other riders had a variety of adventures to relate from the Raid. At the ice-bound parking garage on the way up to Baralacha la, rally leader Bhaskar Ramini slipped and slid. His stint had ended and thereon playing the role of a traffic policeman he tried cautioning the following riders. However there were others who shared a similar fate as Bhaskar. "We pay to get ourselves into this, don't we?" said one wryly.
497
The Patseo Camp feels like the Sheraton compared to Camp Shiver Shiver at More plains in 2003. Before we called it a night after servicing our motorcycles in freezing temperatures, one rider dreading the impending ascent to Baralacha la at 6am, gave vent to his feelings, saying, "Yaar, I hate the organisers." Was it altitude sickness? Because a moment later he was calling for butter chicken and naan. Frozen we might have been but not so frozen as to not burst out laughing. Yes, all the aches and pains fade magically in such moments and the Raid is one glittering treasure house of adventure and challenge that even the most bitter cribber comes back to, year after year.
The Raid is a momentous occasion, and an event for rock stars. Raid participants experience the dizziest of euphoria and a nano second later the deepest of despair over its 8-day course. No, this is in an orbit quite beyond the 9-to-5. Like a lover you can't live with or do without, the Raid has me under spell.
The Gypsy participants drive the wheels off their vehicles, eking out precious seconds at vertigo inducing 15,000 feet altitudes. A little slip can prove fatal. So, the participants though mere mortals, do have that something that spurs them on, call it passion or plain insanity. This is no deal for city-bred posers and wannabes. Living on the edge however brings out a tangible spirit of camaraderie one may never in an eternity come upon on a city street. Reaching the Raid finish line makes a winner and the feeling is one it may take all of the pages of this magazine to describe and yet never come close to the truth.
To put it into perspective, in the Raid one is called upon to constantly improvise and react instantly to the situations which at times are truly adrenaline pumping. It makes regular two-day rallies seem as humdrum as a bank teller's duties. Winner or loser, every Raid-er returns to every day life with a brain bursting with thoughts and memories that seem etched forever. The awe inspiring scenery and the grit it takes to overcome seemingly impossible odds sure make the blood run wild in my veins. The Xtreme event of the Raid will make even the stoutest of hearts twinge or cringe at times.
Yes, I can hear well enough and my limbs are in tact. But the flecks of blood on my spectacles had me spooked. It seems I lay unconscious for a few minutes after my bike and I crashed some lOkm from the finish line of the last timed stage at Penzi La. When I came to, I was so disoriented I could not recall a thing. It was like 'Where am I and what the hell am I doing here?' Of course, I soon got my bearings but I could not help thinking, I could have
heen taking in the sights of Europe as part of my job rather than putting my life on the line, riding the Raid.
My Sparx was shattered but my Karizma had a charmed life with just a totalled footrest and twisted gear lever to show for the crash. Why, the front forks showed no trace of the disaster.
Yogesh Lakhani who eventually finished third overall and first in Group C had gone past and the 34 second deficit that separated us that morning nearly cost me my finish.
My tale, of course, is not unique since many other riders had a variety of adventures to relate from the Raid. At the ice-bound parking garage on the way up to Baralacha la, rally leader Bhaskar Ramini slipped and slid. His stint had ended and thereon playing the role of a traffic policeman he tried cautioning the following riders. However there were others who shared a similar fate as Bhaskar. "We pay to get ourselves into this, don't we?" said one wryly.
497
The Patseo Camp feels like the Sheraton compared to Camp Shiver Shiver at More plains in 2003. Before we called it a night after servicing our motorcycles in freezing temperatures, one rider dreading the impending ascent to Baralacha la at 6am, gave vent to his feelings, saying, "Yaar, I hate the organisers." Was it altitude sickness? Because a moment later he was calling for butter chicken and naan. Frozen we might have been but not so frozen as to not burst out laughing. Yes, all the aches and pains fade magically in such moments and the Raid is one glittering treasure house of adventure and challenge that even the most bitter cribber comes back to, year after year.
The Raid is a momentous occasion, and an event for rock stars. Raid participants experience the dizziest of euphoria and a nano second later the deepest of despair over its 8-day course. No, this is in an orbit quite beyond the 9-to-5. Like a lover you can't live with or do without, the Raid has me under spell.
The Gypsy participants drive the wheels off their vehicles, eking out precious seconds at vertigo inducing 15,000 feet altitudes. A little slip can prove fatal. So, the participants though mere mortals, do have that something that spurs them on, call it passion or plain insanity. This is no deal for city-bred posers and wannabes. Living on the edge however brings out a tangible spirit of camaraderie one may never in an eternity come upon on a city street. Reaching the Raid finish line makes a winner and the feeling is one it may take all of the pages of this magazine to describe and yet never come close to the truth.
To put it into perspective, in the Raid one is called upon to constantly improvise and react instantly to the situations which at times are truly adrenaline pumping. It makes regular two-day rallies seem as humdrum as a bank teller's duties. Winner or loser, every Raid-er returns to every day life with a brain bursting with thoughts and memories that seem etched forever. The awe inspiring scenery and the grit it takes to overcome seemingly impossible odds sure make the blood run wild in my veins. The Xtreme event of the Raid will make even the stoutest of hearts twinge or cringe at times.