At last we reached North Pulu, where we filled ourselves up with veg chowmein before getting on our bikes. I could feel a flu coming on, but mountain biking through the Himalayas was something I couldn't miss. After quickly coming to terms with my inevitable manflu, we unloaded the bikes. Mine, an orange machine with twenty-nine inch rims, guaranteed for maximum speed and female pulling power. Alex’s, white and green, with twenty-six inchers, he opted for a lower-seat BMX set up, the man had plans to jump. Richelle's was the same as Alex’s, the only difference being that she chose to keep hers in the car for this part of the journey. We jumped on our bikes and rode the forty or so kays to Kalisar.

We rode mostly along sealed road, gathering as much speed as the hills, and our testicles, would allow. The mountain showered us with icy rain and turned our fingers solid. But sometimes the mountain would be generous and present a gift in the form of a service road, this is where we had the most fun, feeling like Mario Cart racers finding hidden shortcuts we’d forget the brakes and let our bikes chew threw the dirt, leaving the car dwindling in the background. We eventually made it to Kalisar. Hearts pounding and excitement at an all time high, we weren’t quite ready to get back in the car. We stopped for a tea break and I let a small boy wear my helmet, he immediately became fixated with how hairy my legs were and would run up and delicately stroke the hair, nodding and giggling. I’m sure he thought I was some kind of dog man. I was knackered and couldn’t care less how we got the rest of the way to Nubra. So we loaded up our bikes and took the ute.

Nubra Valley is an hodgepodge of microcosms. With vast birch forests soon giving way to desert dunes giving way to vast rivers giving way to villages giving way to forests, it serves as a small taste of the different ecosystems that can be found all over Ladakh. Being only 100 kilometres from the border of Pakistan there’s a large military contingent in the area, and we’re told that without such interest in the area the roads would never be as good as they are. Richelle sighs at this, prioritisation and better resource for military seems to be a common thread in the world.

Passing the biggest Buddha statue in Ladakh we continued on to Hunder, where we’d be staying for the night. Sadly, my manflu had gathered a strong enough grip to send me straight to bed. Alex and Richelle went to see the camels, which they reported back to me as being a sad circus of fat Indian tourists riding them till their humps sagged. I’ll never understand a human being’s need to exploit an animal for entertainment. I get that the locals are making lots of money leasing them out, but I don’t understand how people can be so ignorant. You just have to look at the animals, from a tiger in Thailand to an elephant in Chitwan to a camel in Nubra, you can obviously see how unnatural and unhappy they are. It would seem there is a direct correlation between our happiness over conquering these animals and their sadness of being conquered.

The next morning I was feeling much better. Man flu has that special ability to let us boys bounce back with the alacrity of a ping pong ball. I was going to be okay, folks! Besides, it was Alex’s 30th and we had to be all well enough to celebrate.

It was before sunrise that we set out to climb to the top of the monastery above Hunder. Slightly weakened by the flu made going tough, but the 150m climb was well worth it as we were greeted with views of Nubra and the surrounding peaks. I can imagine what it was like for the travellers of the Silk Road, almost a thousand years ago, stumbling upon this warm oasis amongst the cold mountains, the towering sand dunes belying the former ocean that once ruled this part of the land for millions of years before being usurped by the crunching tectonic plates that would form the new lords, the Himalayas. We sat for some time before we basically ran down the hill to fill our bellies with the standard guesthouse breakfast of omelette, buttered toast and coffee sweetened with condensed milk.

We rode back over to the camels, giving me a chance to see them and for Richelle to have a ride. Thankfully there weren’t a heap of Indian tourists around so the camels were only slightly accosted. Still, it was hard enough to see these beautiful aliens chained to old tree stumps, as they cried deeply for freedom. All the while being surrounded by tourists obsessed with further ensnaring these poor beasts in a selfie. Needless to say we left pretty quickly.

We headed home. Stopping briefly to meet the biggest Buddha statue in Ladakh and a seven hundred year old monastery then heading up over Kardung La for some more mountain biking. However, things weren’t going to be so easily handed to us on a platter as we soon drove into the mother of all traffic jams. It seemed the combination of shitty roads and wantons of melting snow was the perfect mix for the the creation of four hours worth of backed up traffic, as trucks of all sizes slowly squeezed past each other in a vain effort to create some sort of flow. With traffic halted for an unperceivable amount of time, we took our bikes off and decided to push them up the rest of the way. Upon reaching the top, and sucking in a probably deadly amount of vehicular fumes, we felt the familiar and welcome pull of gravity. We mounted our bikes and headed down. Yes, Richelle too.

Richelle was, putting it lightly, shitting herself. For good reason. Hell, I was shitting myself. We were riding down from the world’s highest motorable road, in the freezing cold, along terrain that most normal people wouldn’t think about riding on. She stayed in the middle of us as we coached her down. We’d stop, thinking this was it, and we’d have to wait the next couple of hours for the truck. But she’d get back on the bike and keep going. It was a valiant effort and even though I’ve seen Richelle trek up the sides of mountains, I was still amazed by her tenacity. And then the blizzard hit. And we started to freeze. Alex wanted to keep going, and I couldn’t help but feel the blood boil just a bit. It was folly to attempt anything in a snow storm. But no one was to be blamed, we’d all chosen to do this. We flagged a car down and bungled Richelle in it. Telling her we’d meet her at South Pulu a few kilometres away, and we waited for our driver. It actually turned out pretty good. Some soldiers came over to us and lit a fire for us to warm up. Too bad it was right next to a diesel fuel point and oil was splashed all over the floor. So we didn’t hang around for long. Finally, we decided to put Richelle’s bike in the back of an old spluttering truck, knowing that it would probably take a beating. We didn’t have much choice as the cold was really beginning to set in. And there she was. Our black beauty. Never before have I been so happy to see someone in my life. We loaded up Richelle’s bike and put the pedal down. Willing our bikes to get to South Pulu as quickly as possible. But it wasn’t to be. My fingers had ceased to cooperate with my mind and simply refused to bend. They’d been snap frozen. Alex continued on and I sat and waited for the truck, which wasn’t far behind. I spent the next few kilometres trying to bring life back into my purple fingers. We caught up to Alex and Richelle in South Pulu and celebrated our survival with warm cups of maggi noodles and chai. Thank god for that. Richelle tells me she’ll never being doing that again. I don’t blame her.

It wasn’t long before we’re sufficiently warm and decided to jump back on the bikes for the final run back to Leh. We raced down the mountain, creatures of speed. Taking corners like mad men. Hungrily eating road. Treating gravity as an old friend as our wheels sung to us. The high pitch of acceleration. Finally we landed back in the familiar streets of Leh. Weak at the knees but strong in our hearts. The grins on our faces would be hard to wipe away as we slowly walked back to our guesthouse, talking about what all three of us had just accomplished.

Happy Birthday Alex.

We spent the next day saying goodbye to Leh (and Marley), visiting the essential places, getting all the good photos; burning it into our brains. We were both feeling pretty under the weather when it came time to fly out of there and we welcomed how much easier flying is than a 24 hour bus ride. Next stop: the capital. Delhi.