Four months ago, within a week of arriving in Srinagar India, I bought a bicycle. The feeling I got handing over the money and wheeling that bike out the door was nothing short of euphoric. My own bike in India!!

And when I put on the panniers, rack and other gear I had brought all the way from London with me? The feeling evolved… The cool factor was off the scale! Transforming a  fair to middlin’ mountain bike into a touring bike to ride self supported thru the Himalayas?! Seriously cool!

And as I cycled my way out of Srinagar, fully loaded, winding through the small alleyways and throngs of people… I nailed what the feeling was. It was like being nine years old again and full of the wonder of life. An uncomplicated feeling of pure joy. Nine years old and the absolute king of the world!

I have since rode this bicycle more than 1,000 kms over the past four months. I did not ride it everyday, not by a long shot! But each day I did, added to the story:

I continued on from Srinagar to Kargil over Zojila… a pass that humbled my legs and my lungs and had me sleeping in a stupor for an hour at the summit on account of the altitude.

Kargil… town of infamy due to long past conflicts. Zero tourists, save me, enjoying its hard beauty.

Mulbekh – the last day cycling… all day in the pouring rain, happy I invested over $100 for rain gear that would be used exactly once! Yes very happy! Then doing the smart thing and hitching a ride the rest of the way to Leh… safety first – for a change!

Cycling all round Leh – to ancient monasteries and the Elvis themed cafe at the edge of town.

Thru the mystic Nubra Valley – introducing my own cousin to the freedom, the joy and the challenge of cycling in this way, though first teaching her the fine art of shifting gears!

Viewing the small rectangular peak of K2 thru a closer range from a remote tiny picturesque village where a mad, blind queen still sits in the sunlit courtyard  of her dilapidated palace. The pomp and ceremony and prestige of a forgotten regal past now a cruel whisper.

Back in Leh, a failed attempt at cycling the highest motorable pass in the world, humbled by the cold, the snow and the altitude a mere 10km from the top. Cycling back down, I have never, ever, ever been that cold!

Even the need to disassemble and pack up my bike, plastering it with cardboard and wrapping it with plastic to fly from Leh-

Them: “That will be 2,000 rupees extra please.”

Me: “What? Why?”

Them: “Because sir… it’s a bike!”

Me: “#@£%&!!”

to Delhi where it would wait out my sojourn to Nepal and a fling with a rental bike -“Really, it meant nothing to me!”- patiently and stoically awaiting my return.

Then… Reassembly! And the joy again to be with bike, my bike in India. Gurgaon to be exact.

The morning rides with my cycle mad friend Vishwas and his cycle mad friends, down the highways that surround Gurgaon. A delightful stop at a chai stand seemingly in the middle of nowhere. No… actually in the middle of nowhere, sharing biscuits with the shaking, begging, mangled-foot puppy.

And then finally.. A long ride! From Gurgaon to Bir, at last a taste of my world ride.. Nine whole days! Okay my world ride was 12 months… I did say a taste! The luxury of it! The sheer luxury of being on the bike in motion for nine days. The landscape and culture passing at exactly the right speed. Exactly. Not too fast, not too slow, juuuuust right!

The ever present roadside restaurants – the  ‘Dhabas’.  And my developing taste for paranthas – chapatis stuffed with potato and onion. “More butter please!”

The shoddy, shady overpriced main street hotels with ridiculously hard beds that my budget would barely allow, though blissfully and incomprehensibly bedbug free.

A return to Chandigarh and an extra day here with sweet memories of last years wild bicycle ride from Manali to Leh. That trip all started in this charming town, sending my then-soon-to-be, but-now-sadly-ex girlfriend who I would be cycling with, on a wild solo auto rickshaw ride with her bike to meet me at the bus station across town just hours after she arrived from London! And she dated me after this! God love her!

The surprise of whitewashed Anandpur Sahib and my beautiful one day immersion into Sikh culture.

The miles and miles of wonderful wide shouldered roads thru the entire state of Punjab. Noise cancelling earphones and my playlist drowning out the traffic. And sending me to nirvana, as I soaked up the ‘Tragically Hip’ and ‘Barenaked Ladies’. For any non-Canadian and those not of my era reading this… those are bands.

Then the twisting road snaking up in elevation to Bir and the two trucks that nearly sideswiped me before I realized the road no longer had shoulders! Music off, earphones out. Focus Darren! The warmish air of Punjab giving way to the coolish air of the Himalayan foothills.

And finally Bir, the unexpected Himalayan gem and the unexpected end to my cycling in India. Being greeted by the Press, who garlanded me… the ‘Older Canadian Who Biked From Delhi to Participate in The Hell Race.’ Baffled by this attention but bemused by it and their obsession with my age.

Participation in The Hell Race – a 55km on road/off road mountain bike race, along with 65 others and put on by my cycle mad and extremely competent race organizer friend Vishwas from Gurgaon,

“I’ll just go easy”, I tell myself, and anyone who asks. Ha! Ended up fracturing two ribs after tripping while walking my bike over some rough ground. Okay, running over some rough ground. Hey It was a race! I got competitive!

“Bike safe.”, the German woman cyclist warned me as I ran passed her, bike shouldered, portaging the rocks. “Yeah, yeah, I will!”, I hastily replied. Shoulda listened more. I did finished twelfth though!!

Staying put in Bir recovering the ribs and cycling the mountain roads; around the town; down the hill to the ATM in Chandra; over to the Serab Ling monastery for lunch and Buddhist conversation with practitioners – a Spaniard and a Columbian. “Yeah, no I really never got the whole ’emptiness’ concept either!”.  

Luxury, this time of riding was. Plain and simple luxury. ‘It’s the little things!’. My new mantra.

With each mile, my affection for my bicycle grew. How could it not? We had shared a lot in such a short time. My bicycle was an intrinsic part of this wild experience I was having. Inanimate yes… I mean after all, it is just a bike! A bunch of aluminium, steel, plastic, rubber and fancy green paint. But to me it had character, became a companion of sorts. So deeply woven into the fabric of this adventure of India. Inanimate sure. Yet fitted with panniers, more a paintbrush on the canvas of highway stretched out before me.

I have just sold this bike. My bike. I will be leaving India soon and sadly no place for it in my luggage. So difficult to say goodbye!

Before the new owner came to take it away, I had it washed. Forty rupees! I wanted to see it looking spanky new one last time. And it did! It looked great!

I watched it disappear down the main road of Bir, with its new owner Karishma… who, with her partner Mike, will be cycling from Manali to Leh this coming summer. It is her first time on a bike with gears and I was thrilled to be a part of her introduction to the transformative world of cycle touring. Even as I grieved my loss.

I’m not sure if this makes me a little crazy to get so attached to a bike! But I do! I did! And its not the first time!

For me it’s as if my bicycle has a soul. It feels that much alive to me. Maybe it’s just the memories of the fascinating miles full of interesting people and places that this bicycle took me, or that sense of youthful enthusiasm I get whenever I push off for another ride.

Either way I will look for the soul of my bicycle to manifest in my next ride. As I know it will. Goodbye my friend. May the road rise up to meet you!