THE HIMALAYAN

Ted yells “Lock and Load” from the back of a line of Enfield Himalayans as we re-mount ready for our second attempt to cross Baralacha La, a 4685-metre pass which had been blocked by a landslide the day before. “God, I love saying that” he adds.

Ted was one of a half-a-dozen affable west coast Canadians who provided the backchat for my trip. We were riding from Vashisht in the Himachal Pradesh to Ladakh in Jammu and Kashmir. Final destination – Srinagar – is about as far as you can go in India before reaching Pakistan.

I had arrived in Delhi a week earlier, a great introduction to India. From the airport, you’re suddenly faced with an eight lane no rules, race track populated by death-defying rickshaws, nonchalant cattle, old men carrying impossible loads on bicycles, creaking trucks and hordes of small cars. But according to the radio this was a good day, with the temperature dipping below 40C (just) and pollution levels dropping from severe to high. Suitably acclimatised, I took a flight north.

I was travelling with an organised group of 18, including