tr stopped an oncoming bus and hurried us into it. I was quite taken aback by his concern for us tourists. We thanked him profusely for this kind gesture as we would save an hour or two on our way to Kullu!Of course, the new bus driver stopped for some tea while we waited and paid for our new tickets. There would be a minor delay. Dawn came by, and it was already 5am. Passengers started to trickle in, and we wondered why the hell the bus wasn't leaving as yet. There were other buses to Kullu which were coming and going. A quick glance at the side of our vehicle we found out this was another Punjab Transport Bus, and the 'condaktr' just wanted to fetch them new passengers.
We did leave, albeit and hour later.
Another long bus journey - this time about 7 hours. But we were in Himachal. The familiar hilly terrain, winding roads and clean air. Locals who are always thin and fair. The obsequious Kullu cap on their heads. And the most striking memory - suicidal maniac bus drivers who take heavy vehicles around steep corners like its a Porsche 911. They are awesome at what they do. These folks take their trucks and buses at the very edge of the cliff and don't flinch as they take on the turn and accelerate away. I remembered the last time I was here - 2003, Sar Pass trek at Kasol. I loved it then, I still love it now.
As we reached Aut we came across a tunnel. It hardly had any lights and was so very long! We later found out it is 3 kilometres long. The end of the tunnel heralded the starting of Aut village.
We found the YHAI Base Camp after a bit of walking. It was drizzling by the time we got there. We met two folks having lunch - Chetan and Ved. An elderly gentleman came out of nowhere - I took him to be the camp leader. I found out a little later he was a participant just like the rest of us - a veteran trekker, apparently. I don't think I every really caught his name. We used to always call him 'Uncle'.
Food. It was lunch time. There was enough remaining for the three of us - the food was sufficiently cold, but hey, we were hungry, time for some good old mountain food! We were served small thick chapatis, a curry made out of sprouts (people kept reffering to it as 'dal'. I am under the impression that dal is strictly made out of pulses only), a cauliflower and potato medley, rice and the obsequious pickle/papad combo. All of the above items lacked salt.
We took a break and chilled out as we ate in the gently drizzling rain. It felt comfortable - for there was no more traveling involved. I don't think any of us felt the presence of a single tired bone in our bodies!
There was a caretaker cum cook whose name I don't recall. He was a friendly chap who was very much interested in our well-being but used to mince his words somewhat. We pestered him to let us have a look at our new bikes.. and after a mild reluctance, he took the keys to a room and opened the door..
There were about eleven silver cycles. Hero Thunder MTB. The unmistakable matte finish of an aluminum frame. 21-speed gears waiting patiently to be put into action. I could feel a static energy within us, waiting to be unleashed. But there, in the corner, lay a special machine.
We stared blankly at a Firefox.
I had heard about Firefox in some newspaper article long time ago. "Foreign Bikes are finally coming to India", it said. Further searches on the Internet had revealed these bikes cost Rs. 8000.- upward, far above the reach of the average Indian customer, but apparently well worth it. It is common understanding that cycles in India do not come close to international standards - in terms of components, build quality or features. Firefox, then, is a revolution.
The bike was a Firefox Target. 21speed Mountain Bike with Front Suspension, Shimano RevoShifts (similar ones on the Thunder, these looked different - for now), alloy spokes and V-brakes. It screamed - Ride me! But apparently, the wheel could not be aligned properly after some idiot crashed it, so it could not be driven. But good news - we would be given Firefoxes for our trek, nevertheless! There was a batch already out with the bikes, and we would exchange them in time as we begin our journey.
For now, we took out the Thunders. After much reluctance from the cook/proprietor - it seems he was consoled by the fact that there would be a 60 year old uncle joining us boys in our outing - he let us go, albeit for only about 20 minutes - till the 'camp leader' came back from his outing. We hadn't met him yet. Oh well, no issues.
He said one thing to us, which I found hilarious - "Chachaji ka khiyal rakhna".
The Thunder is a decent bicycle. It's very light, on account of its aluminum frame. The gears responsively clank into position, maybe a little too responsively. The rear mudguards are a pain, as they brushed against the wheels of two of our cycles. The ride quality is harsh, and the handlebars felt a little unstable - but do these things really matter when you're racing down a Himalayan town? We went to the riverbank, by-passing the aforementioned 3 kilometer tunnel, racing as fast as our bikes could take us. The terrain was muddy, with loose rocks and gravel at times - isn't that what mountain biking is about? The bank ended abruptly, with a side exit to the tunnel under construction. This was Photo-Op #1.
We then went back to the town to have some tea, and after some talks we contemplated fishing in the river. Not to eat the fish, no sir, for Youth Hostels is strictly against non-vegetarian food while we are on the trek. I suppose we wanted to see whether it was possible. We went to a couple of near-by shops where we acquired nylon line and a few hooks.. for a paltry Rs.5/- or so. Bait - was a question.. somebody suggested dough works fine. Don;t ask me - I had my reservations on that - how the hell can fish like dough? They are carnivores - they will only fall more moving things like earthworms or insects. Still, with no worms to be found, dough from the tea shop it was. Back to the river-bank!
Uncle, had his reservations on the fishing trip. He was of the opinion that the camp-leader would fire us for:
1) Not reporting on time
2)Taking the bikes without permission of the leader
3)Not coming back in the promised 20 minutes
That is what age does to you, my friends. Makes you more sensible. But ask yourselves - on a holiday, wouldn't you rather be carefree and mirthful than think of adhering to rules? Onward, fishermen!
We spied an Englishman trying to fish, accompanied by a young local female guide. Eyebrows raised, looks exchanged, we carried on with our endeavor. They graciously moved away from us giving us (?them) space.
The Fishing. (Mentioned only for completion)
Equipment: Nylon string, tied at the end with a thumb knot to a hook and baited with 'dough'.
No. of fishermen: 5
No. of fish caught: 0
Later, I tried attaching a small berry to the bait to entice the fish with some colour and a more substantial meal - while I wasn't sure if fish are colour-blind.. none of them fell for it.
Sumedh found a cow or goat vertebra which I think Chetan kept as a souviner. I would have gone for it - but then I remembered the dusty bones from my anatomy lessons tucked away in a corner in my garage - and realised I probably wouldn't have space for a vertebra. If it were a skull - thats another thing; one would make space for something like that!We came back to the camp, and I was sure the camp leader, if present, would give us hell for fooling around for so long. Mr. Patel. To my surprise, more than relief, he just gave me the required forms to fill. He came across as a soft spoken gentleman from Jharkhand or Bihar.
A light reprimand (more like in a matter of speaking) later, he let us back into our rooms. There was a group of four middle aged gentlemen already present in one of the rooms. They were from Andhra Pradesh, as was evident in their accents and appearances. In my first meeting with one of them, I offered my hand as an introduction and he shoved a camera in my hand - they wanted a photo of them in a nearby makeshift tent. The tent was purely symbolic, by the way - we slept in pucca rooms.
Their camera was a 3MP Canon Powershot A300. Not bad, but a tad too slow for my liking. Faster than my Sony Cybershot P8 - but my LCD is better. Ha!
Two photos taken and I was getting annoyed. I shoved the camera back into their hands and walked off for my well-deserved bath.
Manish came out of the bathroom first warning of apnoeic spells owing to the freezing water. He wasn't wrong - I can honestly say that I haven't bathed in colder water than what is there in Aut.
A bath and shave later, it was time for dinner. I don't remember what we had - just like I don't remember most of the other meals - for they tasted the same from here on end. Saltless, containing the same cauliflower and potato bhaji and rice and chapps. The pickle, I distinctly remember, as it remained the same all the way till the end. A mixed pickle, with so much salt it seemed its purpose was to compensate for the lack of it in the food in general.
Dinner over, a walk by the river-bank later, we got on to our rooms, and opened the pack of cards I had got from the train. We played 'teen patti' - something like Poker, and 'Judgement' - a serially played games with points. I didn't win any; but I think I gained a reputation for betting too high on unnecessary stakes. We ran out of tokens to bet with - we were using newspapers scraps till then - and then we started betting with pebbles from the riverbank, water bottles, chap-stick, paper-scraps from our wallets, visiting cards - h
eh heh - I am proud to report I managed to bet (and win back) my SD-Card Cover and Information Pamphlet and the entire contents of my wallet. It was all in fun of course; and we managed a barter too, where I exchanged a chap stick I had won from Chetan with some rocks I had selectively lifted from the riverbank. Good fun.The Campfire.
The last event to end the day with on Youth Hostel treks is a campfire. There is no real fire, please don't wonder why; there are many rumors but the most likely reason is that 'burning of firefood in Himachal Pradesh is a punishable offence'. There are others like somebody lost an eye in cutting firewood, etc - but less the work for something mandatory like this, the better.
Campfire is when all the members with the team leader gather around and most of the participants, if not all, are expected to share something - a joke or song or story or whatever - and we are offered Bournvita/Milo/Boost in return. Supposed to improve national integration and tolerance to one another. None of us bothered to sing songs, but all of us were made to crack a joke each by Mr. Patel, and that certainly helped break the ice. My joke was sufficiently laughed at, I'm pleased to report. And I am equally pleased to reminisce that the joke by the Andhra fellow who took my hand for a sincere offer to click one of their many group photographs - was barely understood and he gave a frown in response.
Lights out, but we continued with our cards. Us youngsters in one room, the oldies with Uncle in the other.
