An icy wind was blowing through the car now. The temperature had plummeted well below the 0° Celsius mark, and Nature, it seemed, was mocking our failure. Our bright yellow Wagon R was perched on a cliffside, at 15,000 feet above sea level, during our attempt to cross the 16,050 foot tall Baralach La. We had struggled hard to reach here and were repeatedly attempting to clamber over an endless incline of packed ice which hid reassuring tarmac. One more try, then – gentle on the throttle, quickly into second, turn the steering wheel lock to lock, try to find a rough ice patch and some traction... The front wheels start spinning, I try not to touch the brakes... panic... Panic hard, brake, pull the hand brake, engage reverse gear, and pray as gravity and ice win again. The Wagon R toboggans backwards helplessly, coming to a halt only inches away from the cliff edge and certain death. Icy wind. Failure. Again.
‘Abandon two-wheel drives,’ someone was screaming through the snowstorm. With the wind picking up and blowing tons of snow on the windshield, we had run out of options. We could not have endured the night in sub-zero temperatures at Baralach La. But abandon dear little Chiclet? Yup, that was the nickname our little Wagon R had earned during the first few days of the sixth Raid de Himalaya.
We were contemplating the options when a service crew in a Qualis inched up the same ski ramp. The stupid driver, after seeing other cars fail, thought he could make it, and that too with a full quota of passengers and luggage. The Qualis struggled halfway up, and predictably, started its skidding backward journey. That driver, his passengers and his vehicle would have become footnotes in the Raid’s history had the out-of-control Qualis not met with the front end of our parked Wagon R.
Bang! Our smart tallboy now sported a mangled right fender, a crumpled bumper and a very startled crew. Luckily, the damage was only cosmetic, and we knew we would be able to drive on when the weather permitted. For the time being though, the priority was our very survival.That meant hitchhiking. A few Raid cars, including a couple of two-wheel drives, had gone through before the storm had intensified, packing and hardening the snow – leading to the situation before us. Power to the front wheels? Maybe chains would be a better idea, Param and I thought. We picked up our backpacks with the mandatory high-energy emergency rations (read: chocolates, Tropicanas, canned oxygen and first aid) and sleeping bags and started trudging up.
The air was thin, and the ice beneath was slippery. Those in the 4x4s making a hurried dash for the pass, didn’t want the additional burden of passengers (which could mean getting stuck on the way up). After a kilometre-long trek, we came across a red Gypsy, expertly piloted by Sanket, his father playing navigator. The good Samaritans were bailing out as many stranded souls as possible. There was enough room for just one more person in the Gypsy – Param could squeeze in, I couldn’t. Fellow scribes from Overdrive, Sirish And Bertrand, had parked their Esteem alongside our Wagon R, and were on the lookout for a ride too.
Then, out of the all-engulfing whiteness, came a white Gypsy. Like an angel from the clouds. We’d been refused rides in the open pick-up beds of some gypsys before. However, this time, I found myself jumping into the open cargo bay of Gaurav’s car with Bertie – Sirish found space in the cab. Soon I had to clamber out to help push the machine over zero-traction slopes, jumping back in for a breather, jumping out again....
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