The day I crashed a Royal Enfield in the Himalayas

The notion that you feel more alive during one minute riding a motorcycle than many people do in a whole year is one that, with experience, I’ve come to agree with. Entirely vulnerable to the environment, with your senses on full alert to the vibrations, sounds, sights and smells around you, riding can have a profound effect.

In the mid-noughties, aged 26, following a stint working on private charter yachts in the Mediterranean, I had caught the travel bug in a big way. Hungry for more adventures, I quickly accepted an invitation from my dad, Bob, who had signed up to ‘Enduro Himalaya’, a two-week, 1,200-mile supported motorcycle ride in India’s northernmost state, Himachal Pradesh. Virtually overnight, the excitement I felt for motorcycling in my teens was reignited.

Riding on some of the most dangerous roads in the world and dealing with altitude sickness were genuine concerns, as were our bikes. We’d be exploring the Himalayas riding 500cc Royal Enfield Bullets, single-cylinder bikes designed in Britain in the 1950s, now produced in India. There was also the small matter of obtaining my licence to overcome. Thankfully, I passed six weeks before we were due to leave. India was on!

After flying into Delhi and connecting to Chandigarh, we took a five-hour minibus ride in the dark up a winding road to our starting point, Shimla, during the most biblical storm I’d ever experienced. To our horror, we came across a car that had been completely flattened by a fallen boulder. Our driver chose not to stop and investigate. A charming hill-station town set against an idyllic backdrop of misty mountains, Shimla was the former summer capital of the British Raj.

Landslide victory

Following a brief but important introduction to riding on Indian mountain roads the next morning, we were shown to our bikes. Our guides suggested we use our horns before every manoeuvre and apply only gentle braking forces due the snatchy nature of the drum brakes. With this fresh in our minds, we spent a nerve-settling morning in Shimla acclimatising to our bikes and the local rules of etiquette. After a long journey the day before, it felt fantastic to finally be on the move.

The next morning, we set off on the old Hindustan-Tibet road out of Shimla. After a few hours, we discovered a huge landslide that completely blocked the road, caused by the heavy rainfall on the day of our arrival. Faced with a long delay, we opted to make our way towards Manali via Chinti instead, spending a bracing night under canvas at Sinla. Sadly, the diversion meant we had to bypass the infamous Spiti Valley, a stunning area famous for its huge, rocky cliffs.

Snaking our way through beautiful, remote valleys and small settlements, any feelings of frustration were soon quashed, helped by the local children who, upon hearing the thunderous sound of two dozen Bullets approaching, would line the road, joyously waving and smiling as we rumbled past. Lush, tropical vegetation, including wild marijuana, fill the valley floors in this area, contrasting with enormous snow-capped mountain peaks in the distance. The constantly changing landscape created a fascinating backdrop to the art of riding classic motorcycles, which were ideal for the job.

The first few days of the tour saw us saddling up before sunrise in order to cover the punishing 150-mile daily sections before sundown – riding at night was a big no-no.

Once we reached Manali, a buzzing gateway town to the remote mountains beyond, we enjoyed a scheduled rest day sampling the local restaurants, hot springs and massage services – there were plenty of numb bums in our group. Our mechanics, capable of incredibly rapid roadside repairs, also used this opportunity to check over all the bikes, tweaking the carburettors to provide a more suitable fuel/air mixture as we gained altitude.

Rising steeply on the Manali to Leh highway, climbing above the tree line, the landscape became increasingly unforgiving, appearing lunar in places. With the temperature dropping, ice and snow graced the ground and the risk of altitude sickness was now ever present. For Bob and I however, it was so far so good. This area is also blessed with fantastic road signs, written by someone with a wonderful sense of humour.

Once in the Lahaul Valley, our destination was a hotel in Keylang (where Bob mysteriously misplaced his sock after one entertaining dinner party), a remote town surrounded by 6,000m-plus peaks and our base for an attempt to reach Baralacha La, the highest pass on the tour at approximately 16,000ft.

Mountain moments

A few hours out of Manali, travelling at speed, a near-disaster struck. I suffered a puncture on my front wheel. Struggling to control the bike, I instinctively aimed my Bullet towards a large and, this time, very welcome boulder, and came to an abrupt stop. Lying in the dirt, thankfully uninjured, I was just a few feet from the edge of a ravine. “You very lucky mister,” came the response of one of the mechanics as they replaced my inner tube in the time it took for me to regain my composure.

Following an overnight stay in Jispa, at a hotel with no hot water or electricity, the weather looked promising for our ride into the sky, on the border with Kashmir. Fuelled by sweet chai tea and Pot Noodles cooked at the roadside, we encountered heavily laden yaks and Indian tourists dressed for bizarre ski-wear photoshoots in the snow.

The highest part of the tour was where we discovered the highest quality tarmac, which felt very strange. Racetrack smooth, the road rising to Baralacha La was surrounded by deep snow drifts and jagged mountain tops in the distance. Feeling like mountaineers who had reached their summit, getting to our destination was an incredibly rewarding experience and we appreciated the fabulous sunny weather to enjoy the moment.

Having achieved what we set out to do, with a far greater understanding of one another, this ride of our lives firmly placed motorcycling back on the menu for both of us. On returning to the UK, we decided to go motorcycle racing, and for the following six years teamed up as a father-son duo competing in a national classic series. Providing countless more thrills and indeed the odd spill, it was all made possible by our life-affirming trip to the Indian Himalayas.

George Chapman is a former classic motorcycle racer turned writer and editor

If you’ve had a journey that changed your life or made a lasting impression, email james.scoltock@thinkpublishing.co.uk to feature in our next edition

This is an edited extract from IMI's new MotorPro magazine, received free as part of IMI Membership.