Three cyclists pedal to Parashar Lake in the snow, braving the cold
“It’s when you give yourself to travel, bare, battered; life reveals herself in all her grandeur for an enchanted, awakened you.”
Feeling trapped
We had come far. The snow had gotten heavier and the wind numbing. It was getting dark. Visibility reduced to almost zero. The ascent had brought us through more than a couple of hairpin turns, through our fears of the unknow. Pushing our bicycles through the snow, “push, push harder…”, was all that kept ringing in our heads. There we were at some twenty-seven hundred meters above sea level, standing grounded, astounded.
My spirit shuddered witnessing the mountain’s stirring revelation. In a moment, the clouds rolled away, the skies cleared, hues changed, as the mountain’s appeared on the great white canvas. Patches of replenished green had survived the long snowfall. Drenched in the subtle yellow tinge of happiness, it was the reward of contentment. This time I was on the other mountain – “The white side”. Ten minutes of impassioned drama had left me and beyond comprehension, beyond exclamation.
We looked at each other, tucked our high hearts underneath our mirth and said, “Dinkan is great!” (Dinkan is the super rat from Kerala, who had made his way from children’s comics to satirical theistic – atheistic)”
When Aladdin buzzed, “Holy Ride!”, It was supposed to be a moderate ride. (Aladdin is a WhatsApp group of a few bicyclists that was created after our last Manali-Leh ride). Three guys, three bicycles, four days that was all we had in mind when we started. We did not have the faintest idea of what awaited us.
25th of February- We all rode from IIT Delhi to Kashmiri gate ISBT, Delhi. This would be our second ride together- Me, Sanoj and Dhanush. Sanoj and Dhanush decided not to use rear racks this time. They carried their bags on their backs. All bucked up, bikes loaded onto the roof of the bus, we started our journey from Kashimiri gate to mandi, Himachal Pradesh.
Lets begin the adventure
Barely sleeping, we reached Mandi around 5 next morning. At a nice road side dhaba (restaurant), had awesome parathas rejuvenated our excitement after that tiring bus ride. The morning couldn’t be better, suddenly Sanoj pointed out that his winter clothes were missing! Excited, Dhanush forgot the bag of winter clothes. But the good news was, we lost a few kilos! It was a lesson we learnt- on a ride like this, towels, toothbrushes and now we were moving with half of that! But as we climbed the hills, we couldn’t care less. The weather was pleasant. Occasionally we would pass milkmen waving at us as they descended on their bicycles. Close mountains, long tracks, welcoming smiles of the locals- It was euphoria. We were making up songs and singing, “Round-round-round, Oh Tanga-Langa-la!”.
Breakfast point
It had been some six hours into the holy ride. The road till then had been uphill. Suddenly in front of us lay a stretch of a winding downhill road. The joy of downhill lasted just four kilometers as we landed on an almost level stretch going onto a wooden bridge. As we rode over the gushing waters of ‘Kamand river’, we saw three small idols carved out of stone atop a pillar. Local beliefs had washed the idols red in Sindoor (Vermilion), sounds of the rushing stream with the ironic stillness of the red idols filled the air with mysticism. I halted. For a moment I was bridged across generations who had walked these mountains. As we continued, we came across a little restaurant. It was past eleven and we were hungry. As we went in, I noticed that everything, from biscuits to cake, was branded ‘Prashar’. Our destination felt closer!
Towards the lake
We had a few omelets hoping to have lunch at Bagi village and finishing the ride by evening. It was afternoon and we were still far from Bagi. At a small village called ‘Katola’ we halted as we were tired. We knew we couldn’t ride for long. We had to get supplies for the night- biscuits, cake and some pakodas (Snacks). We continued to Bagi. It was another six kilometers and the rain were getting heavier. We knew we had to stay back at Bagi for the night. We rode slowly reveling in what the mountains had to offer. The rain had washed the place spectacularly. Scattered, small huts and grazing sheep dotted the hills while the earth smelt of life- beautiful, unpredictable, colors blurred into the distant rains. On mountains with rains like that, salty potato chips get really tasty.
The water source
We were halting frequently eating, laughing.
We reached Bagi around five. The rain had ceased. A few locals were gathered around a fire by the roadside. Drawn by the comfort warmth, we joined them. As we spoke, they told us how the streams on route get violent, how the snow gets heavy and slippery, and why rides like ours should be avoided! We had come far and with no intention of returning. We handed our luggage to the locals and they showed as and abandoned bus stop to camp for the night. Tucked in comfortably inside our tent, we spoke for hours, savoring our ‘Pakodas’. Drawn by the wrath of the tent, three dongs had settled down around it. It is amazing how you meet strangers and end up owing them. The dogs guarded us through the night. We gave a share of our pakodas to our new-found friends and slept off.
The only lunch we had on our entire trip
The blue home inside the bus stop
We woke up early to get back of the road. It was till drizzling. Standing outside the small stop, I stared at the two roads, both led to Parashar Lake. One went into a beautiful pine forest and vanished into a thin trail. If you are trekking up to Prashar, this is the trail you take through the majestic forest. The other road led to a broken stone bridge flung across by the torrential stream. The stream then knees deep flowed over the broken trail, rushing past me, this was the cycling tack! We breakfast at a nearby shop, clicked a few photos and left Bagi. We found a way to go around the broken bridge without walking through the stream. Back on the road again, we rode uphill with revived spirits. A few hours later the rain got heavier, and the streams got bigger, relentless. As the winding road took us higher, the mist got heavier. We riding the peaks of the mountains, above the clouds that rolled fast in the distance. Sometimes a little wandering cloud would pass by stroking my skin, soaking me in. Pin trees grew animatedly straight through plains and slopes that were now cliffs. Trees flowed like waterfalls, conifers blooming in wonder, delight, had uplifted us, evoking emotions. I didn’t know of and probably the cold place its part too!
Broken bridge after cloud burst & in backdrop you can identify the bus stop where we halt
Now we have three enemies : Rain, wind & uphill
We had cold feet and needed to stop. It was around one in the afternoon, we came across a closed down tea Shop. We ran towards the porch, removed our shoes and started pacing up and down the gallery. We tried pushups, and almost everything that could warm us up. We needed fire. Trying to warm up, I explored the shop, I saw and abandoned cowshed nearby. Hoping to find fire
Wood, we went inside. Broke a plank, found hay and soon we had a little fire going. Cold and soaked outside, the warmth of the fire within the dark broken shed felt like heaven. The warmth, delicious cakes, and friends, carried us away to our old memories of mountains and treks and we realized, it was already three thirty. We had been basking in the comfort for two hours!
The unknown halt to keep ourselves warm
The fire had revived our spirit; enthusiasm beat in our hearts again, as we got back on the road. We got out of the shed and saw, ‘It was snowing’. The washed-out mountains had softened into the romance of misty green-white sceneries. Flakes of snow were falling softly, floating blanketing the mountains in soft shades of snow white. The road was covered in patches of thick snow and slushy ice. Adrenaline rushed through my body, our grins could hardly contain our enthusiasm- We were thrilled. We rode slowly over the slushy, slippery ice. Cutting through thick patches of snow was almost impossible. As we rode uphill through steeper tacks, the pine trees around us got denser, loaded in snow, the trees made way for a pine forest. The place was cast into an ethereal landscape of shades of grey as the trees shaded and snow spread drawing dreamy forms all around. We were riding through a dreamy meditative world, halting frequently, trying to capture these moments in our cameras. It had been two hours; we reached the pint in the trail where there was no trail anymore, just thick white snow blanketing everything
Its snowing
We could see. We pushed through, making our own trail. It was five thirty in the evening and getting dark. We had eaten everything we had. The cold was biting as our gloves were wet. All I saw was the vast expanse of snow covering everything that lay in from of my- without any trail of life. We looked at each other, panic was was setting in. As it got windier, we walked, pushing our bikes through the snow. We kept saying, “push…push…harder”, that kept repeating in our heads. We thought of leaving our bikes there and walk but that didn’t sound good. We decided to push till the first hairpin visible in the horizon, We reached. The vast expanse of white snow continued to on more hairpins. We pushed forward to the next turn…and the next. It had been three hairpins already. We saw nothing but white snow all around visibility reduced to zero.
The hard push
The cold was biting, wind numbing and we were exhausted. We were just three tired men, pushing their bicycles into the great white mountains, not knowing how far could they go. Pushing slowly through the snow, through the silence, only tired words were occasionally heard- “Are you tired?”. The last three kilometers, pushing through snow had consumed us. It was dusk. We had reached on more hairpin.
"Hey are you tired?"
Broken, wet and almost lost
We pushed a few more meters and suddenly out of the heavy mist appeared a yellow board perched atop the mountain. We had almost reached our destination! Scuffling towards the board, we saw the shadow of a firm mountain man against the dusky skies, staring at us from the ridge above the road. He was the first life we had seen in kilometers. Sanoj started waving at him frantically. The man went back somewhere. As we reached the board, it read 'Prashar Lake, we saw him running down to receive us.
Finally the final stop
We could see the rest house where this man lived-our saviour. He quickly took our bags and asked us to follow him into the rest house. As I moved towards the rest house, something strange happened, The clouds rolled away, the mist cleared and before me lay the grand mountains, white and green merging into the horizon. The setting sun shone for the first time, spreading its last rays of warmth, reflecting on the snow, revealing a world of rugged white mountains and pensive green forests. This was the white side-cold but tender. Struggling with words for appreciation and exclamation, we said, “Dinkan is great!”. In ten minutes like culminating into a climax the world was washed a new. I walked up to rest house content and joyful.
The Saviour
The saviour was ‘Roop Singh – caretaker of the rest house”. He had been with the forest department for years, moving from mountain to mountain around the Himalayas. He made a fire, helped us dry off as we got rid of our wet clothes. At dinner, we talked for long. Nibbling the awesome papad (snacks), we were arrested in Roop singh’s amazing stories of treks and life in the mountains. Hours later, we slept in one of the big cosy wooden rooms of the rest house. Chunks of ice and snow kept falling from the roof outside, sometimes making sounds that would scare us- sounds like and avalanche rolling down.
Keeping ourselves warm
Time to say goodnight to long day
We woke up early the next morning. It was sunny. We had to trek one kilometer to the Prashar Lake. Watching the first footprints in the immaculate, pure, white snow, as we walked was reviving the old spirit, to to find new places, that we all had when we were kids.
Towards our 'Final Destination'
As we reached the place, it was ethereal, Snow had covered everything other than the lake. Basking in the morining sun, everything laid still soft and white. The temple was almost dug under the snow. Revrealing the roof of a few other huts snow had carved cut a dreamy landscape. The clear water of the lake reflected the parrish blue sky-I had fallen in love with the place.
The Prashar lake
The Holy Prashar lake
We came back after playing in the snow excitedly for a few hours. Roop singh had made a nice breakfast for us. We had breakfast, bid bye to our saviour, and left Prashar lake.
The best breakfast in mountains, Thanks to roop singh
Pushing back was easy. We were moving back fast through the tracks we had cut through the snow while we had come up. We saw the footprints of a small animal, probably a dog or fox that had followed our tracks. An hours later we were riding down. As I tried to live through this surreal beautiful wold one last time, I looked back and saw the place had owned me!
Here we go
Going down was not an easy task
The misadventure has been completed
The content and photographs has my copyright, written by me. No one can use it without my permission. This article has already been written in Hindi language on my blog. Here is the link of my Hindi blog.
https://himalayanwomb.blogspot.com/2017/05/1-prashar-lake-when-adventure-becomes.html?m=1