The Adventures of Mr. and Mrs. Knobby in the Land of High Passes

If ever there was a couple fit to brave the delightful absurdities of the world, it was Mr. and Mrs. Knobby. Strapping themselves to their Triumph Tiger 800 motorcycles—beasts of mechanical mischief—they pointed their compass toward the mystical landscapes of India. This, dear reader, was not the sort of journey one embarks upon for a mere dalliance with comfort. Nay! This was an affair of sweat and grit, potholes and prayer wheels, with a delightful smattering of questionable toilets.

The Flight of Infinite Layovers

They set forth from Boise with the spirits of explorers and the olfactory confidence of those who haven't yet shared recycled airplane air for 37 hours. They traversed the skies from BOI to SFO, then FRA to DEL, with time morphing into a cruel jest. Upon landing in Delhi, the Knobbys stumbled like bewildered chickens, pecking their way through the sticky humidity and a symphony of car horns that played in the key of chaos.

Delhi greeted them with crowds so dense they may as well have been contestants in a human sardine competition. The Shanti Home Hotel stood like an oasis of serenity, though the Knobbys quickly discovered that the term "serenity" in India was more of a loose suggestion than a guarantee.

From Houseboats to Highways

The next leg of their escapade took them to Srinagar, where they settled on a Peacock Houseboat bobbing gently on Dal Lake. One might think such an abode would lend itself to tranquility, but the surrounding waters teemed with merchants so persistent they could sell a snow globe to a penguin. After a day of bartering over trinkets, they mounted their trusty Triumph Tiger, a steed which roared with the spirit of a thousand unbridled tigers—give or take a spark plug.

Their path wound through mountain passes, ascending higher than a crow's gossip. Kargil came next, a town that greeted them with military trucks the size of moving fortresses and dust clouds so thick they might as well have been breathing a toasted baguette. They bunked at D'zojila Hotel, whose walls seemed to whisper the secrets of bygone Himalayan travelers, most of whom probably complained about the toilets.

The Roads That Mocked Tires

Onward they roared to Rangdum, Lamayuru, and Leh, where the roads were but suggestions scribbled by a particularly mischievous deity. Switchbacks twisted like an indecisive snake, and potholes blossomed like the craters of a lunar landscape. The Triumph Tiger bucked and swayed, playing a rousing game of “Dodge the Abyss.”

At one point, Mrs. Knobby remarked, “If this road gets any worse, we may as well rename it the Path of Enlightenment—since I can already see my soul leaving my body.”

Of Monasteries and Male Affection

Leh offered its own charms, chiefly in the form of stupas and monasteries perched like grand old hens on rocky perches. Prayer flags fluttered like gossiping aunts, sending blessings that may or may not have been intercepted by the neighboring goats. The Knobbys delighted in the chants of monks and the spin of prayer wheels, though they did pause at the sight of men strolling hand-in-hand with unabashed affection. Mr. Knobby, enlightened as he was, muttered, “Well, bless my mustache, that’s a friendship I’ll need a few King Fisher beers to understand.”

The Treachery of Khardung La

Then came Khardung La, the highest motorable pass in the world, with altitudes so high even the Triumph Tiger wheezed in protest. Snowbanks flanked the road like indifferent gods, daring them to pass. The air was thinner than a miser’s charity, and the Knobbys took to gasping with the elegance of bewildered trout.

“Jullay!” shouted locals with enthusiasm and lung capacity Mr. Knobby could only envy.

“Jullay!” replied Mrs. Knobby, though it came out more like a strangled cat with a head cold.

The Final Reckoning

The Triumph carried them through Tirith, Sakti, and Karzok, each destination bringing a fresh opportunity to confront the whims of Indian plumbing. Cold water bucket showers became an intimate ritual, akin to courting frostbite with a ladle. The Knobbys, however, bore it all with the tenacity of honey badgers and the occasional scream.

Finally, they rolled into Manali, where the roads teased them with a deceptive smoothness. Here, the Triumph purred like a cat that had seen too much, while the Knobbys toasted their survival with one last King Fisher beer. They reminisced about military convoys that crawled like steel caterpillars, the ever-loyal Royal Enfields that chugged along the mountainsides, and the gompas that stood in silent testament to the wisdom of the ages.

As they boarded their flight from Delhi, weary but triumphant, Mr. Knobby turned to his beloved wife and declared, “My dear, we may have left the Triumph Tigers behind, but the potholes in my spine shall live on forever.”

And with that, they soared homeward, their memories packed as tightly as a Delhi-bound auto-rickshaw—chaotic, scenic, and entirely unforgettable.

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Mrs Knobby's perspective ..

Trip Report: A Motorcycle Odyssey Through the Himalayas - June 2014

Overview

My most memorable trip to date unfolded over two weeks in June 2014, a guided motorcycle tour through the rugged and breathtaking Himalayas. As the only woman rider in a group of adventurers, I rode a Triumph Tiger 800 on a route that served as a beta test for the tour company—a journey soon discontinued due to escalating violence in Kashmir. From Delhi’s chaotic streets to the desolate heights of 18,000 feet, this trip was a rollercoaster of challenging roads, incredible sights, vibrant people, vast emptiness, unexpected twists, and profound highs and lows. Below is a detailed account of this unforgettable adventure.

Day 1-2: Arrival in Delhi

We landed in Delhi at 1 a.m., navigating customs and luggage retrieval until 3 a.m. Crossing the city in the pre-dawn hours, we encountered a surreal mix of sleeping figures on medians, wandering cows, and a stifling 100°F heat. Delhi’s eclectic blend of wealth and poverty was immediately apparent—gated streets abutted by makeshift shelters.  

Our haven was Shanti Home, a comfortable hotel on a quiet, gated street. The air-conditioned rooms were a relief, though the rooftop restaurant, open to the humid 115°F air, offered little respite despite portable A/C units. We explored via the elevated metro, a modern system with tight security—separate screening for women and men left my belongings momentarily vulnerable, but luck held.  

A fellow rider, a doctor who’d visited Delhi decades earlier, guided us to a temple complex. The barefoot trek through its vast, heavily secured grounds was striking—no cameras allowed, managed via a chaotic “coat-check” system. The air was thick as soup, men bathed openly in the reflecting pond, and stares followed me everywhere—though never harassment, thanks to my towering companions. Jet lag hit hard, and we retreated for a nap, tuk-tuks buzzing below.

Day 2 brought more exploration—crowded sidewalks, mind-boggling electrical tangles, and a funeral procession amid 115°F heat. We marveled at pedal-powered rickshaws, rejected tires reborn as handcrafted wheels, and waterways choked with trash. Street food tempted but was avoided; a pedicure later soothed my senses with chocolate indulgence. Delhi was a sensory overload, priming us for the journey ahead.

Day 3: Delhi to Srinagar

A flight whisked us to Srinagar (5,200 ft), the Kashmir Valley’s sprawling heart, ringed by snow-capped Himalayas. Known for lakes and houseboats, it’s a contested region with a heavy military presence—a stark reminder of unrest. Our houseboat on the lake was charming yet basic, its polluted waters hidden beneath lovely lilies. Vendors peddled silks I now regret not buying, while the town revealed ancient bridges, rug factories, and a palpable tension beneath its tourist-friendly veneer. Long sleeves tempered the stares, but I stayed vigilant.

Day 4: Srinagar to Kargil via Zoji La Pass (11,580 ft)

The riding began! Our Triumph Tiger 800s, imported for the tour, struggled to idle above 10,000 ft—a challenge we’d face repeatedly at 11,000-18,000 ft. My husband’s bike wouldn’t start, requiring a pasture push-start, but I loved mine—its low seat height perfect for my 5’ 7” frame.  

Zoji La Pass, freshly opened, was a chaotic ascent—muddy, rocky, and clogged with army convoys and commercial trucks. Indian drivers’ relentless passing defied logic, forcing me to muscle through a steep, truck-laden section under pressure from our sweep rider. The cold, disputed far side brought military checkpoints and gunfire warnings, landing us at the quirky D’Zojila hotel in Kargil (8,800 ft). Padlocked doors and lavish Indian buffets capped a thrilling first ride.

Day 5: Kargil to Rangdum Camp (13,000 ft)

From Kargil’s Muslim bustle, we rode rocky roads past farmland and shrines to a remote Buddhist camp. Crossing creeklets, I gassed too hard, the tank bag slamming my chest—lesson learned. Rangdum’s vast emptiness, a lone monastery, and icy nights (saved by hot water bottles) offered a stark contrast to the day’s dusty grind. A monastery visit revealed eerie relics in near-darkness, a spiritual pause amid the physical toll.

Day 6: Rangdum to Lamayuru (Valley of the Moon)

Backtracking through Kargil, we hit smooth highways to Lamayuru. A sandy crash between riders underscored the risks, but the lunar landscape and monastery tour soothed the nerves. Our hotel’s bucket showers and cold water tested resilience, but the day’s ride was a scenic reprieve.

Day 7: Lamayuru to Leh

Following the Indus River, we dodged a tanker-blocked road collapse—JimBob’s near-fall a heart-stopping moment. Leh (11,500 ft), a bustling hub, offered respite at the Eco Poplar Resort. Altitude hit some hard, but the ride’s twists and river vistas kept spirits high.

Day 8: Day in Leh

A rest day brought monastery tours—Namgyal’s hilltop perch stunning despite slippery steps—and prep for the Dalai Lama’s visit. JimBob, arm injured, opted out, his bike stowed. Leh’s mix of Aryan locals and Chinese-made tees hinted at its crossroads status.

Day 9: Leh to Nubra Valley Camp via Khardung La Pass (17,600 ft)

Khardung La’s crowded summit buzzed with selfie-seekers, our Tigers drawing stares. The descent to a serene 11,000-ft camp offered peace—clean toilets, a rare luxury—after a giddy, high-altitude day.

Day 10: Nubra Valley to Shakti via Wari La Pass (17,290 ft)

A short, quiet ride over Wari La led to Shakti, where a truck forced me into a ditch—stressful but manageable. A relaxed afternoon with thukpa and curious kids balanced the morning’s tension.

Day 11: Shakti to Korzok Camp (15,000 ft)

A clutch failure sidelined my Tiger, but a guide’s bike got me back in the saddle. Sandy crashes tested reflexes, landing us at a remote camp by Tso Moriri Lake—stark, colorful, and frigid, with military trenches looming above.

Day 12: Korzok to Sarchu

Rocky roads and a broken transmission marked this leg, ending at a grim Sarchu “camp”—dirt floors, open-pit loos, and trucker chaos. Sleeping bags kept us warm, but cleanliness was a distant dream.

Day 13: Sarchu to Keylong via Baralacha La (16,000 ft)

The trip’s toughest day: icy mud felled riders, gridlock paralyzed the pass, and I navigated snowbanks with oxygen bottles in tow. Violence erupted behind us, quelled by military intervention. Keylong’s quiet hotel was a sanctuary after 3 hours to move 200 yards.

Day 14: Keylong to Manali via Rohtang La Pass (13,000 ft)

Rohtang—“corpse field”—lived up to its name: icy ruts, potholes, and mud, plus a collapsed bridge delay. Traffic mayhem and a horse-truck collision tested patience, but Manali’s backroads delivered us to rest.

Day 15: Manali to Pathankot

A hellish taxi slog—breakdowns, canceled flights, and hours of mountain driving—finally ended at a second airport. Beer and relief signaled the end of our Indian odyssey.

Reflections

This trip was a crucible of challenge and wonder—roads that tested skill, altitudes that pushed limits, and a culture both chaotic and captivating. From Delhi’s heat to Himalayan desolation, it was a journey of extremes, shared with my steadfast Hubby and a resilient crew. Namaste to an adventure etched in memory.

Tips: Bring electrolyte powder, altitude meds, sunblock, TP, hand sanitizer, a washcloth, a pillowcase, and—crucially—Vaseline for dry noses. You’ll thank me at 15,000 ft.