To Jalori Pass
Last June we* biked to Jalori Pass. Even though it is one of the lowest passes (10,580 ft) in Himalayas, connecting Shimla district with Kullu, the drive is a biker’s delight. The ride up to Shimla is as usual a drag and a bore because of traffic, diesel fumes and crowds. As soon as we cross Kufri the fun starts. One can breathe the fresh mountain air and the hill sides are covered with trees. The temperature drops perceptibly which is a welcome change after the sweltering heat of Chandigarh. The road descends till a village called Matiyana and then starts climbing up. Patches are being repaired after recent landslides, leaving them bare broken rock. Bikes raise a dust cloud and you can imagine the state of the guy riding drag! But good roads follow and soon we are zipping on freshly laid tarmac. The bikes roar uphill to the ever beautiful Narkanda. Here we stop for much needed rest and lunch at the HPTDC Hatu. They have a beautiful garden where we sprawl after lunch and sip hot tea. (*The ‘WE’ are Inderjit Singh, Gagan, Gurinder, Viteshwar and I.)
The sky is clear June blue and gentle breeze whistles through the pine leaves. The garden is agog with bird song. I meditate on the beauty of it all till a bus load of tourists, part of the packaged holidaying; descend in their loudness to break the idyll. We pick ourselves, wipe the dust off the bikes and start for Luhri. The drive to Luhri is through some spectacular deodar forests, which Narkanda is famous for. The divine aroma of cedar causes a certain tranquillity to pervade the mind. The miles slip by till we reach Sainj.
As soon as we reach Sainj and turn for Luhri, the test of riding skills starts. The road is narrow; pot holed and zigzags along Sutlej, which always seems to be in a spate at this place! The Luhri gorge is deep but constricted and river roars through it. The PWD rest house, our night halt, is perched far up the slope and road winds around itself like a mamba before it reaches the gate. Nestled in the middle of a forest and overlooking the river, it is a delightful place. The forest around it abounds in birds and animals. The chowkidar tells us that there are leopards in the forest which come down to the dak-bungalow in the winters. In the morning I wake up to the call of jungle fowl and go out to see a brood of them scratching and pecking in the garden!
Down below is the picturesque village of Zaar. It perches on the hill side and the fields and apricot orchards spread down from it to the river on its fluvial terraces. The apricot orchards are a favourite haunt of Himalayan black bears when the fruit ripen; the scars of claws and bites on the villagers’ body the living testimonies. Did any one say life in cities was hard? The village industry consists of two water mills and a tea shop doubling for “Daily Needs” store. Women trudge up and down the hillside carrying water, fodder or fire-wood or any thing else that weighs a ton and needs to be moved. The fields are ochre and barren with patches of emerald green, waiting for the first rains so that planting can begin. They seem to be gaping expectantly, fluttering their eyelashes solicitously, at the empty June blue sky.
The next leg of our journey is on a very treacherous road that is narrow, potholed and carved out of the hillside some where between the valley and the sky. The peril is accentuated by the bus and truck drivers who pelt downhill as if they were on an autobahn! We leave the Sutlej at Bahna fork and climb up the mountain towards Ani. We stop at the fork and look longingly at the road not taken – it leads to Kersog, another of the enchanted places, with the typical eat my cake and have it too greed.
Dark clouds suddenly appear as if beckoned by the parched and dry hillsides, but not a very welcome sight for the bikers, that too when wet weather gear was last minute exclusion! Yet we ride on undaunted for the lure of Jalori is great. We pass many villages small and big, each at a more picturesque locale than the last. The river flows far below and the gorge narrows to a flume. The mountains are barren except in the ravines through which small creeks flow. And in these patches of trees and shrubbery we see birds of prodigious kinds – paradise fly catchers, chukors and francolins!
Soon we reach Ani, a small town split in to two by a torrent cascading down the hill side, two sides connected by a narrow bridge, just like Siamese twins. Beyond Ani the road follows a stream for a few kilometres of unmatched heaven in the form of a not so wide valley given to cultivation and orchards. There are small villages and lots of Gujjars with there herds of buffaloes. They are tall, lithe people and women strikingly beautiful, absolutely in harmony with the environs.
Groups of women reap wheat and sing while kids chase lambs. The vista is interrupted as the road again takes a turn and starts along the shoulder of the mountain to Khanang. Here the air suddenly chills and there are apple trees. We have climbed onto snowy regions. The mountains are covered with deodar and oak and along the road there are banks of lilac irises growing wild. Irises of the van Gough fame, of lilac colour, the colour of passion on emerald green hill slopes…blossom headed parakeets, cinnamon wrens, streaked laughing thrushes, veredite fly catchers, the other denizens of this Garden of Eden.
The road from Khanang to Jalori is almost a vertical climb. The bikes grunt with effort and climb tests the man and machine to the extreme. There are no lay byes either for the road is so narrow and steep. On both sides of the road are thick oak forests. The trees are bedecked with mosses and maidens hair ferns. We inch up the incline and suddenly the road opens and flattens at the Jalori top! Across the pass is the Banjar of lush forests. We park to calm our frayed nerves.
Top of the pass is a flat of about 15 meters wide and 50 meters long. The road runs through the middle of this with dhabas on both sides. Jalori Jot temple occupies the pride of the place. Behind the dhabas the mountain side falls steeply downwards cloaked in luxuriant forests. The top is crowded as a group of youngsters from Mumbai have walked up from Shoja (5 kms). They crowd around our bikes and chat. They tell us they had mountain biked from Aut to Shoja. We share snacks and casual banter. Our kitted out bikes are quiet a draw. I have seen this for a fact – bikes do inspire conversation and interest but alas, it is mostly academic. Perhaps we still associate bikes with hooligans, rouges and Hell’s Angels!
We eat in Jalori dhaba- Maggie noodles, paranthas and omelettes followed by syrupy sweet tea. A family alights from an Innova kitted out to climb Everest complete with ice pick and mountaineering sticks. There is a mountaineering guide too. They are also walking up to Sarolsar Lake, 5 kms from the top. We ride our bikes for about a kilometre and a half on the track. 
The track comes to an abrupt end and we park our bikes in a forest of oaks. The trees are draped in swathes of moss and there is an occasional clump of mistletoe. Down below is an alpine meadow where stunted cows graze, their bells a tinkling. We walk on and make our way to the lake. Almost all Himalayan lakes are
hidden behind the shoulder of a hill and come into view suddenly as you take the turn.
The sight takes my breath away. The small corrie lake is nestled amidst oak and pine forests, banked in by lush green grass and shines turquoise blue. At one end of the lake, under an over hang, is a shrine. The walls are blackened with eons of sacred fires and lamp soot. A pujari presides over the proceedings. Some local people are there to offer prayers and take a ritual bath. I take a dip too. Water is very cold but refreshing. Teeth chattering we start back, our fore heads daubed red with vermillion tikas. Soon the stiff climb drives the chill out and we walk briskly to our bikes. Many people are now walking towards the lake. We stop at Jalori Dhaba to have tea. It is time to start back as ominous clouds loom.
The ride down is fast and furious. One of our companion’s bike brakes start smoking. We stop at a picturesque spot waiting for the drums to cool down. The dog roses are in bloom and hill sides are covered with their bushes, adding virginal white to the myriad pallet of Himalayas in summer. Blossom headed parrots squawk as they streak across the sky. Two stone masons sit chipping away at stone blocks. They are building a footpath to some village which is hidden from view. They chip with the chisels in a monotonous rhythm, their mallets rising and falling alternately. A cinnamon sparrow peers down at them in amazement. Wind rustles through the cedar trees and the cooling silencers of bikes contract with loud metallic pings. Dark clouds are moving in and we might get drenched.
The rain catches us just outside Ani. We stop and sit under an overhang of a shop and sip tea. It is past lunch time and we are to reach Narkanda. The rain abates and we ride on. A few kilometres on, the roads are dry and dusty. It has not rained at all. We ride fast to Sainj and stop there for pakoras and tea. A very unwelcoming cow charges us but stops inches short of goring me. We all share a nervous laugh. She is perhaps the local toughie protected by her sacredness.
The drive to Narkanda is on a road that is wide and snakes through lovely forests. We race our bikes and reach the Circuit House just ahead of a cloud bank. As we unload our bikes, the skies open up with a roar. The day turns in to night and rain falls by buckets with a lavish helping of hail. It pelts for an hour or more. We sit in our rooms and watch it fall. Road is a raging torrent and not a soul is visible. The din of rain and hail on the tin roof is deafening. Tea arrives and we are saved. The rest house tea has a charm of its own – most ordinary tealeaves boiled in a half and half mixture of milk and water with lots of sugar till is thick. It has the consistency of cooking oil and tastes of nothing but tannin and sugar! Yet it is so warming that one is addicted to it.
Next morning we ride up to Hatu Peak. The road is a narrow windy ribbon that runs through thick forest. The climb is steep but the bikes wiz up. Hair pin bends test our riding skills. Soon we are at the top. At 11,152 feet above m s l, it is the highest peak of this region. On the north and east we see the snow clad ranges of Great Himalaya. In between lies Kotgarh, the apple basket of Himachal. It is the home of Stokes, the American who introduced apples to Himachal. There are some ruins of a Ghurkha Fort and two towering rocks that stand as parallel walls connected by a curved formation. According to the local legend, they are
Bhima’s brazier (Chula) on which his gargantuan meals were cooked. After some time up there, we coast down to Narkanda and start back for Chandigarh. Rain catches us near Matiyana but we wait it out in a dhaba sipping tea. As soon as it stops we speed down to Shimla and home: back from another beautiful ride...
The sky is clear June blue and gentle breeze whistles through the pine leaves. The garden is agog with bird song. I meditate on the beauty of it all till a bus load of tourists, part of the packaged holidaying; descend in their loudness to break the idyll. We pick ourselves, wipe the dust off the bikes and start for Luhri. The drive to Luhri is through some spectacular deodar forests, which Narkanda is famous for. The divine aroma of cedar causes a certain tranquillity to pervade the mind. The miles slip by till we reach Sainj.
As soon as we reach Sainj and turn for Luhri, the test of riding skills starts. The road is narrow; pot holed and zigzags along Sutlej, which always seems to be in a spate at this place! The Luhri gorge is deep but constricted and river roars through it. The PWD rest house, our night halt, is perched far up the slope and road winds around itself like a mamba before it reaches the gate. Nestled in the middle of a forest and overlooking the river, it is a delightful place. The forest around it abounds in birds and animals. The chowkidar tells us that there are leopards in the forest which come down to the dak-bungalow in the winters. In the morning I wake up to the call of jungle fowl and go out to see a brood of them scratching and pecking in the garden!
Down below is the picturesque village of Zaar. It perches on the hill side and the fields and apricot orchards spread down from it to the river on its fluvial terraces. The apricot orchards are a favourite haunt of Himalayan black bears when the fruit ripen; the scars of claws and bites on the villagers’ body the living testimonies. Did any one say life in cities was hard? The village industry consists of two water mills and a tea shop doubling for “Daily Needs” store. Women trudge up and down the hillside carrying water, fodder or fire-wood or any thing else that weighs a ton and needs to be moved. The fields are ochre and barren with patches of emerald green, waiting for the first rains so that planting can begin. They seem to be gaping expectantly, fluttering their eyelashes solicitously, at the empty June blue sky.The next leg of our journey is on a very treacherous road that is narrow, potholed and carved out of the hillside some where between the valley and the sky. The peril is accentuated by the bus and truck drivers who pelt downhill as if they were on an autobahn! We leave the Sutlej at Bahna fork and climb up the mountain towards Ani. We stop at the fork and look longingly at the road not taken – it leads to Kersog, another of the enchanted places, with the typical eat my cake and have it too greed.
Dark clouds suddenly appear as if beckoned by the parched and dry hillsides, but not a very welcome sight for the bikers, that too when wet weather gear was last minute exclusion! Yet we ride on undaunted for the lure of Jalori is great. We pass many villages small and big, each at a more picturesque locale than the last. The river flows far below and the gorge narrows to a flume. The mountains are barren except in the ravines through which small creeks flow. And in these patches of trees and shrubbery we see birds of prodigious kinds – paradise fly catchers, chukors and francolins!
Soon we reach Ani, a small town split in to two by a torrent cascading down the hill side, two sides connected by a narrow bridge, just like Siamese twins. Beyond Ani the road follows a stream for a few kilometres of unmatched heaven in the form of a not so wide valley given to cultivation and orchards. There are small villages and lots of Gujjars with there herds of buffaloes. They are tall, lithe people and women strikingly beautiful, absolutely in harmony with the environs.
Groups of women reap wheat and sing while kids chase lambs. The vista is interrupted as the road again takes a turn and starts along the shoulder of the mountain to Khanang. Here the air suddenly chills and there are apple trees. We have climbed onto snowy regions. The mountains are covered with deodar and oak and along the road there are banks of lilac irises growing wild. Irises of the van Gough fame, of lilac colour, the colour of passion on emerald green hill slopes…blossom headed parakeets, cinnamon wrens, streaked laughing thrushes, veredite fly catchers, the other denizens of this Garden of Eden.The road from Khanang to Jalori is almost a vertical climb. The bikes grunt with effort and climb tests the man and machine to the extreme. There are no lay byes either for the road is so narrow and steep. On both sides of the road are thick oak forests. The trees are bedecked with mosses and maidens hair ferns. We inch up the incline and suddenly the road opens and flattens at the Jalori top! Across the pass is the Banjar of lush forests. We park to calm our frayed nerves.
Top of the pass is a flat of about 15 meters wide and 50 meters long. The road runs through the middle of this with dhabas on both sides. Jalori Jot temple occupies the pride of the place. Behind the dhabas the mountain side falls steeply downwards cloaked in luxuriant forests. The top is crowded as a group of youngsters from Mumbai have walked up from Shoja (5 kms). They crowd around our bikes and chat. They tell us they had mountain biked from Aut to Shoja. We share snacks and casual banter. Our kitted out bikes are quiet a draw. I have seen this for a fact – bikes do inspire conversation and interest but alas, it is mostly academic. Perhaps we still associate bikes with hooligans, rouges and Hell’s Angels!
We eat in Jalori dhaba- Maggie noodles, paranthas and omelettes followed by syrupy sweet tea. A family alights from an Innova kitted out to climb Everest complete with ice pick and mountaineering sticks. There is a mountaineering guide too. They are also walking up to Sarolsar Lake, 5 kms from the top. We ride our bikes for about a kilometre and a half on the track. 
The track comes to an abrupt end and we park our bikes in a forest of oaks. The trees are draped in swathes of moss and there is an occasional clump of mistletoe. Down below is an alpine meadow where stunted cows graze, their bells a tinkling. We walk on and make our way to the lake. Almost all Himalayan lakes are hidden behind the shoulder of a hill and come into view suddenly as you take the turn.
The sight takes my breath away. The small corrie lake is nestled amidst oak and pine forests, banked in by lush green grass and shines turquoise blue. At one end of the lake, under an over hang, is a shrine. The walls are blackened with eons of sacred fires and lamp soot. A pujari presides over the proceedings. Some local people are there to offer prayers and take a ritual bath. I take a dip too. Water is very cold but refreshing. Teeth chattering we start back, our fore heads daubed red with vermillion tikas. Soon the stiff climb drives the chill out and we walk briskly to our bikes. Many people are now walking towards the lake. We stop at Jalori Dhaba to have tea. It is time to start back as ominous clouds loom.The ride down is fast and furious. One of our companion’s bike brakes start smoking. We stop at a picturesque spot waiting for the drums to cool down. The dog roses are in bloom and hill sides are covered with their bushes, adding virginal white to the myriad pallet of Himalayas in summer. Blossom headed parrots squawk as they streak across the sky. Two stone masons sit chipping away at stone blocks. They are building a footpath to some village which is hidden from view. They chip with the chisels in a monotonous rhythm, their mallets rising and falling alternately. A cinnamon sparrow peers down at them in amazement. Wind rustles through the cedar trees and the cooling silencers of bikes contract with loud metallic pings. Dark clouds are moving in and we might get drenched.
The rain catches us just outside Ani. We stop and sit under an overhang of a shop and sip tea. It is past lunch time and we are to reach Narkanda. The rain abates and we ride on. A few kilometres on, the roads are dry and dusty. It has not rained at all. We ride fast to Sainj and stop there for pakoras and tea. A very unwelcoming cow charges us but stops inches short of goring me. We all share a nervous laugh. She is perhaps the local toughie protected by her sacredness.
The drive to Narkanda is on a road that is wide and snakes through lovely forests. We race our bikes and reach the Circuit House just ahead of a cloud bank. As we unload our bikes, the skies open up with a roar. The day turns in to night and rain falls by buckets with a lavish helping of hail. It pelts for an hour or more. We sit in our rooms and watch it fall. Road is a raging torrent and not a soul is visible. The din of rain and hail on the tin roof is deafening. Tea arrives and we are saved. The rest house tea has a charm of its own – most ordinary tealeaves boiled in a half and half mixture of milk and water with lots of sugar till is thick. It has the consistency of cooking oil and tastes of nothing but tannin and sugar! Yet it is so warming that one is addicted to it.
Next morning we ride up to Hatu Peak. The road is a narrow windy ribbon that runs through thick forest. The climb is steep but the bikes wiz up. Hair pin bends test our riding skills. Soon we are at the top. At 11,152 feet above m s l, it is the highest peak of this region. On the north and east we see the snow clad ranges of Great Himalaya. In between lies Kotgarh, the apple basket of Himachal. It is the home of Stokes, the American who introduced apples to Himachal. There are some ruins of a Ghurkha Fort and two towering rocks that stand as parallel walls connected by a curved formation. According to the local legend, they are
Bhima’s brazier (Chula) on which his gargantuan meals were cooked. After some time up there, we coast down to Narkanda and start back for Chandigarh. Rain catches us near Matiyana but we wait it out in a dhaba sipping tea. As soon as it stops we speed down to Shimla and home: back from another beautiful ride...
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