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MeMber Spotlight Easy Rider—JoJo Khurana

The {first} Ride of a LifeTime Apoorv DevgAn’s riDe

W h o N e e d s T h e r a p yWhen you have road survivors?

{ a n d i c e lollies }ladakh beckonS!

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dUgg dUggT I M E S

As I trudged along the road,

I spent a good hour trying to think of

a single instance when I received

similar treatment in the plains, ever!

I simply couldn’t.

Selflessness runs in the veins of the folk

in this region. Equally happy and sad,

I moved on towards the Pensi-La pass—the

gateway to the elusive Zanskar Valley.

“

“

He has taken roads less travelled and those have made him what he is famous for—the mile-munching, food fanatic, witty and jolly person he is. JoJo Khurana has been the moderator of the Road Survivors club Chandigarh since 2005 and

for good reason—with over 200,000kms under his belt, he gives serious competition to any contender for this position. From the North-East to the West and from the South to the Himalayas there aren’t many places one can name that he hasn’t visited.

He’s friendly to talk to—one of his traits that have made him very well-known and immensely popular amongst the Royal Enfield riding community around the country. JoJo is quite fond of trying new cuisines, but with a catch—you might find him craving a “Kachori” in winters and then deciding to ride to Rajasthan for it, or craving dumplings in the summers and riding into the Himalayas in search of the best he can find.

Known as the quintessential rider from the North at nearly every Rider Mania for the last 10 years, he has been to almost every one, no matter what the location. An avid reader, he also spends his free time reading travelogues trying to hunt for places he hasn’t been to yet. He is very proud of his steed, a Royal Enfield Thunderbird that he purchased in 2003. “It’s still the original engine, untouched!” says JoJo, showing off his motorcycle adorned

with stickers from various clubs he became a honorary member of or rode with. A veteran when it comes to riding to the Himalayas, JoJo knows the Ladakh region like the back of his hand. I met him over Nimbu Paani to discuss his upcoming ride to Ladakh. One small question lead to a discussion spanning hours in which he explained every single route with all possible detours along with the best places to eat! A walking dictionary of the road.

“Being in Chandigarh does present me with an advantage” says JoJo. With impromptu breakfast rides into the mountains and nearby areas being planned almost every other day—or when time permits—these also account for some serious miles being munched in a calendar year.

Traveller, foodie and rider extraordinaire—JoJo Khurana is truly an exceptional individual! We wish him all the best and many more miles on his new motorcycle.

eaSYrider

JoJo feeding a dog that is wearing a collar to protect her from snow leopards.

New destiNatioN: Pangi Valley Pangi Valley is one of the most remote regions in the Indian Himalayas. Accessible by road for only four months in a year, Pangi is full of wildlife, roaring streams, wafting waterfalls and a large diversity of flora and fauna. Due to limited connectivity and its general remoteness, Pangi had been virtually undisturbed for centuries. Accessible either from Chamba via the snow clad Sach Pass or via a small village road from Keylong

or from the less-frequent areas of Kashmir in the Kishtwar region, Pangi is wild, scenic and has enough on its palette to satisfy the most adventurous travellers.

Mountainous, rugged and breathtakingly beautiful, this valley can be accessed via Jammu, Manali and Chamba. The route from Chamba traverses through small hamlets and a virgin, alpine landscape that changes from

heavily forested to grassy to rocky to totally snow clad as one approaches the Sach Pass at the summit. The view from the pass is tantalizing. With waterfalls that splash on the road on their way down, streams that carve through the road and the endless procession of trees that accompany you from the base of the pass all the way to Killar, Pangi’s allure is unparalled.

Adie Mohan

Adie Mohan

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JoJo KhurAnA

publisherRoad Survivors

printerFine Touch designer & Offset Printers

1508, JLPL, Industrial Park, Sector 82, Mohali

eDitorsAdie Mohan, Anand Vishwanadha, Kat Kozell

DesignKat Kozell

contributing photogrAphersAdie Mohan, Gagan Singh, Vikas Kandhu

contributing writersAdie Mohan, Apoorv devgan, Ravneet Juneja

contributing ArtistsKanwar Aulakh

We are Road Survivors—the Chandigarh Bullet Club. We bring together like-minded individuals who share one thing in common—love and passion for Royal Enfield motorcycles.

The motive behind coming together is sharing experiences, tour stories, and technical know-how. In the last 11 years, Road Survivors have ridden the length and breadth of the country and to Nepal and Bhutan as well.

Although based in Chandigarh, we have members from Punjab, Haryana, Himachal Pradesh, Rajasthan, Gujarat and Andhra Pradesh too. As a club, we are not about stunts and showing off. We are about riding, travelling, loving nature and friendship.

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2 eDitoriAl insight Road Survivors The Czars of Chandigarh by Ravneet Juneja

3 MeMber spotlight Easy Rider JoJo Khurana by Adie Mohan

4 Down MeMory lAne Ladakh Beckons! Get Ready by Adie Mohan

6 pitts & trippin’ 1 Who Needs Therapy? by Ravneet Juneja

7 pitts & trippin’ 2 The {first} Ride of a Lifetime by Apoorv devgan

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r o A D s u r v i v o r s M A g A z i n e w w w. r o A D s u r v i v o r s . c o . i n i n f o @ r o A D s u r v i v o r s . c o . i n

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Tents are not comfortable to sleep in—especially when they are pitched on semi-frozen soil with a quarter-inch thick groundsheet. I found that out way past midnight. It had been a grueling ride from Zoji-La to the small village of Tangole near

Panikhar, but i was determined to “conquer” Zanskar this year.

i had started at 4:30 AM from sonmarg, the pretty little village that had been converted into a tourist destination, leaving behind rows upon rows of tents inhabited by pilgrims visiting “Baba Barfaani”, or the natural Shivling at the Amarnath cave. I was expecting to reach dras by 7:00–8:00 AM at max, thinking i’ll have breakfast there then ride on to Rangdum—my destination for the day.

The road disappears just as the ascent to the Zoji La pass begins. I had barely gone four kilometers when I saw a few Border Roads

Organization (BRO) personnel on the road. “The road is closed until further notice”, they chattered simultaneously. “When will it open?” I asked with a bit of hope. One of them explained, “No idea. The mountain has been acting up. Four landslides in the last hour!” i was crestfallen, but i decided to wait. Then suddenly, a “Jawaan” came up to me and inquired, “Will this bike take me and you to the pass?” I jumped and most pleasantly replied “Of course it will!” And just like that, he checked with a bulldozer driver and got the thumbs-up for us to proceed.

Snow, slush, gravel, stones, mud and sand littered the road due to the landslides as we crossed the helm and started to descend towards the army picket. i questioned the Jawaan, “Where is Zoji-La?” He quickly answered, “Oh, we crossed it about a kilometer ago. didn’t you see the sign?” Bloody hell! i was angry! I wanted to take a picture at the milestone but there was no way i was going back! The Jawaan jumped off the bike and I continued.

The dirt path i was following suddenly turned into a silky, smooth two-lane tarmac road as I exited the Zoji-la pass area towards dras. dismayed, i reached the bakery at dras about four hours

behind schedule, had a quick breakfast then moved on to Kargil, deciding to go on till Parkachik if not Rangdum. My co-riders had

stayed back in Kargil to fix an ailing motorcycle and implored me to go ahead and take photos for them. I agreed and moved ahead. A small sign signifying the entry into the Suru Valley showed up soon, with the majestic twin Nun-Kun massifs in the backdrop.The road just ended abruptly, turning into a dirt path again, covered with fine sand and gravel. Another turn later i was facing a two-foot deep water crossing filled with freezing cold water. After a bit of deliberation, I took off my shoes, made sure the waterproofing was okay and decided to cross. Rocks under the water surface made me put my feet down into the freezing water that I was trying to avoid for so long. I moved on from there, but I suddenly felt a little cold.

The next turn, i was in front of a mud-laden path that appeared out of nowhere. I tried my best to stop and keep my balance, but the slush had other plans. I slipped, yet managed to keep the bike and myself upright somehow. However, I did end up knee-deep in oozing mud and ice-cold slush.

It was evening already and a bone-chilling breeze started to waft through the Suru Valley. I reached an intersection with all three roads leading to Rangdum. After waiting for fifteen minutes with no soul in sight, I decided upon the furthest left fork in the road. It was a splendid, yet precarious choice. Panikhar is a riot of green in the snow-clad Suru Valley. Right under a lofty mountain, this small village is home to a handful of hard-working mountain people.

I was famished. I had skipped lunch thinking I will eat at Parkachik, but I was still far from it. As my nagging hunger and I went on this road a bit more we reached another deeper and sinister-looking water crossing. So deep that I had to get off the bike halfway through, soaking myself in the process.

Soon after, I reached another intersection where a local was sitting by the side of the road playing a tune on his flute. i asked him the way to Parkachik. He pointed in one direction and said, “Parkachik”. A moment later he indicated, “Not go now. Too much water”. “More than the one just down the road?” I asked. “Big water crossing” he said, implying that it was much bigger than the last one. With this new information at hand, I asked him for a place to stay. Ironically, he turned out to be the Chowkidar or the caretaker of the Alpine Trekker’s hut in a small village called Tangole, few hundred meters in the opposite direction!

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P R E P L I S T: L A D A K HThis guide will help you prepare for the trip. Although it is an exhaustive list, please note that no list will cover specific items needed by everyone.

ESSEnTIALSDo not begin your trip without these:• Amotorcycleingoodcondition,recentlyserviced• Toolkitandtorch• Footpump• Validdriver’slicense,vehicleregistration,insurancedocuments,pollutioncheckcertificate

• Basicfirstaidkitandpersonalprescriptionmedicationplussomechocolatesandcandiesforinstantenergy

• Goodhelmetandsunglasses• Ridinggearincludingridingjacket,trousers,goodboots,gloves,warmclothing

• Emergencycontactinfolistandalistoffellowriders,ifany• Waterbottles(bringmorethanone)andenergydrinks

BIKE SERvIcEGet your bike serviced at least one week before leaving so you have time to iron out any issues that may crop up post service.• Battery:Inspectwaterlevelandtopup• Brakeshoes/Pads:Frontandreartyre:Inspectandreplace• Clutchplates/Pressureplates:Inspectandreplace• Carburettor/EFI:cleanandadjust• SparkPlug:Inspectandreplaceifneeded• Tyres:Donotusetyresthatmightlastonly2-3000kmandreplaceiftheyarenotingoodcondition!

• Tyretubes:Replaceandkeepoldonesasspares• Acceleratorcable:Inspectandreplaceifneeded• Clutchcable:Inspectandreplaceifneeded• Frontbrakecable:Inspectandreplaceifneeded• Decompressorcable:Inspectandreplaceifneeded• Headlamps/Indicators:Inspectandreplacebulbsifneeded• Horn:Inspectandadjust• Engineoil:Replace• AirFilter:Inspect,cleanandreplaceifneeded• OilFilter:Replaceifneeded• Spares:Required• Clutchcable• Acceleratorcable• Frontbrakecable• Decompressorcable• Sparkplug• Headlamp• Tyretube

BASIc TooLS• Toolkit• Toolstoopentherear/frontwheelsandreplacecables• Footpump• Torch• Swissknife• Yokeandlevertoopenthetyre• Basicpuncturekitthatincludespatches,glue,valvesandvalvekey

AccESSoRIES• Bungeecord/net• 2litresoftdrinkbottles/jerrycansforextrafuel• Plasticgarbagebagsforwaterproofing• Firstaidkitinadditiontopersonalperscriptionmedications• Luggagecarrier/panniers/saddlebags• Extrapairofshoes/slippers/socks

FIRST AID KIT• Bandages• Antisepticlotion/cream• Antihistamine(forallergies)• Antipyretic(forfever)• Anti-Diarrhoeal• Anti-Spasmodial• Altitudesicknessmedicine• Antacid• Personalprescriptionmedications

He asked me if I had a tent. I nodded. He suggested I could set it up in the garden. Happily, the plot was covered with soft grass and white wildflowers that covered the ground like a blanket of snow. i quickly pitched my tent, as it was nearly dark. He approached me and asked if I ate meat. I nodded with a faint smile. “Fifty for meal and stay” he announced, then sauntered off. Half an hour later, I was kindly called into the alpine hut to eat—steaming hot daal, mutton gravy and rice was the simple fare he had cooked. I downed two plates almost instantaneously. The room was surprisingly warm. i finished my meal, thanked him and went back outside.

It was freezing cold—the wind blowing strong. I looked up and was amazed at the winking of a million stars. It was sharply clear and windy, so I dashed into my tent but realized I was still wearing wet shoes and my half-drenched pants. I changed into dry attire and spread the damp clothing outside on the ground in hopes of them being usable by morning.

I huddled deep into my sleeping bag—the sensor on my watch indicated 4˚C! it certainly was a bitter, cold evening yet I closed my eyes knowing it was going to be a long night. As darkness settled upon me, I kept waking up all through it. My back had to be frozen—it felt numb. Four tossy-turny hours later my sides, back, legs—everything—felt numb.

I was shivery. I ate an energy bar thinking it would make me get some energy and warmth. I checked my watch—it was 5:00 AM! i got out and the shivering increased tenfold. so, I crawled back in the tent and layered inners, my warmest sweater, my second but dry pair of shoes, two caps and a muffler then ventured back outside. Glanced at my watch—it was -2˚C! No wonder it was so uncomfortable.

I went back into the alpine hut looking for the caretaker. When I found him he immediately made me hot Seabuckthorn tea. My hands were freezing. We sat in the kitchen and drank tea with some dried dates he offered me. I asked him where the washroom was. He looked at me and pointed outside, “There”, he said, “Behind the big rock!” i changed my mind. Breakfast was gooey porridge made with dates and an egg on the side, fried. I ate it all then got another cup of tea. I needed a stretch so went out and noticed that it had gotten considerably warmer and sunny.

All at once, I remembered my damp clothes. I noticed they were gone! They were all i had for the rest of the trip! i told the caretaker that I must had forgotten them outside somewhere. He reassured me, “No, no, not gone! It was windy so I took your stuff inside, cleaned your shoes and pants and put them around the charcoal stove later in the evening. They are dry, see?!” Yippieeeee! i was so happy! They were my warmest pair of shoes and well, the trousers were just another pair I had, but I was pleased to see them nonetheless.

I decided to be on my way so I packed and saddled up. I paid the caretaker. He went back inside and got a small packet with dried dates, some nuts and other assorted dried berries and generously bestowed it to me. He shook my hand, wished me luck and asked me to come see him on my way back, if I could.

As I trudged along the road, I spent a good hour trying to think of a single instance when I received similar treatment in the plains, ever! i simply couldn’t. selflessness runs in the veins of the folk in this region. Equally happy and sad, i moved on towards the Pensi-La pass—the gateway to the elusive Zanskar Valley.

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The next turn, I was in front of a mud-laden path that appeared out of nowhere. I tried my best to stop and keep my balance, but the slush had other plans.

Adie Mohan

Indore. I definitely did not want to be posted there. Yes, I had already faced a substantial culture shock in Pune. I had just gotten used to my Marathi flat mates, and now I had to move base again, to indore. is there a direct flight to delhi, if not Chandigarh? Hell. does it even have an airport? How

will i find accommodation on such short notice!?

There was an unending stream of questions that scrolled through my mind in warp mode. Yet, there was one thing that I was sure about—I was going to ride—and it was going to be my first long distance solo ride.

I was excited—read scared—but a novice rider I was. I did not possess a carrier or saddle bag, tank bag, riding boots or jacket—just a pair of gloves, which I had bought after lot of pestering by the moderators of Road Shakers, the club I went on a couple of rides with whilst in Pune.

The luggage i was to carry with me was ridiculous. i was wrapped with bags all around—not advisable—and a “Potli” with a laptop in it, was tied to the rear seat including an assortment of nylon ropes I got hold of at midnight. The balancing act required a lot of agility and alertness right through the trip. One can only imagine the progress I have made through the years in terms of carrying proper gear with me.

And ride I did—through beautiful landscapes, dusty towns, inquisitive crowds, small villages and fantastic experiences. Sunrise brought me to the outskirts of

Malegaon—extremely cold and dying for a cup of tea. The tea shop was, well, just a tin shed. The man’s shirt

was in tatters, but there was a big, warm, welcoming smile on his face. After a few cups of tea, he simply refused to take any money from me—for I was his guest, from far away. He was in need, which in his mind was not so great as to accept from me what was rightfully his. I forced him to accept the money, and then some more.

I rode on, fueled by the good wishes of the wonderful people I met in the mystic, mysterious, wondrous land that is India. For this was my first ride. An open road awaits me now. The road called life.

piTTs & TrippiN’ 2

The {first } riDe of a lifetiMe

A n d r i d e I d i d — t h ro u g h b e a u t i f u l l a n d s c a p e s , d u s t y t o w n s , i n q u i s i t i v e c ro w d s , s m a l l v i l l a g e s a n d f a n t a s t i c e x p e r i e n c e s .

A d i asa k

by Apoorv Devgan

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piTTs & TrippiN’ 1 road Survivors

{and ice lol l ies}

???by Ravneet Juneja

It was instantaneous—apparently the load on my mind went out through the exhaust of the bike within the first few seconds...

Who Needs Therapy WheN you have

Browsing through my archive of photographs, hoping for some sort of an inspiration to write something interesting for my readers, I came across

two photos from almost a decade ago. The inspiration came to me in the form of a flood of memories—not of a life changing or a landmark event—but of an evening that was just another in the life of Road Survivors.

It was one of those days—the kind that college students seem to have many of— I seemed to be angry at the world and the world itself seemed to be a nasty place. Now, I don’t really remember what it was exactly that I was mad at, but I remember being in a foul mood. It was late evening and a college party was on, which sucked for want of decent company. The pressure of work piling up and thoughts of the impending assignment submissions did not help either. All in all, I was nearly losing my nerve—or so it seemed, back then.

With an exasperated “d*** it!” under my

breath, I slipped out to get out of the joint, kick started my beloved 500 and started the 10 odd kilometer ride back home. It was instantaneous—apparently the load on my mind went out through the exhaust of the bike within the first few seconds of being “air borne”! By the time I had reached sector 35 from Mohali, I was already feeling on top of the world, enjoying myself and decided to keep riding.

The road back home was left far behind as I headed towards the very well-known Lake Road of Chandigarh. It was September, it wasn’t as warm, and as the perspiration dried up, I felt chilly... the humid air was filling my nostrils. Things seemed to be looking up. At least I could

go home without a sullen face, if not without a sullen mood.

Around 11:00 PM, while on my third gehri of the stretch in front of the lake, I had hardly crossed the Kaimbwala turn, when I heard my name being called, and two guys on a Bull throttled past me. Before I could even comprehend who those chaps were, I heard another familiar rumbling gaining up on me from behind. it turned out to be sandy. Woo Hoo! The duo that had whizzed past me turned out to be Biku and Jaskaran on Biku’s Machismo. We stopped, right in the middle of the road at the roundabout.

Apparently, a mini party had just broken up—at Kaimbwala, presumably—and Sandy had seen me go by. So, they decided to catch up with me...

Four different people with different backgrounds, perhaps nothing else in common except “Royal Enfield”.

It could’ve been any four people in the world, and we would’ve simply gone by. But, we’d been bound together by one factor—Road Survivors. We were just acquaintances, boys who’d been on a few rides together.

We stood there, talking for a while. This was interspersed by the trio’s need to water the plants around that place. After

a few wayward jokes and the mundane chitchat, ice cream was decided upon. I mentioned I had a curfew timing at home, which was subdued in all the commotion! I mentioned I was off outside food, so ice cream was chucked off, and ice lollies were decided upon! Of course, i can have “bahar ki” ice! Try reasoning with three drunk guys! The search for an ice cream cart ended on the sector 7-8 Madhya Marg roundabout. We stood there for quite some time and raided two ice cream carts. There was a mini bash on the road with the menu

comprising of orange, lime and jaljeera ice candies. Good Fun, while the rehri waalas made some good business. I reached home at about way past midnight, feeling much better than I had in weeks!

The story continues… Over the years, riders have come and gone, but the club remains what it has always been—a group of people who ride together and unwind together.

The other day, a fellow club member had rhetorically stated, “Wonder what I’ve gotten out of being a Road Survivor?”

Well, THis is what.

by Kanwar aulakh

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