I Faced Dust and Dismay—Even Death—on This Incredible Himalayan Motorcycle Trip, But It Turned Out to Be the Journey of a Lifetime

Would you rather risk near-certain death, or spending the next five years of your life in a foreign prison? It’s not a question you’ll face too often from the comfort and safety of home, but should you choose to go to India and ride a motorcycle to the highest motorable pass in the world, it’s a decision you’ll have to make four, maybe five times a day. 

I should probably explain. 

Here’s the situation: You’re going around a blind gravel corner at 60 miles an hour. To your left, there’s a sheer cliff and a 100-foot drop into a boulder-strewn river. To your right (where you’d normally find a shoulder), the road ends abruptly in a jagged wall of granite. Between these two extremes, three travelers share a one-lane road: there’s you on your motorcycle, there’s a fully-loaded semi-truck coming in the opposite direction, and then there’s a fully-grown bull standing in the middle of the road, completely oblivious to the dilemma. 

Go left, and you’re jumping your motorcycle off the high dive into a watery grave. Go right, and you’ll suffer an even grizzlier fate in the grill of a diesel truck. Do nothing, and you’ll seriously injure both yourself and some poor innocent cow, the latter of which is a serious crime here in India punishable by up to five years in prison. 

The only viable solution to this dilemma is to thread the needle between death and imprisonment, narrowly sliding your motorcycle between industry and agriculture with only inches to spare on either side. 

The first time you experience this manuver, it’s the sort of thing that’ll ruin a pair of underwear. By the end of your third day of the Royal Enfield Himalayan Odyssey, however, you’ll be so good at making your way through India’s chaotic traffic that you’ll hardly even notice it’s happening. 

That’s just one of the many things this incredible ride will teach you, and one of the many reasons I’m convinced every adventure seeker with a motorcycle license should have this  journey on their bucket list.

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It’s an Adventure, Not a Vacation

I enjoy sipping cocktails with my feet in the sand as much as anyone (probably a good bit more, truth be told), but beach vacations never really scratch the travel itch. I’ve always looked at real travel as a window to possibility, something rife with uncertainty, romance, and the ever-present possibility of stumbling upon some new formative experience.

In other words, I want an adventure, not a getaway, and Royal Enfield’s Himalayan Odyssey is an adventure in every sense of the word. So what makes this ride such an epic?

It’s rain, it’s heat, it’s cold, and it’s dust. So much dust. The white, chalky kind of dust that billows out of your clothes with every step in a seemingly endless supply. The kind of dust that coats everything you own in the first 24 hours: your bike, your boots, your helmet, and every inch of exposed skin in between. 

But it’s also grace. Grace when clear skies and warm sun finally break through after six hours of driving rain and flooded streets. Grace when there isn’t a functional ATM within a hundred mile radius, but someone you just met loans you a few thousand rupees to get you into the next city. Grace when a long night and too much whiskey transforms a handful of complete strangers into lifelong connections. 

It’s watching yourself get better on a motorcycle with each passing day, never mind the fact that you’ve already been riding for the better part of two decades. It’s learning to master the most batshit crazy traffic on the most batshit crazy roads you’ve ever seen, and its using your horn more times in any given hour than you’ve used it your entire life up to this point. 

Oh, and it’s the food. So much food. It’s fresh naan served straight off a smoky grill. It’s that teaspoon of chutney that’s hot enough to leave your nose running a full hour after your plate is clean. It’s the comfort of warm mutton on a soft bed of rice after riding through 100 miles of freezing rain. 

And it’s the chai. Oh, blessed chai, equal parts black tea, fresh ginger, crushed cardamom, and the richest, freshest milk you’ve ever tasted. Go heavy on the sugar.

And it’s the views. The sweeping expanses of mountains that start on day one and don’t let up for two straight weeks. The scenery changes dramatically, from endless deserts and clear skies to rolling fog and emerald cliffs, but the Himalayas are a constant for the entire journey. 

And it’s the cities. Dirty, crowded, and absolutely teeming with life. Friendly faces are the only kind you seem to see here, even when you’re the lone tourist lost on the streets of Delhi long after last call.

Oh, and it’s the exchange rate. A mere $25 American gets you a king-size bed with a mountain view, two cold beers, and a plate of food you’ll never see the bottom of. The fact that this entire Odyssey only costs about $2,000, rental bike included, is reason enough to make the journey.

And my god, it’s the bike. The Royal Enfield Himalayan 450 is a revelation in adventure gear. Dirt cheap and dead reliable, comfortable for days on end, powerful enough to keep your heart rate up on a twisty road, and so damn good in the dirt it’s really no wonder dealers can’t keep them on the shelves back in the States.

And it’s the dogs. The untold thousands of wild dogs living the dream roaming the streets, cities, and boundless wild places scattered throughout the Himalayas. Dogs that never have to worry about baths, trips to the vet, the mailman, or anything else. They’re all kind-hearted strays who will follow you anywhere you lead so long as you keep their ears scratched and their tails wagging. 

A few scraps from the table doesn’t hurt either. 

It’s also the raw, unfettered excitement on every face in the group when the journey crescendos at 19,024 feet of elevation and find yourself standing at the top of Umling La Pass. This legendary 1,600-mile odyssey through the Himalayas is a lifelong dream for every motorcyclist in the country, and when you join up, you get to share it with them. 

And then there are the guides, the planning, and the sheer organization of the thing. The trip is hosted by the folks at Royal Enfield, who have an entire sector of their business dedicated to planning, leading, and supporting these group rides around the country every year. Support vehicles are included in the price of admission, and include mechanics, medical personnel, and even a camera crew to document the journey on your behalf.

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Determination Decides Who Can Hack the Odyssey

What makes Royal Enfield’s Himalayan Odyssey even more special is the fact that riders are only allowed to register for the trip once every 10 years. Demand is so high that should you succeed and complete all 18 days, your name goes on a blacklist for the next decade to give as many riders as possible a chance to conquer the challenge.

There is, by the way, a very real possibility of failure here. Several members of this year’s running never experienced its bitter sweet finish due to crashed bikes, related injuries, or simply throwing in the towel when the going got too tough or the homesickness grew too heavy. 

There was certainly a time when it felt like it might never end. About halfway through the trip, a rock slide on a narrow mountain pass left untold hundreds of travelers sitting on the side of the road, waiting on construction crews to clear the debris. 

After about six hours of waiting, our group had to cut its losses and double back to the nearest lodging, a 100-mile race against the setting sun down a winding ribbon of narrow switchbacks and rough pavement. About five miles into that journey, the rain started. Ten miles after that, the group was riding in pitch darkness, and the temperatures started falling fast. It was, quite possibly, the most grueling two hours of riding I’ve ever experienced.

And yet, upon arriving at an utterly bare-bones homestay, crowded 20-deep into a room that was never meant to hold more than 10 people, I found we were all in good spirits. It was all smiles and laughter, swapping stories of close calls and frozen fingers, and heads shaking in profound disbelief. We’d all shared in a proper adventure, and we all knew it. 

When the hot chai finally came out from the kitchen, you’d think every person in the room had just won the lottery. I’ve slept in some pretty nice resorts over the years, but that night I had the best sleep of my life in a shared room on a twin mattress with a single blanket and an overstuffed pillow.

A Rhythm Emerges After Days on the Road Dwindle

Then, it’s a new day. The sun is in the sky, the clouds are gone, and the news is good: The rubble is clear, the roads are open, and there’s still plenty of time for a proper breakfast before we need to hit the road. 

The riding keeps getting better every day. The group falls into a natural rhythm, with one half racing through the corners up front and another half enjoying the view at the rear. Every day is a fresh new experience. At some point you realize you can’t remember the last time you bothered glancing at your phone. You’re stuck in the moment, and you’re happy to be there.

And then, without warning, the odyssey that seemed like it might never end reaches its final destination. It’s all over. The sweat, the dust, the rain, and the Himalayas themselves. The stops for tea, stops for cigarettes, stops for home-cooked meals on the side of the road, eaten on wooden benches over earthen floors. 

It’s back to life as you knew it, just as you were getting the hang of a whole new way to live.

Spoiler alert: The HImalayan Odyssey ends with you and your new friends sitting around a banquet. You get your certificate, you get your picture taken, and you get a damn good meal. 

Maybe you stay up a little too late with some damn good company drinking a little too much of that damn good rum they’ve turned you on to. At some point, you know the sun will rise, and you’ll have to get back on the plane, but an extra hour of sleep just feels like an hour wasted.  

And then it’s the question: how long until the Himalayas start calling again? As you climb on the plane, you know you’ll be back here some day, and even if you have to wait a full 10 years, that day can’t come soon enough. 

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