Royal Enfield Astral Ride: Universal Lessons Via Moto Therapy

High up in Ladakh’s Changthang plateau, Mother Earth gave us balcony seats to one of the finest shows in the universe. Here, the riders on Royal Enfield's Astral Ride realised that the mighty Himalayas and the incredible variety of blue hues of Pangong Tso had only been waypoints to the grandest sight of them all. Somewhere in this cluster of dots was nature’s QR code to life. To reality. To our place in the universe. And we didn't want it to slip from between our fingers. So the cameras came out to capture the sea of stars, so that we could drink from it again when the soul needed some replenishing and the mind needed unfogging.

A thousand words

A picture may be worth a thousand words, but sometimes, a thousand isn’t enough. This picture won’t tell you about the biting cold that clawed at my bare head. The wooden numbness of my fingers as they fiddled with the cold steel of the tripod. Other first timers, Piyush from Bhopal and Pramod from Mumbai, must have stabbed at buttons, jumbled through menus and prayed that we would be able to capture the gorgeous night sky. Some participants, like Vikrant from Delhi and Karan from Mumbai, were very much at home as they had done Astral rides earlier, but were looking to take richer slices of the galaxy back this time.

The day-long ride from Leh to Pangong Tso and then onwards to Hanle was calibrated such that we had energy in reserve for the photography outings. The sessions stretched for longer than the designated two hours. Stragglers like me needed the experience and guidance that Navaneeth Unnikrishnan, a young magician when it comes to astral photography, could provide. “Look, there’s the Andromeda Galaxy. You can see its soft fuzziness.” he tells me calmly. His passion for photography meshed with astronomy has led him to many cold and desolate places around the world, but considering that he always stayed out the latest, his enthusiasm is anything but dimmed. And he helped me get the basics in place, as I got down to shooting the pictures you see below. 

Where’s the camera?

The battle-scarred old dog in the Zig office’s arsenal, a Canon 5D, had been entrusted to me for this ride. The photo department’s lack of faith in my abilities rested on my “I can’t find it!” track record. I didn’t begrudge them this decision, instead I was glad for it. If the photos turned out to be poor, I could always blame the camera. Or if I damaged or misplaced the camera, I could always say it was on its last legs anyways. But carrying the camera on the motorcycle seemed a bit risky to me, given the poor levels of restraint of my throttle hand. 

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On the other hand, having the camera in tow could let me capture the Changthang plateau treasures that I had heard so much of from the Royal Enfield team. Enroute, snow capped mountain passes stood on watch, testing riders' wills and skills. Just how badly did you want to see the arid plains on the other side, and marvel at the shades of brown, grey and pink? Did the blues and greens of the lakes keep you up at night? Could you see the pristine blackness of the roads that swept between some of them even with your eyes shut? 

In these surroundings a motorcycle and its pilot are so insignificant, so out of place, that only a picture can show the stark reality in all its glory. So the temptation to pack the DSLR on the motorcycle had been very high. However, RE had organised a closed vehicle to transport our sensitive luggage and equipment, and I had opted to play it safe. 

What did you miss?

From a photography standpoint, lots. But without having to worry about the camera I could just focus on the ride and on the Classic. The other riders pranced over the rough stuff on their Himalayans while I trode with a bit more caution over the rocky and bumpy terrain. Alright, I did it only when the surface got really rough. All other times, the Classic was rough and ready as the rider. 

The ride to Tso Morriri was as harsh as it was grand. Like a roller coaster the landscape heaved up and down, almost as though it were swallowing the string of riders before spitting them out, closer to the surreal sunset at Moriri.

The dust bowl after Tso Kar (White Lake, so called because of its salty deposits) made me pity the motorcycles’ air intakes. The brown talcum powder kicked up into a delightfully dramatic cloud but it was foot deep in places, and could trip you up in an instant. If I had on-off road rubber I would have had a bit more confidence, although the Classic’s Ceats were willing to take a beating. 

But as if in a trance, the dusty, rocky and bumpy tracks would be magiced away, to be replaced by luscious black tarmac. These were roads that could give racetracks a complex. The stretch before Loma was truly supercar and superbike worthy, and the climb up and down from Tanglang La was lip smacking too!  

Impressed?

The Astral Ride certainly did. All the more so when you consider that it is an arrive-and-ride event with the Himalayan's awaiting participants in Leh. This cuts out a lot of additional hassle and the cost of transporting your bike to Leh. The enormity of the universe crushed many riders into one unit, and so we listened to heartfelt poems from Akhil and Vikrant as if they were our own. We wished Suyash on his birthday as though we had known him for years; yes, the ride was a gift to himself. We wilted a little as Abhishek from London, a frontline worker, shared with us how he egged himself on through the horrors of the pandemic with the promise of this ride. It was humbling to see Nihal and Bala, from the RE team, and Harsh from Indore pitching in to collect over 25kg of plastic waste from the banks of the Pangong Tso, a chore that was smilingly repeated by the RE team at other stops. 

 As a ride, it’s easy to recommend the Astral Ride for first time adventurers, there’s plenty of time to take in the sights and the stays on the way are cozy if not lavish. Considering the thirty thousand asking price for this week-long commitment, it seems all the more tempting. Though, all these are etceteras of the story, because ten years from now when I think back to the Astral Ride Changthan, it won't be the names of the passes, the rooms or the food that I’ll remember. I’ll remember the good people, the fine motorcycles that stared up at the Dome of Life, cold, happy and grateful.