Barreling Down an Indian Mountain Road

We spent the day of the 6th set of arrests on the March uploading photos to the website, sending out the press release and making all our calls to the media. Then we set out from Pithoragarh with some of the March communications and logistics team. They had to go to Ponta Sahib, where the other 265 marchers were taken after their release the previous week and where the 50 newly-arrested marchers would be taken. We had some lose ends to tie up at our quiet hill town before returning to Delhi to deliver video footage of the arrests to some media outlets.

Since we were in a border area, we had to cross a checkpoint out of the region before it closed at 8pm. But we were setting out quite late, so we literally raced off towards the checkpoint. The northern Indian roads that I loved speeding along on a bike were not as much fun in a jeep going way too fast that night. My friend and I linked arms and just tried to not think about how close we were to the cliff beside us or how many huge trucks were barreling down the single lane road towards us. Add to that a fuse for the headlights that was loose, so that when the driver switched from high beams to the normal lights, we were often plunged into complete darkness. Every time it happened, I found myself holding my breath. The monsoonal downpour added more stress, making me wonder how good our tires were or if we would just hydroplane right off the road.

Ironically, only a day before we had been laughing about the funny warnings on the roadside:

If you’re married, divorce speed!

Drinking whisky, driving risky.

Better late than never.

We had a few close calls, slamming on the breaks and coming to an abrupt stop inches from a cargo truck or the rock wall above us. The guys who had miraculously fallen asleep in the back would wake with a start, and I could feel my friend beside me tense up. In the particularly close calls, I would start giggling. Friends have told me before that I giggle when I’m uncomfortable, but I never really noticed how true it was until that night.

We eventually made it to the checkpoint, well after it was closed. The Tibetan driver turned to the Indian filmmaker in the car and they agreed that if the driver had problems, our filmmaker friend would go in and work his self-proclaimed “magic”. The driver and my friend disappeared inside. After a couple minutes, which I spent wondering if we would have to drive all the way back to town or if we would just sleep in the truck there, they emerged with smiles on their faces. They jumped into the car very proud of themselves, the checkpoint watchman lifted the barricade and we drove off – without even paying a bribe! They just mentioned that they were on the Tibetan “pilgrimage” walk that passed through the area a week or so before!

This time we were off at a slightly slower pace, but with the driver growing increasingly tired. After all the songs on our mobile phones had been played, my friend had to make conversation with the driver while I kept feeding him candies. We eventually made it, with our fingers crossed that we wouldn’t run out of gas – the 24-hour station attendant refused to wake up to fill the tank. My camping mattress and sleeping bag never felt so comfortable!