Roof of the World Cycling 2025
18 years after I met Georg in India - the owner and creator of those Gunsha Bikes I have been riding since - he called me and asked if I wanted to join him cycling some of the worlds highest mountain passes with him in Ladakh. I felt flattered, I couldn't resist.
- Details
- Category: Roof of the World Cycling 2025
Arrival in Delhi after a pleasantly short night flight. Immigration takes a good hour, despite the shiny e-visa. Traffic is heavy, though curiously tuk-tuk-free at first (turns out they’re not allowed on the highway). A three-lane road is happily treated as six lanes—every tiny gap instantly claimed.
Eyes and nose reacquaint themselves quickly: the trash by the roadside, the street dogs. Many buildings look brand-new, and simultaneously very old, or like they’ll never actually be finished. Meanwhile, on motorcycles, texting seems to be the default mode of operation.
My travel buddy (and instigator of this whole adventure, plus long-time friend) Georg rolls into the hotel at 2 a.m. We chat until three, then optimistically agree on breakfast at eight. At nine a taxi is supposed to take us the 500 km to Manali. Everything goes smoothly—except no one tells us that our driver Mukesh has already been waiting.
The ride takes exactly 12 hours and sets us back about €150. First through Delhi’s ring-road traffic, then on Highway 1, flat and straight all the way to Chandigarh. Along the way: cows on the freeway, tuk-tuks stuffed with twelve people, pilgrims lugging holy water home from Haridwar. Before Kullu the mountains kick in, the mist rolls down, and the shiny highway vanishes. Instead: a narrow, winding road clinging to the hillsides, lush and neon-green with forest. Monkeys squat on guardrails, the rain starts, and daylight fades. Frequent landslide repair sites add to the fun, and oncoming traffic—headlights optional—turns things into an adventure.
Mukesh handles it all brilliantly, and even offers to join our journey as a support vehicle. Tempting! 😇 But we say our goodbyes with the agreed fare and a generous tip.
In Old Manali we grab two rooms, have a much-needed beer, and collapse into bed at midnight.
Next morning: rain until noon. Hemp grows taller than me right outside the hotel. We spend the time assembling bikes and finishing up preparations. On a test ride through Old Manali’s steep alleys, I stumble upon a guitar shop. Naturally, I can’t resist: fifteen minutes chatting and playing with Johnny, the owner from Kolkata. 😇
- Details
- Category: Roof of the World Cycling 2025
6 a.m. and it’s raining. Not exactly the grand start we had envisioned for our epic first cycling day. Still, we saddle up a bit after eight, aiming straight for the Rotang La: 40 km of uphill, from 2,000 to nearly 4,000 meters, followed by a “relaxing” plunge into Koksar.
From Old Manali we sneak onto a gorgeous, nearly traffic-free backroad to Palchan—saving ourselves a few nerve-wracking kilometers on the busy highway. From the Rotang turnoff it’s just us and the occasional crew of men, women, and children tirelessly patching up the old pass road, living in tiny tent villages strung along the way. Drizzle comes and goes, but as long as we’re grinding uphill the temperature is almost… pleasant.
At Marhi (3,300m), we stop for lunch. Dozens of dhabas (Indian roadside restaurants) shout for customers—though today the crowd is rather underwhelming. By now the air is thinning, and the rain is thickening. Georg is pedaling like a Tour de France contender. He flat-out refuses to sing along with me—maybe that’s why he’s sprinting ahead.
By 4 p.m., we finally crest the pass. No sweeping vistas, just fog and rain. Georg barrels down and promises to wait below, while I change into dry clothes plus my “rain armor” and gulp down a quick chai.
Then comes the 20 km downhill in freezing rain. My fingers are so cold they may as well belong to someone else. Georg fares no better—he’s shivering in a dhaba in Koksar when I arrive. The owner can’t make coffee (tragic), but he does announce there are no rooms left in town and we’ll “have to camp.” Exhausted, we believe him. Lucky us: an old man swoops in and offers two simple rooms with HOT showers (!!) at a “super price.” Deal of the century.
Koksar itself? A scrappy little village with more dhabas than inhabitants. Definitely a new world compared to Manali. The sun even makes a brief cameo at sunset—just in time for us to dry our clothes on the rooftop terrace before it vanishes behind the mountains. Distance: 75km, 2000 elevation meters
At six AM, it’s raining again. Our clothes are still soggy from yesterday. Breakfast (bread, peanut butter, bananas) is eaten in the room, but luckily by 9:30 the sky brightens and we roll off toward Darcha.
No monster passes today, just a lot of ups and downs. Traffic is light, drivers are shockingly considerate and, unlike in the old days, barely use the horns beside us. A passing shower dampens our lunch break, but otherwise the road stays dry until the last two hours. Between clouds and peaks we occasionally glimpse glaciers. The Bagha River below Jispa is swollen and raging, licking at the doorstep of fixed-tent camps with names like “Touch the River.” (Sure, but maybe don’t live in it?)
By the time we reach Darcha, it’s cold and wet again. A man named Tenzig waves us in and offers his homestay. Dinner and breakfast included. Alternatives: zero. Decision: yes. Regrets: none.
The place is wonderful: cozy rooms, sun on the rooftop terrace, and even a monastery down the road where I chat with the one monk who lives there. In the evening we share a kitchen meal with Tenzing’s four-generation family and get a glimpse into local life. Distance: 75km, 1200 elevation meters
- Details
- Category: Roof of the World Cycling 2025
This morning the sun is grinning ear to ear. Breakfast is in the family kitchen, then off we go towards the mighty Baralacha La. Just before Sarchu, Tenzig runs a fixed tent camp where we’ll be spending the night—“all inclusive,” as they say (minus the minibar, sadly).
We set off in the best of weather. At an army checkpoint we bump into a gang of Australian (and one ex-Swiss) motorcyclists. The road climbs, and somewhere in the rocks a kind of Himalayan hamster darts across. Every few kilometers we pass men and women with shovels and tarps clearing the stones from the road, a Sisyphean job if ever there was one. New bridges are going up, and the road itself is—miraculously—actually decent.
By noon, with a loyal tailwind pushing us, we reach the Zing-Zing Bar at 4,300 meters. No cocktails here, but a scattering of dhabas, and in one of them they even serve something better than Maggi noodles (praise be).
Traffic is mercifully light, and honking is far less aggressive than on our last Indian cycling trip. Still, the thin air gets even thinner when a couple of India Oil trucks roar past. Otherwise, it’s quiet. Sometimes the only sound is the wind, with 6,000-meter peaks looming above us like unnamed giants. Each rider grinds along at their own pace, and by just before 4 p.m. we crest the pass.
The descent is a technicolor dream: hillsides glowing, little gorges carved deep into sandy plains. Just before Sarchu the roadside fills with tent camps. The last one belongs to Tenzig, our host for the night. We dump our gear, soak up the view, and watch the sun slip away. Dinner is dal and aloo gobi, simple and perfect.
One of the young staffers introduces himself—Pingu, 25, from Kullu, spending the whole season up here. Afterward, with a final tea brewed on our trusty gas stove, I shuffle shivering into my “luxury” tent. All I wish for now: to actually sleep through the night, like a normal human being.
- Details
- Category: Roof of the World Cycling 2025
In the middle of yet another restless night (sleep and India clearly don’t get along for me…), I look up at a jaw-dropping starry sky at 4,300 meters. With zero light pollution, the Milky Way, the Big Dipper, and all their celestial buddies are putting on a full show.
Morning arrives at a gentler pace. The sun quickly cranks the temperature from a brisk 5°C to T-shirt weather. Breakfast is served in front of Georg’s tent—every plate and every little cup brought out one by one by the young crew, who are already tuning their Bidis with additional spices. We finally roll out at 10.
In Sarchu, we hit two army checkpoints (one for Himachal Pradesh, and another for the Ladakh district we’re now entering). An Israeli biker passes by with a guitar strapped to his Enfield—epic look, sadly wrong direction. But he does share intel on Hanle and the Umling La.
Around midday we reach the Gata Loops, a series of switchbacks dragging us 500 vertical meters up a scree wall. From here on, “wide road” is just a memory. Trucks groan and belch black smoke as they inch past each other, engines howling forward and back until they finally squeeze through. Stones crickle down from above every now and then. Silver lining: once the convoy clears, silence is bliss.
A few hairpins higher I spot two fellow cyclists. We wave, and half an hour later stop for a quick chat. Antoine and Saskia from Geneva are on a months-long adventure, heavily loaded down for trekking as well.
Georg gets a proper endorphin high at Nakee La (almost 5,000m!). But then it’s back down a few hundred meters to Whiskey Nala, home to a massive, noisy road construction camp and plenty of dhabas feeding weary riders. From there, the climb kicks in again, past yet more roadworks, up to the 5,060m Lachalung La. By then Georg’s GoPro and phone batteries are dead, and my legs are running strictly on emergency power. Thankfully, a tailwind saves the day.
Anyway—once on top, we’ve got every reason to pat ourselves on the back. A few Indian tourists ask for photos and happily try out our bikes. Turns out they’re cyclists too back home.
Then comes the grand finale: a 20 km descent through pure scenery overload—flat-topped mountains, sandstone mushrooms, and canyons that look straight out of an Indiana Jones set. Somewhere along the way Georg convinces a group of road workers to dance with him to Bollywood beats blasting from a truck.
We finally roll into Pang around 6 p.m.—a “village” made up of dhabas, some with rooms, some without. After browsing a few options, we take the first one Georg likes. Naturally, it’s the priciest, but also the nicest. I manage to strike an all-inclusive deal, and dinner is served in the (!!heated!!) living room with the family. Electricity only when the generator runs, internet only if the hotspot feels generous, and like everyone here, the family packs up and moves to Leh for the winter.
Anyway—just one more pass and two more cycling days to Leh!
Distance: ca. 80km, ca 1800 elevation meters