Roof of the World Cycling 2025

1 - Arrival in India

2025-08-18T10:57:47+00:00

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. 😇

2 - From Manali (via Rotang la) to Darcha: Baptism by Rain

2025-08-18T11:12:05+00:00

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

3 - Over the Baralacha La

2025-08-18T14:28:37+00:00

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.

4 - Entering Ladakh

2025-08-18T14:49:04+00:00

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

5 - Cycling Taglang La

2025-08-18T14:57:21+00:00

The night was semi-restful (progress!), so our launch into day five on the bikes was more of a gentle wobble than a heroic charge. Around 9 AM, under a blindingly blue sky, we roll out- and are immediately smacked with a 5 km climb. The reward: a stunning high plateau carved by a canyon that looks like nature got carried away with a bread knife.

We pedal 40 km across this plateau, gliding past goat and sheep herds. Wild horses even make a cameo in the distance, straight out of a postcard.

In Debring we stop for lunch. The kids of the dhaba owner decide helmets are the new fashion and give my harmonica a test run. For never having touched an instrument before, they’re shockingly good—and even take turns without a fight. On impulse, I hand them the harmonica as a parting gift. Their smiles could have powered the whole village. I figure I’ll grab a new one in Leh.

A little later, a young guy is strumming his guitar in front of his shop. Naturally, we can’t resist stopping again.

The climb to Taglang La is “only” 800 vertical meters, with a mellow gradient and smooth asphalt. But let me tell you: tired legs plus thin air makes every pedal stroke feel like I’m negotiating with gravity itself. I’m going so slow that even Himalayan hamsters are overtaking me. 😂 On the plus side, I actually spot an Edelweiss by the roadside - alpine legend, just right there blooming at 5,000 meters.

At the top, Georg is already waiting in a wind-sheltered corner. We do three laps around the little temple, snap the obligatory summit shots, then layer up for the glorious descent to Rumtse (still a lofty 4,100 m).

There, we grab two rooms in the first homestay. The owner, Sonam, is about Georg’s age, and with a mix of broken English and hand gestures, we piece together some insights into life here. He heats water over a wood fire for our bucket shower- pure bliss after five days of dust and sweat.

Dinner is a homemade Thali, with veggies straight from the garden.
Only 80 km left to Leh and all the big passes are behind us.

97 km, 1100 vertical meters.

6 - Entering Leh

2025-08-18T15:11:31+00:00

Today we roll straight into living, breathing Ladakh. All those settlements since Darcha? Seasonal - inhabited only in summer - and you can really feel that ghost-town vibe. But here, life hums year-round.

On the way to Leh we pass through traditional Ladakhi villages: ancient stone huts rubbing shoulders with freshly painted houses, decorated with carved doors and window frames, and of course, plenty of Stupas. Wherever the land allows, people coax up patches of vegetables and grain.

We follow the Mundar Topko river through its grand canyon until Upshi, where we cross an overflowing Indus. From here, traffic ramps up—more cars, more trucks, and unfortunately, less patience. The last 45 kilometers to Leh run along the highway on the Indus’s right bank, through massive military zones and some pretty desolate towns. The sun is blazing; my bike computer casually announces over 30°C. My legs? Mashed potatoes. But with some pro-level slipstream teamwork, we keep rolling.

In Thiksey, the muezzin calls for prayer. The road instantly jams with worshippers, cars, and trucks. The honking symphony - you can imagine. Shey Palace is a welcome visual reprieve.

The final stretch into Leh is uphill on a two-lane highway. Somehow, guided by the mercies of GPS, we actually find our pre-booked guesthouse for departure. Of course, they’re full tonight. Luckily, next door at Moon Palace Homestay (yep, that’s really the name), we score rooms tucked away from the main road.

Leh itself? Fantastic. People are warm, their English solid, and the place is buzzing with backpackers from every corner of the planet. Compared to sleepy Old Manali, this is a proper hub.

By evening, our all-important Inner Line Permit for the next stage is sorted. Still, I’d love at least two days here to recharge before “second half” kicks off.

And so, Georg and I celebrate the end of a triumphant first half the way any champions would: with pizza and beer. 🍻

80 km, 730 vertical meters.

We’ve scheduled two whole rest days in Leh: time to recharge the batteries (mostly by eating all the delicious things) and dive into this cultural melting pot. At Mentokling Restaurant, breakfast comes with the same Om mani padme hum mantra track that was on repeat at the German Bakery in Old Manali last week. Déjà-vu with a soundtrack. Also: muesli with fruit and curd—the breakfast I’ve been dreaming about for days. 😊

At least half the tourists here are Israeli, and about half the shops and restaurants are run by Muslims. For me, it is a fascinating mix.

The kids of the Moon Palace family (yep, still loving that name) are learning ukulele at school. Since it’s the holidays, I get to borrow their little instrument. After a few hours of fumbling, I’ve got enough chords down to play 99 Luftballons by Nena. Learn something new: check!

Georg goes on a shopping spree while I hike up to Samkar Monastery, then climb further to Tsemo Castle, and finally to the Leh Palace itself. Along the way I soak up facts: since 2019 Ladakh is no longer part of Jammu & Kashmir but a Union Territory governed directly from Delhi; Buddhism and Islam each make up around 40% of the population, by far the two dominant religions here.

It’s time for Yoga on the rooftop terrace, and - finally - proper restful night’s sleep.

7 - Cycling to Hanle and tackling Photi La

2025-08-21T14:45:32+00:00

With a day delay for Georg to recover from a cold, we have to adopt our plans. So we hire a Taxi that brings us 160 km up the fantastic Indus valley to Mahe Bridge (which costed us about 70 Euro). From the we cycle to Nyoma, and on the following day with quite some headwind on the high altitude plains to Hanle.

The home stay we booked here turns out to be loveless rooms in a brand-new makeshift bungalow. As it turns out, most accommodations here are like that, just been erected recently to accommodate the motorbike tourist that only stay for a night on their visit to Umling La. Prices seem rather high and non-negotiable, and many of them are already booked. As we keep searching, hordes of motorcyclists arrive.

I convince Georg to try below the big monastery a few kilometers back, and luckily we get one room with a double bed for a reasonable price. Plus, it is pool position for our ascent to Photi La on the following day. Motorcyclists arrive till late at night and are served diner in the attic. Hard to get some sleep. But luckily, they tell us for sure there is accommodation in Chizumle, which is the missing piece of information for our ascent to Umling La.

about 100km...

During my morning exercise routine, a hoopoe lands barely two meters away, looks startled—as if I’m the intruder—and flutters off again.

After some breakfast confusion (wrong dhaba, wrong dhaba, finally the right dhaba), we fuel up on bread omlett and tackle the 30 km climb to Photi La. The sun is shining, luckily, and rather burning again in the high altitude. Along the whole way we'll see maybe five motorbikes and four jeeps - the road is basically traffic-free and nicely paved, winding in switchbacks up the scree slopes… mostly.

But here’s the kicker: about every second switchback gifts away the hard-earned vertical meters, only for the next curve to crank the gradient up even steeper. Nothing like the steady 4–5% climbs back on the Manali–Leh Highway. By 4,800 meters, every pedal stroke feels like a wrestling match. My head is getting dizzy, my heart rate drops dramatically. Give up? Nope - I can still walk. At least through the (many) brutally steep bits. With no traffic around, it’s wonderfully quiet up here.

Just before 2 PM I roll up to the pass sign, where Georg has been waiting. 5,500 meters above sea level. Wow.

Two bikers snap some photos with us, then the icy wind urges us down the other side. The descent mirrors the climb—occasional uphill stretches sneak in and steal my last scraps of energy. At the foot of the pass we’re both toast. We devour the last chapatis with dates and peanut butter, plus yesterday’s leftover rice. Still 13 kilometers gently uphill to Chizumle. With headwind. 🫣

We take turns slipstreaming. At one military zone, a pack of dogs decides Georg looks chase-worthy. Around 5 PM we reach Chizumle Bridge, where a roadside dhaba lets us crash in a fixed tent. No real washing facilities, sadly. Luckily, one of the family’s daughters, Stanzin, speaks fluent English. Turns out she works as a flight attendant and is home on vacation.

At 4,700 meters, the air is thin and exhaustion runs deep - it’s well past midnight before real rest finally kicks in. Tomorrow: the climb to the highest motorable pass in the world 🤗

80 km, 1800 vertical meters.

8 - On Top of the motorable World and back to Hanle

2025-08-21T15:28:23+00:00

At 8 AM, just as we’re packing up, an older Danish couple shows up at our dhaba. They’re traveling with nearly 90-year-old Nimbus motorbikes (!) on their way to Umling La, before continuing all the way to New Zealand. Respect!

By 9:30 we set off in brilliant sunshine toward the highest motorable pass in the world: 1,100 vertical meters over 25 km. Today we’re traveling light—just some snacks and warm clothes, with the rest of our gear staying back at the tent. Progress is easier this way, following long straight stretches over green valleys dotted with yurts, sheep, and goats. Hardly any traffic at all.

From 5,200 meters upward, the gradient bites harder and my legs turn to lead (Georg, naturally, is long gone up ahead). I switch back to the "hike-a-bike" mode - slow, meditative and energy-saving marches. Don’t look at the ground or the dizziness kicks in. Stop often. Drink. Repeat.

By 1:30 PM I finally crest the summit. Hot chai awaits in a small shop, along with a flurry of photos. Then comes the reward: a glorious descent, topped off with a quick dip in a mountain stream while the sun is still warm enough to make that seem like a good idea.

Georg agrees that instead of blasting another “quick” 40 km and 600 elevation meters up to Hanle - where only faceless bungalows would await - we’ll spend one more night in Chizumle. Tomorrow that ride should go smoother. And give us enough time to reach the taxi booked from Hanle back to Leh at 1 PM.

That evening, in the heated family tent, Stanzin patiently fields a thousand of our questions about life in Ladakh.

50 km, 1,100 vertical meters.

Acclimatization is finally kicking in—I can actually sleep well above 4,500 m now. Only once during the night do I sneak out to admire that ridiculously beautiful starry sky.

Breakfast at 8: once again bread omelet and a bit of watery rice pudding. By 8:30 I say goodbye to Stanzin’s family and roll off. Hanle is 40 km away: 15 km uphill to Nurbula Top, then 20 km unpaved downhill. Since Georg usually needs more time in the mornings (and is way faster on the climbs anyway), I set out alone.

The narrow road winds gently up a valley past yurts and goat herds—pure peace and quiet, almost dreamlike. Just now and then a motorcycle comes the other way, riders raising a hand in greeting.

My legs are back! Even with full gear I can keep spinning, no pushing needed. By 10:30 I’m nearly at the pass and, for once, it’s Georg who keeps me waiting - 15 minutes. In the distance, the 6,000-meter peaks of Tibet and Ladakh stand sharp against the horizon.

Then the descent: steep and technical at first, then the corrugated dirt track suddenly fans out to what feels like 100 m wide. We stick to the far left (correct in India) because it bumps less - which of course means we completely miss the actual track to Hanle. The detour around a swamp isn’t pretty, but at least I finally spot marmots!

Next comes a brutal stretch of washboard road. Honestly, what did I do to deserve this? The spirits of Khalo don’t seem overly friendly either - right at the prayer wheels, my Om mani padme hum flag garland gets tangled in the chainring. In the end, we are an hour late to meet our driver. Luckily, Tashi has waited.

And then the film runs in reverse: Rongo and its massive sand dunes, Loma Bridge, Nyoma, and the epic, never-ending Indus Gorge with its sheer cliffs all the way to Upshi.

Just after 8 p.m. we roll into Leh, completely shattered. Tashi did a stellar job. What a ride. Now I’m looking forward to a few days of good food, real hygiene, and honest-to-god vacation vibes. 🎸☀️🕉️

55 km, 650 vertical meters.