The Long Way Down: A Ride from the Spiti Valley to Uttarakhand

September 26, 2023 to October 4, 2023

Manali to Dehradun

The Spiti Valley

After being surprisingly well rested from last nights sleep on banana boxes in the abandoned building, we decided to hitchhike again to skip a pass and make faster progress toward Dehradun, where Sam planned to meet a friend joining him for the ride. This time, hitchhiking didn’t work at all—few cars passed along this border route with China, and those that did were fully loaded. Instead, we waited for a bus while eating parathas and sweet chai. It arrived late, and the impatient driver hurried us along as we strapped our bikes onto the roof using whatever we could find. Beltless, we stumbled down the ladder into the packed bus, where I pulled the short straw and settled into the footwell, preparing for a long journey.

An hour in, the bus broke down in the middle of nowhere, with little explanation of what would happen next. Some passengers began walking, hoping to hitchhike on the rare passing cars, while others simply waited. A group of grown men entertained themselves by throwing stones into the canyon below—a universal pastime, it seemed, especially in this cricket loving nation. We joined in for a while, competing to hit distant targets. The rest of the time, we lounged on the roof, reading and resting. Three hours later, a replacement bus arrived, taking us the rest of the way to Kaza for the night.

From Kaza, it was mostly downhill. The air thickened, and the surroundings grew greener. We ran into a slight issue with our permit—or lack thereof—for the Spiti Valley. After a long phone call, the official let us through, as there was no way we were going back to Manali just to get a permit.

Now fully in Himachal Pradesh and at a much lower altitude, we began encountering many more people—which was honestly quite nice after the scarcity of human presence in the higher mountains. The added bonus was increased food availability, though it came at the cost of severely limited camping options. Instead, we often had to settle for cheap, bedbug-ridden hotels—far from ideal.

With the dense, almost soupy air, sprinting up hills felt effortless. I was stronger than ever and wanted to ride all day through the beautiful valleys, however, still a few hundred kilometres from Dehradun and with time running out, we took another bus to skip a huge 2500m climb.

At the bus stop, we asked around about the schedule, but the answer was as expected: it comes when it comes. Not wanting to miss it, we stayed put, conveniently next to a fruit seller, gorging on guavas and other exotic fruits. When the bus finally arrived, it was a scramble to get our bikes on the roof, but by now, we were practiced and quick. This time, we were even lucky enough to get seats, though the dirt road made for an incredibly uncomfortable ride, my head repeatedly slamming into the low ceiling over the bumps.

At a rest stop at the top of the pass, we decided to take our bikes off and ride down through the pine forests. It felt like an entirely different India in this alpine environment—cool air rushing past us, fragrant forest scents filling our lungs. It was refreshing, calming, and a welcome contrast to the high-altitude desert landscapes we had left behind.

We arrived in Rohru by evening and spent a long time searching for accommodation, as every place seemed to be fully booked. We were close to sleeping in the bus station when we decided to try one last option—this time successfully. With rooms secured, we got some much-needed rest before hoping to catching a morning bus

One of the hardest days cycling didn’t plan to be a day cycling at all. We woke before dawn with the expectation of catching a bus taking us to Dehradun. However, despite them confirming that there would be a roof rack for the bikes, there wasn’t, and there was no other bus for the day. We took this as a sign that we should ride and set off into the dark, enjoying the peace and the cool air.

There was a small moment of panic however, when Seb, still half asleep, lost his small bag of valuables, including his passport, in the middle of the road near our hotel. Luckily, a kind stranger found it and managed to track us down, to our great relief. With the crisis averted, we rode on. Twenty kilometers in, we stopped for a quick breakfast of oats, bananas, and peanut butter, then continued, determined to reach Dehradun by the next day.

The ride was breathtaking as the valleys opened up, revealing bright green terraced rice fields spilling over the rolling hills. The others were off ahead when two friends on a motorbike stopped to chat as I pedalled up a climb. They were pretty shocked to see us cycling here and were eager to help—one even offered to ride my bike up a section while I sat on the back of his scooter. I didn’t refuse but he stopped after two minutes unfortunately.

As the day stretched on, hunger started to gnaw at me, and frustration grew as no one had stopped for food yet. I passed the last few dhabas for a long time, watching them disappear behind me, hoping the others had decided to stop ahead. Instead, I ran into Seb, who was dealing with yet another bike issue—this time, a broken chain. It took a while to get his spare chain fitted, but he was happy to finally use the half kilogram of steel he had been carrying through the mountains for emergencies. Meanwhile, Nabil had powered on, far ahead in the dark.

There are worse places to have a broken chain

There was no option but to keep pedalling. When we finally caught up with Nabil and Sam, we checked the map—there was nowhere to stop for another 20 kilometers. Exhausted and hungry, we accepted our fate and pushed on. At last, we came across a small village with a restaurant and a guesthouse, bringing our total for the day to 130 hilly kilometers.

The guesthouse owner greeted us warmly, seating us immediately. One of his friends kept taking videos and asking us to say things on camera. In our exhausted state, it was a bit much, but all irritation faded when dinner arrived. The incredible cook served us a rich and creamy paneer butter masala, a huge pot of rajma masala, aubergine curry, and a steaming pile of fresh chapatis. No sooner had we finished one dish than another appeared, the chapati pile constantly replenished. It seemed his mission was to feed us as much as possible, and we were more than happy to oblige. Even when we were beyond full, he continued bringing fresh chapatis to mop up the sauces, and we had to firmly refuse any more. That night, we slept well, sharing the room with a friendly spider hiding in the corner.

The following morning, we waved off the chef as the village gathered to watch us depart. On the final stretch to Dehradun, it truly felt like we were back in India again—the heat and humidity overwhelmed us as we descended into the lowlands. Frequent roadside juice stops became essential, and I found myself growing fond of the added salt, which now seemed refreshing in the stifling heat. As the day turned to evening, we raced through the chaotic streets of Dehradun, weaving between tuk-tuks on the main highway.

Originally, we had planned to spend the night, but Sam managed to find a bus back to Delhi, and we found one that would take us to the Nepal border—a long 10-hour journey ahead. This time, after much negotiation with the driver, we managed to awkwardly pack our bikes into the underside of the bus, settling in for yet another bumpy ride into the unknown.

Next time, Nepal…

Today's ride: 500 km (311 miles)
Total: 500 km (311 miles)

Rate this entry's writing	Heart	4
Comment on this entry	Comment	0