khanezz
Age: 43 
4302 days old here
Total Posts: 15
Location:
Lahore, Pakistan
Status : Offline |
July 7 Mastuj to Shandur (The highest Polo Ground in the world at 12,500 feet - 3,800 meters) I've been trying to chase time every day by waking up early to make up for slow pace the Vespa had decided upon. The alarm was set for 7am and I was out the door walking towards the Bazaar that was 25 minutes from the hotel that I had camped in front of the night prior. The handle bar bolt that I got in Booni was still a bit too loose for the Vespa, so I went in search for a bolt with a better fit. I ran into so many mechanics, but sadly not one of them had any experience with a Vespa. One had even thought that the scooter was a 2012 model. After visiting all of the mechanics with no luck, I spotted a small little hut that looked like a junk yard. It was a dark, creepy looking hut, with no sign-board on top. I inched closer and closer to take a look, and when I was a few meters away a smell trailed from the open door toward me so strong it was as if a gust of dirty wind just blew in my face. As I got closer, a very old man stepped outside with his back towards me. He with white frazzled hair, dressed in shalwar kameez that's permanently stained old, and a turban on his head so big that it covered half of his face. When he saw me walking to him he stood still then, suddenly in a hurry, he uncovered his face revealed the big smile he had on his face. He invited me inside the little shop that was more organized than one would expect. There were shelves after shelves and boxes after boxes of all different kinds of things. I handed him the broken bolt and he started his search. We chit chatted while he looked for the bolts and I asked him what he sold in his store (as it looked quited scary from the exterior). He told me that he was a retired wood cutter that was restless at home so he opened this shop selling all sorts of stuff from used motorcycle parts to used tractor/truck parts to pass the time. The older a person is, the more interesting they are. I spoke to him for about 20 mins, before I asked to borrow some of his tools and took half a dozen different types of bolts to go try on the Vespa. The scoo's handle bar was fixed like new, and I packed and drove back to the shop. The old man came back out and greeted me with a smile again. I gave him the tools back and reached for my wallet when he said, "I can't take money from you, you're a guest in my city." I gave him a thankful smile, smuggled some in his pocket, and rode on. It was then when it finally hit me. I was actually heading to Shandur, the home of the highest polo ground in the world. Oh my God, the feeling is indescribable. The Vespa seemed high in spirits, and I had euphoria washed all over me. The feeling of heading to Shandur was crazy. It was as if a climber had dreamed of climbing the hardest mountain, and was now just a few feet away from the K2 Summit. I was overwhelmed with the thought that the next stop I make would be Shandur, and that the next time I sleep would be in shandur. Overyjoyed is an understatement. The locals told me that Shandur was 2 hours away travelling by car so I thought on the Vespa it'd take about 3.... most likely 4. Well... it took me 7 hours. The road to shandur was not fun. It was a death trap that I willingly walked into. There were streams after streams that just flowed over the road leaving me with no choice but to cross shin-deep waters at almost every turn. The poor Vespa's baby engine drowned everytime, and I prayed it held its breath long enough to reach the other side. When we were in our 3rd hour of the ride, my scooter decided that the climb was too steep for her to bare. Her pace was slower than a turtle's and she moaned with every feet gained.. I ran next to her, pushing her along. Looking at my poor Vespa, I realized the full load I was making her carry. I had to get rid of the camping gear somehow. It was too heavy and it'll kill the Vespa if she had to carry that with us to the top. I spotted a golden SUV with 4-5 guys in it, honked at them, waved, and they pulled over. I shook hands with everyone and asked if they were going to shandur polo fest. I asked them When they nodded, if they would carry one of my bags with them and without hesitation they took my heavy load and said they'd meet me at the top. As the last few things were being handed over, the guys asked me where I was coming from. I told them I started in Lahore 7 days ago on the 1st of July. The guy at the back seat suddenly said, "tum lahore say aya is scooter pay?? Lahori to saray pagal hotay hain, kuch maheenay pehlay aik pagal Amreeka say Lahore aya hai motorcycle pay." (You came on this scooter? Lahories are crazy people! A few months ago a lahori came on a motorcycle from America).. and everyone in the car chuckled. Little did they know who they were talking to HAHA! I was laughing as well. These roads never seem to get better into my rides, but always getting worse. Rocks littered the road and streams flooded it. In some parts, the fast flowing water would drift the scooter. It was 7 hours of the craziest and hardest road and just when I felt like passing out, I found myself in front of a phone's camera lens with a police man clicking away on the other side. He shouted and a few more came out from a tent. No one said a word. One came and tried to sit on the back of the scooter and others had their phones out still snapping away. I'm in my helmet thinking ..what the hell is going on!?!? I finally broke the silence and interrupted their paparazzi-like frenzyi with a question. "How far away is Shandur?" To which they replied, "15 minutes." Wwhhhaaaaattttttttt!!!!!!!!! I shook hands with them and went on my way. Any hopes of better roads conditions was quickly trampled upon. I was face to face with the steepest of climbs. I paused for a second, and put the Vespa in first gear. Full throttle only lasted halfway up. The scooter would start up for a few seconds and then die, and then start, and then die. The last half of the climb, I had to run next to the Vespa with encouraging pushes all the way to the top. I was 12,500 feet above sea level standing in front of a huge city that was just built for a week. There were thousands of tents set up, leaving no exposed ground visible. The Mountains that surrounded us were covered in snow, the sun was shining brightly, and beside the camping ground there was a huge lake with the polo ground next to it. It was the most magical scene I had ever laid my eyes upon. This has to be the greatest festival in the world. Its a magnificent event that everyone must must MUST attend at least once in their life time. I made my way into the middle of the chaos. I dove in between the tents, market, polo ground, army, security, people that were eating and partying, took off my helmet, gave a guy my camera, and posed with my hands up high. He captured a photo with the polo ground right behind me and the Vespa in front of me.
Smiling widely I pat my yellow scooter and told her that she's the first of her kind up here. She is a special one indeed.
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