Chasing High Roads

A Scooty, a Dream, and 1,300 KM of Pure Adventure

Written & Photographed by : r/Eastern-Cut9678Test photographer

This was more than a trip. It was a test of courage, a celebration of freedom, and a reminder that adventure begins the moment you stop waiting for company and just start riding.

The engine hummed quietly under me, the early morning air still heavy with fog. My scooty stood loaded and ready. It wasn’t a bike built for mountains or extremes. It wasn’t built for 1,300 kilometers of unpredictable terrain. But neither was I.

For weeks, I flirted with the idea of riding to Tawang. A dream I just could not get out of my head. I have always believed that good company makes even the most treacherous of travels worthwhile. Swapping stories, laughing through breakdowns, and accumulating miles like souvenirs. Great friends make for even greater company. And so, I confided in one about the journey I was planning to take. But life, has its own plans. Commitments pulled him away, and just like that, our duo became a solo.

I could’ve called it off then and put this plan on hold, it would’ve been the sensible thing to do. But the dream had already taken root. The moments had already been imagined and I had already replayed the adventure in my head night after night.

It was in a way a classic case of Sunk cost fallacy. So much time, thought and emotion had already gone into this plan that letting it all go now felt like turning your back on a promise I had made to myself.

The idea of riding solo into the unknown, unfamiliar mountains, with no knowledge of the route or the conditions made me reconsider my sanity. There were no guarantees, only questions. What if something went wrong? What if the scooty gave up? What if I did? But sometimes, questions have no answers, only roads.

So I took a decision, no more waiting, no more what ifs. I’d ride to Tawang, alone.

I had seen YouTubers take on the Tawang route with roaring bikes and top-tier riding gear. They made it all look effortless like a casual cruise. For me, it was different and nothing like that. No fancy bike or riding gear. Just my dad’s old jacket, a pair of worn-out gloves, my loyal companion on two wheels and a heart too stubborn to sit still.

There was always the possibility that something could go horribly wrong. Every time I passed a two-wheeler that was broken down, I felt a chill go through my body. I kept seeing myself stuck in the middle of nowhere with no way to get help.

My brain kept telling me to hold back, to be cautious. Like a horror movie on repeat, it continued to flash warnings, highlight dangers, and play every worst-case scenario, with each frame growing more eerie than the one before. But my heart? It had already packed its bags. It refused to let go.

You find yourself at a crossroads in situations like these. One path leads to longing, the other to reason. The brain was right, no doubt. However, no sailor would ever attempt to brave the high seas, no mountaineer would have climbed Everest, and no rider would ever pursue the horizon if we only ever paid attention to reason. Some journeys are about the soul and have nothing to do with logic or sense.

Still, I didn’t silence my brain, I let it do what it does best; prepare for the worst. I packed everything I could think of a toolkit, food, a first aid kit, a puncture kit. And then there were things I didn’t pack but carried deep within, a thousand silent prayers, because I know mountains don’t give second chances.

I even reached out to a few YouTubers who had ridden to Tawang before. Strangers who quickly became mentors. Their words were headlamps in the fog, not enough to illuminate the whole way, but just enough to keep me moving forward.And that was all I needed at the time.

On March 31st, I put on my boots loaded up my bags and kicked off the ride I had been dreaming about. That date is now etched in my memory for an eternity. As I left the comfort of my bed and the familiarity of my home, I could hear my heart beating out of my chest. It wasn’t fear, I was not second guessing myself or taking a step back and reconsidering my decisions. It was something much heavier and deeper. It felt as if I was not in control of my body. My stomach churning, my brain buzzing with restless energy, and my throat lumped up. It felt like I was about to approach a long time crush of mine, nerves all entangled and fear dripping from eyes but something inside me knows that I just had to go for it. I was stepping into something bold, something risky, and totally unlike anything I’d ever done before. This realization sat on my chest like weight, a reminder of how far I was going, from safety, from familiarity, from home.

For the first few kilometers joy and dread were twisted around each other so tightly, like lovers in embrace. Every hairpin bend was irresistibly tempting, while each cliff edge and shattered barrier stood as a silent reminder of how quickly things could go wrong if I lost focus. The road kept asking “Are you sure about this?” It stared at me like a ticking time bomb waiting for an answer. I didn’t always have one. All I had was a restless heart that refused to turn back.

As each corner passed me by, I relaxed into the rhythm of the ride. My heart rate decreased, and my thoughts adjusted to the dangers that lay ahead. My eyes adapted to the curves, my fingers found a more secure hold on the handle, and I felt as though I finally belonged on the road. Every person, every setting, and every wind chill brought a sense of freshness that awakened my senses. I wasn’t just seeing new places, I was discovering new parts of myself. And yet, the silence was loud.

With no friend riding beside me, no familiar voice to break the quiet, I felt alone. At times, the road stretched on with no one in sight. In times like these I’d catch myself thinking, “What if the worst happens out here, miles from help, miles from home?” There was a different kind of loneliness in those moments. It just reminds you that out here, it’s just you. No backup. No easy escape. No room for error.

And in that solitude, your mind thinks about what truly matter. The ones who stood by you through laughter and heartbreak, in moments of helplessness and in the highest of highs. Their faces rise gently from memory like mist on a quiet morning. That last conversation with your mom suddenly feels vivid, etched in your heart. Your first crush flickers across your thoughts like an old photograph. The echoes of time spent with friends remind you of what really anchors you to this world. Its not achievements or milestones. Its the warmth of love, the comfort of being cared for, and the quiet joy of having someone to share your journey with. As Alexander Supertramp said, in the end it’s the people that make everything worthwhile.

Tawang wasn’t just beautiful, it was surreal. Feeling the cold bite through my jacket, I reached places I had only seen in pictures. As the altitude the air became thinner yet it felt fuller. I eventually made it to Bum La Pass. Once a vital link along an ancient Indo-Tibetan trade route, Bum La Pass still echoes with the weight of history. Scattered across the terrain are remnants of the 1962 Indo-China war. Crumbling bunkers and bullet-scarred stones are silent witnesses to a time when blood was spilled in these serene, snow-kissed valleys. The beauty of this land contrasts sharply with the shadows of its past.

While the land spoke of history and sacrifice, the journey ahead began to speak a different language. One of humanity and connection, quietly unfolding in the people I met along the way.

I met other riders, some chasing all-India dreams, some just chasing peace. And the locals? They welcomed me like a son. I wasn’t just passing through towns. I was immersing myself in the lives and stories that breathed within them. The tea shared at a roadside stall, the directions scribbled in the dirt, the smiles exchanged without words, they made me feel less like a tourist and more like I belonged there.

The nights were cold, quiet, and humbling. Alone with my thoughts, I also realized that sometimes we confuse company with comfort. I was alone, yes, but I never felt lonely. The mountains kept me grounded and the stars kept me dreaming.

I returned on April 5th, a little sunburnt, a little sore, and a lot more alive than before. I didn’t just ride to Tawang, I rode into a version of myself that I hadn’t met before.

This was more than a trip. It was a test of courage, a celebration of freedom, and a reminder that adventure begins the moment you stop waiting for company and just start riding.