India, 2009
At the first light of dawn, we started the Jeep and continued our journey to Zoji-la, a torturous mountain pass climbing the Great Himalayan Wall. It twisted 11,575 feet down, from where we’d overnighted in Dras to the Kashmir valley below.
I’d heard whispers that Zoji-la had claimed over two hundred lives last year. Our driver told me that authorities decided, starting this year, to shut down the pass for the winter to avoid such death again. That shutdown would start next week, and the ground now showed the first hints of snow clumped around the trees. We’d narrowly missed the deadline. Although the pass was open now, I feared what waited for us on the descent.
Nearby, warning signs proclaimed hand-painted safety messages in colorful letters—“Horn is to honk, please do it on my curves,” and “Bro, drive on horsepower not run power.”
Before the pass, I noticed chapels and temples of different religions erected along the side of the road, so travelers could stop and pray for safety. These were the final plea, though we heeded them not.
Then the road tipped downward, and the world opened.
Out the left window, I could see for a hundred miles. The pass wound and folded back on itself along cliffs and ledges to the valley below me. The ground was golden, but shrouded in the blue of distance, and far below, a sparkle of water ran like a silver snake through the valley. The road didn’t meander, but constantly snapped back on itself at every bend. Here, the grade became the steepest. Our tires skittered on the gravel, and the nose of the Jeep jolted downwards. But this wasn’t even the steepest pathway.
Zoji-la earned a reputation for its accidents that could clog the pass for hours and days. As such, those vehicles capable, and drivers reckless enough, to attempt the climb had afforded new side-passages—straight between the switchbacks.
India “drove on the left,” so when buses passed and trucks approached from the other direction, they forced us to swerve towards the cliff’s edge at a moment’s notice. From behind, motorcycles zoomed past without warning. Every hairpin turn became a blind corner hiding a surprise.
On second thought then, those side passages were also created from vehicles forced off the road by oncoming cars. It mattered not. Nothing could save us if our vehicle slipped.
I grabbed the armrest, and I closed my eyes. And, at that moment, I let go.
No seat belts restrained me.