Desolate landscape. Desert planet. A small Ladakh. A very tiny Tibet. With highly-perched monasteries overlooking sparsely populated valley below, friendly people and roads a bit better than in easier accessible Kinnaur, it was one of the most welcoming and memorable places I'd ever visited. It was Spiti Valley.

After a good night at Kah, with a clear sky and warm sun as the only companions we continued towards the village of Nako. It proved to be a peaceful, beautifully laid, though touristy, settlement. It was also a great relieve after the areas widely populated by the loud, noisy and ill-mannered Hindustanis.

From Nako, the road climbed a bit more, to finally reach a section running ca. 2000 meters above the Spiti River (at least according to the Lonely Plant). Here, a first “waterfall” as the Hindustanis called it, crossed our path. Overcoming it proved to be quite difficult as Justine's bike started to loose power, probably because of lower levels of oxygen in the air. Even on the first gear it was hard to get through some steeper sections of the road and riding on wet and large rocks at ca. 4200 meters AMSL wasn't what the motorcycle enjoyed the most. But somehow, with wet boots, we managed to get through.

Anyway, as I already told you, the river was some 2000 meters below us and the road was only single lane, there was no protective barrier separating us from the chasm, the surface was covered with sand and stone debris and after reaching the pass the road started to go down pretty steep - it all constituted a standard set in the forgotten parts of the Himalaya. Negotiating that section proved to be very hard for Justine, as her bike was slowly moving downwards even when on a gear (with the engine turned off) and with the front break fully pressed. I'm sure you can easily imagine that with a chasm just a half meter away it is not the most welcoming place to ride a motorbike if you're a beginner. That was also the section where we decided to switch the bikes, as mine proved much easier (and “softer”) to handle than the 180 cc Justine rode all the way from Delhi.

Fortunately after the initial few hundreds meters the descent became more balanced and through a series of loops we reached the bottom of the gorge. Close to the evening we finally entered Spiti Valley. It was a totally barren and desert landscape, full of sandy, ever eroding mountains. The green was almost nowhere to be seen, apart from the small deltas created by glacier-fed streams joining the Spiti River.

Our first night in Spiti we spent between small shrub, near an iron bridge severely damaged by the monsoon floods of 2010. It lied close to the beginning of the valley, but as deeper inside a snowstorm was raging heavily, we didn't really want to continue up to the village of Tabo.

We reached it next morning and it was an even more peaceful place then Nako. It also hosted one of the most outstanding sights I'd seen in my whole life: the 1100 years old Tabo Tibetan Buddhist Gompa. From outside it looked like nothing special, just a set of gray-muddish buildings topped with some Buddhist praying flags. But inside... The interiors were simply amazing (no photos allowed). Small temples with walls covered with 1000+ year old frescoes, beautifully painted, with attention given to even the smallest details. Full of Buddhas, dharmapalas, demons, mandalas and other ideas from the Tibetan Buddhism mythology. And the atmosphere – an almost deafening meditative silence. A definite must see.

After Tabo, there was the famous Dhankar Monastery (literally meaning in the Tibetan language “a place in the mountains beyond the reach of strangers”) perched on a ridge 300 meters above the valley floor. The interiors didn't match those of Tabo, but the views from the roof were simply great.

Then, there was Kaza, the biggest “city” in Spiti Valley, full of Israeli backpackers, internet cafes and restaurants. There were even two ATMs and a phone line available.

But... how do you think, what was the first place in Kaza that we visited? Yes, you're right! A mechanic! The 150 cc started to give some strange and disturbingly loud, cracking noises from the rear wheel, and the 180 cc had his whole “cockpit” jumping up and down on every bump. Plus, the chains were a bit too tight (after I found them to be too loose in the morning and incompetently adjusted them). After the bikes were fixed we didn't go to a restaurant, oh no. We still had to have the luggage carrier welded as even though made of iron it didn't survive the hardships of the road.

At nighttime we were almost done, but suddenly Justine realized that the disturbing sound became even louder. As the mechanic was nowhere to be found (it was Saturday) we had to stay for the night in one of the hotels. Fortunately they had a rooftop, where we could lay our tired bodies to rest.

In the morning after a few failed attempts of fixing the problem, the mechanic decided to replace whole rear wheel brake drum with a burnt motorbike's part standing near to his workshop. That did the thing and was even quite cheap – 250 rupees (ca. $5).

From Kaza we went to a number of places – the Pin Valley, Kunric and Kye (or Kee) monasteries and finally the “border” settlement of Losar. Beyond it laid the infamous Kunzum La Pass (ca. 4552 m AMSL), which we thought would constitute the hardest part of the trip so far, as Kevin a French cyclist met in Dhankar, told us about a road more similar to a dry river bed than any actual road, full of rocks and requiring highly developed technical skills to get through.

The morning we set out in the direction of the pass was bitterly cold and the sky was full of grey, rainy clouds. The road was better than we anticipated, but we knew it was only a beginning...

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