Kashmir

Sunday, May 12, 1929

The old bus finally got underway after eleven. It stopped for gas on a steep hill leading out of town. The brakes were like nothing and we ended up rolling backwards down the road into a stone fence nearby. This was a comforting thought as we climbed out of town and into the Himalayas, always up, always in second. At first we followed up a broad river valley through which wound a wide, flat river strewn with boulders and dry. Mile after mile we wound our way up through hills, rocky and rather barren. Every eight or ten miles it was necessary to stop and cool and water the steaming Chev engine.

Soon the winding road really began to wind and climb. Horseshoe turns were nothing. The road doubled back upon itself like a writhing serpent, always ascending at a steep grade. The Chev was barely able to make the sharp turns. The mountain life, as far as we could see it, was interesting. Many of the men were Tibetans, huskily built, muscular, and of medium stature. The women were hard-working and expressionless. One case was rather striking. A woman and her two kids were leading the cow up this narrow road. We had stopped for water. When they were 100 feet in back of us, another bus came along. They crowded up against the hillside, but the cow became frightened and climbed all over the three of them, scratching up their legs, etc. All this time the woman’s face was emotionless, though she must have been pained somewhat for her shins were scraped. She kept her eyes on us all the time as if half afraid, and would approach no closer.

After a while we wound into a deep, narrow gorge. Hundreds of feet below wound a tumbling mountain torrent. Huge mountains rose high above us on all sides, some covered with trees, some green with grass, and others rugged and rocky. This gorgeous scenery was wild, yet soothing. The farther we went, the more I became convinced that the Himalayas of Kashmir are more beautiful than the Swiss Alps, though the latter are more rugged and majestic.

Suddenly we slid around a sharp curve on two wheels. Only 700 feet to drop down into the narrow chasm if we forgot to land on the other two wheels again. We became very much aware of our hot bus driver and less absorbed in the scenery. At this point and for 140 miles of the 203 to Srinagar, the road wound around the side of mountains, most of the time clinging to the side of a cliff with a several-hundred-foot drop on the other side. There was not a straight quarter-of-a-mile of road—but it was forever twisting in and out in sharp curves, right angles, horseshoe bends, blind curves, and with only a little two-foot wall between you and eternity. Our dear driver was disdainful of everything—from cows to bum brakes and sharp curves. On we tore, around these corners that nearly made your hair stand up and yell. Every time that back end swung around two feet from 700 ft. of space, we all had visions of a sail. The best part was that we were going uphill in second.

But we hadn’t had any fun yet. At 6,000 feet it wasn’t so blamed warm, and we entered a forest of splendid tall pines. When we had reached 6,600 feet above sea level, the road began to descend. Hot Stuff nearly forgot he had brakes and down we rolled at 20, 30, 35 miles per, around blind curves and sharp corners. The gorge seemed about twice as deep as it did before. Why we ever got to the bottom is beyond my ken. By all rights, we should have taken a hop, roll, and a big splash.

We left this stream and commenced to follow another one, up and up. It began to grow late. Driving on this mountain road is not permitted after 7:30PM, therefore the driver had to speed up down the next descent to reach a small village just at 7:30. There was no DB, no nothing. We went up to a Mohammedan stand and had some milk, biscuit-bread, meat stew stuff plenty HOT, and rice. The others in the bus rented one of these Karachi canvas beds for an anna. We slept on the cushion seats of the bus. Had to curl up in a few knots, but it was a perfect night for sleeping, and no mosquitoes. There were perhaps a half-dozen buses in this place. Before we turned in, we took a walk along the road to a point where the moon shone glittering silver on the rushing mountain stream, rushing on toward the moon, into a black abyss between two towering walls of unfathomable rock.

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