In previous years whilst riding in these northern most reaches of India, I’d always wanted to “turn left” and ride south from Kargil to see for myself the far-off town of Padum. I’d heard stories of this old Buddhist settlement deep in the Zanskar valley, largely cut-off from India’s mainstream and virtually unchanged for centuries.

Indeed regions of this northern most state of Jammu and Kashmir had until only recently been closed to visitors and foreigners, and even nowadays winters in the Zanskar Valley are harsh and the road south is often blocked at Penzi La, the 14,000ft pass half way to Padum, from November until mid-June.

This year everything came together, there was time enough, good weather, the road was open, I had a companion with whom to ride and together we had the resources to get there and back without the aid of a mechanic and support jeep. We’d made it to Kargil without mishap and having made one or two modifications to our kit, we were ready for the long ride south to Padum.

The map suggested there was only one road, so getting lost wasn’t a worry. We had enough petrol thanks to some simple planning in Leh; we’d bought a dented old army surplus jerry can and some canvas straps to secure the petrol can – it fitted nicely onto one side of the luggage rack, repositioning the pannier bag to the top of the luggage rack. It was a well balanced arrangement and later proved as reliable as could be expected on such an arduous ride.

Our departure from Kargil was late, we didn’t get going until mid-day. An allergic reaction I had the previous night had left me itching a nasty rash and kept me awake most of the night. Then only to compound our delay we waited almost an hour for the restaurant to rustle up two omelettes. Saturday it turned out definitely wasn’t an auspicious day to start our journey.

The Saru valley opens up after a few kilometres into a wide fertile basin, the river far to our left. The pitch road stops soon after the last market on the outskirts of Kargil and winds through peaceful Willow groves.

Villages become more thinly spread after passing the seemingly busy market in Sanko. The road crosses the river and takes a long sweeping turn along the Saru river, its muddy brown waters in full spate, at times passing next to the road, the river was in places a raging torrent.

We were riding through the dramatic debris of long-finished glacial action; terminal moraines, marked by huge piles of red iron coloured rock, strewn across the valley floor through which a road has been crudely scraped. Its road builders never expecting it to last long, tirelessly scrape a new roadway with tough yellow bulldozers, as the receding snow reveals its damage. At times the streams of valleys to our side wash across our path, demanding absolute concentration and balance.

Our late start dictated a night stop at Rangdum, but not before we’d ridden through the last of the Muslim villages dotted up the valley. Rangdum is little more than a huddle of houses in a patch of green fields, small farms and a Government Bungalow, one of thousands built around India to house government workers or visitors to the valley.

But we had our sights set on Rangdom Gumpa, still only a red speck at the end of the valley. As sundown grew closer, we reached the foot of the hillock and parked our bikes near a small block of mud-brick school rooms, our engines brought out a group of young Muslim construction workers, preparing their dinner.

There were four men working on the construction of a new school room at the base of the hillock and their accommodation for the duration of the season were two school rooms used by the monastery’s young lamas for their classes. Mohammed Hussein was the contractor and his men had come from neighbouring villages. Hussein generously invited us to have rice and dal with them, then he offered us his room for the night.

We were his guests and he was determined to make us as comfortable as possible. "There are plenty of sleeping bags." He told us. "So you won't get cold" - an important consideration, as I had been travelling without a sleeping bag. Hot rice and dal and a warm dry bed for the night! From an inauspicious start in the morning our luck was now in plentiful supply.