Rookies on Royal Enfields - The stories of beginners to Royal Enfield road tours vary from the mildly amusing to the down right adventurous. Bruno Van Mol - one time tram driver in Belgium's busy metropolitan Antwerp, now a died-in-the-wool traveller, related his story, that of a Royal Enfield Rookie's innocence, up a tough and steep learning curve to that of experienced Royal Enfield Tourer.

A week away from embarking on a "Rookies to Nubra Ride" from Delhi, north to Ladakh's capital Leh and on to Nubra. Kicking off 2nd week of June 2007, a tour denied him when in May 2003, worn out and bruised, Bruno arrived in Leh, the ancient capital of Ladakh, with his Bullet lumped on the back of a commandeered Kashmiri Army transport contractor.

With the bank broken and his visa rapidly expiring, Bruno sold up and headed south. Behind him the northern twin valleys of Nubra over the world's highest motorable road, Khardung La 5,600m. The valleys he never saw. It was his first ride in India on an Enfield.

Now Bruno's leading a Royal Enfield Road Tour for "Rookies to Nubra".

Departing Delhi 2nd week of June 2007. Sign-up and come with Bruno and I. You'll find us online or on numbers relayed by skype. It's going to be a fantastic ride!

He told us of the hardship and tough descisions he had to make when the '89 model 350 he'd bought in Rishikesh only days earlier, proved too weak to pull him across the pass separating Kashmir from it's neighbouring region Ladakh.

The road was not yet open to Leh from Manali, it was May-time in 2003. ...still quite cold and in the higher reaches, snow lay heavy on the ground.

"I could feel the engine wasn't strong but I pushed on anyway. The road had become broken and no longer was there any definition to its boundaries. The road to the pass - Zoji La , is carved from a slate-like grey rock and my aim was always to be closer to the wall than the 'fall' - the impossibly steep drop beneath into the Sind Valley."

After what seemed like hours the motor finally ground to a halt, the ride was ride was over. I had reached a full-stop. I was still some distance from what I presumed to be the pass, way off in the distance. 

When your motor stops running on such a steep climb, with rocks and shale slipping down here and there, the traffic is approaching, it wants more road than seems possible; your options are few and descisions must be taken quickly.

No chance to repair the bike, tools and spares and things that break, were largely a mystery to Bruno. The only thing in his favour was gravity. He turned the heavy bike, midway between hairpins or loops, as the road builders call them.

These are strategic roads and India's pioneering road engineers "The Border Roads Organisation", build and maintain them. Gangs of labourers, sometimes nearly a hundred-strong, battle cold weather, high altitudes, harsh living conditions and very often in the face of danger.

It's a challenge to anyone to ride this highway and Bruno was facing his reality, head-on.

"It goes like this... Drag the bike round, catch your breath, get back on, put it in neutral, push like hell and start the roll and hope for the best. The sun is high it's hot. Roll past a few outposts and down towards Sonamarg. Free-wheeling as far as I could, mind racing, hoping for a passing truck, whose occupants might be persuaded to stop and render assistance to a now, well focussed rookie.

"When I could roll no further, I stood, with my arms outsretched in front of an approaching Indian Army truck. I recall it was one of those half-knackered ShaktiMan trucks..."

It swerved past me in a most unfriendly manner, leaving me in a cloud of dust. I did get help later, coming in the form of India's finest, the officers of the northern brigades, in a chunky and quite serious Mahindra jeep.

"How can I help you Sir?"