I believe I’m somewhere around 17,000 feet above sea level. On my left is a drop that would bring a smile to a base jumper’s face. On my right is a snow bank and the rocky façade of a daunting mountain in the Karakoram range. Blue skies meet white peaks in the horizon. The view is breathtaking as is, but seen through the raked windscreen of the Lamborghini Huracán I’m in, the experience is just off the scale. What in the world is a Huracán doing here, you will ask? Well, we’re out to set a record. A world record. We want to take the Huracán where no Lambo’s gone before; in fact, where no supercar has gone before. That place is in Jammu and Kashmir, and it’s called Khardung La, better known as the highest point on the highest motorable road in the world. The catch is, ‘motorable’ and ‘road’ are very subjective terms when talking of the route up. In the best of times, it looks like a post-apocalyptic mess from a sci-fi movie. But we’re mad enough to give it a go. And the good folk at Lamborghini India are indulgent enough to lend us a car for the job. What follows is the journey up to a driver’s Everest.
Leh-ing low
Leh city is base camp for us. We’ve spent the past day and a half doing absolutely nothing. We are about 11,500 feet higher than home in Mumbai, so exerting ourselves in this rarified air would have taken the wind out of our sails even before the adventure began. All of us seem to be doing well, because today there are no complaints of headaches or any shortness of breath. And this means we can get to business with a clear head. So straight after breakfast, we set off to the iconic Thiksey Monastery on the outskirts of Leh, where we will meet the Huracán.
As we get there, the sight of the cutting-edge 21st century Lamborghini standing amidst the majestic 15th century monastery blows us away. Things get even crazier a few moments later, when I’m handed the keys to the Huracán. At Thiksey Monastery. In Ladakh. Un-freaking-believable. The sound of that 5.2-litre V10 shatters the calm of the place. Oh man, the next few days are going to be crazy.
The ceremonial flag-off is at the hands of T Gyalpo, Additional SP, Leh and Hemant Arora, Business Head, Lamborghini Delhi. But I’m not charging to Khardung La just as yet. It’s a day of further acclimatisation for all of us and also a day for me to re-acquaint myself with the Huracán. I’ve driven the Lambo before and, among other things, I’m a fan of its almighty exhaust note, how relaxed its engine, gearbox, steering and suspension feel in Strada mode and how user-friendly (as supercars go) its cabin is. How the hulking Lambo will take to the dust, altitude and, of course, the occasional bad stretch of road is something I’ll have to find out. So, I will be taking it easy. Straight off, I press the toggle that raises the Lambo’s front suspension by a crucial four centimetres – I need all the ground clearance I can get.
Wide roads and narrow bridges are part of the ice-breaking route through Leh.
The drive into Leh is uneventful, which is a good thing. The mild-mannered locals are genteel in their appreciation of the Lambo. People do crane their necks and hurriedly pull out their camera phones to capture the Huracán, but no one’s putting life or limb at risk for a closer look. Even the roads don’t pose much of a problem. I do have to approach the really bad sections with care, but still far less than I’d originally expected. With this new-found confidence, I go ahead with an impromptu plan to do a bit of sightseeing in the Lambo. I’m most keen to see the gleaming Shanti Stupa; it’s a structure white enough to feature in one of those paint commercials. Interestingly, this Japanese-style stupa was built to promote world peace. Ironically, I visit it in one of the loudest cars on earth. I promise to behave myself up the short hill climb to it. The remainder of the day goes in seeing more of the city, munching on some delightful momos and experiencing first-hand the positivity associated with the word ‘Julley!’, the all-encompassing Ladakhi greeting.
