🦾 We began our journey from Passu. A few motorbikes, one van. The sky was clear blue, the wind brisk but manageable. Everyone was full of energy and smiles. The first stretch was pleasant—the road still dry, snow not yet thick. Majestic mountains embraced the Karakoram Highway as we slowly made our way toward the highest border crossing between Pakistan and China.

But the further we went, the colder the wind, the thicker the snow. At some point, the group split. Some chose the warmth of the van. But no one turned back. Only An Phương and I continued on motorbikes, heading toward Khunjerab Pass. Not because we were braver. Just… more stubborn.

I asked An Phương a few times:
“You okay? If not, let’s ditch the bike and get in the van.”

She smiled, shook her head, then revved the engine and carried on. Every now and then, we stopped for a massage – our hands frozen halfway up the mountain.

🦾 There were stretches of road that rose steeply, where wind slapped us straight in the face. My hands were so numb I couldn’t even feel the brakes. At times, the bike nearly skidded sideways on a sheet of ice. I had to stop in a vast, blinding white space where I no longer knew what was road and what was abyss.

A foolish thought flashed through my mind:
“What if I slip down there?”

No cell signal. No passersby. Just snow, wind, and a terrifying silence. Occasionally, a car would slide past like a ghost. Absolutely freezing.

But we kept going. Not out of courage. Maybe just because we had come this far there was no turning back.

🦾 At a bend in the road, the view suddenly opened. A white valley. And in the middle, a herd of yak grazing, seemingly unbothered by anything. Their calm made everything feel a bit lighter. It’s just snow. Just wind. Just a road.

Step by step, we crawled our way up to Khunjerab Pass. And there, standing both absurd and sacred, was the ATM of the National Bank of Pakistan. A small machine standing tall at 4,693 meters, amidst one of the coldest, most unforgiving places in South Asia.

We didn’t withdraw money. We just stood there. Smiled. And breathed. Deep, long breaths.

I remembered the feeling years ago when I rode a Royal Enfield 500 Classic over Khardung La on the Indian side.
In that same numbing cold, I turned to Vy and asked,
“Do you trust me? Want to keep going by bike or hop in the van?”
And she answered, firm and fierce:
“Let’s ride!”

The same biting cold. The same mountain pass in the sky. The same me, and the same question:
“Why come all the way up here?”

The answer becomes clearer each time:
To remember that I didn’t give up.
To know there was someone who didn’t leave me behind.
And to feel that, even in this white void, my heart is still beating.

🍀 If anyone asks,
“Why go that far?”
Maybe it’s not to withdraw money,
But to withdraw a version of yourself—stubborn, relentless, and still breathing deep in a snowstorm.

Karakoram, 10/2023
#andyonthego #karakoramhighway