Tanglang La is one of the highest motorable passes on the planet, at roughly 5,300 metres, and the signboard at the top proudly claims second place in the world. Whatever the official ranking, the air here holds about half the oxygen that you breathe at sea level, and a few minutes of walking leaves you gasping. Prayer flags snap in the wind, a small shrine marks the summit, and the surrounding peaks are bare and pale. Nobody stays long; photographs are taken at speed, and the engine struggles when you ride away.
The approach from the south crosses the desert plateau and then climbs by long, steady gradients and a handful of hairpins to the summit. The road surface varies from adequate to rough, with sections that are often broken by meltwater. On the northern side the descent is long and relatively smooth, losing altitude steadily down into the Rumtse valley and toward the Indus. The cold is fierce even in July, wind-chill can freeze fingers inside gloves, and sudden storms can bring snow and zero visibility.
The whole region sits in a rain shadow, so the landscape is a desert of rock, gravel and bare slopes with almost no vegetation. At lower altitude on the northern side, the first signs of human life appear again: stone walls, patches of barley and the white chortens of Buddhist villages such as Rumtse, which marks the starting point of a famous trek to the lake of Tso Moriri. Wildlife is rare at the summit but Himalayan marmots and wild asses live in the plains below.
There are no services here, so fuel and food must come from earlier on the route. The nearest settlements are small, and the nearest big town, Leh, lies about a hundred kilometres ahead. Take a few minutes at the top to breathe slowly, drink some water, and enjoy the sense of having reached the roof of the road, then head down gently, because a rider with a headache and a tired bike belongs at lower altitude.