A Small Car Caravan to Ladakh

Five in the evening, 15 km to Rohtang top, six hours spent more or less stationary and this story almost gets canned. The radio crackles: “Shall we turn back?” Usually that’d be welcomed with howls and noooos. After all we’re heading for Ladakh, remote, inhospitable, but still the most heart-achingly beautiful part of the country.

Not this time though. We aren’t ensconced in big fat SUVs, boot packed high with enough fuel and supplies to last a nomadic tribe through the winter. We’re in cars designed and built for city commutes; cars that are usually bought when budgets are tight, families are small and adventure-seeking a distant dream.

Now, with dark clouds looming over scraggy peaks, the unpleasant prospect of abandoning cars and walking down to Manali is staring us in the face.

There’s too much at stake, too much invested in this story. In desperation we do what comes naturally to us Indians: Nine hatchbacks and our back-up Outlander jump queue and charge to the head of the pack, to the landslide being cleared by the Border Roads guys and come to an ‘agreement’ with the GREF guys. And almost immediately regret it. There are some hideous moments in the film we shot for Overdrive, but every car made it up. How, we’ll never know.

Candid admission: I couldn’t see the point of this comparison test. As my wife said, she wouldn’t dream of driving her Hyundai i10 up to Ladakh. Fair point; but then again, if you could, wouldn’t you?

Ladakh isn’t what it used to be. The first time I came here, eight years ago, it was a proper adventure — tents, cooks, meat packed in Manali, the whole nine yards. Things have improved dramatically, to the chagrin of those who like their rides rough, but to the benefit of softer city-types. Accommodation is more upscale than basic parachute tents, the place is getting greener, fuel is available at dhabas and the roads are a million times better.

Ladakh is still a mighty challenge.The harsh terrain and unforgiving conditions make for the most gruelling test imaginable. If anything is marginal it will break; if there are flaws in its set-up, shortcuts in its engineering, it will be manifest a million times over. Perfect car-breaking terrain.

We start our journey at Chandigarh and I start with the Hyundai i20 1.4CRDi, the newest car in this lot and the one I’ve spent the least time in. First impressions are positive: Tonnes of space, lavish equipment levels, good ride and handling balance, six airbags, full five-star EuroNCAP crash safety rating and, best of all, a brand new diesel engine. In my mind this car had won even before we started. On the highway, things only got better with the diesel engine churning out enough grunt to keep ahead of fast highway traffic. I’m also pleasantly surprised to note how competent the chassis is at keeping her stable and planted on the highway and delivering that grown-up big-car feel that’s all the rage among hatchbacks today.

But. It suffers so much turbo lag it’s almost undriveable at these high altitudes. To get going we have to rev her nuts off, slip the clutch, spin the tyres. And pray. In slushy patches, spinning front tyres would drag the car all over the place (and very close to 1,000-foot drops). It was so hairy that our producer excused himself from the i20 and went searching for a less exciting car to make the climb up Rohtang. It does have excellent seats, though.

Which I only appreciate when I switch to the less-endowed Fiat Grande Punto Multijet 1.3, and realise its driving position is ridiculously Italian; all short-legged and long-armed. It has the best looking steering wheel in the business, which hints at (and delivers) excellent steering. Up the hills she feels alive and responds beautifully to hard cornering; everything topped off by fabulous ride quality. What is a bother is the engine. The same 1.3-litre Multijet common-rail diesel unit which Suzuki manufactures under license (from Fiat!) but somehow isn’t as refined or responsive when Fiat makes it. Same with the interiors: Attention to detail is lax and fit and finish not up to scratch.

The cabin is good in parts, acceptable in most and shocking in a few areas, particularly in the panel gaps. But you get lots of equipment: Airbags (only the i20 gets six airbags), ABS, alloys, Bluetooth connectivity, even iPod compatibility (but the system refused to read our iPod Touch or USB sticks which made me quite angry).

Prompting an early switch to perennial favourite, the Maruti Suzuki Swift 1.3 ZXi. We all love the Swift, particularly her styling. Even today a Swift with big wheels and a white floating roof will make you smile but a Swift in white with high profile skinny tyres is not a thing of beauty. Inside, I shudder to say, Maruti has gone and wrecked it. We got the Glam variant that gets full beige interiors — even the seatbelts! Luckily the chassis hasn’t been messed around with and around mountain switchbacks the Swift reminded me exactly why I was first in line to buy one when it was launched. It is an absolutely brilliant car to drive; there’s no other small car that can match her agility nor can you chuck around any other car and hope to get away with it. Communication is clear and precise and you can make her dance on tiptoe. The only let down are the narrow tyres which, round corners, squeal like pigs being herded into an abattoir.

Later we stop for tea before Mandi, and I jump into the Tata Indica Vista Quadrajet. I am surprised to find it loaded to the roof: it’s got our emergency rations and supplies, the tool kit, jerry cans, crates of water, sleeping bags, tripods and other camera equipment and some more stuff under all this stuff. It doesn’t just hold a lot; it’s also a winner on ride quality. But that comes at a price: The handling is vague and wholly lacking in feel, the steering is dead as a fish, the suspension pitches, wallows and heave-hos and, driven rapidly, it’s almost impossible to point it where you want it to go. The insides aren’t great either; it all feels terribly cheap, and you will not aspire to own one. Then there’s the design of the dash. I love to drive and prefer to have the speedo in front of me not in the centre of the console, in my mother-in-law’s line of sight (not that you’ll be going very fast...). There are also some bizarre irritants, like the warning beeper that, no matter what, will always beep.

Which is why, when we got stuck on the way up to Rohtang, I pulled rank and jumped into the Skoda Fabia 1.4TDI PD. It’s the best car in which to twiddle thumbs and do nothing. Inside, your aspirations escalate; you start calculating EMIs and a convincing story for your wife to let you buy one. That’s because it feels rich. Interiors space is second only to the Jazz, but not by much. The seats are the best, and adjust every which way; as does the steering. It is no doubt pricey, and at that price gets some unnecessary add-ons like a sun roof and parking sensors (you really should be able to parallel park a small car on your own) but in terms of making you feel like money well spent, nothing comes close. Only one problem: The three-cylinder pume duse diesel engine is so noisy everybody’s starting to call it a tractor!

We finally make it up Rohtang Pass at seven in the evening, catch the last light on the peaks and then make our way down to Koksar where, in keeping with the general spirit of this adventure, the lone pump had shut for the night. We were forced us to buy black market petrol from the dhabas and siphon out diesel from the fuel tank of a willing truckie (at a nice little premium).

Next day, we set off for Baralach Pass, the third highest, most feared pass in India, accounting for the most deaths. The pass is so high and oxygen so rare that very soon all of us get breathless, develop thumping headaches and the television crews throw up their breakfast.

Sensibly, we call it a wrap and head back down to Jispa. I find myself in the diesel Maruti Suzuki Ritz 1.3 DDiS Zdi. To be honest, I didn’t want to be in a diesel car, fighting turbo lag and arthritic power delivery, but the Ritz proves to be far from anaemic. Oxygen deprivation not withstanding, it is perky and willing and the least stressed when the going gets near-impossible. For sure belting up mountain passes isn’t the Ritz’s thing; it grips reassuringly but it isn’t an eager little puppy. It likes taking things easy, but the upside is ride quality that doesn’t rattle your fillings or shake the car loose. Marutis are tough little cars. They may feel fragile but they can take a fair bit of punishment.

That’s evident in the overwhelming preference for the Alto amongst the locals; they are everywhere, from workhorse taxis to pristine cars gleaming in front porches. The Maruti Suzuki A-star is the next generation Alto and retains all the qualities that make her such a great mountain goat: Short wheelbase, compact dimensions, low centre of gravity and an agile chassis. The three-cylinder engine does not have much power and you have to scream it in every gear but the chassis can exploit every last ounce of what power there is. On mountains roads, it’s an amazingly competent and fun car to drive. But it is ridiculously cramped; you rub shoulders with your passenger, your head is in intimate contact with the headliner, there’s virtually no space for luggage and if the driver’s comfortable there’s almost no space for a passenger at the back.

That’s a trick the Hyundai i10 1.1 plays quite well. For something so small it can take four in reasonable comfort. It also has a strong motor mated to well thought-out gear ratios that makes it an easy car to tootle around in, both in the city and the mountains. The soft suspension also does a game job of tackling this unforgiving terrain; but it rolls a lot and understeers very early, which serves as an omnipresent reminder to take things easy.

Back at Jispa, over a bottle of rum, we run through the car allotment for the next day’s long run to Chandigarh. Judging by the scramble for the Honda Jazz’s keys, we have a winner! It is the easiest, most comfortable car to drive. It might only have a 1.2-litre engine but its performance is truly staggering. Refinement is in a class of its own, so silent at idle that you don’t even know its ticking. The gearbox is the slickest by a fair margin. The steering is light and effortless, the handling is excellent and the chassis does a wonderful job in relaying just enough information to keep her on the road. And the space inside the car is humongous. It feels pricey — and it is super-pricey — but, money being no object, this is the best hatchback you can buy. Trust me on this, when altitude sickness hits you, and you’re throwing up whatever energy you have, this is the only car you’d want to drive.

That, though, is not a sentiment sensible city folk empathise with; they want something cheap to buy and run. They’re probably not thinking of driving up to Ladakh; they’re more worried about how much it costs to tank up. In that resolutely sane world, and despite being smitten by the Jazz, we have to crown the Ritz the champion. After all, if madness does strike, the Ritz will also take you up and down Ladakh without falling to pieces.

Sirish Chandran is editor, Overdrive. You can read a longer version of this article in the September issue of the magazine, or at overdrive.in , or catch the videos from the TV show