Reaching this mountain stream, running through Baryogi village in Mandi district of Himachal Pradesh, was an eventful journey. The ten-odd journalists, accompanied by the organising officials and some others, had left the vehicles at a safe spot, more than a kilometre away from the blessed stream. And finally, bravely trudging through, reached the stream that ran by picturesque houses with slanting, slate-tile roofs. To reach this spot at about noon, we had started at 5 am in the cold morning in Shimla and drove for about six hours, jumped over rocks in a mountain stream, a tributary of Satluj river. And then, the wait for the bikers and four-wheelers began. All these were participants in the ‘Extreme’ category of the event, where conditions were grueling.

As we waited, Badal, a 14-year-old village boy could not contain his curiosity. He went over to Gagan Sethi of Aaj Tak and gushed, “aapke paas Himesh Reshammiya ka number hai? Mujhe de do. Main singer bananna chahta hoon.” His sister Rimjhim, 12, was busy making funny sounds like a bird, cupping her hands over her mouth. Gagan did not have Himesh’s number, but Badal was not disappointed, he ran over to his house, got an apple and some walnuts so that he could somehow get Himesh’s number.

It was noon and we were famished. And we saw one of us gorging on a babugosha. Where from? He pointed to the tree above. So began the efforts to shake the tree for more fruit, but no luck. Help came soon, fortunately. In a matter of minutes, Partap Singh, a village youth, climbed on to the tree and broke off as many babugoshas as we wanted. Rimjhim was confused, “aapke yahan bagiche nahin hote”? Thankfully, the Raid participants came vrooming, the first lot was on motorbikes, splashing through the water, precariously balancing the two-wheeler on the stones and then followed the speeding four-wheelers. One of the villagers wearing a Team India T-shirt wasn’t impressed. Bobe Singh Sain was a driver, and not interested in being part of the motorsport event. This wasn’t his calling, “I am happy with my truck.”

Finally, the journos decided to get moving too, back to their vehicles. As you walked back to the vehicle in the balmy October afternoon, you saw sights that woould make wonderful memories. The tall deodar trees, marigolds blooming around a village house, bright orange makki drying on the rooftops, groups of rose-cheeked children walking hand-in-hand. On the other side of the mountain, you could hear the roar of vrooming tyres approaching the stream. More participants are on their way. You suddenly didn’t want to take a lift in the Mahindra jeep to where your vehicle was stationed. You would rather trek back. This is the moment. Live it. Back in the city, after the adventure was over, you would be behind the wheel often enough.