Uploaded October 2021 | Updated September 2026, 2 days ago
On the Dalton Highway in Alaska, I met Jimmy from Taiwan. We cycled and camped together a few times on this road.
One evening, we pitched our tents near the Alaska Pipeline. As we finished eating, we saw a thick cover of clouds rolling down the hill.
The next morning, I heard the pitter-patter on my tent. I peeked outside. Everything was covered in snow.
The snow accumulated on top of the tent which I would try to shake off from inside. My sleeping bag and mattress became a bit wet. I suggested to Jimmy that we should stay another night here. I was thirsty and hungry but was too cold and weak to go out to collect snow and melt to make water. I fell asleep due to exhaustion.
In Layyah, mom caressed my hair and then suddenly poured oil on my head as she would often do. "You have dandruff. Let me massage your head." I reluctantly let her do that and close my eyes. "Son, why are you angry with me? You haven't been eating well since you came back home. Today, I have cooked your favourite dish for you." I smell a sweet aroma of spicy daal and hot tandoori roti. With my half-open eyes, I see mom holding a bite of roti. "Let me feed you fresh roti and daal with my hands," she says. I open my mouth and the food melts in my tongue. That familiar taste, the same richness of flavours and her love, and the crispiness of roti that she used to make at home in our clay Tandoor. "Kamran, Kamran, are you okay?" Jimmy woke me up. I told him I was feeling cold. Jimmy brought some warm clothes for me to wear. He melted snow and made hot tea for both of us. After that, I felt better and cooked chickpeas. "Do you want to eat naan?" he asked. He went and grabbed a packet of naan.
I put one naan on the gas stove. The smell of bread arose from the fire and floated in the tent. I cut a piece of hot naan and scooped chickpea gravy into my mouth.
For a moment, I had left the Dalton Highway. I was in Layyah—on the roof of our old house—on a winter Friday afternoon—freshly bathed and wearing blue clothes—sitting on a charpoy in the sun—with mom trying to feed me—and me asking for a tricycle before each bite.
Follow me on Instagram: instagram.com/KamranOnBike
On the Dalton Highway in Alaska, I met Jimmy from Taiwan. We cycled and camped together a few times on this road.
One evening, we pitched our tents near the Alaska Pipeline. As we finished eating, we saw a thick cover of clouds rolling down the hill.
The next morning, I heard the pitter-patter on my tent. I peeked outside. Everything was covered in snow.
The snow accumulated on top of the tent which I would try to shake off from inside. My sleeping bag and mattress became a bit wet. I suggested to Jimmy that we should stay another night here. I was thirsty and hungry but was too cold and weak to go out to collect snow and melt to make water. I fell asleep due to exhaustion.
In Layyah, mom caressed my hair and then suddenly poured oil on my head as she would often do. "You have dandruff. Let me massage your head." I reluctantly let her do that and close my eyes. "Son, why are you angry with me? You haven't been eating well since you came back home. Today, I have cooked your favourite dish for you." I smell a sweet aroma of spicy daal and hot tandoori roti. With my half-open eyes, I see mom holding a bite of roti. "Let me feed you fresh roti and daal with my hands," she says. I open my mouth and the food melts in my tongue. That familiar taste, the same richness of flavours and her love, and the crispiness of roti that she used to make at home in our clay Tandoor. "Kamran, Kamran, are you okay?" Jimmy woke me up. I told him I was feeling cold. Jimmy brought some warm clothes for me to wear. He melted snow and made hot tea for both of us. After that, I felt better and cooked chickpeas. "Do you want to eat naan?" he asked. He went and grabbed a packet of naan.
I put one naan on the gas stove. The smell of bread arose from the fire and floated in the tent. I cut a piece of hot naan and scooped chickpea gravy into my mouth.
For a moment, I had left the Dalton Highway. I was in Layyah—on the roof of our old house—on a winter Friday afternoon—freshly bathed and wearing blue clothes—sitting on a charpoy in the sun—with mom trying to feed me—and me asking for a tricycle before each bite.
Follow me on Instagram: instagram.com/KamranOnBike
