Most people drive to Kaghan.
I will never understand this.
The valley is made for motorcycles. From Balakot — the gateway — the road begins climbing immediately, threading through pine forests that press in on both sides like green walls. The air changes within minutes. That Lahore flatland heat simply dissolves, replaced by something cool, resinous, alive. You breathe differently here.
Balakot to Naran — Pakistan's Most Therapeutic Ride
The 80-kilometre stretch from Balakot to Naran is, in my honest opinion, one of the most beautiful rides in Pakistan.
The Kunhar River follows you the entire way — sometimes far below in its gorge, sometimes right beside the road, close enough that spray hits your visor on a windy day. The road climbs gradually through Kawai, Kiwai, Jhalkad, each small town a brief civilisation before the wilderness swallows you again.
The pine forests of Kaghan are different from the bare Karakoram. This is green, lush, almost Alpine. And when the road sweeps around a bend and reveals a meadow — impossibly green, impossibly flat — sitting in the middle of all that vertical drama, it genuinely feels like someone designed it for maximum effect.
I stopped at a riverside dhaba near Jhalkad and ate the freshest trout I’ve had in my life. Caught that morning. Grilled over wood. Served with the kind of simple roti that only tastes perfect when you’re riding and hungry at altitude.
Naran — The Last Town Before the Sky
Naran is busy. In peak summer it is very busy — the main street clogged with tourist jeeps and families from the plains who’ve made the pilgrimage north.
But ride in in the shoulder season — May or September — and Naran is quiet, almost sleepy. The river rushing through town, smoke from the dhabas, cold mornings where you can see your breath. I like Naran this way.
The town is also where the serious motorcycling begins, because above Naran lies the Babusar Pass.
Babusar Pass — The One That Tests You
At 4,173 metres, Babusar Pass is among the highest roads in Pakistan accessible by motorcycle.
The ride from Naran to the top is exhilarating and slightly terrifying in equal measure. The road deteriorates progressively — paved to broken to gravel to, near the top, something that’s more suggestion than road. Rocks that have rolled down from above. Patches of snow even in July. Thin air that makes your engine breathe differently and your brain a little slower.
But the top.
The top is all sky.
You park at the summit and there are no trees, no towns, no civilization. Just a wide plateau of alpine meadow, yaks grazing in the distance, and the Karakoram panorama spreading in every direction. On a clear day you can see Nanga Parbat — the Killer Mountain — hanging in the sky to the north. At 4,173 metres, you’re not looking at the mountains anymore. You’re among them.
The descent to Chilas on the KKH is loose, steep, and not for new riders. Take it slow. The view makes up for the crawl.
Saiful Malook — A Lake Worth the Detour
From Naran, a jeep track leads to Saiful Malook Lake — one of the most photographed places in Pakistan, and rightfully so.
The track is not friendly to standard road bikes. I rode my motorcycle to the jeep point and took a local jeep the rest of the way up. No shame in that — the lake deserves the effort regardless of how you get there.
Sitting at 3,224 metres, Saiful Malook is a mirror-blue lake ringed by snowcapped peaks. The famous legend of Prince Saiful Malook and the fairy princess adds a layer of mythology to the beauty. In the early morning, before the tourists arrive, it is otherworldly.
Practical Notes for Riders
- Best season: May–September. The pass closes with snowfall — confirm conditions before attempting.
- Bike prep: Babusar is rough. Make sure your chain, tyres, and brakes are in good shape before Naran.
- Don’t rush Balakot to Naran — it’s the soul of the journey.
- Fuel: Fill up in Naran. There’s nothing beyond it until Chilas.
- Mountain sickness: 4,173m is serious altitude. Ride slowly at the top, drink water, don’t push through if you feel dizzy.
What Kaghan Teaches You
Kaghan is not as dramatic as Hunza or as epic as Skardu. It has a different kind of beauty — intimate, green, close. The mountains here feel like they want you there rather than merely tolerating your presence.
I’ve done the Babusar crossing three times now. Each time something is different — the light, the weather, the people I meet at the summit. But that feeling at the top never changes.
The world below stops mattering. Just for a moment. Just long enough to remember what matters up here.