I’m in China now. With my bike.
Close readers of this blog noticed something was amiss when they read of my attempt to cycle across the border from Laos. They gasped, gripped their terminals in both hands, and shouted, “Stein, you old devil, you’ve given me the slip! You’re supposed to be in Thailand by now. You’re supposed to retire your bike and bus your spreading ass around China. Explain yourself!”
The change of plans came about rather simply, as these things often do. I was having dinner with two cyclists, Jane and Peter (the aforementioned Swedish chef). Jane said to me, “You’ll hate yourself if you stop biking.”
This had already occured to me. In fact, I’d been having a recurring anxiety attack about one day being seated in a restaurant next to a group of cyclists. While they lustily tear into their steaks and cognac and trade fantastic stories about crotch sores, I silently nibble my carrot sticks. Finally working up the nerve to approach, I say, “Hey, guys! I had a sore crotch onc—” and one of them bashes me over the head with a bicycle pump.
When it comes to cycling, as in most things, I am a dilettante. I can make only the most basic repairs to my bike. I’m not carrying camping gear. I happily hop on a bus when my legs need a rest. Dilettantism suits me fine, and certainly doesn’t exclude me from the ranks of the legitimate cycle tourists, especially as I near the 3000km mark. It just sands down some of the rugged edges of my hardcore exterior.
Nevertheless, as long as I’ve got my bike, I’m part of a subculture. I’m just a little bit special. People think I’m either mad, or courageous, or insanely fit when they find out I’m biking across Asia. None is these things is true, but it’s nice to play the part.
All of these thoughts were already percolating when I picked up my China guide and started to plan the next leg of my trip. I quickly discovered that, although China is a very big place, it has relatively few developed tourist destinations, and the banana pancake crowd has left its stamp on all of them. The thought of hauling myself along with the hordes from Terra Cotta Soldiers to Great Wall to Three Gorges by train, plane, and bus was frankly depressing.
Jane’s comment tipped the scales. I’ve brought my bike along to Kunming and picked out some very nice rides. Too many rides, in fact. I have to whittle down the list.
The one I’m most excited about (and we’re talking giddy) is the Karakorum Highway, which follows the Silk Road over a 4700-meter pass into Pakistan. (I won’t actually bike into Pakistan. I realize now is not the best time to show up in my Tommy Hilfiger gear.) It amazes me to think that this trip began modestly in the flat, windless Mekong Delta, and may end up taking me 15,000 feet over Inner Mongolia.
But first, the Yunnan province, Sichuan, and the edges of Tibet.
