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Its about noon, or sometime later.  It doesn’t really matter, time has become more approximate for me now that I don’t have to start classes at 10:10am, or 2:00pm sharp in Beijing.  I’m hungry and ready for a break after our morning’s 50 some km.  As we ride in from the countryside fields, today’s small market town in Anhui province, China looks similar to all the others: two story concrete washing off white-washed buildings along the provincial road we’re on, shops on the ground floor, living quaters above; perhaps an intersection with another provincial or national highway if its a bigger town.  This is a one road town.

I start scanning the shop signs for fanguan, caiguan, fandian, xiaochibu - the various labels for restruants.  Oop, there’s one, and another, and likely more ahead.  Hmmm, decision time.  We choose one on a whim, no good reason.  The laoban (boss) comes out to greet us.  “We’re 5 people, Can we eat here for lunch?”  Her restaurant of two tables is empty besides one young woman working for her.  With a smile, Mrs. Zhang warmly welcomes us, “Of course!  Come on in!”  Immediately I have a very good feeling about Mrs. Zhang.  She is especially warm and friendly, asking us to sit down at one of her two tables.  A couple of us go with her back to her kitchen to order, a common practice in the Chinese countryside - no menu, just look at what vegatables and meat they have, ask them how they normally cook it, or order commonly known dishes using those ingredients.  We have our favorites - eggplant, potatoes, fragrant pork, pumpkin, always pumpkin for Nakia, and fried peanuts…always the peanuts for Jim, and now for all of us as we’ve adapted to eachother’s favorites.

Her kitchen in the back is half open air with a beautiful view of hills and vegetation, including our first Banana tree spotted on this trip as we move south.  Mrs. Zhang is asking us questions.  As we take turns answering and explaining bits of our trip to her, her interest grows, constantly smiling, attentive with interest.  I ask if I can take a few photos of her kitchen, and we wind up getting shots with all of us together, Mrs. Zhang thoroughly enjoying the process of setting up the self-timer shots. 

Soon, Mrs. Zhang brings the dishes out to our table.  The first one looks impressive, but within a couple minutes, our table is full of colorful dishes that look amazing, especially the pumpkin dish.  The taste is even better, rich and so fresh.  “This is the best lunch we’ve had so far on our trip!” I exclaim, met with agreement.  Every bite is amazing (not something I’m used to in our usual whole-in-the-walls), and I finially break out the camera to get a shot of our spread.

After eating, we ask for the bill. “Its embarracing to take money from you.  Its not normal for friends to exchange money,” she says.  “No no, really, no problem.  How much?” we insist.  We pay, through her embarracement.  Around 50 yuan, US$6 for all of us.  We chat further, and we tell her that we’re actually planning on staying in her town for the night, asking if she knew of any inexpensive luguans.  “Oh yes, I know a good one.  I’ll call to be sure, and then I’ll take you there.”

After a phone call, she’s excited and tells us that her friend has a very nice place, recently refinished, and she’s agreed to host us all for our usual rate, also 50 yuan ($6.00) total.  We walk our bikes, following Mrs. Zhang across the street and down several shops to a luguan.  I go up to check out the rooms.  They’re beautiful, and cleaner than most, indeed recently redone.  We have three rooms with a total of 6 beds, including one single with its own bathroom in it - a luxury we almost always don’t have.  Usually a place of this quality would go for more, but Mrs. Zhang had arranged things for us with her friend, and we were warmly welcomed, despite all of our stuff and the usual chaos of onlookers from the street 5 foreiners on loaded bikes create in small Chinese towns.

“This evening, I’d love to have you for dinner again,” Mrs. Zhang tells me, “but you should eat here at my friend’s luguan since she agreed to such a reasonable price.  When you’re done eating, be sure to come over to my place to chat and drink tea!  I’ll be waiting for you!”

After dinner, Adam and I wander over to Mrs. Zhang’s place.  She is sitting alone in her front dinning room watching TV.  As soon as she sees us coming up, she immdiately jumps up to open her door and welcomes us in to sit down.  She serves us tea, and we begin chatting.  She doesn’t speak English beyond “hello” and other simple phrases, like nearly everyone we meet in China.

We learn that she’s 41 years old and used to live in a village near this town, but bought this restaurant/ upstairs apartment 3 years ago.  Her son is 18 years old and lives with her husband in a small apartment near his school only 15km away.  Her son comes home once a month to visit, and her husband comes home most days around lunch, though I didn’t remember seeing him.  This is her son’s last year of highschool, so his entire life is consumed by studying for the Gaokao, the dreaded Chinese college entrance exam.  She comes from a family of 3 children, but even if she could choose for herself how many children she could have, she’d still only have 1 child due to expenses. 

She gets up from the table and begins preparing jiaozi (dumplings) at the other table.  “I’m making you dumplings.  No need to worry about cost, its free!” she says.  “Oh no no,” Adam and I exclaim in unison.  “We just ate, we’re still full from dinner!”  “No matter, I’m making you jiaozi!  15 each should be enough, right?” ”Aiya! Not that many!”  It’s obvious we’re going to get 2nd dinner dispite our protests.  When Jim comes in later, she ups the quantity. 

While she’s hand making each and every dumpling, we continue chatting.  Suddenly, she makes a comment about how she only graduated from highschool, but Adam and I graduated from college so somehow we are better than her.  After Adam and I quickly exchange some English to figure out her meaning, we tell her that’s definately not true.  Her rich life experience trumps our book learning, she’s had so many big life expereinces like marrying and raising a child that we haven’t had yet.  In fact, I go on, “Both Adam and I feel we are the ones who are subordinate.  We’re just struggling with Chinese to communicate with you, there’s still many aspects of Chinese culture we don’t understand, and we are newly-arrived guests in your restaurant and town that you understand far better than us, etc.”  Finally, she accepts this and moves on.

Its difficult to pull away to retire for the evening, but after a long goodbye and mutual well-wishing, we part company.  Another amazing person we’ve been blessed to meet along the way.

Last year, I told my Japanese students it would be the last year to celebrate my birthday. Next year would be 24 instead of 26. I would start to go in reverse. 25 was the oldest I wanted to be.

I’ve never felt so old in my life as right now. I feel my muscles as they move me through the mountains of central China. I am slow. And my teammates must wait on me, and ride back if I have a flat.

Yesterday or tomorrow, I am exhausted when we stop and do not have the energy to smile or talk to the gathering locals. I just feel. The pulsating muscles beat against my veins like a bell tolling on the hour.

Today the sky leaked its white blood again. It seeped down the mountains like a wound, sluggishly hugging the primary colored store signs and the putrid florescent trash that lay on moist asphalt like corpses not yet cleared away. It crept in, fingering my bones like the moonlight falling on faces when there is no other light. It wrapped the world in white gauze, healing it. I stood on the balcony of our inn, perception clogged by white, and waited. 

It is Monday as well as Sunday or October 23rd or 25th.I have been losing track of the days. I write “Day ?” in my diary and it makes me feel swept away like the fog that withdraws midday. A day reversing its steps. Like a stream of consciousness.

 I think it was 4 nights ago when it rained in the middle of the night, when everyone woke up clacking their heels on the wooden porch that was our shelter, covering things with plastic, shimmying shoes beneath bags, zipping rain covers over tents to stymie the bursting sky.  I don’t know. It was night and I was daydreaming. I hid inside the tent hoping to go back to sleep and dream the rain away. I’d zip the sun open like a winter coat after a long day. I’d let the sun come in and hold me naked with its rays. But my dreams always bring about the opposite.Today is October 24rd in my dream. And the boys believe it. I wake up to white fog covering the grimy city like a wedding veil. I’m careful with my routine: 1. Make coffee (I cheat and carry around a small bottle of instant Nescafe), 2. Put on biking shorts and T-shirt, 3. Pack, 4. Read a few pages from book on religions, 5. Check on boys. They sleep. They have made plans to let me sleep in and surprise me with Birthday cake. Only they didn’t let me know. And I have no idea what day it is.

Less honking.  Cleaner streets.  Tall glass office buildings…lots of them.  Narrow streets lined with peeling-bark trees I’ve seen only in southern France.  Street intersections with 3 or more streets merging at peculiar angles.  A white female doctor from Pennsylvania consulting me on my last Japanese Ensephilitus shot.  Luxury apartments.  Single family house neighborhoods.  Coldsto, WAIT, WHAT?  Coldstone.  Whoa.  Shock.  SHANGHAI.

Lucky for Jim, our resident icecream obsessor, there is a Coldstone down the street.  However American prices (27 yuan for a small cup - US$3.60) turn him right back to his standard cool treat - the Magnum icecream bar (4 yuan).

We’ve had the great blessing of staying in one of the nicest Chinese apartments I’ve ever seen for the last 4 days, a blessing thanks to Noriko, a Japanese friend of Nakia’s now living in China’s New York, or the Paris of the east as Shanghai used to be called in the 1920s.  THANKYOU!!!  Without a friend here, we would’ve let the high living cost keep us away from such a metropolis.  As it is though, the last few days have allowed us to run errands, reorganize, and relax after the first month of riding. 

30 days, approx 1,600km Beijing to Shanghai including rest days.

As it turns out, our timing couldn’t have been better.  The day after arriving, I was biking through Shanghai with a couple of the others looking for a bike shop to purchase a hard-to-find trailer for our instruments (poor Drew has been single-handedly hauling both guitars and the erhu on the back of his bike with an industrial strength but finiky-bearing wheel), when my bottom bracket (crank bearings and cup) completely busted on the sprocket side, immidiately spilling the ball bearings and bits of crushed metal onto the moving street below.

After asking at several bike shops and street-side bicycle repair stalls, and being towed around town by Drew and Jim over several days on my pedalless bike by holding onto their shoulders to do so, I now do have a new bottom bracket, sealed bearings, for a very reasonable 70 yuan - US$9.00.  Beautiful.  I have a new appreciation for a place to put your feet while sitting on a bicycle seat…

And our newest addition to the FBR (Fueledbyrice) team: a kiddie trailer, or The Bandwagon (thanks to Adam’s quick wit naming), as it will be hauling not only the 2 guitars and er hu, but also my S. African bongo drum.  This trailer will enable us to trade off carrying the extra load our music requires.  I will be, however, a bit nolstalgic of riding behind Drew’s Beverly Hill Billy-style load, but I’m sure he’ll get over it faster than I.

One of the joys we’ve had while living with Noriko (besides a super nice shower) is having access to a kitchen, and an amazingly big and nice kitchen at that.  For these few days, oatmeal, dark and wheaty breads, and left-overs from home-cooked dinners the nights before have replaced our typical baozi (stuffed steamed buns) and zhou (rice porrage) breakfasts.  Two nights ago, Nakia and Jim headed an Italian mass cooking for Noriko as one small token of our thanks: Eggplant tomato, pesto pasta, homemade garlic-buttered bread - maybe nothing special in the West, but rare treasure in the Orient outside of the biggest metropoli.  Noriko has been incredibly patient with us and the dirt and disorder we’ve brought to her home.  Thanks again to such a wonderful hostess!

Although her apartment doesn’t quite fit under “Luguan,” I’ll put a couple photos in that album. 

We’re gearing up for setting off for the 2nd big leg of our journey tomorrow: a couple weeks to Changsha, Hunan province to visit Adam and Jim’s old Chinese friends from their days teaching there, and then on to Guangzhou & Hongkong for our friend’s wedding at the end of November.  But as usual, its not the destination that counts, especially on a trip like ours.

Today, why not bike instead of drive?

This lab is hot, my mind

is on fire in the front of the rays.

I know i wont be able to sleep

 after im done.

The smoke wafts  

like incense in a temple and i want to wave it onto myself, I wantto quaff the holy water

in the ersatz well at the bottom of the church.

Keep these hands busy in front of me;

they’ll be strapped to the handle bars

of a moving bike

soon. There won’t be a place

to take a hot shower or a pen

to stick the contents of my mind to a page.

There wont be me,

just the tumbling wind

and the petrified plastic bags,

and the billowing clothes hanging to dry,

 and the hot hot muscles moving

 like a marionette, masterminded

by mercurial adrenaline

that might quit the minute a car cuts

my impetus. Got to stick with the torque,

the gyrating wheels,

man’s greatest creation, next to high heels,

which I left on the floor next to a silent pile of refuse

waiting patiently to be swept outside.

Ive forgotten myself in this inimical heat,

that makes my head go light and flaccid,

spinning like the asphalt rolling rolling by

beneath my wheels,

becoming one with wheels, slicing

the space between pebbles and particles,

and frames of references in paintings:

mountains and skies and flapping hawks

and greens with reds, and spots and stripes,

and shadows with shapes, and endless

contiguous courtyards with faces

that match and mismatch and melt.

The faster i ride the hotter i get.

My mind steams out of control. 

I have sticky fingers. I went to the bathroom this morning, but there was no running water. I left without washing my hands. The morning hastes and I need my walk. So now, beneath the dessicating sun full of blaze and glory, full of itself, I feel itchy. At least my hands do. But these are the same hands i use to write. And writing itself makes me antsy.

I wish i had a camera to take a picture of the woman in the mansuit swirling her clothes in the murky river. I wish i could get a shot of the deaf woman who pulled up the leg warmer on my right leg and motioned in the direction of the wind, huddling her shoulders: cold. But i only have a pen, and my hands are itchy, so i write.

I perch like Buddha, pernisciously, on this narrow concrete ledge shuddering beneath the weight of scooters. The weight of my notebook balances on my knee and my concentrated gaze cuts the heads off of shocked passerbys. From my vantage point, there are only shoes, leather or green cloth, curled around mine, paused in reflection as a disclocated head appears in shadow on my pages. I look up and smile a few times to be sure im not being rude, then lean down again, putting the heads and torsos back in their respective places. Back to shoes and wheels and corners of notebooks.

Back to rivers. The one this bridge arches over steals kisses from the conceited sun, its rays sucked onto the waves like words rolled onto paper.

Words. There are so many i do not know. So i pull the other legwarmer up to my left knee to show the deaf woman i am grateful for her concern. She laughs and leaves, then comes back with two more women, the crowd pulling out and drawing in with her like breath, like waves with rippling sun on their backs. I tell them where i am from, what i am doing in thier river town, and where i am going today. They invite me to come to thier house and talk, though by now they are aware of the limits of my Chinese. Words. They do not matter so much. But what am i building a case for? What is my spin if all that one can say has already been said?

The morning is fast like an opportunity. I am morning amusement for the busy bridge passengers, hauling their loads in carts and tricycles. The sun makes the green moss in the river browner like the skin it lashes daily in cotton fields, reaching up beneath yellow headscarfs and straw hats to lick the sweat from a farmer’s brow, feeding its pet clouds with moisture.

We’ve had some great days for riding, but i worry that where there is sun, rain awaits on the dark sides of the clouds. Words written for worry.

Back to my shoes. Or shapes. Triangular black things connected to verticle stems shivering. Shape becomes symbol becomes meaning. They ask me to come with them. And i want to get lost with them in this village. i want to explore. i want to get intimate with the rural countryside. My hands itch as i check the time. I’m late. Its time to ride. Notebook in. Legs stand firm. I begin to run, high on imagery.

We are now in Shu Yang City, Jiangsu Province.  We crossed the provincial border yesturday (Oct 4 2007) between Shangdong and Jiangsu.  Counting Beijing municipality, we’ve now biked in 4 provinces, with the next one being Shanghai municipality to the far south of Jiangsu.  We hope to arrive in Shanghai in 7-10 days, where we’ll be visiting a friend of Nakia’s for a few days.  Our ultimate China destinations are Guangzhou City for a friend’s wedding reception at the end of November, and then a short break in Hong Kong before pushing on to Southeast Asia.

We’re not the only one’s biking this route.  Several days ago we ran into a man in his early 30s under the shelter of a toll booth who works for one of the Olympic Committees and is also biking from Beijing to Shanghai with one other person.  They’re biking atleast 100km a day and at a faster pace than our 20km/hr to make the 1200km journey.  Perhaps he’s in better shape than us, but his lack of luggage (beyond a small plastic bag on his back rack) no doubt improves his mileage…or kilometerage.  He knew of a group of Chinese students biking also, but so far we have not bumped into other foreign bikers.

Another first yesturday was biking our day’s worth of 70-80km before lunch (1pm).  After previously arriving in towns between 4 and 6pm, we’ve decided that an earlier start with an earlier finish is preferrable, so as to allow afternoon free time to do such activities as music, writing, wandering and chatting with locals, photography and what not - the important stuff - though I cannot completely discount the importance of biking during a bike trip…  

Just a few days ago I reflected that I couldn’t imagine a warmer welcome with more interest in us than from the Chinese.  Except Beijing, when ever we stop for a fruit break or to buy water in a village, small market town, or even larger cities, it takes no time to attract a crowd of 20-70 people, mixed ages, from babies to the elderly.  At times it’s a bit nerve wracking to be surrounded by so many people staring at me, yes, (and my 1.98m / 6′7″ height perpetually attracts people far outside the crowd) but these people are all friendly, extremely welcoming, and simply curious about us, with perhaps 2-3 exceptions during my entire 3 years in China.  If they’re not already similing at me, my own smile can usually change a skeptical-looking face into a smile in an instant, though some people are just so shocked to see me all they can do is stare.  Certainly in the rural areas and market towns where we spend most of our time, foreigners never go.  At best, upon asking if other foreigners have been through, someone will say they saw one or two come through a year ago.

Of course the crowd attraction is just the start.  The questions start to fly as soon as they know I can speak some Chinese.  ”What country are you from, how old are you, are you a student, are you married, what are you doing, where did you start, you really biked here from Beijing!?, America has alot of money doesn’t it, are you all from the same country - certainly she (Nakia) is from a different country, etc.”  I answer and explain our bike trip and our goals of building understanding and peace as best as I can to their interest and entertainment shown by their intensive listening, leaning forward to hear me, their smiles, and laughter at this odd sight of a tall lao wai speaking Chinese.  My answers produce more questions and I’ve never worn a crowd out; its always I who must say, “Ok, it’s been great meeting and chatting with you, but I really must be going.”

With some people, I only have to say “Ni hao” (hello) and they begin overly praising my Chinese ability.  But for all Chinese, from the Lao Bai Xing (Old Hundred Names or the common people) to the new and growing upper class, it seems to be just short of a miracle that a foreigner can speak Chinese with them.

I’ve found Chinese to be very proud of being warm, friendly, and hospitable, often saying directly, “What do you think about Chinese people?  Aren’t we warm and hospitable?”  This, while they’re pouring more tea in my cup, putting more food on my plate, or holding a glass of beer in the air signaling yet another gan bei (bottoms up or literally, “dry glass”).  What can I do but agree with them?  “Yes, you are very hospitable and friendly,” I tell them, while smiling to myself about our cultural difference on humility and bragging.

In our 2.5 weeks of biking so far, we’ve had 4 major generous offerings:

1) In Hebei province, An Kong, a middle school student, invited us into his family’s home for dinner and to spend the night for free.  Although we though his parents would oppose hosting 5 of us, his mother was very welcoming.  An amazing and humbiling experience of generocity.

2) In southern Shang Dong province, a couple days ago, a man in a new VW Jetta pulled up next to me while biking, asked what we were doing, and immediately offered to take us out to lunch, his treat.  Though it was only 10am and we’d only been biking for little over an hour, we took him up on his offer.  He was in his late 30s, boisterous, though friendly.  He first took us to the small company he worked for, where we drank tea for 15 min at his and his co-workers’ insistence.  I didn’t know exactly what his plan was, there was alot of talking between him and his co-workers, and began to think I had mis-understood his offer of a free lunch.  But sure enough, after our tea time, he lead us down the street - us on our bikes and he in his Jetta - to a typcial market town restaurant, where we tasted some of the local specialties, with fresh and very potent garlic from the surrouding fields. 

3) In Gaofengtou, Shangdong prov, (a small village) the family owning the lu guan (hostel) we stayed at gave us a free dinner on our first of two nights there.  Jianbing, a kind of very thin bread like a crepe with little flavor, is the speciality that they had us try by putting the dishes in it and wrapping it.

4) Just last night in Shu Yang, Jiangsu prov, I was talking to a group of people on a street corner during an afternoon walk, and a young man took me aside and said he wanted to talk further with me.  An older gentleman joined us, Mr. Wang, and they both took me to a newly opened restaurant where they both work, richly decorated in bamboo, specializing in ancient Chinese gourmet dishes.  After a photo shoot with the well-dressed staff, Mr. Wang offered a free dinner for all 5 of us.  He met us at 7pm at our lu guan (hostel), dressed in a suit, and escorted us for the 7 min walk to the restaurant.  There were many people outside, and the inside was full except for one table for us.  The food was amazing, much higher quality than we’re used to eating.  Mr. Wang introduced the owner to us, a surprisingly young-looking man, 32, who sat down with us for most of our meal though had already eaten.  He was a bit nervous and distracted by all the activity happening in his new restraunt.  Dishes seemed to keep on coming, each one very different from the previous but all with the same high level of quality and richness of flavor.  He would briefly explain each dish, most being a speciality from ancient China, at times seeming more interested in assessing how our presence at his restaurant and photographs of us during the meal could boost his restraunt business.  “Isn’t the flavor delcious?  You can’t find these ancient dishes even in Beijing!” both Mr. Wang and the young owner said repeatedly.  Again, what else could we say?  The food was in fact delcious, so we politely and readily agreed with them dispite, again, the awkward and continuous promting and bragging.  Photos were taken during and after our meal, no doubt to be used in advertising of some kind.  A small price to pay for a wonderful meal.

After dinner, the other fueledbyricers went back to our hostel to rest, but upon the young owner’s insistence, I went with him for a brief tour of the center of town. He brought me to two small Chinese name-brand athletic stores on a newly built high-end shopping street.  Pointing at himself, he said, “Mine.”  “Really,” I said, “wow.”  He proceeded, “I own 10 shops on this street selling Chinese and Japanese name brand athletic shoes and clothing.”  Again, in his two shops we took the time to do a photo shoot with the fuwuyuan’s (servers or staff).  He told me later that he owned 3 cars (even for most white collar workers in Beijing, one car is a far-off dream), and apparently started with a little money 10 years ago after graduating from high school.  Similar to the US, a college education is not necissary to become rich in China.  Both he and Mr. Wang were very proud of Shu Yang’s central shopping area, full of neon lights and typical gaudy Chinese guilded gliz and glam.  This is China’s new booming economy.  So different from the laobaixing we’ve talked to harvesting corn, potatos, cotton, and garlic.  Just another symptom of China’s dangerously large and growing income gap between rich and poor.  The lack of NGOs and other non-profit charity organizations (or lack of trustworthiness of the few that do exist) make the distribution of this new wealth nearly impossible, even if the wealthy want to give money.  However many are optimistic about this changing in the next decade.

Besides the warm and generous welcome of the Chinese where ever we go, I have on occasion been dumbfounded by the behavior of a few Chinese tourists - of which there are many at most Chinese tourist sites, usually middle to upper class.  Perhaps I am misunderstanding something about the culture, or perhaps, as I fear, among some there is a lack of respect for the sacred, with some possible connection to new and seemingly unlimitless wealth, but this is meer speculation. 

Our recent brief visit to Confucious’ tomb in Qufu, Shangdong province stands out in my mind.  Adam, Jim, and I were standing a little ways from the enormous burial mound of the Great Teacher.  A Chinese tour group with guide came up to the alter and large tomb stone in front of Confucious’ burial mound.  There was a 3-foot high brick fence between us and the burial mound.  To my surprise, I watched as 4 or 5 of the 40-something male Chinese from the group jumped up onto the alter, looking around causually.  One of them, walked to the edge of the alter, and jumped around the tomb stone, over the fence, into the grass and weeds at the base of Confucious’ burial mound and proceeded to climb the 30 foot high mound.  Funny, I’d noticed just a few minutes before all the spider webs on the weeds and grass, as if the burial mound hadn’t been distrubed in ages.  I couldn’t believe my eyes as I watched this slightly obese man climb Confucious’ burial mound in a very non-chalant manner, the act itself in my mind atleast, disrespecting Confucious and myself as a foreign tourist at a sacred site.  Adding to my surprise, the tour guide and all the other Chinese tourists paid no attention to him and in the end, no one told him to come down.  After arriving at the top of the mound, and having a good around look from the top, the man came back down, and hopped back over the fence.  “Did that just happen?!  Is it somehow acceptable in mondern Chinese culture to climb burial mounds, especially those of famous people?” I asked Jim and Adam.  All I could do was watch.  I was shocked, feeling perhaps similarly to the hundreds of Chinese who watch us pedal through their towns each day.  I only hope that we come across as being a bit more respectful than this man.  Only when walking out of the large tomb sight, did I realize that we should have interviewed the man to learn of his perspective and motivation for doing such a thing.  During a time in China’s last 40 years, Confucious wasn’t such a reveered teacher.  Perhaps this is part of the explanation. 

Good news, the podcast link now contains a few videos.  However until we figure out a system to edit and compress them they will be short (less than 100 mb) and rough around the edges.  But they do offer a look at our trip different than still pictures.  Go ahead and take a look.

 Adam

Just a brief update:

We’re doing well after taking a day of rest this past Saturday in Dezhou City, Shangdong province.  We arrived in Jinan, the capital of Shangdong province today.  Its been a bit of a culture shock for me, coming into a huge Chinese city after being out in the countryside and smaller towns for the last few days, but big cities are every bit a part of China as the countryside market towns and villages.  We’re on our way to Taishan, one of the sacred taoist/buddist mountains in China, which is located south of Jinan by 30-50km. 

Although biking into big Chinese cities is not my first choice for a good ride due to the heavy traffic and road dirt, we decided to come in to find a good bike shop that has a specialized tool we don’t have, a bottom bracket wrench, to look at Drew’s bottom bracket bearings that seemed to be popping and making noises they shouldn’t.  Due to a (lovely) countryside detour today due to inaccurate maps and our tendancy to seek out smaller roads with less traffic, we wound up having to backtrack north about 25km to Jinan City, only to discover on a downhill that it’s actually most likey Drew’s back wheel (the super heavy-industrial strength one) and not his bottom bracket bearings that has the problem (as the popping happened when he was not pedaling).  Sigh.  Wheel bearings are something we have the tools to deal with, so we’ll disect his wheel tomorrow morning and see what the problem is.  Most likely its a bad ball bearing, and should be an easy fix. 

Yesturday we made great time from Dezhou City to Yucheng City due to being the first day after our rest day, a flat good road (though with heavy traffic), and a favorable wind.  We usually were riding between 23 and 25km/hour, whereas our normal speed is usually 20-22km/hr on flat land.  So far from Beijing, its all been flat, so tomorrow we’re heading up into the mountain range surrounding Tai Shan (Tai Mountain) for a change of scenery, and to continue on our way south to Shanghai.

I’ve been trying to upload my photos from my SLR camera to the photo page, though I’ve been having difficulties.  More to come later.

Day 2: Sept 17 2007

What a crazy week, but especially crazy last 2 or 3 days we had before setting out on our journey! Thanks to Matt and Austin’s generosity, the 5 of us had a place to stay in Beijing for a week of final preparations, and a starting point: Dong Zhi Men. We were 6 people in a 2 bedroom apartment, and Austin’s arrival made it 7. Add 5 bikes in the mix and all the stuff that goes with packing for long journey and you have…alot of synergy =)

We are now in the evening of day 2 of our expedition, having started a day later than expected, on Sept 16th, around 4pm. So far so good, besides biking through solid rain this afternoon and me getting the groups’ first flat tire…amazingly after I had put my bike into our hotel room for the evening.

Our delay resulted from a few challenges with packing instruments in addition to last min errands to prepare our bikes and our gear for rain. We were hoping to get a trailer for our instruments (2 guitars, 1 South African Bongo drum that Drew gave me after he studied abroad there, 1 Er Hu - a Chinese instument consisting of 2 strings played with a bow-, and 2 egg shakers). After not hearing anything from Extrawheel.com after applying for a free trailer through their sponsorship program, we were put in a bind with how to carry the instruments…in addition to our other things like cameras, a few clothes, sleeping bags, 2 tents, and first aid materials. After considering asking a Chinese welder to home-make a 1 or 2-wheel trailer, using a second Chinese bike attached to mine as a 1-wheel trailer, or using a heavy-duty 26-inch tricycle wheel I bought in Jilin on the back of one of our bikes and just putting the instruments on the back of someone’s bike, we opted for the last option. Unfortunately (or fortunately) the wheel rim was a bit too wide for my touring bike frame, so Andrew stepped up to use the heavy but strong wheel and carry the guitars. The wheel has 40 extrememly large spokes (36 is normal), and the tire says it can carry 300kg (600Lbs). It has held up well these first 2 days under its heavy load (Drew has too) and the woman who sold it to me in Jilin said it was basically impossible to break the spokes - a problem I had on my first multi-day bike trip in central MN in 2005.

Great, so we have a strong wheel. How were we going to attach the guitars to the back rack? Outside Matt’s apartment building we noticed huge saddle bags on the backs of several of the many bikes parked there. Some were used to deliever Beijing’s local news paper, others were used by the post office and everyone on the street and at the post office told us they were not for sale, only issued to employees. Finally, I called the phone number for the newspaper that was printed on the bags (something I should have thought of earlier). To my surprise, I was connected with a young woman who graciously said she’d help me and ask around if I could buy the bags.

In the excitement of having a lead, I forgot to write down the woman’s name when she called me the next day confirming that I could buy the saddle bags. I biked to the newspaper office, walked up to the 3rd floor like she told me to, and into a huge room of cubicles. I watched as dozens of heads turned around at my presence. Embarraced, I smiled, and explained to a couple of them closest to me that I was looking for a woman in room 305 who was helping me buy bicycle saddle bags. Confused, but very helpful, a young man led me to the room, which was full of people attending a training session. More eyes looking at me. “Shoot, I don’t want to be a distraction and create a scene…” Too late.

3 more people from the cubicles come over to offer more help, also curious about my presence. I again explain I’m looking for a woman that said I could buy saddle bags to use on a long goodwill bicycle tour. No one knows anything about it, 2 people go off to try to find this mystery woman. I called the hotline phone number I’d used before, but a new receptionist didn’t know anything about me or the bags. She said she’d try to figure it out and call me back. My heart sank. So close, yet still, we could be back without a way to carry our instruments. A couple of the employees insisted that I sit down for bit to rest while they figured things out. More people walked by and noticed me. More distraction, more disruption, more questions, more telling my story. Maybe this wasn’t so bad, afterall I was telling people about our trip.

15 min later, one of the employees comes walking in with a smiling young woman, obviously the one with whom I talked. She appologized, she’d been at another meeting and had forgotten about meeting me. She took me to the payment desk, I paid ($10), and then downstairs to the issue office, as if I were an employee. We waited, again they asked me to sit. And finally, a young man came out with brand new saddle bags, thick canvas, and big enough for the guitars and then some. At last, we had a way to bring the guitars, a key part of our “musical bike tour.”

A few more difficulties gettig the big and heavy load situated on Drew’s back rack. First, his feet hit the saddle bags while pedaling, adjust, second guitars digging into his back. “A trailer sure would be nice after all!” A trip to the local bike shop -again-, ask about bike trailers. No one in Beijing has such a thing (even child trailers) except one store, here’s the number. Call. “We sold our last one yesturday, and won’t have new ones for 2 weeks.” Ok, new solution. We see Nakia’s rack is positioned further back than Drews. We switch them. At last success, though Drew’s load (2 guitars, 1 Er Hu, his normal wheel just incase something didn’t work right with the industrial strength wheel) looks much more like the Beverly Hill Billies than a bike tour. Laughter, but it works. 4pm, Sept 16th, we leave, biking slowly and cautiously as we get used to the new handling of our heavy loads…through busy afternoon Beijing traffic. But, we’re rolling, finally. We’ve begun. Unbelieveable!

Biking from Dongzhj Men south, around the Forbidden City, past Tiananmen Square, from the heart of China, the center of Beijing, biking south towards Shanghai, towards Hongkong, it feels like we’re on a space shuddle during blast off, trying to break through the force of gravity. So much preparation, so much energy put into creating the momentum for out actual set off, yet moving so slowly, starting late, and then pedaling slowly through heavy traffic, stopping for traffic lights, starting, stopping, with heavy loads, we slowly are breaking the gravitational pull of Beijing. We reach the south 2nd ring road. We push on through cars, pedistrians everywhere, bikes, bike bells, my bike bell taken from the “old man bike,” Adam’s piercing single hit bell, street vendors, car horns, trucks, the rocket engines roaring, pushing, pushing.

We reach the south 3nd ring road, 4th. More enormous aparment buildings, new, building and road construction everywhere, more housing for the people, more road dirt. 5th ring, countryside-style housing mixed in with new high rise developments, more openness, only pockets of tall apartment buildings…poooof, we’re through, we’ve made it, corn fields, trees, traffic. A cluster of new high rise apartments, a suburban moon among many orbiting Beijing. Corn field, wide unbusy road, suburban town, new nice housing, countryside. Pedal on towards the 6th and last ring road of Beijing.

Darkness starts to set in. We’re safe in our reflective traffic worker (Jiao Tong) vests. We find a cheap hotel in a small town on the edge of the 6th ring. Home for our first night.

Whew…what a blast off!