Blog

…from the week:

We’re biking through harvested fields burning piles of cornstalk, avoiding the peanuts spread on the flat cement road that winds between farmland and rows of trees.  I am behind, and I come up the incline that spreads into open space ahead of me.  The Yellow River carves its wide and deceptively lazy swathe some 15 meters down the bank, opening the sky.

My pickled feet feel funny plodding their palid path across dark silt sands.  The water is cool and seems somehow clean, though covering my cuticles with its silt in seven centimeters.  Yep, it’s yellow.

We are biking again.  Now it is the mountain in front of us that rises into a sky closed by mist and pollution, a smattering of rain.  Turn over, and over, and over.  The climbing gears are necessary.  Look at the ground; it’s moving slowly underneath you even though you’re turning, turning, turning, burning.  Checkpoints.  The next pile of grain…  okay, good, turn it over… that tree, come on!  Come on!  Switchbacks.  And then, the road levels and you look up and the others are smiling.  We are at the pass.

Arms dark, body white, water dark, sky light.  Cold mountain resevoir pushed back against the valley, deep, they say.  Too deep to swim; but only if you can’t.  Plunge, splash, get the soap… can you hand me the shampoo?  This is great!  Lean back and let the water support you as you feel the raindrops falling from a sky that was closer than it was this morning into a pool so much higher than sea level.  Was it really an accident we stopped here and it started to rain and they had a room?

It’s after noon when we arrive at the base of Mount Tai, so we eat lunch and try not to pay tourist prices while discussing our next move.  Climb the mountain, if it’s not too expensive.  We’ll check the west gate to see what’s the story.  We can leave our bikes here in the room for $10 total?  And equipment?  Sweet.  Let’s do it.  Let’s climb the mountain before the gate closes.  It’s a road and stairs the whole way, anyway…  Where did we get this energy?

The sky gray and occasionally drizzling rain, we begin ascending in rain gear.  Step after step.  Fifteen kilometers.  We make it to the stairs after dark, suppertime.  It feels like two a.m. and we’re leaving on a fishing trip or something.  It’s only 8 o’clock.  The wind picks up and the moon is bright through clouds.  Step by step.  By ten thirty we are at the top.  We have a room.  We have big thick blankets and plans to get up before the sun, lest it should rise without our supervision.  It does anyway, hidden in a big thick blanket of clouds, letting the wind have its way with us.  But the former “communist issue” green ankle length coats help our cause, and we take pictures and turn our backs to the blasts.  Even conquerors need a warm place and a hearty breakfast.

I had no idea that the simple act of hanging around our hotel courtyard on the day of mid-autumn festival would create such an experience, but then I suppose you never really do see these experiences coming.  Mid autumn festival is a day in China where strictly speaking is on the 15th day of the 8th moon, or the autumn equinox.  If you are able to view the moon through the haze or not does not matter, what you do see is the entire country shutting down at the same time to celebrate the occasion.  Families get together and friends unite, like many cultures who have a celebration near harvest time.  The staple treat which everyone must consume are moon cakes, 3 inch circular discs which are similar to fruit cake in density and taste.  

Our hotel, or luguan, which is usually a family run smaller and cheaper accommodation was found down a quiet maze of back alley complexes.  Meshed together over the ages it is difficult to tell where one house ends and another starts, doors decorated in red fu characters for good luck and fortune lead you to our place. Most places open up behind these doors into an open courtyard with a few rooms attached.  At our particular luguan this mid autumn festival Jim was shooting the breeze with some old men in our courtyard who are part of the family which run it.  A graying woman cooked lunch while the men sat and talked.  I was in the area organizing some photos and when the food came out was invited to join the gang.  Jim, myself, three elderly men, and one woman all sat down to a feast of fish soup, chopped chicken (which was running around the courtyard just that morning) green veggies, sweet tomatoes, and of course, as any Chinese feast goes, baijiu.  Baijiu is the Chinese rice spirit which usually runs both too strong in a number of categories, most overwhelmingly being the taste.  As the meal progressed we seemed to be getting along very well and I really wish I could have understood the thick accent of the old man with the surname of Jia to at least know the subject he was talking about.  He was giving very serious lectures, or telling stories, or talking about us I’m not sure but all Jim and I could do was nod and say we agreed.  The woman was telling us that the yellow river valley was the cradle of human civilization and was asking us if this is what we were taught.  I told her I wasn’t sure and that there are many ancient civilizations in the world, although it is much older than the American civilization of where I come from.  Perhaps she was talking about existing civilizations, I am unsure.  

After an afternoon nap we decided to bike to the town square and play some music.  Squares in China are places people go to in the evening to dance, sing, play instruments, Rollerblade, meet friends, and just hang out.  It always seems to be a great commune of both traditional and modern culture.  Nakia, Drew, and Peter took out their instruments and instantly drew a crowd.  Reception to our music along the way seems to change depending on the situation but people last night were genuinely interested.  We sang a number of songs each with applause, Nakia particularly drew applause with her vocals.  After singing a few we told people about our trip and mission then asked if anyone else in the group could perform.  A tiny man, about 5 feet tall and missing most of his teeth jumped in from the back and demanded the attention of the crowd, people seemed to know him.  He belted out a couple of songs with hand motions, great eye contact, and a beautiful voice.  He could sing incredibly well and everyone seemed very entertained.  A woman soon starting singing Peking opera as well and they would go back and forth.  Jim stepped in with the Chinese song “The Moon Represents my Heart” and “Zai Nali”  With the help of the woman and the man the trio sounded great.  People seemed extremely receptive.  I meanwhile explained my bike to the many Chinese examining it, which seems to happen wherever we go.  ”Yes it is made in America, those are to hold water bottles, those are bags I put my things in, that is a pump to put air in my tires.”  People always ask how much it cost as well but I usually lie and tell them it is much cheaper than what I payed.  Sometimes it is an issue that I don’t want to run the risk of getting it stolen, but more often than not it is because after converting it’s price to RMB it sounds like a lot and I feel somewhat guilty I guess. 

The evening was rounded out with skewed meat called Chuar, today we start biking into the mountains.  Happy Mid-Autumn Festival, Zhong qiu jie kuai le!   

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.

…You Don’t See Everyday (at least outside of here)

•  the Chinese equivalent of an 18-wheeler heading at you in your lane 
• one lane of the road used for spreading corn, peanuts, and cotton
• a truck with several dogs in a cage rolling down the street blaring from a megaphone what at first I take as a warning to keep your pets contained, only to find out it’s advertising specialty meats.
• A sign in Chinese characters that reads “Please Don’t Pee in the Hallway.”
• Scores of couples dancing to loudspeaker music in the public square.
• The bill for a meal that has satisfactorily stuffed five ravenous twenty-somethings reading 58 RMB (c.$8)
• Older folks walking backwards.
• A motorcycle lady with 8 chickens hanging upside down in stocks across the back seat.
• The night streets transformed with stools and with tables, covered with broiled meats-on-a-stick, peanuts, soybeans, pickled vegetables, rice, and bottles of beer, all gone by morning.
• Weiguoren (foreigners).

我们现在已经骑了六天了。我们九月十六号从北京天安门场出发了。现在什么很大的问题还没碰到。四天一前下大雨，我们都十分湿的。昨天再路上我们碰到一个非常客气的中学生。他让我们来他家吃饭睡觉。我们真的不好意思麻烦他的父母，但是最后他们也是非常客气的人。旅程开始了以前，很多中国人告诉我这样的事情经常回发生，现在我就知道名不虚传。从中国人受到那么多客气，我们参加旅程的人怎么才能报答中国人的好意？我们决定，我们碰到作旅程的人的时候，我们肯定应该帮助他们。

还有几个字我想写，但是网吧里的烟太多。受不了！请您下次看我们的网叶。

On the road now for six days, we’ve had ample opportunity to speak with a great variety of people. Whether it’s the five foreigners with heavily loaded bikes and blaze orange traffic-management vests that attract crowds of people, or just my delectable posterior as featured in biking shorts, remain unclear. In any case, there are many people who want to talk with us, so talk we do. The conversations usually fail to cover new ground, or even escape the geographical/anatomical realm: where are you from? where did you start biking? where are you going? how tall is that tall guy? (with the latter question of course referring to the six foot six Peter).

In order to simplify things we’ve been telling most people that we simply intend to bike to Hong Kong. Even with this conservative estimate of our trip, reactions to the idea of our journey usually vary between incredulous and amazed. During the tense period on the 16th when we weren’t sure if we would be able to leave Beijing, we scrambled to secure the guitars to Drew’s bike outside our apartment building. A young girl and her father stopped by to monitor our progress. Upon learning we hoped to go as far as Hong Kong, the girl cross her arms over her chest and shook her head emphatically. “I don’t believe you,” she said. Her father tried to convince her we were for real, but to no avail.

Another man we talked to in Hebei claimed biking to Hong Kong was impossible. “That can’t be true,” he claimed. I tried to give him our website for evidence, but he said, “I’m aware such a thing exists, but I’ve never used it myself.” Oh well. After unsuccessfully trying to get his son to talk with us he left.

During longer stops, we venture more detailed explanations about the reasoning behind our trip: our intention of advocating bicycle rather than car travel, our effort to raise awareness of global warming, our hope that more personal connections between cultures will lead to a more secure world peace. People usually nod and agree when we say these things, but we have yet to have a generally great global warming round table in any of the villages in which we’ve stopped. Sometimes even basic communication is a problem. The other day, after explaining reduced pollution (wuran in Chinese) someone thought I had merely said we were going to Wuhan (the capital of Hubei Province). I’ll practice my pronunciation, and in the meantime we will hopefully come up with a solid platform from which to advocate the environmental side of our trip.

A man, faded army issue pants, wool coat, rope belt which wraps too far around his too thin waist, shovel, missing front tooth, standing in a dirt field with a blank stare at the foreigner riding by on a bicycle and gear costing much more than his yearly wage.  But he doesn’t know that, all he knows is that just over 30 years ago foreigners wern’t allowed into his country.  He knows that growing up during the cultural revolution he was told to eat his rice because there were American’s who were starving.  He knows that somehow things have changed but he isn’t sure of the scope.  Left in the dark and far behind not 100 miles to the north a place exists called Beijing which within the year will host an event on the world stage.  Not too far to the south exists a place called Shanghai, a place more foreign to him than to millions of Americans.  But he knows his son moved there, along with countless millions of others to the boom towns of post Deng Xioping’s economic freedom movement.  He knows that his son sends money home from his window washing job, he sends home the equivilent of 40 US dollars a month, much more than what he had ever been able to make growing corn, cabbage, and carrots.  It would not be too much to say that his son has a direct window to view the change occurring in this country at a hecticly and mind spinning pace.  He may get a chance to share this with his father once a year when he returns home on an over crowded train for the new year celebration.  His son sends home a lot of money, to this man my plane ticket to the country, my bicycle, my video camera, hard drive, and camping equipment dosn’t exist, it can’t exist, or one would starve.  Back in the United States I am poor, jobless, and missing out on building my 401k, paying off a mortgage on a house and car, and ruining the statistic of unemployment rates for my college.  Should I feel guilty for taking advantage of a situation, an unfair and unbalanced coincidence that I am able to travel, document, and see things that make our world ours.  I struggle with the thought that I make money in the U.S. then spend it on a lifestyle a fraction of the price for the same goods, while people here work day in and day out to make ends meet.  I have put myself in a unique situation.  No other generation in the history of human kind has been able to travel and see the world the way mine has.  I purposely have no children or current career that I had to tear myself away from.  The ability and freedom to explore has exponentially risen with the advent of better transportation and communication.  Would I then also feel guilty for not exploring these options?  I find a way to cope with this is by doing exactly what our group means to do, a way to share with friends, family, and anyone unable to take benefit from travel like myself.  We live in a highly globalized world which will only become more so.  Not only can this man working the fields in Hebei province China not understand me but I can most certainly not understand him.  But we can begin to build bridges for the future.  Not only for major corporations investing money in third world countries and the boom cities foregin to most residents in China, Americans, and a vast amount of their own inhabitants.  But we can try to understand the true people that make up the world we live in, along with exploring who we are ourselves in the process.  No we can not all quit our jobs and tour the world, it would then surly fall apart.  But we can step back ponder the man in the dirt field the same way he ponders us. 

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!

Its day 2 of our bike trip and we are taking refuge in a cheap motel to ride out a thunderstorm that caught us an hour outside of the nearest town in Hebei province (we have officially left the provincial municipality of Beijing. Yatah!). We were soaked when we got here and then found out that they didnt have running hot water, leaving us in one big pile of drenched emotion and squishy clothes.

My stomach was hollow because we hadn’t eaten lunch (we got a late start after oversleeping and eating breakfast, and then the rain came). The time it took for us to wring out our soaked T-shirt and socks, and find a way to fit 5 bikes in a 2 person room (50 RMB a night. i heart China!) lagged, and i began imagining things like apples and bananas floating through vertical hoola hoops above my head. I felt wetter than i did when i took a shower last night. The skin at the tips of my fingers puckered in rejection of the cold moisture that was settling into my body.

Luckily, the people at our hostel think we are rock stars and helped us carry our bikes in. We sat down, ordered a feast, and ate anxiously (thank you Akiko for your generous donation) to relieve our quivering bodies. Tea leaves and a little hot water were the best thing in the world to me at the time.  So tired were we from having ridden all afternoon on empty stomachs and then having to battle against the psychological self-forbiddence of riding in rivers, we sat for 2 hours and talked and talked and talked about the rain about our feelings about the trip about new idioms to introduce into the English language like, “You’re pulling an Adam” if you fall asleep by 9pm, or “Don’t do yoga with the chopsticks” if you’re trying to do things in an unnecessarily difficult way.

The vulgar lethargy loosened us up for our first concert on the road. It was time to see if our water proofing had saved the guitars. We brought down the instruments and treated all who ventured into the hotel lobby to an unplugged, interpersonal jam session by the Shenme Shenmes! Our rock star status was sealed thanks to the lady in the lobby who came up to our room afterwards and dragged me out to take pictures (about 5 shots of the same pose).

The rain has lightened up outside but its fray threatens. I am uneasy about the possibility of waking up and getting wet again, and it is a struggle to remind myself to stretch my boundaries and push myself into handling less comfortable situations. My mind moves slugglishly through this panic. It tugs at my body like a coat hanger in my collar dangling me from a rack on wheels. I could go backwards or forwards or completely crash on to myself, a pile of ideals soaking up the muck from the tile floor.

SILENCEThe apartment is quiet at 5:30; peaceful with gentle early morning twilight.  I walk soundlessly to Nakia’s room and pause for a few moments to hear if she’s sleeping.  Silence.  Well, either sleeping or listening quietly to someone who’s up at this improbable hour.  I softly bring her door to a close, without pulling it shut all the way.  The click of the mechanism would terrify me.  It seems to be a fetish or condition I have with which I am not willing to part – I don’t want to wake others up in the morning.  Not only that; I’m paranoid and terrified that someone will wake up—like trying to land a bubble in your palm, not wanting it to burst…  It’s all about treading slowly and delicately, but quickly too, before the natural course of morning necessities stirs the bowels in the sleepers.  I take out my bike like I’m diffusing a sensitive bomb.  No sudden movements.  Gently, slowly…that’s it.  I cringe at the knocking of the pedal against the door frame.  Stop.  Proceed with caution.  A fetish.  Cherished.  My Chinese name is An Chen.  I am told it is taken from a Chinese cliché having to do with the intimate morning hours.  Perhaps my naming even hints at this my condition—the fear to break the silence. 

AIRThe air feels cool.  Almost too cool for my shorts and t-shirt.  I wrap my arms around my chest and go no-hands for awhile.  It’s hazy, I notice—a combination of moisture, construction dust, and pollution no doubt.  But the morning haze is calm.  I ride down wide roads normally full of traffic, now quiet, ready. 

ROADSo many roads are inviting before six o’clock.  They are shrouded in morning and seem tso empty, a bike could hum along beautifully… but I am interested in Hou Hai.  The lakes are in the center of