Here I am in Beijing, reading through past blog entries, trying to relive the Silk Route. Being back in Beijing, life is a little too easy...no job, no responsibilities, no challenges. I feel like my cell phone, plugged into the wall recharging spent batteries.
I think back to that pass in Kyrgyzstan, manically laughing and pedaling downhill into swirly 100km/hour wind. Riding through Xinjiang, I recall the Tian Shan mountains, chameleon-like, shifting colors between rusty reds and majestic purples. During the silence of dusk, the sultry silhouettes disappearing against the night sky, awaiting tomorrow's performance.
The endless desert scape of Turkmenistan I cannot soon forget. My mind repeatedly teasing the possibility of resting in a dilapidated cafe, sipping a warm bottle of soda. Upon reaching the top of a dune and seeing no such outpost, I assure myself it must wait after the crest of the next dune. This game perpetuates until a promising speck in the distance turns out to be camp.
Everyday was an oxymoron, exactly the same but entirely different. The landscape could change in a matter of kilometers with the hubbub of language changing twice as fast. Though the faces of Istanbul contrast greatly with those of China, the gradually changing countenance of Central Asians was a pleasure to witness. We grew accustom to frequent change and sought refuge in the familiar monotony of cycling.
"Small roads bring good people, big roads bring many people." This quotation, one of many, would reverberate in my mind throughout much of the trip. In Tajikistan, I would see a Chinese road building crew and shortly after, my tires would sink into wet tarmac. Mack trucks in Kyrgyzstan, navigated roads our 4-wheel-drive support vehicles had difficulty driving. Large roads brought more children to the street shouting "Tourist, Tourist!" and extending their hand for a gift. On more remote roads, locals would twist their faces in polite confusion, then welcome us to their home for tea and a snack.
So we must continue to find these small roads, as they are where the lost spirit of travel lay. No tour buses, no fanny packs, no strict itinerary are to be found here. It is up to oneself to recognize an opportunity and embrace it. Sometimes the most thrilling moments lay within a modest hut, humble company and a simple cup of tea.
-CB
Wednesday, November 28, 2007
Thursday, November 22, 2007
Beijing...We've made it!
One hundred and seven day later, after cycling 10,600km and consuming countless kilos of Nutella, we've arrived in Beijing. The total time before Beijing was slightly shorter for me, as I came up several days early to prepare the festivities for Sunday's afternoon arrival.
To do list for Rach and I:
Scout a way in for the Cyclists
Scout a way into Beijing for the Trucks
Organize reception for Riders
Organize Banquet dinner
Find 50 bike boxes
Schedule the day's events
We were able to take care of most of these tasks, until we tried scouting a truck route to our hotel. We know that Beijing has truck restrictions but learned their method of enforcement is building bridges 4.0 meters high. Our Plan B was put into action, organizing a truck parking lot outside of the 5th ring road.
Although the stress wasn't too high, I don't think I've ever worked harder during such a short period of time. I was burning the candle at both ends, accomplishing tasks through the day and enjoying social engagements at night. This culminated with a terrible stomachache the night before the event. I had to drive 80km outside of Beijing, meet the trucks and bring them to the parking lot in the middle of the night (police would be less likely to stop our trucks at this time). With Pepto Bismol and a prayer, I fell asleep at the truck stop thinking how difficult it would be to lead 44 cyclist into Beijing while vomiting from my bike.
The next morning I was still sick, but after loading moving trucks with rider gear, my health miraculously improved. The convoy went very smoothly, all the way to Tiananmen Square (Now that I wrote that, the censors are going to be crawling all over this blog). We stopped between Tiananmen and the Forbidden City for a quick celebration and pictures. Once there, I was expecting to be shuffled along by police, but were not bothered until after 20minutes.
The welcoming ceremony at the hotel was brimming with Champagne, wine, cheeses, and other delicacies we've been without. All of the wine, even the wine for dinner, was quaffed by thirsty riders and staff. The restaurant owner eventually had to force us to leave sending the party 5 floors upstairs into a hotel room. I left to pick up 30 remaining bike boxes from the Giant headquarters while the hotel room party carried on. I was happy to take a drinking break during that stretch as the day was far from over.
DongBeiRen, one of my favorite restaurants in Beijing, held our banquet dinner. We showed Darrel's videos, Rachel's slide show and enjoyed several speeches from riders and staff. The atmosphere of the dinner was hushed with most recovering from the welcoming ceremony.
The arrival was successful and I'm ready to relax for the next month and a half. There is still much reflection needed on my part. It is difficult to understand a trip like this. The sideshow began to put the trip in perspective, capturing the cultures, people, and places we've experienced.
To travel by bicycle, across Asia is quite a feat. Unlike sitting in a car, riding a bicycle connects the rider with the surrounding environment. Whether it be people, obstacles, weather or scenery, one is inextricably linked and responsive to their volatility. Comparing this to a discovery of cultures by boat (Semester at Sea), the bicycle never leaves the culture-scape. We can't leave port once we've had enough, we must pedal onwards to our next country.
Semester at Sea gave us rapid, intense encounters as we circled the globe. Afterwards, we loaded onto our western ship and cooked in our academic incubator, discussing our experiences with professors, peers, and ourselves. We dined on Western food and could be in constant contact with our friends and family via Internet. Everything and everyone was only a click away.
The Silk Route gave us constant, intense experience with no familiar environment to reflect. As one can see with the blog entries, in most places, the Internet was a luxury. We'd fuel with local foods and drink local water. We sleep in their dwellings and listen to their language. Our only time to reflect is while pedaling onwards to our next encounter.
We covered 120km a day, while Silk Road merchants, covered a mere 25km each day. It's half desert. Roads have made the journey less perilous, but if anything goes wrong, you're nowhere. It's humbling, but some would say dangerous (thanks to the media in creating a fear culture). I never felt danger, even if it was there. Inevitable diarrhea, food poisoning and heat exhaustion were mere inconveniences, paling in comparison to the hazards of 2000 years ago.
More to come..
To do list for Rach and I:
Scout a way in for the Cyclists
Scout a way into Beijing for the Trucks
Organize reception for Riders
Organize Banquet dinner
Find 50 bike boxes
Schedule the day's events
We were able to take care of most of these tasks, until we tried scouting a truck route to our hotel. We know that Beijing has truck restrictions but learned their method of enforcement is building bridges 4.0 meters high. Our Plan B was put into action, organizing a truck parking lot outside of the 5th ring road.
Although the stress wasn't too high, I don't think I've ever worked harder during such a short period of time. I was burning the candle at both ends, accomplishing tasks through the day and enjoying social engagements at night. This culminated with a terrible stomachache the night before the event. I had to drive 80km outside of Beijing, meet the trucks and bring them to the parking lot in the middle of the night (police would be less likely to stop our trucks at this time). With Pepto Bismol and a prayer, I fell asleep at the truck stop thinking how difficult it would be to lead 44 cyclist into Beijing while vomiting from my bike.
The next morning I was still sick, but after loading moving trucks with rider gear, my health miraculously improved. The convoy went very smoothly, all the way to Tiananmen Square (Now that I wrote that, the censors are going to be crawling all over this blog). We stopped between Tiananmen and the Forbidden City for a quick celebration and pictures. Once there, I was expecting to be shuffled along by police, but were not bothered until after 20minutes.
The welcoming ceremony at the hotel was brimming with Champagne, wine, cheeses, and other delicacies we've been without. All of the wine, even the wine for dinner, was quaffed by thirsty riders and staff. The restaurant owner eventually had to force us to leave sending the party 5 floors upstairs into a hotel room. I left to pick up 30 remaining bike boxes from the Giant headquarters while the hotel room party carried on. I was happy to take a drinking break during that stretch as the day was far from over.DongBeiRen, one of my favorite restaurants in Beijing, held our banquet dinner. We showed Darrel's videos, Rachel's slide show and enjoyed several speeches from riders and staff. The atmosphere of the dinner was hushed with most recovering from the welcoming ceremony.
The arrival was successful and I'm ready to relax for the next month and a half. There is still much reflection needed on my part. It is difficult to understand a trip like this. The sideshow began to put the trip in perspective, capturing the cultures, people, and places we've experienced.
To travel by bicycle, across Asia is quite a feat. Unlike sitting in a car, riding a bicycle connects the rider with the surrounding environment. Whether it be people, obstacles, weather or scenery, one is inextricably linked and responsive to their volatility. Comparing this to a discovery of cultures by boat (Semester at Sea), the bicycle never leaves the culture-scape. We can't leave port once we've had enough, we must pedal onwards to our next country.
Semester at Sea gave us rapid, intense encounters as we circled the globe. Afterwards, we loaded onto our western ship and cooked in our academic incubator, discussing our experiences with professors, peers, and ourselves. We dined on Western food and could be in constant contact with our friends and family via Internet. Everything and everyone was only a click away.
The Silk Route gave us constant, intense experience with no familiar environment to reflect. As one can see with the blog entries, in most places, the Internet was a luxury. We'd fuel with local foods and drink local water. We sleep in their dwellings and listen to their language. Our only time to reflect is while pedaling onwards to our next encounter.
We covered 120km a day, while Silk Road merchants, covered a mere 25km each day. It's half desert. Roads have made the journey less perilous, but if anything goes wrong, you're nowhere. It's humbling, but some would say dangerous (thanks to the media in creating a fear culture). I never felt danger, even if it was there. Inevitable diarrhea, food poisoning and heat exhaustion were mere inconveniences, paling in comparison to the hazards of 2000 years ago.
More to come..
Saturday, November 10, 2007
Love for all, Henan
A mere eight days away from Beijing and everyone is chomping at the bit to close this chapter of their life. We’ve arrived in a small town in Henan province called Bo’ai—meaning love for all, something needed at this point. Luoyang, yesterday’s stopping point, marks the first city I scouted. I’ve started scouting ahead each day since I am more familiar with this area than most of this group; I spend the days double checking directions and finding new (cheaper) hotels than the ones I had previously found.
Double-checking requires me to drive through today’s destination and continue to tomorrow’s city only to return and report my findings. As you may imagine, my days have been long, usually around 400km spent with Mr. Xu (pronounced shoe) each day. Mr. Xu has a heart of gold and the tolerance of a saint. We have been working him entirely too much, but he takes it with a smile and only complains when I am the only one in the car. I think he is looking forward to Beijing more than anyone else.
Coming into Henan province, I’ve had to extinguish more fires than usual. The first hotel we booked in Henan nearly became a disaster. After confirming foreigners were allowed to stay there the day before, the day we arrived they told us we couldn’t stay there. With 40 riders and two trucks on the way, Mr. Xu and I vigorously argued this injustice.
I nearly burst out laughing when Mr. Xu said that we had stayed in hotels from Kashgar to here and had no problems, but the first day we arrive in Henan we are being cheated. [Chinese are notoriously racist against people from Henan. If something is stolen, missing or anything bad has happened, it is said that the culprit must be from Henan.] The verdict came back saying we could stay there, but at an inflated 150RMB/night as opposed to the negotiated 110RMB/night. They were so stingy that they charged a bicycle parking fee of 5RMB. I left the sales manager embarrassed and speechless when I told her that in my country, everyone pays the same price no matter where his or her passport is from.
Riders seem to be completely loosing their minds and sense of decency. In the middle of a conversation last night, I had a rider tug on my sleeve trying to get my attention. I ignored the gross impoliteness and continued my conversation…until the tugging turned to pulling and saying my name. What I said next scared me, “EXCUSE ME, I am in the middle of a conversation, I will help you when I am finished.” As I turned to continue the conversation, an image of my hand tugging on my mothers sleeve flashed in my head with my mother turning and enunciating exactly what I had just said.
We have two more days of riding until the next rest day. I will most likely jump ahead to Beijing and help finalize everything for our ceremony, banquet dinner, and accommodations for our arrival. I’m excited to be back in the capital, even though it’s for a short time. You may find my official updates for the TDA website below. Enjoy!
Double-checking requires me to drive through today’s destination and continue to tomorrow’s city only to return and report my findings. As you may imagine, my days have been long, usually around 400km spent with Mr. Xu (pronounced shoe) each day. Mr. Xu has a heart of gold and the tolerance of a saint. We have been working him entirely too much, but he takes it with a smile and only complains when I am the only one in the car. I think he is looking forward to Beijing more than anyone else.
Coming into Henan province, I’ve had to extinguish more fires than usual. The first hotel we booked in Henan nearly became a disaster. After confirming foreigners were allowed to stay there the day before, the day we arrived they told us we couldn’t stay there. With 40 riders and two trucks on the way, Mr. Xu and I vigorously argued this injustice.
I nearly burst out laughing when Mr. Xu said that we had stayed in hotels from Kashgar to here and had no problems, but the first day we arrive in Henan we are being cheated. [Chinese are notoriously racist against people from Henan. If something is stolen, missing or anything bad has happened, it is said that the culprit must be from Henan.] The verdict came back saying we could stay there, but at an inflated 150RMB/night as opposed to the negotiated 110RMB/night. They were so stingy that they charged a bicycle parking fee of 5RMB. I left the sales manager embarrassed and speechless when I told her that in my country, everyone pays the same price no matter where his or her passport is from.
Riders seem to be completely loosing their minds and sense of decency. In the middle of a conversation last night, I had a rider tug on my sleeve trying to get my attention. I ignored the gross impoliteness and continued my conversation…until the tugging turned to pulling and saying my name. What I said next scared me, “EXCUSE ME, I am in the middle of a conversation, I will help you when I am finished.” As I turned to continue the conversation, an image of my hand tugging on my mothers sleeve flashed in my head with my mother turning and enunciating exactly what I had just said.
We have two more days of riding until the next rest day. I will most likely jump ahead to Beijing and help finalize everything for our ceremony, banquet dinner, and accommodations for our arrival. I’m excited to be back in the capital, even though it’s for a short time. You may find my official updates for the TDA website below. Enjoy!
Daily Updates
11.7.07
What is the best way to get though one of China’s biggest cities? When we began cycling underneath the grand archway of Xi’an’s city wall—I had my answer…straight though the middle.
Like an amorphous school of fish, we swim through the city. We engulf unsuspecting pedestrians and cyclists, leaving them befuddled in our wake. Predators attempt to agitate the shoal from all angles, requiring one of us to distract the danger until the rest are safe. All the while, flurries of fingers fall from handlebars, highlighting the next pothole, crack, or rock for those behind. We make for a ravishing creature.
As we pedal, thousands of years of Chinese history pass. The terra-cotta army of Qin Shi Huang, the museum of Chinese writing and calligraphy, and the Wild Goose Pagoda are a few of the many historical fingerprints. Xi’an served as the capital during the Tang Dynasty--the “Golden Years” of China. As we traversed from West to East, we view Xi’an as the terminus of our adventure along the Silk Route. Gone are the minarets of Samarqand and the melting mud walls of Merv. Replacing them are the hum of neon lights and the green glow of Starbucks. Signaling our exit from the ancient and entrance into the familiar and ordinary.
11.8.07
As our days dwindle in China, many of us are rethinking our assumptions about this country. Some pictured millions of people, wading in rice paddies, wearing the stereotypical conical straw hat. Many riders grew up during the Mao era, a time when China’s progress looked rather grim. While others had the chance to visit the country after it was reopened in 1978…when wai guo ren were truly a novelty.
China is dynamic and impossible to describe entirely. How can one begin to compare the skyscrapers of Beijing to a mud hut in Gansu province? We have the pleasure of experiencing both these extremes, and everything in-between, walking away with an uncommon impression of China. These impressions manifest through anecdotes, explaining in minutes, where a university professor may explain in weeks.
Robert Ball recently had a ‘China Learning Experience’ during a ride. “We tried to enter the expressway and were stopped at the toll booth,” he begins. The tollbooth attendant pointed to a sign with a list of pictures: no horses, no carts, no carriages, no motorcycles, and no bicycles. Having no choice, the small group took the less attractive side road and battled a gusting headwind for nearly two hours. Having had enough, the riders slithered underneath six strands of barbed wire and clambered up a 12-foot embankment to reach the expressway. The next 100 km were spent on the prohibited expressway, with police passing periodically, but not harassing them in the least. “A month ago I would have assumed immediate deportation for this,” ends Robert.
11.9.07
Cycling through XinJiang and Gansu, brought spectacular vistas, marred only by the passing coal trucks. Now the trucks have delivered their payloads and are causing much more harmful effects. More than half the riders don their facemasks every morning, with the other half wishing they had brought one. When we arrived in China, we were appalled by the amount of hawking and spitting in public places. Now, due to the declining quality of air, many of us are hawking and spitting in much the same way.
It’s unsettling to blow one’s nose and see nothing but black mucus in the tissue paper. Soot takes residence along our eyelids and when a cold wind blows, ebony tears stream towards our ears. A typical day finds us passing several thermal power plants and burning trash in a drainage ditch. Days are shorter, terrain flat, but we battle manmade conditions.
China recently overtook the United States as the number one air polluter in the world. Additionally, China has 16 of the world’s 20 most polluted cities. Our original route to Beijing was deliberately changed due to the city of Linfen, Shanxi—recently deemed the most polluted city in the world. It is said, coal dust in the air is so thick that cars must use headlights during the day.
As our bodies experience repercussions of environmental denigration, we cannot help but meditate on greater cause and effects. While we are cycling, we are helping rather than hurting.
What is the best way to get though one of China’s biggest cities? When we began cycling underneath the grand archway of Xi’an’s city wall—I had my answer…straight though the middle.
Like an amorphous school of fish, we swim through the city. We engulf unsuspecting pedestrians and cyclists, leaving them befuddled in our wake. Predators attempt to agitate the shoal from all angles, requiring one of us to distract the danger until the rest are safe. All the while, flurries of fingers fall from handlebars, highlighting the next pothole, crack, or rock for those behind. We make for a ravishing creature.
As we pedal, thousands of years of Chinese history pass. The terra-cotta army of Qin Shi Huang, the museum of Chinese writing and calligraphy, and the Wild Goose Pagoda are a few of the many historical fingerprints. Xi’an served as the capital during the Tang Dynasty--the “Golden Years” of China. As we traversed from West to East, we view Xi’an as the terminus of our adventure along the Silk Route. Gone are the minarets of Samarqand and the melting mud walls of Merv. Replacing them are the hum of neon lights and the green glow of Starbucks. Signaling our exit from the ancient and entrance into the familiar and ordinary.
11.8.07
As our days dwindle in China, many of us are rethinking our assumptions about this country. Some pictured millions of people, wading in rice paddies, wearing the stereotypical conical straw hat. Many riders grew up during the Mao era, a time when China’s progress looked rather grim. While others had the chance to visit the country after it was reopened in 1978…when wai guo ren were truly a novelty.
China is dynamic and impossible to describe entirely. How can one begin to compare the skyscrapers of Beijing to a mud hut in Gansu province? We have the pleasure of experiencing both these extremes, and everything in-between, walking away with an uncommon impression of China. These impressions manifest through anecdotes, explaining in minutes, where a university professor may explain in weeks.
Robert Ball recently had a ‘China Learning Experience’ during a ride. “We tried to enter the expressway and were stopped at the toll booth,” he begins. The tollbooth attendant pointed to a sign with a list of pictures: no horses, no carts, no carriages, no motorcycles, and no bicycles. Having no choice, the small group took the less attractive side road and battled a gusting headwind for nearly two hours. Having had enough, the riders slithered underneath six strands of barbed wire and clambered up a 12-foot embankment to reach the expressway. The next 100 km were spent on the prohibited expressway, with police passing periodically, but not harassing them in the least. “A month ago I would have assumed immediate deportation for this,” ends Robert.
11.9.07
Cycling through XinJiang and Gansu, brought spectacular vistas, marred only by the passing coal trucks. Now the trucks have delivered their payloads and are causing much more harmful effects. More than half the riders don their facemasks every morning, with the other half wishing they had brought one. When we arrived in China, we were appalled by the amount of hawking and spitting in public places. Now, due to the declining quality of air, many of us are hawking and spitting in much the same way.
It’s unsettling to blow one’s nose and see nothing but black mucus in the tissue paper. Soot takes residence along our eyelids and when a cold wind blows, ebony tears stream towards our ears. A typical day finds us passing several thermal power plants and burning trash in a drainage ditch. Days are shorter, terrain flat, but we battle manmade conditions.
China recently overtook the United States as the number one air polluter in the world. Additionally, China has 16 of the world’s 20 most polluted cities. Our original route to Beijing was deliberately changed due to the city of Linfen, Shanxi—recently deemed the most polluted city in the world. It is said, coal dust in the air is so thick that cars must use headlights during the day.
As our bodies experience repercussions of environmental denigration, we cannot help but meditate on greater cause and effects. While we are cycling, we are helping rather than hurting.
Sunday, November 4, 2007
Xi'an, Shaanxi
It's truly remarkable, yesterday I was in a small Chinese village 65km outside of Xi'an and now I am at a Starbucks, mooching off their free Internet. The contrasts of China...
Well, I am more or less fresh back from my 5 day vacation to Hong Kong, although it feels as though it was months ago. The trip down was absolutely worth it; I realized how much I missed playing Ultimate and spending time with the Ultimate community. Our team came together nicely by the end of the tourney. I lost my voice and was successful in getting a nice, deep raspberry on my hip after laying out for a disc.
Chip was nice enough to bring my laptop, among other things, to the Tourney. Now having my laptop, I've been able to fix my iPod and recover the pictures I previously thought lost. Please view them here.
Since I have returned to the tour, it has been nothing but stress. They are testing me for Africa by loading me with responsibilities. They are mostly trivial, but when juggling it with the responsibilities I was already given, it gets a bit difficult. Not by any means beyond my capabilities, but the tour is no longer a walk in the park. My role in Africa is to run communications, not a bad job for a Communications major.
Part of the job is to write a daily blog entry, thus the past few days I have been writing about three paragraphs and sending them to the tour founder for review. This has been taking most of my computer time, hence I haven't written in a while. I am going to post them on this blog as well. Feel free to critique, I am trying a few different styles to keep it interesting. The current blog is a little sugar coated and I am trying to write in a more experiential way.
The other half of my time has been spent planning our entry into Beijing. My friend Adam works PR in Beijing and has been helping quite a bit. We've got a basic plan of events for the day and the hotel is finally book. We're in the process of contacting local media to cover our arrival and hopefully get some publicity for the tour.
Like I said, we've made it to Xi'an. We will enjoy two rest days here and then press onward to Beijing. I've organized an excursion to the Terra-cotta warriors and about 35 people signed up. Tonight I met with Lousia, my local contact, to catch up and make sure everything is set for tomorrow. She did a great job this past summer with my family and she is making the transition from tour guide to tour organizer. She was very excited to help with this excursion.
Thats all for now. I will be in touch more often now that we are in Eastern China , my official TDA blog entries are below. Enjoy.
11.1.07
A hysterical screech comes from behind, trucks are in every direction and the shoulder is uneven. There is no time to glance back. Was it a precautionary, warning or passing horn? The squeal sounds once more, sounding much closer. A maniacal 18-wheeler hurries by, coughing inky exhaust and showering the shoulder with dust and pebbles. Peering out of the heavily tinted, half open window is a sun beaten passenger showing his few remaining teeth. His tired eyes are fixed upon the most peculiar thing he has seen all day. His confusion is apparent as the truck speeds ahead. Seconds later, an arm becomes visible, with the thumb raised high in approval.
11.2.07
“Tsk tsk tsk,” clucks Mr. Xu followed by a James Dean like drag from his cigarette. “Mei ban fa,” he mumbles. It’s impossible to go further.
We’re returning from a scouting mission, reporting tomorrow’s ride and finding a decent hotel in the next town. We’ve encountered this traffic jam earlier, from the other direction. Contrary to our hopes, the four-hour ordeal has failed to clear and we’re once again the middle. We’re beginning to worry about tomorrow’s ride. The riders will have no problem, but our trucks certainly will.
Local trucks loom to the left, right, front and rear—deceptively quiet. A car moves in the distance! A chorus of diesel engines crank to life, spewing exhaust from their tail pipes while headlights cast their glow ahead. The light tries to pierce the dusty, polluted air with little success. Clutches are mashed and gears crunch in a race to be the first to the new opening. Mr. Xu takes the opportunity to use the shoulder and the hard pack dirt just beyond to jump ahead of a truck. We’ve made it between the next pair of trucks and plotting our next move when everyone stops and we’re waiting once more.
Ten minutes pass until headlights can no longer be seen in the oncoming lane, Mr. Xu again seizes the opportunity. Thrusting the car into first, we’re in the other lane and moving fast. The sleepy trucks remain as we breeze by; we’ve gained at least another kilometer, maybe two. The pollution ahead is backlit, brakes slam and Mr. Xu wedges us between two semis. We wait for a minute and then he cuts the engine. We’re not going anywhere.
11.3.07
A black pockmark mars the granite face. The humble entrance contains two kilometers of darkness, taunting us. As we pass under the archway, the temperature drops and despite the number of cars we hear the sound of few engines reverberating off the smooth walls.
The day’s traffic jam has piled into the length of the tunnel resulting in a passageway of exhaust…not unlike the path to a smoker’s lung. Truck headlights burn hopelessly into building fumes. Our AA battery powered cycling lights are no match. We cycle between the two lines of vehicles, praying that drivers on either side decide to keep their doors closed.
We’re doing well. One kilometer lay behind with the next well underway. We leave it to our lungs to battle the milky smog. Suddenly, engines are alive once more, halving the amount of oxygen. The jam turns to a rapid squirm and we are pedaling more cautiously, half of the traffic threatening us from behind, with the other coming head on.
A soft haze of daylight begins to appear in the distance. Our eyes and minds are fixated on the fuzzy light while our bodies instinctively weave through the scrambling cars. We’ve made it. Our eyes squint at the brightness of day while our chests heave, clearing space for much needed oxygen. We emerge as a coal miner might, faces shroud with soot. It’s a mascara commercial gone horribly wrong.
Well, I am more or less fresh back from my 5 day vacation to Hong Kong, although it feels as though it was months ago. The trip down was absolutely worth it; I realized how much I missed playing Ultimate and spending time with the Ultimate community. Our team came together nicely by the end of the tourney. I lost my voice and was successful in getting a nice, deep raspberry on my hip after laying out for a disc.
Chip was nice enough to bring my laptop, among other things, to the Tourney. Now having my laptop, I've been able to fix my iPod and recover the pictures I previously thought lost. Please view them here.
Since I have returned to the tour, it has been nothing but stress. They are testing me for Africa by loading me with responsibilities. They are mostly trivial, but when juggling it with the responsibilities I was already given, it gets a bit difficult. Not by any means beyond my capabilities, but the tour is no longer a walk in the park. My role in Africa is to run communications, not a bad job for a Communications major.
Part of the job is to write a daily blog entry, thus the past few days I have been writing about three paragraphs and sending them to the tour founder for review. This has been taking most of my computer time, hence I haven't written in a while. I am going to post them on this blog as well. Feel free to critique, I am trying a few different styles to keep it interesting. The current blog is a little sugar coated and I am trying to write in a more experiential way.
The other half of my time has been spent planning our entry into Beijing. My friend Adam works PR in Beijing and has been helping quite a bit. We've got a basic plan of events for the day and the hotel is finally book. We're in the process of contacting local media to cover our arrival and hopefully get some publicity for the tour.
Like I said, we've made it to Xi'an. We will enjoy two rest days here and then press onward to Beijing. I've organized an excursion to the Terra-cotta warriors and about 35 people signed up. Tonight I met with Lousia, my local contact, to catch up and make sure everything is set for tomorrow. She did a great job this past summer with my family and she is making the transition from tour guide to tour organizer. She was very excited to help with this excursion.
Thats all for now. I will be in touch more often now that we are in Eastern China , my official TDA blog entries are below. Enjoy.
11.1.07
A hysterical screech comes from behind, trucks are in every direction and the shoulder is uneven. There is no time to glance back. Was it a precautionary, warning or passing horn? The squeal sounds once more, sounding much closer. A maniacal 18-wheeler hurries by, coughing inky exhaust and showering the shoulder with dust and pebbles. Peering out of the heavily tinted, half open window is a sun beaten passenger showing his few remaining teeth. His tired eyes are fixed upon the most peculiar thing he has seen all day. His confusion is apparent as the truck speeds ahead. Seconds later, an arm becomes visible, with the thumb raised high in approval.
11.2.07
“Tsk tsk tsk,” clucks Mr. Xu followed by a James Dean like drag from his cigarette. “Mei ban fa,” he mumbles. It’s impossible to go further.
We’re returning from a scouting mission, reporting tomorrow’s ride and finding a decent hotel in the next town. We’ve encountered this traffic jam earlier, from the other direction. Contrary to our hopes, the four-hour ordeal has failed to clear and we’re once again the middle. We’re beginning to worry about tomorrow’s ride. The riders will have no problem, but our trucks certainly will.
Local trucks loom to the left, right, front and rear—deceptively quiet. A car moves in the distance! A chorus of diesel engines crank to life, spewing exhaust from their tail pipes while headlights cast their glow ahead. The light tries to pierce the dusty, polluted air with little success. Clutches are mashed and gears crunch in a race to be the first to the new opening. Mr. Xu takes the opportunity to use the shoulder and the hard pack dirt just beyond to jump ahead of a truck. We’ve made it between the next pair of trucks and plotting our next move when everyone stops and we’re waiting once more.
Ten minutes pass until headlights can no longer be seen in the oncoming lane, Mr. Xu again seizes the opportunity. Thrusting the car into first, we’re in the other lane and moving fast. The sleepy trucks remain as we breeze by; we’ve gained at least another kilometer, maybe two. The pollution ahead is backlit, brakes slam and Mr. Xu wedges us between two semis. We wait for a minute and then he cuts the engine. We’re not going anywhere.
11.3.07
A black pockmark mars the granite face. The humble entrance contains two kilometers of darkness, taunting us. As we pass under the archway, the temperature drops and despite the number of cars we hear the sound of few engines reverberating off the smooth walls.
The day’s traffic jam has piled into the length of the tunnel resulting in a passageway of exhaust…not unlike the path to a smoker’s lung. Truck headlights burn hopelessly into building fumes. Our AA battery powered cycling lights are no match. We cycle between the two lines of vehicles, praying that drivers on either side decide to keep their doors closed.
We’re doing well. One kilometer lay behind with the next well underway. We leave it to our lungs to battle the milky smog. Suddenly, engines are alive once more, halving the amount of oxygen. The jam turns to a rapid squirm and we are pedaling more cautiously, half of the traffic threatening us from behind, with the other coming head on.
A soft haze of daylight begins to appear in the distance. Our eyes and minds are fixated on the fuzzy light while our bodies instinctively weave through the scrambling cars. We’ve made it. Our eyes squint at the brightness of day while our chests heave, clearing space for much needed oxygen. We emerge as a coal miner might, faces shroud with soot. It’s a mascara commercial gone horribly wrong.
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