By Evan
nomad |ˈnōˌmad|
noun
• a member of a people having no permanent abode, and who travel from place to place to find fresh pasture for their livestock.
• a person who does not stay long in the same place; a wanderer.
– New Oxford American Dictionary
The nomadic lifestyle, by Evan
Although the only things we seek that might pass for “fresh pasture” include fried rice noodles with eggs and maybe bottles of oil (or whisky), we do quite neatly fit the definition of classic “bike nomads.” This, of course, is a very difficult concept to convey to most Chinese, who typically after hearing the entire spiel about what we’ve done over the last nine months and will continue to do for the next four will then ask, “so you both live in Beijing, and you’re students there?” “Home is where your (sore) butt is” will probably mystify most until we get onto the Tibetan plateau in a month. I digress.
Back to the point, more often than not on this big, ridiculous trip of ours, we fall short of our forecasted feral-ness. We had planned from the beginning to stay a majority of our nights either in the homes of LBXes or in the wilderness, but this man-like plan has like many others gone mice-like. So it was decided, after several days of self-pampering à la European backpacker in Dali in the walled-in hippy nest of Andy’s college bud Rick, that we should man up a little. We also wanted to live cheap to recover the old wallet from our spending frenzies. Up to $20 USD in a single day — madness, madness!
God's country, by Evan
So we left Dali on a fast pace to Kunming, a route of nearly 400 km (~250 miles) across the tail end of the old Burma Road built to supply Chiang Kai-Shek and co. during WWII (now called National Highway 320 from Shanghai to Ruili) — this time camping the whole way. M’boy had yet another bout of stomach ickies on day one, leading us to a slow start out the gate, but we managed to find a lovely little campsite at the hilt of 70 km on flat ground atop a mountain. That night was absolutely lovely, and for the first time, I slept like an angel all night in the tent.
Day two was unfortunately a little grating on the old nerves. The parallel expressway was closed heading west for around 100 km, forcing a never-ending stream of BTAs (buses, trucks, and assholes in fancy cars) onto our humble, winding two-laner. Incidentally, I put them in that order for a reason — buses in China are driven only by 4-S’es (severe sociopaths on strict schedules). It’s not that we mind sharing the road, you see. It’s the fact that BTAs have zero patience when stuck behind something even half a km/hr slower and will, almost without exception, leave their lane at full speed whether it’s around a blind corner, or aliens have just made first contact with the earth ever on the side of the highway, or two bicyclists happen to be in that lane already. Andy and I broke our record on that day for drivers flipped off and near-death experiences. Mind you, the experience was all the more harrowing for us since we heard the news only a week ago that back in Shanghai our dear friend Amir was hit by a truck that that swerved out of his lane suddenly to pass a stopped vehicle — surprise surprise — breaking his elbow and wrist. We wish him a speedy recovery from the wrist surgery he had yesterday.
An example of the kinds of houses we've been seeing. Unfortunately, this is nowhere near the best, but it's the shot that came out the clearest, by Evan
So in short, the BTAs managed to take most of the fun out of a day of exquisite scenery. I’ll come back to this in a second. The good part about this day was our campsite. Just as the last rays of sunlight died behind a mountain, we pitched our tents on a patch of farmland on a promontory overlooking — from great height — the valley through which the expressway extended straight and the highway snaked. Andy correctly predicted no rain, and we chanced sleeping without our rain flies, opening up the entire sky to view. That night, as I lay at the edge of the bluff (see first picture of post), staring up at a starrier sky than even Van Gogh could conjure, I felt like I was suspended in space between the infinity of the universe and the tangible reality of the earth below. In a word, the feeling was “godlike.” *China nerds please see commentary at bottom
The next morning we finally got past the TBA valve and were able to enjoy a more or less peaceful ride. On this day, we finally got to start appreciating some of our environs. Most of the villages are built in the old Chinese style, dark tile upturned roofs over white plastered courtyards, all clustered up at the end of a valley. In the valley fields of rice and corn and anything else stretch on bright green from end to end. This is the China most people imagine when they read things like Pearl Buck’s The Good Earth, the kind of bucolic beauty that makes Yunnan China’s best province (yes, objectively).
For reference, G56 is an expressway, a no-no for bikes, and Chuan Jie is not on our route, so another place to avoid. So we see this sign and figure, ok, cool, two places we don't want to go on the left, and I guess they just assume we know what road we're already on. Take a look for yourself and imagine what it might mean. Now for the actual meaning: "G56 straight ahead, Chuan Jie and/or Kunming to the left on an abandoned expressway, and the actual turnoff to Kunming 6 km behind you" by Andy
At the end of day three, we camped in a clearing of trees above two abandoned rice paddies surrounded by forest. Yes, the monkeys hooting from the trees made us fear for the safety of our trail mix, but on this night, the process finally felt completely natural. Once the site was de-rocked, the bikes were pushed up the steep trail to the clearing. Then all bags were offloaded, and the tents pitched. I then inflated my Therma-rest mat and pillows and tossed the sleeping bag on top. Then all the bags were stuffed on the other side of the tent, and we locked the bikes together. Finally I tossed the sweaty digs somewhere to air them out, kicked off my shoes, tapped a little on the old laptop, and ended by staring up at the sky until my eyes close of their own accord. At times like these, even with the trains passing all night, I forget that we’re in ignominious old China, or in any country at all, and just feel like we’re tucked away in a tiny fold of the endless blanket of nature.
Then, of course, all that went straight to $hit when on our fourth day rode into a provincial capital, yes, even in Yunnan. The day started off very nice like the day before, but soon we were right up the butt of industry again. At one point, we followed probably the most confusing signs you’ve ever seen off in the wrong direction for a ten km wild goose chase. See the picture above. Hate Chinese road engineers. That set the mood in the wrong direction, from which things just got worse and worse. It finally occurred to me that the worst thing about riding through the nappy armpits of scientific development isn’t the dust, or the killer traffic, or the dismal superfactories, or the endless jeers of “HALLO!”, or even our miserable, pussing butts, which are now raw enough to be served as filet mignon. All of that is terrible, of course, but the absolute worst part is the thousands and thousands of old clunker trucks, leaking water (caused me to wipe out at 45 km/hr before Dali) and sand and gravel and whatever else, and the real cherry on top, spewing giant clouds of thick, black smoke — invariably out of right-facing mufflers right onto us. Hate Chinese automotive engineers!
The last of the good stuff, before it all went to hell, by Evan
But, thankfully, at the end of 149 km (~ 93 miles), we hit the city center of Kunming and the Hump Hostel, whence I now type this post. Now this hostel where we are now has double historic implication for me. First, it was named after the cross-Himalayan air supply route flown by the Flying Tigers (飛虎隊), led by WWII hero and Louisianian Claire Chennault (Baton Rougeans please note the name of the road that passes in front of our airport). Second, it was in this very hostel where back in 2008, after a successful one week bike tour through the mountains on 20” wheel Dahons, that Andy and I decided to kick the bad habit of sedentary lifestyle and fulfill our true destiny as bicycle nomads.
Pictures of “nomads” after 400 km, 4 days, and no showers, at the end of a 149 km day:
Andy, dirty, worn down, but ready for a beer, by Evan
Think of a happy place, think of a happy place! by Andy
*From above: as I lie in the tent picturing myself at the center of the heavens, the earth, and the world of mankind, the etymology of the Chinese word for king, wáng (王), became significant. From Wenlin:
三 three strokes for heaven, earth, and humanity, joined together by a 丨 vertical stroke, representing the king.
“古之造文者, 三畫而連其中, 謂之王。三者, 天地人也, 而參通之者, 王也。孔子曰, 一貫三為王” –說文解字。
Maybe I was really feeling kinglike?
