By Andy
2010/06/08 — 72 km
Dali is a treat, although not in the most relaxing way, since there we meet up with a college buddy Rick who lives there. Our original plan calls for two days in Dali, but a stomach bug keeps us there for three.
After one last Western breakfast, we finally get on the road around 11:30. The combination of a day and night of spent sitting on the toilet and trying to hold my food in has left me utterly exhausted, but we need to be on toward Kunming, where our friend Aaron is coming in from Shanghai to meet up and ride for a week.
"Accumulate wealth for the nation; carry out the law for the people." Pay your taxes (more each year) or the law will be carried out for you, people!
Immediately upon leaving the Dali old town, we remember just where we are. After three days of snoozy little streets and cafes, the national road out of town is a rude awakening. Horns blare, the “hallos!” are back in full force, and there’s even a good strong wind blasting us in the face to welcome us back to the road.
Eventually, and this is like 25 km in, which is a tribute to Dali’s suburban sprawl, the four-lane concrete road narrows down to two lanes of bumpy asphalt, and we begin climbing into pine-covered mountains on an easy grade.
The Dali old town sits at almost 2,000 m, so even on the low incline it doesn’t take us long to climb up to 2,300 m, which is a new high for the trip. At the top, we stop in a little ethnic Bai (白族) village, where the women are dressed similarly to the Yi (彝族) women we saw during our first weeks in Yunnan — pink head-wraps, bright green, patterned clothing, and dark blue pants. After a trip for me to an outhouse in the village, we head down the other side of the mountain into the valley below.
In the blink of an eye we’re in drought country. We expected to be riding through severely drought-hit areas the whole way through Yunnan, but with the exception of a few days early in the province, we’ve been in moist jungles and monsoon weather. Now, everything seems dead, and I’m parched no matter how much I drink. The hills are completely brown, even the withered remnants of tall pines. The exception is the walnut trees and the occasional bush, looking dusty and dejected.
When we first started in the morning, I was sure I would only make it 50 km for the day. According to Google, it’s 390 km from Dali to Kunming, and that would leave us three killer days. By the time we roll into the valley though, the odometer already reads 65 km. We grab a late lunch/early dinner at a Muslim restaurant, fill up on water, and decide to head a few more kilometers up the road to find a good place to camp.
We come to a place where the hill to the left looks easy to climb and we can see a flat area above and take two trips to haul the bikes and all the bags up to the top and set up camp.
It’s the first time we’ve camped in what seems like forever. The daily and unpredictable monsoons, the arrival of camping-gearless Devi and my own inability to get any sleep in a tent have kept us in hotels for well over a month.
As we set up, I decide to do my part to help with the severe drought and refrain from attaching the waterproof fly to the tent. I figure if fate works as usual, that should guarantee some rain!
