Portrait of an LBX

The fortress homes (碉楼 diaolou) of Kaiping, Guangdong province, turned out to be rather a disappointment. Lacking the unexpectedly useful books on Chinese ancient towns (古镇) that we picked up on a whim in the Sanfo (三夫) in Shanghai for Jiangxi and Fujian provinces, we picked a town where we knew we would find diaolou based on our Internet research. Unfortunately, that meant it was a tourist spot, and therefore charged an entrance fee of 50 yuan ($7.32) per person -- double the cost of our two hotel rooms at the only hotel in town. To our Western readers, this may not seem like a high price to pay to see a historical site that is properly restored. But I think you have to keep in mind that this basically excludes something like 95% of the population from learning about the country's culture and history. In the "socialist paradise" that is China, I would hope that some day they will find a model that will allow cultural and historical relics to be well preserved while affording anyone who wants to enjoy them the ability to do so. Fortunately, we saw a few of the buildings "in the wild" on our way into town in the rain, because we turned around and left for our next destination when we were presented with a ticket booth. This is one we saw on the way into town. The buildings were constructed by returning overseas Chinese in the Qing Dynasty, reaching their peak in the 1920s and '30s. They served the dual purpose of housing a family unit and as defense against warlords and bandits. Today, they are crumbling to dust, except those with exorbitant entrance fees.

A teenager on a scooter passes in front of the Zhibi Tulou (植碧楼), the older and smaller of the two remaining tulou in Fujian's Luxi Town (芦溪镇). On our way out of town today we finally passed through one of the UNESCO World Heritage Tulou areas. While the concentration of the unique buildings was impressive, the Disneyland-like atmosphere of the area left us feeling extremely grateful for being able to see the tulou in their unrestored form in Luxi.

Brother and sister sit in the back alleys of Xiazhai, Fujian.

A little boy stares at the three goofy looking foreigners walking around town in spandex shorts and bike jerseys.

This girl didn't really want her picture taken and looked away from the camera right as I was taking it. Now it looks like she's got some serious attitude.

After descending from one of the highest mountains we've ridden over so far, we passed through a small village where a funeral celebration (欢送, literally a 'farewell party') was taking place. The family invited us in to "add to the noise" (加热闹), of which there was already plenty due to a brass band. The women in the mourning family wore what looked like burlap coverings. Here the onlookers watch the band, which the family hired for the day for 1,000 yuan ($146) -- a hefty price for the Chinese countryside.

Evan crests a hill in the Fujian mountains.

A blue dump truck waits as it gets a water refill. The trucks, many of which are still produced by local state-owned enterprises from the original, planned-economy-era designs, use tap water to cool their brakes, making them horrible things to ride behind when going down a mountain. They are ubiquitous, frightening and have horns that leave our ears ringing at the end of each day.

In my opinion, a rainy ride has only one upside: the entrancing atmosphere of mist hanging off of tree-covered mountains. At times, I feel as if I am riding through a classical Chinese ink painting, and I find it difficult to capture my stylized image of the scenes in photographs. After discovering that we are heading to the wrong Yangyuan (杨源镇) in Fujian, we ride south toward Jiangle (将乐县) over steep, muddy switchback roads and eventually through an enchanting, winding valley. On the way, we pass through numerous small towns like this one, each with a unique charm.

A woman carries a load of firewood down a treacherous slope in two bamboo baskets hung from a bamboo pole across her back. While the U.N. says that China has brought more people out of poverty in the past forty years than in any other country in history, many among China's massive rural population of some 800 million are still struggling to survive.