Portrait of an LBX

By Andy

2010/05/22 — 83 km

After a breakfast of (you guessed it) noodles, which Devi forgoes, we shoot out of town on a newly paved road, flying down the mountain a top speed and slowing down only to work our way through packs of cows walking down the road. We hit flat land and then some uphill, but something doesn’t seem quite right.

“We’re not going in the right direction,” Evan says, tapping the compass mounted to his handlebars. We ask the next person we see on the road, and sure enough, we’re on the road heading to the Burma border to the west. We call ahead to Devi to get her to turn back, and then begin the climb back up the mountain to Xuelin. Nearly back to the village, and now 7 km into our ride, we see a sign and a turnoff that we failed to notice while flying down the mountain. It’s good Devi gets to see how unfailingly stupid we are.

Our new road is no longer paved. Thankfully it’s not cobblestone either — just a sandy, dirt road, washed out from the massive rainstorm the night before. Why China would build a newly paved road straight to the Burma border but leave the road between Chinese towns a washed-out mess is beyond me. Perhaps it has something to do with the fact that logging is illegal in China, but Burma has abundant rain forests that are strangely disappearing and being replaced by bare, clear-cut mountains. I’m no expert.

Personally the main reason I don’t like dirt roads is that I have to go slowly when going downhill. The whole fun of climbing a mountain for me, besides the incredible view from the top, is the rush of careening down it on the other side. Nevertheless, we hit the bottom far too soon, and it’s time to begin climbing.

Today is a climb like we’ve never had. The small, dirt road, barely more than a path really, shoots straight up the heavily wooded mountain, like whoever dug it out in the first place had never heard of a switchback. My legs, with all the power and discipline of eight months on the road, strain to keep me moving forward. It’s not a particularly hot day, overcast in fact, but within minutes my jersey, shorts and socks are heavy with sweat and I’m trying to blink the sting out of my eyes. I have to pause every kilometer or two for a breather. (more…)

After attempting in vain to resolve the situation between the hotelier and police in Wen’an, we begrudgingly set off on the road south out of town for another late start. Power and politics in China has a way of making you feel completely helpless, and it cultivates a natural instinct for self preservation and nourishes it until it becomes a way of life. This often means that a car accident victim will lie on the ground, bleeding from the head, while a crowds will simply look on. It is tempting to identify the phenomenon as part of Chinese culture, but after observing it for some time, I now feel that it is much shallower than that. Rule of law is secondary to the power of people here, and the legal system is not developed enough in most places in China to ensure your own protection if you choose to help an injured person. If the police are involved and the injured is someone of means, you could be arbitrarily punished because they are looking for someone to blame quickly. If the injured is a commoner, a laobaixing, he likely doesn’t have the medical insurance to pay for his rehabilitation and is looking for someone to blame for the accident (the guilty party has probably already fled the scene), and I have heard of numerous cases of someone stepping in to take someone in dire need to the hospital only to be blamed for the accident later. “I was just trying to help!” is met with the response of “What business is it of yours to help this person? You don’t even know him!” by the authorities.

So it is with this background that I recommended from the beginning of our incident at the hotel to try to stay uninvolved. Morally, it is difficult to watch an innocent person suffer, but in the context of power and law in China, it is much safer to let events simply unfold around you.

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