Workers paint one of those brilliant slogans that the Chinese government is so well known for on a wall in Ningxia. This one appears to relate to the railroad.

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Evan's tent sits among sand dunes in our first evening in Ningxia. A note to potential sand-campers: if you've been fighting a fierce headwind all day, don't set your tent up in the dunes. Evan and I awoke the next morning with an inch of sand in our tents that had blown in through the mesh the night before. Dad and Ellen somehow escaped unscathed.

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We don’t exactly consider Beijing home anymore (we’re really starting to feel like our home is in a couple tents pitched just out of sight from any given road), but we’re coming back! Our arrival is set for the evening of September 13th. And we’re going to celebrate.

We plan to arrive in full bike regalia at Beer Mania in Sanlitun between 5pm and 6pm and hope everyone can join us! Arrival in padded spandex and bike jerseys or with hands covered in chain grease will earn you a smile and a well-deserved pat on the back.

For the occasion, Beer Mania will be offering up local Beijing draught beer at 10 kuai per half liter all night, as well as the full selection of excellent imported beers (the thought of this has kept us pedaling for the last month!) at happy hour prices until 8pm.

So come join us! Sorry this is happening on a Monday night.

Portrait of an LBX Beijing Homecoming

September 13, 5pm

Beer Mania (Map)

Address: 北京市三里屯南街16号泰悦豪庭103

Phone: 010-65850786

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Evan, Ellen and my dad stand atop a hill overlooking the scraggly desert where we pitched camp in our last night in Gansu. Our last couple weeks have been marked by headwinds, great campsites and a rush to cover the distance back to Beijing in time.

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By Evan

… continued from last post. After thanking Rinchen for his gracious hospitality, we took our leave from him and inspected his monastery, which is populated by 300 monks, from the hill behind it. The premises were about as large as an average American high school with scattered buildings organized around two large temples with gilded roofs. Even from hundreds of meters above, we could tell that even the parts of the monastery not currently under construction had not long been around. Almost no monasteries we came across had existed for over 30 years, since all their previous incarnations had been destroyed by red guards during the black period.

Dorgye then drove us back to the town for Tibetan dinner in the restaurant of his ex girlfriend, a plump, rosy cheeked girl in her thirties. Over yak dumplings, noodles, and butter tea, we tried our best to describe America, the place our new friend most wants to visit in the world, despite the fact he’s sure he’ll never be able. During the meal, a short man with curly hair and sharply arched hunchback joined us at our table. He, like pretty well everybody in the town, was friends with Dorgye, and he was another example of Tibetan eccentricity that makes us love these people. Sitting next to us for nearly an hour, he neither spoke a word nor ate any of our food, despite our repeated offerings. He was subjecting himself to a day of fasting — to feel the pain of hungry people — and a day of silence — to feel the pain of the animals, who cannot speak — apparently both common practices. At the conclusion of the meal, Dorgye drove his friend to his home and us to his own, where his mother had prepared for us about two gallons of yoghurt from fresh yak’s milk — probably the best I’ve ever eaten in my life (no, we didn’t finish it, but god did we fart that night from the overwhelming of our systems by dairy products). (more…)

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A family in Gansu loads straw onto a truck after threshing off the grain.

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After a horrendous climb, the newly expanded crew, including my girlfriend Devi, my dad and his girlfriend Ellen, set up camp in the green mountains well before sunset. We were worried that a nasty storm on the horizon would soak us, but it never materialized, and we spent a great first evening on the road with a bottle of Talisker 10-year scotch whisky from duty free. There's a mystery member to our crew in this picture: a Tibetan herder who sat down and watched us talk, eat and drink for more than an hour, turning down our offers of food and drink.

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A herder takes his sheep and goats to graze by Goat Gorge (羊峽) in Qinghai.

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A Tibetan rider gives his horse a good whack to the neck after getting thrown in a village horse race in Qinghai.

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