Cycling through the Winter Holidays - Baku to Batumi

12th of January 2020, Day 151 - 6,010 kmish

Day 124 - We're getting a hang of this selfie business

Spending the winter holidays alone travelling has been a odd experience. It is by far the most set aside period we have for family and friends, the last surviving celebration of community. If you had told me 5 years ago I'd be spending the Christmas and New Years of 2020 on my bill, I'd have assumed something had gone tragically wrong in my life. At the beginning of the trip, I predicted this would be where I'd be hit hardest by homesick blues.

But actually it has been the most stress free and relaxing start to another rotation round the sun that I've ever had. None of that mad dash to buy presents. No desperate attempts to force all of my friends to commit to plans. And no constant Christmas songs or adverts to load on the pressure. In fact, I don't think I heard a single Christmas song all year.

Fam

Day 121 - The view coming into Baku

I did get a Pre-Christmas present though to assuage the Homesickness part. My parents are knee deep in God stuff these days, leading a church out where they live in Malaysia. Christmas itself was off the cards, as they had over half the congregation round at their house for dinner on Baby J's birthday. However they did find a small gap in their busy schedule to come and see me in Azerbaijan. The only real shame is that Lorna couldn't make it too.

All the new travelling friends I've met have been very jealous. I guess a lot of people lose touch with their family on a long trip like this, but with us it has done nothing but bring us closer together. I now speak to them more often than I ever have before. They have by far been the biggest source of support, whether it be a sympathetic ear or a sage piece of advice. I'd go so far as to say we've transcended our family bond's now, and are finally becoming friends.

Day 125 - On a tour of the old city

Base camp was Baku, and because I wasn't paying we could actually do touristy stuff like eat at nice places, go round and see the sights, and most importantly, stay in a swanky hotel. Azerbaijan had a huge injection of oil money in the 90s, and it's all been spent  in the capital. Baku is truly stunning. It's a strange juxtaposition of the old town with its Parisian curving cobblestones and balconies, and the humongous glass skyscrapers . Much like Shanghai, there is a competition here for which weird and wonderful architectural delight can stand out the most, nestled in the bay surrounded by mountains.

Day 126 - Our view of sunrise from the hotel breakfast

The best part though was being with people I know and can be instantly comfortable with after a four month sea of unending new faces. With Uni and then moving to Japan, I've been living away from my family for over 10 years, and it has taught me one real truth. Home is being with the people you love. I am eternally grateful my parents would go all the way to some random city in Central Asia to bring it to me, on a trip so empty of it.

Day 129 - A rare snap of me actually on the bike, as I never have anyone there to take my picture

(They also just as importantly brought me a new set of tires. Doesn't do as much for the homesickness, but is a vital part of me getting back.)

Christmas on a Bike

The long break was exactly what I needed to get my mental back to a good place, ready to go and do it all over again. It also let me build a great base knowledge with which to tackle Azerbaijan. In Baku I'd had enough time to settle. I learned a little of the language, a little of the culture, and knew what to expect from the food. Now, a 7 day dash of 580km to make it to the Georgian Capital Tblisi for New Years.

Day 133 - You may not believe it, but those vague shapes in the background are camels! Finally, after 3 months on the silck road. The herdsman tells me they're "very expensive. Very delicious."

The ride was perfect, in part because of the Azeri people. They are just so full of joy and laughter. The Kazakhs, Kyrgyis, and Uzbeks are many things, but they are not quick to smile. They've inherited that Russia aversion to showing emotions unless absolutely necessary. Even in photos. We'd be having a whale of a time, then I'd look back after at the pictures to a row of grim faces, with me beaming from ear to ear on the end.

Here though everything is full of humor. The Azeri are always cracking jokes and laughing. People call out warmly to greet you with Salam - Peace. As I got onto smaller roads, every driver honked and waved as I trundled on by. Honestly it felt like I was on the final leg of the Tour de France, with people constantly waving and cheering me on. *

Day 133 - Merry Christmas from Ganja!

So on Christmas itself I cycled 70km, but I'd just been Home, so didn't feel the pinch. It helped that there was absolutely no indication it was even a festive period to remind me what I was missing. I ended up in Ganja city (no relation to the green) and went out for drinks with the owner of the Hostel there. Great guy whose name I've completely forgotten, in part because I'm not used to drinking, so 3 pints had me on my knees. He gave me the great advice of avoiding the main border crossing and going to the lesser known one at Sadakhli.

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It also meant that on the way I could stop and camp next to a very interesting phenomenon that happens here. Azerbaijan is known as the Land of Fire, in part because of  the natural gas reserve leaks that at some point were set on fire to create ever-burning flames. The old old religion here is Zoroastrianism, who worship fire, so most of these flames are enshrined in temples or tourist centers, but this one is out in the middle of nowhere. Spring water and the natural gas come up together, a perfect place to camp.

Day 135 - Early morning fire to make coffee and oatmeal. An old woman came and gave me the bucket full of water, apparently a forest-fire would not be good.

(Although when I got there,  I questioned whether I'd come to the right place. The fire was out. I felt very silly stood over the water spout with lit matches, but eventually got it to light. Turns out even eternal flames die once in a while.)

Europe?

Just as quickly as it started, the Azeri cycling adventure was over and I was in Georgia. The change from country to country has been rather gradual since Kazakhstan, but Georgia is something else. For one their language is completely unique, with their very own alphabet. If you've never seen it before I recommend checking it out. It is so different to anything else I've ever seen, like an alien language from some sci-fi movie. Looks like very curvy n's and m's and o's with special flicks all over the place. Definitely the most challenging sign to write for the back of my bike.

Day 138 - An ancient engraving outside the cathedral in Mtskheta

Many of the places I've been have felt new, finding their feet as a nation. Georgia however feels like it has been there forever, picking up right where it left off when the Russians left. Well, mostly left. South Ossetia and Abkhazia are still occupied by Russian troops. There are signs all over saying "Russia occupies 20% of my Country".

The big change could be because for all intensive purposes I've crossed not just from one country to another, but rather across a continental border. The mosques and temples have been replaced by Cathedrals and Monasteries. Cheese is everywhere. The stone buildings and graffiti at least in Tblisi make it feel like I'm in Berlin.

(There seems to be some debate on where the actual continental line is drawn. Clearly economically and politically, Georgia and Turkey are European. Traditionally though they are usually put in Asia. I hope for the sake of my travel insurance that they count for the former.)

New Year, New Me

It has come to my attention that while I get better and better at travelling, I remain a terrible tourist. I have been blessed throughout my life with amazing friends, planners, who do all the arranging. All I've ever done is be around great people and said "Yes, lets do it!" when they come up with a plan. Now I'm on my own, there's no one there to do the leg work and I end up doing nothing. On more than one occasion I've come into a beautiful city full of culture and things to do, but instead cocooned myself in a hostel.  Actually doing stuff in Baku with the family made me realise what a waste that's been. From here on out I am resolved to push myself to do more with my "break time" in cities. Starting with New Year in Tblisi.

Day 138 - Mariam very sneakily managed to dodge being in any of my photos, but here she is  on the left buying me some wine-flavored ice cream.

I have to at this point give a huge shout out to Mariam. By a great stroke of luck, my Dad knows a guy in the Georgian Embassy, and his daughter was back from University for the holidays. My social life has become so dire on this trip that rather than irritated, I was overjoyed when my parents set me up on a friend-date. Mariam took me out for dinner and showed me round the town, then the next day took me to Mtskheta, the old capital, to see what a traditional Georgian Cathedral town is like (don't ask me how to pronounce it, I've got no idea. Far too many consonants squished together.) New Years is a busy time balancing commitments to family and friends, but she somehow made the time to tour guide for me twice. People are good etc.

Day 138 - The view from a monastery overlooking Mtskheta

Then on New Years Eve, I did the impossible and fit some snowboarding in. Gudauri is about an hour and a half from Tblisi, but when I found out there was snow and the lifts were open I couldn't help but try. You have to take a Marshrutka, which appears to the the main form of long distance travel in this area. Its basically a big white van that functions as a share taxi. There's no booking ahead, so you just show up and wait until there's enough people wanting to go to make it worthwhile for the driver.

Day 139 - On the way up

Day 139 - View from the top

Gudauri was beautiful, so unlike the slopes in Japan. The whole mountain is above the tree-line, so everywhere you look is open powder and rocky crags. The season had only just started, and there wasn't really enough snow, but at the top there was just enough. After 5 seasons riding in Japan, I felt pretty confident, so decided to go off piste a little and take advantage of the untouched snow I could see. Big mistake. Just under the surface were giant rocks and boulders, which left my shins a lovely shade of purple. I had no real snow gear, so ended the day soaked, bruised, but extremely happy I'd pushed myself to go out and make the most of it.

Day 141- Leaving Fabrika

I'd been staying at Fabrika. As soon as you arrive, the walls covered in street art let you know this is not a normal hostel. 400 beds, 3 bars downstairs, and a courtyard complete with record store, skate shop, ice cream parlor, and mulled wine stand. Every night I met different people to drink with, and on New Years Eve I went with some guys to Rustaveli square for the countdown.

Insanity. For 10 minutes before midnight, people were setting off hand rocket fireworks from the crowd all around us. Felt like a bona fide war zone. Everyone was handing around bottles of home-made Cha-Cha, the 60% Georgian grappa-esque liquor. Be warned, it's a terrible hangover. Then back to the hostel for some live music and a DJ. I put myself to bed at 5am as the party roared on below me. When I got up at 9am for coffee, the place was still half full of people not yet ready to give up on festivities.

The Dog

The Georgian Church is also unique. They're orthodox like Russia, but with their very own spin. All the cathedrals and monasteries are full of stylised painting, the saints all with long noses and faces, and big soulful brown eyes. After seeing them, I can't help but see the similarities to the Georgian people. Their Christmas is on the 7th of January and celebrations run all the way from New Year.

Day 138 - The cathedral in Mtskheta. Apparently Jesus's robe is buried here. A woman once opened it, touched the robe, and instantly died, so she's buried here too.

I'm not sure whether i'ts the cycling, or the people, or the drinking, but I can firmly say that Georgia has been the best two weeks of the trip so far. After a much needed hangover day, I set out on the 2nd, Day 141, to closed shops and deserted streets. The weather was beautiful, and the mountains even more so, so decided to take the B-roads through picturesque villages, each house with it's own vineyard in the back garden.

Right as I get onto the B-road, I notice a dog on the other side of the road, and wave hi jokingly as it stares back across at me. Next thing I know, the dog is running alongside me. Not barking like usual, just jogging along as if we'd planned to meet up earlier that day. She follows for about a km, before I decide she's earned some petting.  I stop to pet her and have a snack, which  is where I make my big mistake - giving her a bit of bread. Now she won't leave me alone.

Day 141 - Completely uninterested in the view

For the next two hours my new companion paces along beside me, 15km, all the way to where I decide to camp. Mostly uphill, so it's easy for her to keep up. At this point I'm having fantasies of a trip-long doggy pal, buying a dog cart for the bike, and bringing her all the way.

Camping is an absolute joy with another being around to share the sunset with. But I quickly discover Dog's first bad habit: humping everything. The bags. The bike. The tent. My back everytime I'm crouched down leaving muddy footprints all over my jacket.

Even so she settles down for the night, sharing my fire, and even obediently curling up in the tent entrance to get out of the wind.

Day 142 - More interested in the view

I wake up the next day and Dog is still there. Today is much tougher for her though. After peaking the ridge, there's a lot of downhill, so I have to wait for her to catch up. She still sprints after me though, racing at break neck speeds to keep up with her new-found pack.

Then on the flats I discover her second bad habit: getting in front of the bike, and roaming about in the road despite the onctraffic. I near enough had a heart attack multiple times as she nonchalantly jogged across in front of giant trucks, or unexpectedly stopped directly in fornt of me, forcing me to slam the breaks.

Still she manages to make it another 25km with me but is starting to flag.

Her final bad habit was the real breaking point though. As you can tell, there's a whole bunch of stray dogs here. In the towns and villages, they are wards of the state, with a little yellow tab in their ear letting you know they've been vaccinated and safe. Every village we pass through, she would set them all off, barking and fronting, starting full-on brawls outside of shops and street corners.

Day 142 - The delicious fresh bread

I decide it's probably best for everyone if we part ways. I give her a sausage from my bag, share the delicious bread fresh bread I bought earlier with her, and say my goodbyes. While I'm in the corner shop, she gets distracted tussling with some other dogs, so I take my chance and leg it. I hope she enjoyed our time together as much as I did, and her life isn't ruined too much by relocating 40km west.

Christmas on a Bike II: Electric Boogaloo

Christmas celebrations are still in full swing around me. Day 143, I decide to continue on the B-roads after how stunning the views have been. Excellent riding, climbs up and slopes down, but mostly up through more and more remote villages.

In the early afternoon I get to Kareli and decide to go into a bakery for lunch, one of the only ones I'd seen open. Inside is the whole family sat about chatting. I join them to eat my fried bready goods, which is when the father decides we should drink some wine. Except in Georgia they don't just sip a glass. They toast, then down the whole thing.

Day 143 - To day drinking!

Four glasses later, completely day drunk, I set off in a spectacular mood and precede to get instantly lost. The wind picks up, but for the first time it is going my way. I enjoy it way too much and miss my turning. Rather than go back, I decide to cut through on smaller and smaller roads. First gravel, then mud and rocks, and finally a dirt track, as I drag my bike up a hill to the peak between where I've ended up and the road I'm supposed to be on. Stunning. Definitely the best picture I've taken so far.

Day 143 - Lost in a field

I then fly down the other side on another dirt track to the highway. Having completely not learned my lesson, I head blindly off the other side into more villages and am forced onto even more rocky roads. Finally I find some pavement and push on the last 10km to Khashuri.

Day 144 - Through the mountain pass to Zestaponi

Day 145, 6th of January. Christmas eve. I arrive at a beautiful guesthouse in Samtredia, which of course comes fully equipped with dogs: this time two adorable energetic puppies. They had some family over, but the owner Giorgi who spoke great English insisted I join them. The spread was ridiculous. A full on feast. Authentic homecooked Georgian food by grandma and great grandma.

Day 145 - The feast

No one else was eating much though as they'd all been feasting for 6 days straight. And of course, homemade wine. Toast after toast, each time downing the glass. For dead relatives. For Georgia. For the Children. Even one for me on my travels. At this point I'm beyond drunk and can't help but tear up a little.

Day 145 - Granddad insisted on having a go on my bike

We stay up till midnight, and I accept the fact I'll be staying one more day. There's no way I'm riding out of here with a hangover like this.

Over the Hump

I'm now writing in Batumi, right near the border of Turkey, hiding from the torrential rain we've had here for 3 days straight. As mum keeps saying, its strange how we experience time. The millennium seems like only yesterday, but last week feels like months and months ago. I can hardly believe it's gone so fast, but today is Day 150. Halfway (Well it was when I started writing, but it's taken me a while to get the blog done.) And yet, China feels like it was another life-time ago. Here's to 5 more months of adventure. Happy New Year everyone.

Day 138 - Tblisi at night from up on the cablecar

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* After last time's post, I just want to make some corrections in favor of Uzbekistan. The more and more I think about it, the more I realise that where I was mentally sort of ruined Uzbekistan for me. The cheers I received in Azerbaijan would just have easily been painted as jeers before on the way to Samarkand. A bunch of people have written to tell me they'd had an absolutely brilliant time in Uzbekistan, so please don't let my bad mood put you off. After the change in President, the conditions in Uzbekistan have slowly been improving, and I'm told that last year they changed policy and payed all the workers in the cotton fields.

The Tibetan Monks - Ping Liang to Jia Yu Guan

22nd of October 2019, Day 70 - 3430ish km

Day 54 - Got randomly invited into someone's home and was greeted by Marx and the boys

Since Ping Liang, the hotel situation has chilled out a bit. I haven't had a police party in my room for ages. Gansu is a long province, the last point of civilization before I dive out into the wild west. If a hotel can't work out what to do with my passport, they just pocket the cash,  and usher me quickly into a room without doing any pesky bookkeeping. I won't tell if you don't.

With the hotel weight lifted from my shoulders, I can relax and just enjoy the cycling, which has been brilliant. This section is the most mountainous part of the China journey. Every morning I climb up and up at a snails pace. The gaps in between inhabited places have been getting larger and larger too, so I'm often climbing 40+km late into the afternoon, before barreling down the hill on the other side, racing the sunset as I search for signs of humanity. My average daily kilometer-age is up to 75, and the other day I churned  out my first 100km ride. Quite frankly I feel like a cycling god. More on the 100km day later.

Day 61 - Tibetan prayer flags on the mountain ridge

On my way to Lanzhou (Lan Joe) I had my first repeat roadside rendezvous. I re-ran into a young guy on a motorbike, who I had met previously on the way to Ping Liang. He had joined the Chinese army at the age of 17, making him very polite and straight-laced. Insisted on calling me sir the whole time, made me feel very old. But at 24 he had hung up his uniform and was motorbiking around China. In the 3-day interim between our two chance encounters, he had already made it up to Qing Hai lake and was on his way back home. It made me extremely jealous of how fast you can go when you have a motor rather than two tired legs lugging you plus your own weight in bags up a mountain every day. When it was time to get back on our way, he very out of character gave me a bro-fist, before telling me, Don't swim in the lakes. They are sacred, and the locals have very big knives. Extremely specific advice, I wonder how he found that one out.

Day 53 - Soldier boy posing with his motorbike

The Monastery

Lanzhou is in a deep valley, which means a gargantuan climb on the other side. Wiser cyclists than me usually go round and skip it entirely when taking this route, but there was a very important thing I wanted to do there. Ever since arriving in China, people have been telling me I have to go to Tibet. I would tell them that I can't, its in the complete wrong direction unless I take the lower route through Pakistan and Iran. They'd laugh. Yeah... that doesn't sound easy. But you should, though. Tibet is so beautiful.

I still can't justify going to Tibet, but I've managed to fit the lite version in. The southern part of Gansu used to be the Tibetan province of Amdo. In Xia He (She a her) there is a Tibetan Buddhist monastery called Labrang. It is one of the few left open to the public in China proper. Still quite far out of my way, but you can get a 4-hour bus there from Lanzhou. I figured it was be worth the climbs on the other side, to put the cycling on hold for two days to go and do some spiritual-ing like a real tourist.

Now most of China is culturally dominated by the Han, with small spatterings of Muslim mixed in. Mostly at noodle shops. In the UK, you know you are at a good Italian restaurant if it's run by Italians. In China, the Muslims make the best noodles, usually fresh and by hand right there at the shop in front of you. You can tell them apart from Han noodle shops because the decor is green rather than red, and very occasionally there are some Arabic signs floating about.

Day 57 - Muslims and a Tibetan chillin on the sidewalk

Xia He is something else though, even before you get into the Monastery. The Han, Muslim, and Tibetan are all mixed in together, about as close to a cultural melting pot you are gonna get in China. After two months of cultural monochrome, I found it quite overwhelming. By far the most interesting place I've been to just sit and people watch.

The Tibetans are just out of this world. I've never seen anything like their style before. The guys wear double sized loose coats with sleeves that come down to their knees. They often wear them with one side down, held up by a red sash. Apparently it's so they can pull it up over their heads while herding the flocks in winter and still have their arms covered.

With the coat, cowboy boots and cowboy hats, especially the women. But not the big Texan ones, more like the hard leather ones you see in South America. They look like cowboys, but also completely different - a livestock culture that developed in a unique way due to the cold mountain winters. Almost all Tibetans carry prayer beads which they slowly finger through their hands as they walk, counting the daily mantras. They are darker and tanned, with beautiful round faces and rosy cheeks from the mountain wind. That is, when you can actually see their faces - everyone is wrapped up in scarves to keep out the cold.

Day 58 - Keeping warm while waiting for prayers

Then of course, there are the monks who come down into the town to do a little shopping, constantly pulling their red and purple robes up around them to protect their bald heads against the wind. The Monastery itself is much bigger than I expected, but I should have guessed. It has more than 2000 monks, and they all need somewhere to live. It's more of a town within a town. The outside of the grounds is lined with the longest path of prayer wheels in the world. The Tibetan Buddhists don't limit prayer to spoken words. The physical act of spinning the prayer wheel is enough to put the message out into the universe. It's why you often associate Tibetan Buddhism with prayers written on multi-colored flags, their fluttering mantras carried by the mountain winds up to whatever holy deity happens to be listening.

At 3 pm there is an English tour. Unsurprisingly I was the only one there, so I ended up having a one to one look round with a monk who spoke the best English of anyone I've met in China so far. There are six different schools in the monastery. Astrology, Medicine, Scripture, that sort of stuff. Luck would have it though that my guide was from the school of Philosophy. I knew my Masters wouldn't be a complete waste. We ended up strolling around the grounds, generally ignoring the ornate decorations and temples around us, instead debating various different topics. What is Happiness? When does a life start and end? What does it mean to be good? What is a person? What is the self? The last two got us going cause I just so happened to write my dissertation on the topic. It broke down, though, when we got down to the more fundamental dogmatic stuff. See for him reincarnation and karma are givens that need no proof, and when I questioned whether we really had a soul, he said No, we don't have one soul. We've got six. Definitely some leaps in logic going on there.

Day 57 - My man on the inside

Then we got talking about the Monk life. He seemed irritated by basically everything that took him away from studying. The Tibetan word for Monk is "Trapa", which literally means "student", and "Lama" means teacher. The Monastery has only been open to the public for a few years, and he said it's been very disruptive for the Monks. No one can concentrate in lessons. They take four vows when they become a Monk. Never kill. Never steal. Never lie. Never marry. I asked him if his vow to celibacy was difficult to keep. He said it's very hard. But who has time to study when you have to look after a wife and a family? Many of the PhD students I know appear to agree with him.

Then near the end of the tour, I had the absolute pleasure of seeing him play the foreigner card. A Chinese guy interrupted our conversation to ask a question, and in English my monk answered "Sorry, I don't speak Chinese." Which I know for a fact is not completely true because he told me he's very good at Mandarin. I guess the "Never lie" vow doesn't quite stretch to annoying tourists. Maybe it's less that he can't, and more that he doesn't particularly want to.

The next day I planned on going to morning prayers at 6 am, but my bed was too warm and cozy so I slept in. Thankfully the monks are extremely pious and have lunch prayers too, which I managed to catch. Magical stuff, it really felt like I was seeing something out of a fantasy film. From about 11:30 they slowly started to collect outside on the steps, swaying backwards and forwards to the beat, wearing their yellow hats that look like mohawk haircuts. Deep humming from inside the prayer hall, with a thousand voices joining in, rhythmically repeating the same mantra. Then two guys on the roof blew on horns to call them inside. I wasn't sure if I could go in to see, but the local Tibetans decked out in finery, carrying yak butter offering candles started to file inside. I, in my dirty rain gear and trackies, snuck in behind. You couldn't take photos, but you wouldn't really want to. It would have ruined the other-worldly sanctity of the moment. Didn't stop a few of the monks from pointing at me and grinning when our eyes met.

Day 58 - No photos from inside but I snook one in the doorway. The Tibetans give the monks names of people they want prayed for wrapped in money, then the names are read out during prayers.

After prayers, I headed to the highest point in the Monastery, where you can see the whole grounds nestled between the river and the mountains. As I stood there gazing down on the houses and temples, wrapped in the holiness of the divine experience I'd just had, a monk burst out a doorway into one of the yards, hiked up his robes, and took a shit in the garden. Happy to have seen the duality of man condensed into two striking moments, I let that be the full stop on my Tibetan experience and got back on the bus to Lanzhou.

Good Karma

From that point on it seemed like my luck had turned around. Cheaper hotels started letting me in again, the gray skies evaporated to be replaced by glorious sunshine, and luckiest of all, I met Jian. Maybe I'd gotten some good karma from the Monastery trip.

Day 59 - Adventurers swapping stories

Jian is another tour cyclist, a Chinese guy going the other way round, through Tibet and the desert, then back through Xin Jiang (Shin Jee Ang) where I will be spending my last few weeks in China. He had been cycling for 134 days, with a whopping 10,000km under his belt. Clearly he's much fitter than me. As he should be, he's only 21. It was lovely to find someone else on a similar journey. Made me feel less crazy, or at the very least less alone in being crazy. He pulled out a bag of pears and apples, I pulled out sunflower seeds and biscuits, and we had ourselves a little mini picnic on the side of the road. We must have sat there chatting for over an hour, talking about everything. The isolation, the feeling of being on the road, how impossible it is to have a girlfriend while traveling. He said he only ended up feeling really lonely recently, as the Chinese celebrate a big family festival in August. I imagine I will feel the same around Christmas.

Day 65 - A crazy guy walking to Chengdu lugging this giant solar panel cart all the way. He's live streaming the whole thing

My luck then did a 180 on me during Day 65. The 100km day. I read the blog of two guys who had done the Yongchang to Shandan run in a day and one of them was old, so I pigheadedly assumed I can do the same. The weather has turned cold, but the sun keeps you toasty. Being this far up in the mountains all day with the cold and sun and wind has turned my face dark with pink cheeks, just like the Tibetans. The morning starts well and by lunch I'm out on the grassy plains, moving up towards the mountains tipped with something suspiciously resembling snow. Hopefully it stays up there a bit longer. I can do many things, but I can't bike through snow. As the slope starts getting steeper the wind picks up. It blows directly into my face, threatening to throw me off down a hill on one side, or into the trucks flying by on the other. Quite possibly the toughest climb so far. I don't get to the peak until late, and it's a very round mountain so I don't particularly fly down the other side like usual.

Day 65 - The view from the top doesn't quite capture the wind

By now it's 6 and I'm still 30km from Shandan. That's when I make the slightly unwise decision to not camp and press on. The sun is going down, but I figure I can make it.

I get to a closed section of the G312, where some guys are stopped in a truck. I ask them if I can get through. Ke yi ma? Ke yi. Which vaguely means "You can", and I took to mean, "Yeah, go for it!", but later realised it in no way implies "You should". Language is a nuanced thing. By now it's pitch black and I can hardly see. Whole sections of the road are impassable, so I end up going into dirt tracks on the side multiple times. Eventually, I come up to some lights. It seems they are doing some late night repairs on the road. I pass a few vehicles and workers, but no one bats an eyelid, so I figure I'm fine. It feels hot all of a sudden, and there is steam coming off the road. All at once I realise the giant vehicles are rollers, and I'm slowly sinking into fresh tarmac, leaving a trail behind me through the newly pressed road. My luck has run out. A guy notices, his face slowly turning from surprise to disbelief and finally resting on disappointment. He wordlessly shooed me onto the dirt path on the side, before calling out for the rollers to stop. Of course now I have hot tarmac all over my tires, and I'm in gravel, so my wheels become completely covered in little rocks. I don't think this was what they intended when they said "become one with the road."

Day 65 - Right before the sun set on me

I limp through the final 10km, spraying gravel bits all over the road behind me, then stop at the first hotel I see. They clearly aren't allowed to have me, but it's 9 pm at night and they want the money, so they take 100 yuan and hide me away in a back room. So far no lasting damage to the wheels, but galvanizing your tires with tarmac won't be catching on any time soon. 100km in a day. Won't be doing that again in a hurry.

Day 66 - Riding alongside the ruins of the Great Wall

Day 66 - It's really Great

Camping

I did on one occasion decide to dust off the tent and camp for the night. As long as you can do without a hot shower, it's the perfect accommodation. No hassle finding a hotel, it's free, and I get to see the sunrise. The next leg really is out in the wilderness, so there will be a lot more camp days to come before the China chapter of my adventure comes to a close. As long as I don't get eaten by wolves out in the Chinese desert, I'll see you on the other side at Urumqi.

Zai jian.

Day 67 - First camp in China, hidden from the road by the bushes