Another normal day in China: BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEPPP!!!!!!

November 4, 2014

Nerves tingled up and down my spine. My palms were sweaty, my heart pounded in my chest. The slope up to the expressway was steeper than I'd thought and I felt anxious as I clambered up and down carrying my bags in the almost complete darkness. Below me was a steep drop to a raging torrent of white water, the noise of which drowned out even the expressway trucks. Above me, the bridge that would carry me onwards into the tunnel. From my campsite beneath the bridge I had been able to see the entrance sign to the tunnel, declaring almost menacingly: 'Length: 5327 metres.' Those four numbers still glowed, lit up above me across the river; taunting me, challenging me. This was dangerous. This was illegal. But this was fantastic. I felt so alive.

I lifted the bike over the fence and onto the shoulder of the expressway, clipped on the panniers, flicked on my lights and started to cycle. The shoulder disappeared as soon as the tunnel began and I moved into the slow lane. But it was before seven in the morning and luckily there was almost no traffic, and the lights of the tunnel were bright enough. My biggest fear, naturally, was being pulled over by the police and being asked just what I thought I was doing riding a bicycle through an expressway tunnel. With such thoughts I turned the pedals even harder, adding to the adrenaline boost that was already firing me along at 30 kilometres per hour. Pound, pound, pound the pedals. Faster, faster, faster. One kilometre down. Two. Three kilometres. A truck flew past. A bus flew past. That was all. No more traffic. I was going too fast now, they couldn't catch me. Four kilometres. I could see the faint early-morning twilight at the end of the tunnel now. Pound, pound, pound, and then, whoosh, I was free. Back to the fresh air, back to the shoulder. Suddenly great hordes of traffic came past me. I'd timed it to perfection. Two kilometres later there was an exit and I slipped quietly through empty toll booths and onto the safety of the legal-to-cycle-on old 213. I'd made it.

Back on the 213 and looking down at the expressway

Mist hung low in the valley as I battled my way around more broken bridges and unlit old tunnels on dirt tracks until the 213 regained its composure and decided to become a proper road again. With the return of asphalt came the return of the traffic, some of it tourist buses heading to the town of YingXiu. For me visiting that town proved to be a strange and sobering experience. Like MaoXian and WenChuan it had been decimated by the 2008 earthquake, but this one appeared to have been rebuilt for questionable reasons. The first thing that I came to was a tourist information centre, outside of which were parked many buses. Groups of Chinese tourists walked across the road and down the new main street which was lined with perfect-looking new buildings of traditional architecture. Buddhist prayer flags hung along the way and the tourists snapped photos happily, huddling along in their groups as their guide chattered away carrying a bright flag so they wouldn't lose anybody. But here's the thing - all of the buildings were completely empty. There wasn't a single local on the street. There was absolutely nobody but tourists.

Okay, there was also a woman sweeping the streets for the tourists

I followed the tourist trail to the school. Possibly the only building in the whole area that had been left just exactly as it was after the earthquake. 55 people died here, most of them young children. Now tourists posed for photos in front of it. I walked around the outside of the school buildings, away from the tourists who didn't stray far from the front where the best photo opportunity was. A leafy park now filled the space around the white concrete buildings, but they themselves had been left as they were. Most of them still stood, but a couple had collapsed almost completely. Those that stood had cracks across them like scars. All of the windows were gone of course, just bare white walls inside, plants and mosses filled the cracks and crept up from the floorboards as nature began to reclaim. Birds nested in the roofs but the air was still and it was cold and grey, a moment of poignancy. It was terribly sad to think of the nightmare of that day; the tragic loss of life, the horrific aftermath, the never-ending scar for those left behind.

One of the worst collapsed school buildings

55 people died here, now tourists crowd around for their photo at the front and there is a gift shop opposite

Beyond YingXiu I came to the epicenter of the quake; a peaceful and serenely beautiful corner of the valley. The mist still drifted low and the waters and the mountains shimmered an electric blue. Mother Nature looked calm and tranquil here now, as if embarrassed by what she had done.

The somewhat innocuous-looking epicenter

After skirting the reservoir for a while I had to climb up over a pass on a road which deteriorated often into a narrow, rough track. Traffic was still fairly busy and the Chinese horn-honking was as irritating as ever on the switchback climb. Tired and sweating as I neared the top I was passed by a very slow moving truck, which was barely going any faster than I was. Just exactly as it pulled alongside me it let out a sudden unexpected and very, very loud blast of the horn. The exact reason that the driver had for beeping at such a moment was a mystery to all but him, despite me doing my best to find out by screaming another one of my legendary tirades after his truck. Oh, I would have given my right arm for the chance to give this idiot a piece of my mind for real.

But then, a little ahead of me, I saw the truck pull over. A man at the side of the road opened up the passenger door and was talking across the cab to the driver. Oh, this was a sweet opportunity indeed! And I still had both of my arms! Yes, I saw my chance here. Revenge would be sweet. I caught up to the parked truck and cycled slowly around on the driver's side. I saw that his window was open and looked in. The driver was facing the other way, concentrating on the man on the other side of the road. Oh yes! This was my moment, this was my chance. I leaned in as close as I could to the open window, to the back of his head, opened my mouth, filled my lungs with air, and let out the loudest shout of "BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEPPP!!!!!!!!" that I possibly could.

The driver didn't jump in shock. I don't think it is any exaggeration to say that the fact that he didn't jump in shock rankles with me as one of my greatest disappointments in life. All I wanted to do was to make him understand how bloody annoying it is to be made to jump in shock by a loud beep, and I had missed my one chance. What he did do was turn around and look a bit surprised, which turned into looking a bit apologetic when I launched into a tirade of such magnitude that it turned my face red and the air blue. He couldn't understand the words but I jolly well made sure he understood the meaning. Good.

I went on ahead and soon came to a tunnel which marked the top of the pass. As I stopped to switch on my lights the truck started up again and came towards the tunnel entrance. I knew the driver wanted to beep at me. I knew his hand was hovering over the horn. I stared at him and dared him. "Just you try it buddy, I've got your licence plate number, and I WILL find you." He passed without beeping. But then halfway through the tunnel he let out a little beep. Maybe some kind of an apology beep? It would be just like the Chinese to apologise for beeping by beeping. But maybe it was just instinct, maybe he just couldn't hold it in any more.

By now I was down at around 500 metres above sea level and it felt like the start of the tropics, with lush green foliage suddenly everywhere

The expressway couldn't be bothered about going around the reservoir

This is Lee-An, a 19 year-old who had walked from Beijing disguised as a tree

The town of DuJiangYan marked the end of the mountains, and here some more completely empty buildings. At first I thought the signs above the shopfronts were actually really representative of the shops that would be moving in

On closer inspection, maybe not. Perhaps if it said 'Truck tyres,' 'Truck tyres,' 'Mechanic' I might believe it

Beyond DuJiangYan the road was very flat as I headed south across a flat plain. Being China the whole area was populated but I was able to find a good road, now following a route kindly suggested to me by fellow CGOABer Peter Jacobsen that would allow me to take a direct route without needing to waste time heading into the metropolis of Chengdu. The road began single lane but soon developed into a dual carriageway which worked out perfectly for me because, although there was no shoulder, the traffic essentially only used the fast lane and the slow lane was used as a combined bicycle lane, motorcycle lane, parking lane and footpath.

Even though none of the big traffic was using the slow lane of the dual carriageway some things still made me angry, such as the habit of walking in the road with your child on the outside. Something that can be seen all over China

Not content with this, the road got better as the land got more populated and a big sign declared that we were now moving onto a brand new 'Safety Highway.' Even as a man who complains about everything, particularly everything in this country, I couldn't find anything to quibble with regarding this road where a big wide shoulder was given over entirely to us slower moving vehicles. And there was quite a collection of weird and wonderful slower moving vehicles using it as we neared the town of WenJiang including bicycles, motorcycles, motor-scooters, electric scooters, electric bicycles, rickshaws, motorised rickshaws, tricycles, and Postman Pat:

I didn't see him deliver any letters, he must have been on his way home.

WenJiang turned out to be more of a city than a town and as things got even busier the shoulder became a segregated roadway running alongside the main road; a common way for Chinese streets to be laid out. Although these secondary roads were often blocked by parked cars or pedestrians (the Chinese really don't like using footpaths, which were usually empty as everyone walked in the road) in WenJiang the sheer strength in numbers of the slower vehicles mostly kept things flowing. And then something bad happened.

Even here the road wasn't always easy to cycle along

The lights at the intersection ahead were red. As I understood it before I entered China, when the lights are red it means that you are supposed to stop. However, I'd recently come to understand that if you are in the bicycle/motorcycle/electric rickshaw/Postman Pat lane in China then a red light actually means just keep going and swerve in and out of anything that is crossing the junction from the other direction. But even knowing that this was the correct way of doing things here I didn't really like it, and so I usually pulled over and waited for the lights to go green, at which point I would have to be very careful to swerve in and out of the bicycles/motorcycles/electric rickshaws/Postmen Pats that were running the red light coming the other way. But on this particular occasion as I approached the red light it looked as if the road to the right was completely blocked off by boards marking a construction project where yet another new tower block was about to join the concrete jungle. If there was no road on the right there was really no need at all to stop, and so, following Chinese etiquette, I proceeded through the lights.

I didn't get far. Naturally I was still being very cautious and as I came to the end of the big construction boards I suddenly saw that there was in fact a road to the right and that a car was heading towards the junction. I'd been feathering the brakes and now pressed them down firmly to come to a halt safely. I'd stopped for the lights. I'd broken Chinese road etiquette. There was a squeal from behind and I felt a big shadow approaching me, racing up on me. Suddenly a clattering noise and I was down. I came off the bike sideways and landed on my butt. Dazed, I looked up to see what had happened. A motorised rickshaw had run straight into the back of me when I stopped. Oh, the irony! All these years cycle touring and this was my first real collision, and it was with a rickshaw... on a safety highway! Oh, the humanity!

Some people came around to help me. Two of my panniers had broken off - a rear one from the impact with the rickshaw and a front one from the impact with the road. With the help of the passers-by I got myself back on my feet and all of my things to a safe space behind the construction boards. I felt mostly okay, just a little shocked and, yes, I did have quite a nasty pain in my lower back. The driver of the rickshaw seemed a little concerned and was hanging around, presumably to see if me and my bike were okay. The bike looked alright but I flipped it over to check everything. The rear wheel was very, very out of true and had a big kink in it, but to be fair that was probably because I built it. "It's okay, don't worry, I'm okay, really. It was my fault anyway, I shouldn't have stopped at the red light like that. No harm d-" I looked up. The rickshaw driver was gone.

The junction where the collision occurred. A different motorised rickshaw can be seen going through the red light, as Chinese road etiquette dictates

After the accident I was keen to soon stop and lucked out and found an empty plot of land suitable for throwing up the tent for the night. As I lay there drifting off to sleep with pain still ebbing through my lower back I reflected on what had been a very eventful day. Adventure and excitement, poignant moments of great sadness and reflection, frustration, sweat, toil, and angry tirades, beeping horns, people walking in the road, and a collision with a motorised rickshaw. Just another normal day riding a bicycle in China really.

Today's ride: 113 km (70 miles)
Total: 32,399 km (20,120 miles)

Rate this entry's writing	Heart	5
Comment on this entry	Comment	0