One of the more endearing things about Tibetans is their way of indicating something. Instead of raising a bony finger and pointing at the object, they simply purse their lips and shoot it a kiss. It’s a thing I’ve seen often in Vietnam but never before in China. It takes some time to realise that they mean nothing intimate.

Holy mountain with monastery
Holy mountain with monastery

We’ve wolfed down a bunch of noodles and commence or third showerless day. The road is flat for a while and surprisingly calm. Perhaps the Chinese tourists are heading home. Every now and then, a bright pink or yellow anorak is on display, on the hood of a Jeep or the roof of an SUV, with a backdrop of mountains for the friends at home to drool over, but mainly the road is empty.

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Startled awake by a voice in broken Mandarin. Squinted eyes. Instant noodles? Reality slowly setting in, the image on our retinas solidifying. We stare right into Sunday’s friendly face as he wishes us good morning, lights the stove and sticks the kettle on. He points the packages of instant noodles with beef flavour and announces with an apologetic gesture that he’s got to go. We gather our stuff and thoughts as he shuffles out. The lawn outside the building is covered in brittle frost. Our breath forms woolly clouds in the morning chill. We munch pensively on our noodles before re-arranging the monk’s living quarters and, failing to find him, buying 100 RMB worth of karma through the monastery’s donation box.

Hotel Monk
Hotel Monk

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We’re up with the sun and quickly get ready. Today’s our biggest day with a climb over 4700 m so we have little time to waste. After complaining about the lack of Tibetan food for breakfast, feasting on dumplings instead and adding a pumping our tyres up properly, we roll down the steep hill and leave this dump behind.

Tower-like Tibetan structure
Tower-like Tibetan structure

The day starts with a long gentle incline and for the first time this trip, we are able to cruise at around 20 km/h. Following the river upstream, a small hamlet with oinking black pigs in all formats and sizes marks the beginning of the long climb. We decide on a steady 7 km/h to climb the mountain, something which initially works out but after a while proves impossible to maintain. So we stick to our own tempo.

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After a very fragile sleep interrupted by a pee break in the middle of the night, we wake with the first rays of the sun. The gate is still closed so we have to wait for the Daoban boys to head out. We make some coffee and oatmeal, wash our dishes and have a stare-off with the chicken that’s interested in the contents of our tent. At this altitude, when it rains, you get snow. The rocky peaks on the opposite side are covered in virgin snow gleaming yellow in the early sunlight.

Sun and snow on the mountain
Sun and snow on the mountain

The gates open and we head out in the crisp mountain air, watching the morning fog burn off as we creep on towards the pass. When we finally reach it, our excitement is quickly smothered by the discovery that we can barely roll down faster than 15 km/h. The cold, exacerbated by two rear wheel punctures in 15 minutes, makes our descent a difficult one.

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Although we went to bed relatively early and only had a little to drink before we did, we don’t manage to wake up early. A few unfortunate workers who had shambled in the night before because their motorbike broke down on the mountain strike up a short conversation before leaving. They’re going to catch the only bus to Shangri-La and attempt to get home from there. It’s well past 10 am when we finish a breakfast of instant oatmeal, Dali bars and instant coffee while talking to Dan (who was so nice to replace my broken Camelbak valve with a spare that he’d brought).

Dilapidated Tibetan house
Dilapidated Tibetan house

The morning sun sees us off on a good start through the gorge, a pleasant false flat along a tranquil blue river and rustic scenery. Tibetan architecture is now prevalent, houses interspersed with huge wooden racks on which highland barley, a main staple of the region, is drying. Along with Tibetan architecture come the ubiquitous prayer flags, of which we learn that they’re strung in windy places so the wind can read up the prayers written on the flags. Saves the Tibetans some time to concentrate on what really matters while not neglecting their religious duties. We come across more such spiritual efficiency on a small side stream. A small cabin with a turbine sticking out of its bottom is driven by the water. Where in most areas in Yunnan you’d find a milling stone attached for grinding wheat, these Tibetan folk have connected a prayer wheel to it.

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I wake up feeling a little bit under the weather. It’s freezing cold outside but the sun is casting a few promising rays across the city. We warm up with a large bowl of Tenchong Ersi, find out that Sandy’s Camelbak only holds one litre of water instead of the expected two, and head out towards the mountain.

The going's a bit tough in the beginning
The going’s a bit tough in the beginning

The road is dusty and filled with trucks. Looking left and right, however, our souls are soothed by peaceful pastures, grazing yak and brilliantly white Tibetan houses gleaming in the morning sun. They build their houses quite differently from China’s other minorities, usually preferring large, fortress-like houses with beautifully adorned window frames, wood features and roofs consisting of wooden panels held down with stones. Larger ones also feature a courtyard.

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We wake to the sound of a dozen Chinese voices preparing for the big ride. Some of them have rolled in at 10 last night but are the first to get up. At their rate, they’ll need it. Only the Hunan group is still around when we finally make it down the stairs. Of our plans to get up at the crack of dawn is not much left.

We put our sweaty and dirty riding gear back on, wipe the sleep grime off our faces and stumble into the kitchen where we’re supposed to get breakfast. And breakfast there is: the owner’s lovely wife (who could really be his daughter) serves us two large helpings of noodles and wraps up a large, freshly-baked baba (a dry wheat cake) for our trip. The neighbouring shop complements our supplies with some drinks and a smile wide enough to allow a small truck to pass.

Pete enjoying breakfast in the inn's kitchen
Pete enjoying breakfast in the inn’s kitchen

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Having rested for a full day, we make another early start into what is now really unknown terrain. A cartload of steamed buns (包子 baozi) and soy sauce eggs (卤蛋 ludan) fill our stomachs and what doesn’t fit goes into a lunch bag. Skies are clear, air is crisp, perfect day for a bike ride.

Leaving Shangri-La in the morning
Leaving Shangri-La in the morning

As we’re climbing out of the messy outskirts of Shangri-La, we’re accompanied by a cloud of ominous buzzards, lazily circling above our heads. Traffic’s relatively busy and we’re hoping to hit the actual old road to Deqin soon. We’re not too sure whether it still exists. On one hand, constructing a new second-class road requires making much more level roads, an ice-free surface and there are certain requirements as to how sharp curves are allowed to be. (more…)

We’d had a rest day at Baishuitai to explore the terraces and the forest around it further because it was so pretty. It also allowed us to get a good night’s rest and to leave early on what was supposed to be one of the hardest rides of this trip.

Leaving the hotel at 8am
Leaving the hotel at 8am

No surprises for me this time. I had ridden the murderous 131km from Haba to Shangri-La in one day before and I had literally fallen asleep on the bicycle from exhaustion and altitude. And that was after 4 months of continuous biking. With a lot fewer kilometres in our legs this time, I thought it wiser to cut the distance by 30km by staying in Baishuitai instead of Haba, and also to leave early enough. By 8am we’re on the road.

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After a night in the smoky torture chamber next to the Mahjong-loving photographer crew from Henan, we’re feeling surprisingly fresh. The sun’s out and it promises to be a lovely day. Whatever remains of our headache and grudge towards the rowdy neighbours is quickly fixed by a large bowl of noodles. We get the owner to boil us some eggs for the road and will rely on Dali bars 达力粑 for the rest of the day.

'morning!
‘morning!

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