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.
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.
A lovely morning sun accompanies us on our first climb out of the valley. It’s about 5km long and offers stunning views of the surrounding mountain scenery. We feel pretty strong and make good time. A short while later, we’re already on the way down to the beginning of our next big climb. Rolling down into an increasingly Tibetan-looking landscape, we muse on the omnipresence of basketball courts in China. Some of the ones here are positioned on top of a mountain ridge and not fenced-off. Any ball-loss involves a few hours’ walk to retrieve it. No wonder China produces such fine basketball-players.
Places here have names like 猪场 (pig farm) and 大羊场 (big sheep farm) and there are indeed all kinds of livestock being raised, herded and undoubtedly converted into delicious dishes. We had already seen some yak but now the plains are swarming with our furry and mild-tempered friends, desperately looking for something to ruminate on in the arid plains of drought-stricken Yunnan.
We’re still making excellent time on our second climb, dealing with the 15 km slope in the manner of champions (and with a break in a hamlet for a Dali bar, pondering a landfill of beer bottles at our feet. Why would anyone ruin their back yard so badly? The top, at 3500 m, is our highest point so far and we have to wrap ourselves warm for the descent into Kowloon – or at least this is how its dwellers translated the synonymous Yi minority village of 九龙 – nine dragons.
Even though we were told that there is a restaurant and accommodation here, we were happy that we didn’t trust this information too much. There is a place called Kowloon Yi-style hostel, but, just like three years ago, it’s boarded shut. With shaky hands we feed ourselves a bowl of instant noodles from the only shop in the area. We are allowed to sit inside by the stove while a toddler comes to investigate our legs.
To break up the journey, we have the option to go to Luoji 洛吉, which is a little closer and more downhill than Shangri-la, en where we know an outdoor guesthouse is run by a foreign man, giving access to the notoriously beautiful Niru river valley behind. Yet, we decide we don’t know the road, we don’t know the contact of the guesthouse, we don’t know if there’s any other accommodation and it’s already too late to take risks. Also, we wouldn’t have time to walk around the river valley, making this excursion a little bit moot.
So we leave Nine Dragons and take a left towards Shangri-La instead. An old woman with the traditional black Yi headwear watches our silhouettes disappear on the mountain.
A long, grinding climb takes us past patches of snow and ice and an occasional yak with world-weary eyes. Our speed dwindles phenomenally despite the gradual incline. The altitude and the cold are getting to us. Also, the scenery leaves a lot of wishes unfulfilled. The mountains are arid and grey under the on-setting clouds.
The altimeter peaks at 3694 m when we finally reach the top I remember from last time that a very unpleasurable grind into Shangri-la awaits after the downhill. It is indeed no less enjoyable than last time. It looks like it could rain at any time, the last few hills are squeezing the last drops of energy out of our tired bones and a strong wind seems bent on sending us back to where we came from.
To make matters worse, these last 25 km are not lined with enjoyable sights. Only failed attempts at attracting tourists by building eco-villages in Tibetan style around a few ticket offices. The whole thing is very depressing and in our advanced state of exhaustion, we have difficulty battling the frustration.
Close to dinner time, we roll into Shangri-La, 3200 m above sea level, and begin searching for accommodation. Luckily, the first hotel we check out is perfect: place for our bikes, clean rooms, hot shower, internet and close to the old town. Or rather, what’s left of the old town: several months earlier, a conflagration had taken out most of the city’s quickly commercialising but nevertheless charming old quarters.
After a refreshing shower, we are invited to a nice Indian dinner by ex-Kunming resident and sports freaks Pavel and Rudy and we meet a couple of other old friends. The food and wine at Tantra Restaurant hit the spot and we end up taking a rest day here to get used to the newly gained altitude and to rest our tired legs. We explore the rubble that once was the old town and go on several eating sprees.
