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.
Both owners are ethnic Tibetans. We are outraged to find out that Tibetans born outside the actual Chinese province of Tibet are not allowed back in without a pile of paperwork. In fact, it is easier for ethnic Han (and indeed foreigners) to go to Lhasa than for Tibetans registered outside the Tibetan self-governing region.
It looks like Beijing’s policy is indeed to dilute the Tibetan culture in order to govern more easily. This must be a fierce blow for a devout man like the inn owner, who spent most of his morning praying – it looked like swimming – in the Tibetan equivalent of an in-house chapel before joining us at breakfast. We get some information from them about the old road, which is indeed a little shorter than the new one, but which does not continue all the way. Business as usual.
We ride a few kilometres out of town before finding a switchback that will take us onto what we believe is the old road. A belief confirmed by a sign politely asking us to take the new road and several goat herders. We climb along patches of ice while eyeing the new road on the south face of the opposing mountain. Despite the surface being in disrepair, this stretch is a lot nicer because there is literally no traffic.
While there is a way to continue on a traffic-free road all the way to the first pass, it means getting onto a dirt road and we’re not sure if that’s wise given the relatively difficult conditions of today’s ride: extreme altitude, cold and our lack of knowledge of the terrain. So we decide to follow the original old road which inevitably leads us back to the new road.
Much to their disbelief, we pop up right in front of both Chinese groups. They inspect my bike with a degree of suspicion – perhaps hoping to find some hidden engine tucked away in the tube – until I explain that the old road is a bit shorter. A bit relieved, they pledge to henceforth avoid the second-class roads. Finally, some sense. I’ve never understood why they’re so bent on riding with the heavy traffic, on inclines so gradual and roads so wide that they make you feel slow. The mental impact is not to be underestimated.
We let them get ahead but quickly catch up with them on the next hill. When we get a chance to get off the new road, we do and are happy to see the Chinese group doing the same thing (even though a slightly more urging sign forbids taking this turn).
As we gain altitude – and lose our fellow riders – the riding becomes a slow grind again. We’re above 4000 m for the first time and it’s starting to manifest itself. While the legs are doing fine, it just seems impossible to gain any speed even though I estimate the incline at less than 6 %.
At a construction site we join the new road again. Fortunately it’s nearing lunch time and the number of heavy trucks dwindles to a trickle. Our first mechanical problem emerges shortly after: Peter’s rack has lost a nut and bolt and he has to dismount his kickstand for parts to fix it. Another reason always to install a kickstand on your touring bike.
The first pass at 4300 m, while always right in front of us, seems to be light years away. The sound of the wind, intensifying around every bend, and the squeaking of rusty traffic signs above our heads accompanies our plod at about the pace of Once Upon a Time in the West. Oxygen is so scarce here that, every time we take a bite out of our baba or sip a little water to cool our muscles, we almost have to get off our bicycles to take a deep breath.
When we finally get to the first of three passes, there is only a minor sense of happiness. Icy gales blow in our sun-roasted faces and we decide only to stay for a few photographs. No trace of the Chinese gang either, they are probably honouring lunch time somewhere on the hill.
The second two climbs are possibly even worse. The wind has swollen to a small storm now and is repeatedly throwing gravel in our faces while stalling our descent. The second pass falls relatively quickly but the third one takes another aeon to complete. When we finally do stand triumphant on the 4400 m pass and see 6740 m tall Mount Meili 梅里雪山 dominating the horizon, we finally feel like we’ve achieved something special today. Never before have I been on a bike at such altitude and never before have I been so far north in Yunnan.
Before us lie 20 km of sheer descent and some of the most stunning snow-capped mountain ranges in all of Yunnan. This is going to be a feast for both eyes and legs. We would stay a little longer for pictures, but a flurry of snow causes us to leave the Tibetan prayer flags flapping loudly behind us. Bent over our handlebars we try to gain some velocity, but wind and sights – constantly wanting to be photographed – do not allow for much of that. Still, it’s a very enjoyable descent.
Shortly before reaching Deqin 德钦, we have the choice between riding either 5 km through a newly built tunnel or 15 km to go around it. While the shorter ride was really tempting, our pride commands us around the hill and boy! – do we not regret it.
There’s a very mild climb which gives us the chance to fully absorb the splendour of Meili mountain. At the relatively “low” altitude of 3500 m, the weather is once again bearable and the tiny village of Wuludi 雾露底 takes our breath away. Situated on the backbone of a small hill and virtually floating around between all other minor peaks around while interconnected with colourful Tibetan prayer flags, and backdropped by the stupidly stunning Meili range, this place receives my very personal award for most epic location.
Pulling into Deqin, we find bed in the most comfortable and slightly upscale Meili hotel (梅里酒店, 0887-8416 777), which promises to keep vehicles warm when parked in the hotel parking. At 3200 m above sea level, I am sure this is not a completely useless service. We’re surprised to find that most restaurants here offer only Dali 大理 food, so we settle for some ersatz Tibetan food with yak jerky and generic stir-fry.
A quick walk around town reveals nothing special. Just a standard Chinese city with KTVs, barbecue stands and a few pool tables. Quite the disappointment.
Before getting on the bus the next day (taking your bicycle now apparently costs 100 RMB a piece, you are warned), we take a taxi out to Feilaisi 飞来寺, a temple with supposedly stunning views of Meili mountain. Of course, the Chinese have found a great way to exploit this for profit so even standing on the platform where you can take a picture will set you back 150 RMB. We’d rather save our cash and climb to the roof of a neighbouring hotel for a panorama shot.
On our way back we stop in Shangri-La, where we finally get actual Tibetan grub in 五彩雪域 (158-9436 7314) just across the bus station. Because we do not have enough time, the good-smiling owning couple suggests we go with a snack consisting of babas with Tibetan cheese mixed with honey, and a kind of sour yoghurt with sugar.
The taste takes a minute to get used to, but it was delicious all the same. These Tibetans, too, are born in a former Tibetan province which is now in Sichuan, and are therefore not allowed into today’s Tibet. This taste of this information is a lot harder to get used to.
cheap Bengals jerseys for mens kids and womens sale