On our way back from a 40 mile bike ride to a nearby mountain. Shoes and clothes drenched, relieved to have made it this far. The steady rumbling of the engine and intermittent squeaking of the windshield wipers. The side windows foggy, swarmed with rain matter. Occasionally, a droplet would streak diagonally across the window in dismay of the other particles. Seated comfortably, reflecting on my field of fortunes.
I had never been on a long distance bike ride before and seeing that Andy was an experienced rider and a cool cat to journey with, I began to amuse the prospect of a cycling trip. Unfortunately, our weekends were always different. Mine are Monday Tuesday and his were Wednesday Thursday. It seemed like we either had to use up some of our off days or just go at separate times. So actually we did nothing and one day our manager said that he had been called on to some trip by corporate and Andy will need to switch his weekend days to Monday Tuesday for that week. We were keen to cycle.
We played (international) football in the morning for a few hours and after a short break we met at a statue of pandas. With a group of five, we would begin a six hour bike journey to one of China’s premier mountains devoted to Taosism. A few had done long cycling trips before and a few were first-timers, like me. The last time I rode a bike must have been during my early teens.
The night prior I raced to the bike shop just before closing. I arrived sweating and panting and was greeted by a man who had a friendly stare. His speech had a relaxed and sincere pace, like I could ride the ebb and flow of their voice to the place he called home. Actually he happened to be from New York.
Knowing the length of the bike trip, they grabbed me a bike from the rack. I rode it home and later realized the seat was too high and I had to bend at an awkward angle to keep control.
Andy said he had a J wrench to adjust the seat and that he would bring it when we met by the pandas. He brought it and it was the wrong size! A 6 hour ride in that reptilian position would be a nightmare on my ass and spine. I accepted and mildly fantasied out loud what a lowered seat would afford: “I could hold the handle bars with less reach and my back less bent.” Four of us had arrived and the fifth came with a folding J wrench set that handled all sizes. I thanked the Universe, made the fix and we began to peddle our way to the mountain.
Every moment on the bike, my thought was, “what luck that I’m still alive.” Rules of the road are special in China. It’s pure chaos and people’s spatial awareness is shifty, especially in the rain. I’m needling through motor bikes, pedestrians, and cars, switching from sidewalk to the bike lane as I saw the openings. Swift sensibility was vital.
The main pain getting there was the calcification of my ass on the slim seat for multiple hours. On the way back, the main pain was my quads burning like piercing needles. But neither condition was unbearable and I was thrilled by the adventure.
The unspoken camaraderie and self-organization of the group was fun to observe. We wanted to get to the mountain before sundown and time was winding. When anyone slowed their pace, Andy would let us grip the band of his backpack and he would cycle us forth while we gave our legs a break. We ended up making it a little after dark, found a cheap hotel, grabbed dinner, and walked through a nearby University.
The next day was pouring rain. We met in the hotel lobby and Chris and I decided to bike an hour to the nearest bus station and take the bus back. Before parting the group, Paul, who is Chinese, input the station map in Chris’ phone and we followed it. We had no idea of departing times or if we could take our bikes on the bus. It was a cool little town that was known for its 3000 year old irrigation system. When we arrived at the bus station, there was a large display that showed destinations, in Chinese, and departure times. Chris showed the teller Chengdu on the map on his phone and gestured his wrist for the departure time. The teller gave us some vague confirmations and the tickets were cheap so we went with it.
While Chris changed into some dry clothes in the bathroom, I scanned the slew of gates for the bus leaving for Chengdu. I eyed a set of gates with “Chengdu” in the title and asked a staff member in broken Chinese if we could bring our bikes onboard. He muttered some Chinese and I thought, hell I’ll just bring our bikes and he’ll either say ‘yes’ or ‘no.’ So I unchained them from the pole outside and rolled them toward the bus gate. I met Chris on the way and various agents pointed us to a gate which I was generally confident might be the right one. I presented them with my ticket but they just pointed to an open door ahead.
We stuffed our bikes in the luggage compartment under the bus and stepped in. Following our path on my phone’s gps, it was confirmed that we were on the right bus. How exactly we got here was nebulous but trusting the process seemed to work.
The bus ride was wet and relaxing. I took a nap and awoke upon arrival. We took our bikes for a hour bike ride home. With my quads on fire, all I could feel was strength and the thought of what I would do when I got home: shower, get dry, and lay like a newborn beast on my bed. And that is what I did.