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DIARY OF A BICYCLE MARATHON
Five feckless cyclists and their ride across western Sichuan

by Pamela Logan

Day 1,  August 19

I am in a small town called Xinduqiao, on the Tibetan plateau. My companions are two New Zealanders, one Australian, and an Irishman. We are cycling across Ganzi Tibetan Automous Prefecture, from Zeduo Shan (pass) to Dege, a distance of nearly 600 km.

Our start, a few hours ago, was not entirely auspicious. It was raining hard. I had only just met three of my fellow cyclists, and didn’t know them very well. Would they be able to handle nine days of hard riding, at high elevation, on bumpy dirt roads? And, for that matter, would I?

When we were ready to start, one of them, an Irishman named Martin Dunphy, straddled his bike and remarked, "I still haven't quite figured out the gears yet."

Was he kidding? "Martin," I said. "You have ridden a bike before, haven't you?"

"Oh yes," he replied, grinning. "Lefty loosey righty tighty. Right?"

So off we went.

It was a long, delirious ride down, 35 km and 800 vertical meters to Xinduqiao. At times the wind shrieked in my ears; but in the lee of the mountains it was eerily quiet. We passed by wonderful stone Tibetan homes, fairy castles three stories high. Near the day’s end, the sun came out, and the countryside was green, gold, and glistening. My friends said, "Fantastic! This is what we came here for!"

Day 2, Aug 20

The next day’s sunny, easy 35 km brought us to Tagong, where a big summer festival was in its last day. What a spectacle! Nomads and townspeople were dressed in all their finery Men in felt hats with red tassels wound in their hair; women’s braids were dressed in coral, silver rings, and magenta yarn.

As the performers danced, clouds began to lift from the monumental Zhara Lhatse, the local sacred peak that is inspiration for Tagong Monastery. The Tibetan name of the town and monastery, Lhagang, means "Among the Gods," which is certainly how we felt among the revelers on that heavenly plain.

Our trip is not just for the sake of sports or tourism. We are also here to investigate medical care in this far-flung part of China, and see what we might in future do to help. Two of the riders, Martin Dunphy and Dr. Bruce Beattie, are employed by International SOS, a medical services firm. Later we went to visit Tagong’s small clinic. There, Bruce and Martin went snooping through drawers to see what they've got the pills, disinfectants, and needles . Tagong has an ultrasound machine, but we found that it doesn’t work very well. The clinic also needs a refrigerator in which to store vaccines.

Bruce had transformed from muddy adventure cyclist to doctor. He said, "There's a lot that can be done for this place - training, equipment." We gave them one of the ten doctor’s bags, stuffed with goods and instruments, that we were distributing to clinics on our route. And we made careful notes so that later, with funds raised by the trip and by future endeavors, we can meet Tagong’s most pressing needs.

Day 3, August 21

Today, the itinerary I laid out called for us to ride from Tagong to Bamei, a mere 29 km distance, with an easy pass to surmount. But it was only noon when we arrived in Bamei and we were all itching to go on. So we set out to cover another 77 km, including a serious pass of about 4200 meters elevation, to reach Daofu, the next town.

We ascended lovely forested hills, a river running wide and fast below us. A cold dogged rain started up, but that didn't lessen the grandeur of the place as we crossed mile after mile of flower-bedecked pasture. At last we came to the pass, marked in Tibetan fashion by a cairn of stones and strings of lungta prayer flags.

Coming down, we met our first unpaved road, ridden with ruts, rocks, and potholes. Our tires spat up mud, coating everything and leaving a stripe of spatter on our backs. When I dared to lift my eyes from the road, I saw the famous Daofu-style Tibetan houses, which look like white-iced chocolate cake. One of my fellow riders, New Zealander James Law, said admiringly, "My parents' house is not as nice as these."

That was a long, wet, cold day; we were mighty glad for the clean rooms and hot showers of the guest house in Daofu town. These would be rare commodities in the days to come.

Day 4, Aug 22

This morning we took an hour to visit the Daofu County hospital. They were in the midst of renovating, having received one million yuan from the government to upgrade buildings, equipment, and training. The place was quite clean and comparatively well equipped. We decided that henceforth we would concentrate on rural clinics, which are more needy.

The ride to the next town, Luhuo, was supposed to be easy no passes. But it was not, not at all. We met a stiff headwind, forcing us to line up in close single-file. The road rolled up and down over charming farmland, but each little climb hit me like a pounding anvil, took my wind away, and made my body hurt anew.

One clinic, seven hours, 72 km, and a hundred small, excruciating hills later we reached Luhuo. I slept like a log that night--and a good thing, because the next day was expected to be hard.

Day 5, Aug 23

Today’s mission 82 km to the town of Ganzi. The road continued on a slow, hilly climb past farmhouses and patchwork squares of swaying barley. At about the half-way point, we stopped to talk to some villagers, and Martin noticed that some of the children had brown hair, possibly indicative of mineral deficiency. One woman, a Buddhist nun, complained of chronic swelling, possibly a glandular disorder.

Ten km later we visited the health center that serves these people. It was a well-organized clinic, with articulate, attentive doctors, and they even had an X-ray machine. Yet it seems that even the better clinics have room to improve.

We had to ride another ten long, hungry, uphill kilometers to where our support team, consisting of driver, cook, and French journalist, had stopped to make our lunch.

After lunch we had a hard, hard climb, leaving the farms behind. We went up and up, zig-zagging back and forth, occasionally finding prayer papers pasted like stained glass onto the mud of the road. I thought at first we had reached the pass; but no, the papers had blown down from the unseen summit, which lay higher still.

David Oliver, whose idea this trip was in the first place, was our strongest rider, and he led the pack. Martin and I watched a couple of evil-looking Tibetan mastiffs chase after Bruce, who churned mud up from his tires in his frenzy to escape. The dogs weren’t at all interested in us slow-pokes in the rear. The sun was out, and it was glorious. I felt glorious spinning across velvet-green pasture, passing the yak-hair tents of Tibetan herdsmen, with mountains reaching around the horizon, and a limitless blue sky.

Then came the pass, and a long, thrilling descent. When Bruce's odometer reached 82 km, he stopped at a village. "Is this it?" he asked. Sorry, my mistake, I told him. I must have read the map wrong. In fact we had another 18 km to go.

Day 6, Aug 24

Today, in rare reposeful moment, I sat back and marveled I've ridden a bike all the way from Zeduo Shan to Rongbatsa, 32 km beyond Ganzi. That’s outlandish, incredible. We have a half day of rest scheduled here, at the Dajin Monastery Deshi Hotspring Guest House. This area, in fact the entire valley that surrounds Ganzi County seat, is one of the prettiest places in Kham.

There’s a hot-spring-fed pool near the guest house, and soaking in it was, well, the perfect time. The sun came out sometimes, and local children splashed and carried on around us. We sat and pickled ourselves and told jokes and stories, while ice-white mountains occasionally revealed themselves. That night, I slept dreamlessly in the chocolate-y silence of the countryside.

Day 7, Aug 25

Too quickly, it was time to hit the road again. By now, my bike is showing the miles, the gears don't mesh so well, the shock absorbers squeak, and mud coats everything three times over. The operator, too, is not what she used to be. I am bone-tired in every limb. My lips are cracked and bleeding. I have a spasm in my shoulder from turning back to see the rider behind me. And clean clothes seem like a distant dream.

The road is getting harder, the passes higher, and there is no more asphalt at all anymore, so every meter is hard-won. It took us a long time to reach Manigango; the distance is well over the 57 km I thought it was.

As we went into overtime, I said to James, "I wonder if migrating birds feel like this."

"Wot," he replied, smiling, "shattered?"

Yet we carry on. We have come so far already, and no one wants to give up.

Manigango is a tiny town. Ordinarily one would not chose to stop here, but our cycling forces us to make much shorter stages than we would if we were going by car. Manigango is nomad territory, a place of low houses, yaks, mud, and hard, whirling winds.

Our hotel in Manigango wasn’t luxurious, but it had really nice beds. A dog barked all night but I hardly noticed.

Day 8, Aug 26

In the morning, we went over to the Manigango Clinic. As we get farther from the interior, as cities and factories and rail lines get further away, the clinics become shabbier. Manigango had a lot of dusty electronic equipment they weren’t using. The town had no electricity, and their generator was out for repairs.

Then came the ride to Xinlu Lake, called Yilhun Lhatso in Tibetan. It was our shortest day, only about 13 km, but all uphill. I had a hard time finding any reservoir of energy to pedal with. The day was damp and cloudy. Although I didn’t know where we would be sleeping that night, I was looking forward to another half-day of rest there.

When we arrived at the lake, the sky was beginning to clear. We left our bikes on the grass, and staggered like biblical pilgrims over the 20 foot ridge that hems in the lake’s northern shore. When we reached the top - what a view! A giant, round mirror-smooth pool, dome-shaped stones carved with prayers, forest blanketing the slopes, distant snow mountains, tumbling glaciers.

This place is a nature reserve. It would be a great spot to hike, if, unlike us, you arrived with energy to spare. I lay down on the grass and went to sleep.

The lake was so beautiful, yet my spirits were low, weighed down with the thought of what lay ahead. Tomorrow we would cross the dreaded Qiao’er Shan, at 5050 meters the highest pass of our trip. We bedded down on mattresses, in a rustic log house belonging to the reserve’s caretaker. In the darkness of the wilderness, I tried to sleep, heal, and prepare.

Day 9, Aug 27

In the morning, the sky was sodden gray and rain was smattering down. Our support crew brought us some tepid meat filled buns from Manigango. By 830 a.m. we were on the road.

The lake is at 4040 meters elevation, and our pass lay another 1010 meters higher and some 40 km away. It started alternating up and down, for maybe ten km, and I felt pretty good. The rain eased a bit. We came to the bus, the first of one of our regular rest stops. I dug through the boxes to find the snacks we have been hoarding for this final push. The bus was stopping every 8 km for us, but on this uphill climb, 8 km seemed like a light-year.

After another hour, the road got serious and tilted upward. It ran a long way up the valley, climbing cruelly for 2-3 km, then swung around in a big U-turn and ascended the opposite valley wall. We were already way above the tree-line - only rocks and grass and scrub.

I was in the rear with James, and we were reduced to walking our bikes up the steeper parts. Still, we carried on. I could see Bruce's red jersey, miles ahead. Even farther was the white dot of our bus. When we finally reached it, we had a longish break. I squinted up through the mist, and, from past trips by car, tried to remember how many switchbacks? How much higher?

We started again. After fifteen minutes of hard labor, I could see the pass, maybe 150 meters higher still. Onward and upward! It all seemed quite unreal. Then I saw something even more unreal our strongest riders, Dave and Bruce, coming back towards us. They had held back from the pass, so we could all cross as one.

Together, we pedaled the last 50 meters. We were too breathless to make much of a celebration. Our support crew photographed us tossing our paper prayers to the sky. It was cold, but I didn't feel it much. James said later, "All I could think of was going down."

Wheee! Then the thrill ride began. We must have dropped 800 meters in the first three miles. The view of stupendous crags around us, sweet green meadow below, was intoxicating. In a car, you never see the three dimensionality of this place, the gigantic shapes, the galactic distances. As I rolled down, an outsized universe morphed around me. And every direction was marvelous.

By the time we stopped for lunch, James had a blazing headache. Bruce declared that the cause was cerebral edema caused by mountain sickness. The patient looked terrible, and barely remembered the road he had just ridden..

There is a sure cure for altitude sickness immediate descent. Bruce ordered James and his bike loaded onto the bus. We packed up as quickly as possible, then told the driver to run down to Dege at speed. The rest of us would ride in our own good time.

So we did. The sky cleared, and we got the most brilliant afternoon light ever to shine on the Tibetan plateau. We were now in Dege, a kingdom of high rock walls and jewel-like farms. Bruce exclaimed, again and again, "Crikey! What a great way to end our cycling trip."

It was a ten-hour, 100 km-plus day, but I hardly felt it as we covered the last ecstatic miles. The town of Dege is small, mountainous, and sweet, so sweet! When I arrived, instead of being exhausted, I felt energized by some unseen power source. And so our journey was done.

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Note the trip was organized by International SOS and Kham Aid Foundation.  If you're interested in joining next year’s ride, please write to Betsy Wiedenmayer at beijingbetsy@yahoo.com.