The last day of tarmac, U-Tsang, Tibet September 2011

Little did I know that it would be the last of tarmac about 3km down, and another quarter of kilometer…I would also lose my partner.

That is Namucuo (Namu Lake) in the background.

The previous night, we had camped in a yak field with a rolling stream and a couple of nomad families. Brandon and I had snuck past a major police checkpoint.

When we were checking out the situation, and scoping out the police checkpoint, a Tibetan boy had approached Brandon when he was peeking from around a corner. He was getting frustrated with the Tibetan because he was blowing his cover.

They both walk to where I’m hiding, the Tibetan is very modern. Wearing his mesh back trucker hat, face mask, his sunscreen leaving a white film on his face, and I SWEAR he was wearing eyeliner.

Brandon: “Ask him if he’s ever seen other foreigners…”
Tibetan: “Yes.”
Me: “Have you seen them with bikes?”
Tibetan: “Yes.” He points past the checkpoint up a hill and says, “If you go up that way they won’t see you.”

I translate to Brandon…we both smirk at each other, both knowing that this guy may “know whats up”.

It would be our last camp together. Brandon made an interesting noodle mix with the fried sardines with black beans. I would sit next to him, at his tent opening, smoking a cigarette each…staring at the stars. Even after our little snips at one another during the day, we had an enjoyable conversation to finish the day.

The next day, morning…he said something snarky about the colors of my clothes and how they don’t camouflage very well. I didn’t respond. Then he challenges me on my opinion on the “Thai” guy I had seen in Qinghai pedaling North. I respond under my breath, enough to let him know I’m tired of his bad attitude.

(Note to cycling apparel companies: COULD YOU PLEASE PLEASE QUIT MAKING WOMEN’S CLOTHES IN PURPLES, PINKS, TURQUOISES…really, seriously!!!!)

I head out 30 mins before him and find a crossing over the stream. Looking back, I watch him removing his bags and throwing them over the water. I can see his blood boiling and steam coming from his ears.

We spend our mornings separate, with separate Tibetan nomads. I am given a radish to eat on the road.

Brandon holds onto a truck and is pulled up the pass. It takes me 3 hours. At one point, I’m walking and this little girl comes running up to me.

I help her up on my saddle and I’m pushing the bike as she is “riding’. It surely made my load heavier…but we had a really good time for about 10 minutes. When she was ready to get off, she let me know…we said our goodbyes and she returned to her tent. I could hear her exclaiming something inside.

We are both aggravated by the time we BOTH are at the peak. Things are just falling apart…and there is a final explosion. Leaving me slumped over in a yak field, crying, perhaps…maybe…a little hysterical. I think I shout every curse word that I could come up with under my tears.

I would receive an apology text a couple hours later.

Near Nima, Tibet (U-Tsang) September 2011

I heard a crack the day before while riding. The bike didn’t stop and didn’t really notice anything different – so I continued on.

The previous night I had stayed with a Tibetan family in a very very small village. This morning she filled my bottles with tea and sent me off with a plastic bag of tsampa!

A few hours of riding there was another loud “crack” and I immediately felt my new Brooks saddle change under my booty.

I had just thrown out my old Selle Italia saddle and replaced it with a beautiful double rail Brooks B72 in Xining. This gorgeous beauty only had about 1000km on.

Dismounting and without skipping a beat I look directly at the double rails of the saddle. Both broken…snapped right behind the saddle clamp. Shit.

Really? I’m literally in the middle of nowhere. YES. LITERALLY!

There is no point in shouting or crying and actually maintain a very cool and collected demeanor. Gently setting Nelly on her side, I step a meter back and think about this situation.

This is exactly the point where I set the bike down and what I also had to decide on – which road?

First things first. I take out the multi-tool and skootch the saddle forward so the jagged breaks are in the seat clamp. This will hopefully get me somewhere for a shitty weld. I’ll have to take my weight off the saddle while riding, especially over this terrain. It will prove to also be the noisiest saddle ever.

I plop down in the fork of the road, feeling a little proud of myself for resolving this problem so quickly and not a peep of frustration coming from me.

Looking ahead, which road should I take. Again, the only map I have is a horrible tourist map of China with only main roads shown. It doesn’t even have Chinese written on it.

After gulping down some tea…wait…does this tea make me even thirstier? What is with this Tibetan tea?…and eating some tsampa I stand up and examine the road to the right.

It heads into the hills. There is a good chance it actually heads more Northeast, where at this point I want Northwest. I walk about a quarter of a kilometer down the road, closely…CLOSELY…examining the path. How fresh do the tracks look? Are there jeep tracks or just motorcycle tracks? How is the gravel thrown about?

After looking down near 16,000km of tarmac, gravel roads, cow paths, fields, I feel extremely competent of road judging skills.

I walk off the road to cross to the road to the left. Ahead, I can see that the road is pretty damaged from ice melt run off. This part of the road becomes about 3 meters wide from automobiles and motorcycles veering off the road and even another road has been made to the left. Further beyond, the road seems to wrap to the West around some large stones.

This road shows slightly more signs of travel BUT I notice multipele sets, and obvious, jeep and truck tracks. Yes, this is the choice.

(I want to state that the Brooks saddle was repaired by Brooks for free. If you use a Brooks B72 you MUST use an old style seat post or a “seat sandwich”.)

November 26 – When the police make you stay and try to get you blitzed. (Illegal photographs of Xinjiang Police).


The strange terrain between me and the tarmac. There are remainders of salt or something on the dirt.

Coming up from camp.

There is a short strip along some trees. I notice they are growing in the direction of East, so I know I’m not insane thinking I have a headwind. There have been worst, but it’s there.

Only a small bottle of water. This has happened to me once before, but I don’t think about that day very often these days. Main concern today is to get to a water supply. My map says there is something smack dab in the middle of the two towns. I’m not sure why it kind of translates to cow area/center lake…I learn this means pumping fields for oil/gas/etc.

The closer and closer I get to this center point (about 85km/85km out) the traffic becomes almost nothing except for the occasional worker van/bus loaded with folks in their red uniforms. I wonder if I confuse them with my red matching jacket.

There are strange stone structures on top of the gravel/sand dunes.

The sky is getting smoggier and the fields are becoming filled with oil pumps, which do kind of look like fields of mechanical bulls (NOT the kind you hear about drunk people trying to ride).

View from google maps.

(Please take note dear reader, that when I use ” ” in my dialogue with people I am speaking Chinese and it’s translated here for you)

So things are not looking very good around 4 in the afternoon. I have no water, so I know dehydration is already beginning to kick in. If I camp, I’ll still be hungry because I have no water to cook my food and can of extra salty “Fried Sardines with Black Beans” is not going to quench the thirst. It’s looking hopeless, especially as I pass through the intersection of the mid point from nowhere to nowhere and it’s nothing but smokestacks, refineries, coal trucks, and oil pumpers. I can see a wind farm off to the North towards the Mongolia border.

I stand in the intersection look all around, turning slowing clockwise…examining what my options are. Face West and tell myself, “power on”. I’ve got about 3 more ours of daylight against this headwind.

One or two motorcycles pass me coming from where I’m going. The passengers wearing the red uniform of the China Oil/Petro companies.

The sun is setting and I’ve only 1 hour before sunset. I’m beat, I’m hungry, I’m dry/dehydrated, and just feeling like, “What the f*#k am I doing?!” Dismount and walk the bike hoping for a car to come by and offer me a hitch. Hitching only really happens when the cyclist is pushing the bike along the road.

The sunset seems to turn everything orange, I think of correspondence with Ed Genochio every time I see orange.

A white, typical double cab pick up pulls up to me heading from the East.

The driver is Han and the front and 2 rear passengers are obviously Kazakh, the one rear passenger closest to me is looking a little blitzed.

“What are you doing?” asks the driver.
“Resting, I’m going ahead but I have no water.”
“Where are you from?”
“United States.”
“One person?”
“Yes.”

After I state I’m American the drunkest looking Kazakh hands me his water bottle, although already half drank. (My imagination is turning it into a bottle of Hep/TB/etc when looking at the water, and smile and hand it back, “no problem”.)

The Kazakhs are all talking in the truck, nothing that alerts me but gives a feeling that they are discussing where I should go or how they can help. I’m anxiously awaiting an offer to throw my bike in the back and get a lift.

“Can you understand Kazakh?” asks the driver.
“I’m sorry I can’t.”

The driver smiles. The Kazakhs are now telling him something. There is a discussion and the driver tells me about 3 km up there will be a place to get water. To stop there. He points ahead and that it’s on the hill. I thank them graciously and give a big smile and go on.

No working bike computer, so I’m estimating km counts or trying to find road signs, facing me or stopping to read signs going the other direction.

There is music coming from the sand dunes. I see cows so I KNOW there has to be life around. If there are herds of any animal there has to be water around which leads to some type of human life.

I debate whether they meant here or if there is a place further down the road. After riding past the gravel road for about 3 minutes I get off the bike, stare off into the dunes and see about a half a dozen little white concrete blocks. A few cars.

Take a deep breath and push my bike through the dunes and past the cattle.

The music hits a point in me, a strange feeling of comfort and excitement rushes over me – especially when I push over the final dune to see about 20 Kazakhs dancing on a small concrete area in front of a block house, with a yurt to the left. There are others standing around.

I pass a police officer in his desert camo on his phone, “Hello”. This is expressed with an uncomfortable, yet confident, wave. He looks at me a little confused.

The strange looks from the people is nothing new. Except out here I feel that the women are little more apprehensive than Tibet. Tibet, the women will run to the road to pull me off just to offer me tea and tsampa.

This is an area I really wish Brandon was with me…feeling I should be traveling with the opposite sex.

Within a minute I have about a dozen men and boys surrounding my bike and looking at me. On older, shorter, drunk man approaches me. He speaks Kazakh and I tell him I can’t understand, he talks to the other men and a younger man asks where I’m from.

“America”.

It’s translated, some understand.

Smiles, “hellos”, “America” are coming from all directions.

I tell them I need water and the drunk Kazakh man orders a little boy to fill up my water bottle.

There is a ruckus that I can’t quite remember. I’m pretty sure it consisted of the typical questions of “one person?” etc…the same run down as usual.

The boy comes back but the bottle is missing the cap. This makes the bottle nearly useless so I began to drink the water.

The drunk Kazakh, which I will call “Teacher” (you’ll learn why later), asks me if I want tea and something to eat.

“Okay.” Thinking that this could lead to a place to sleep.

I distinctly remember seeing 3 officers in camo, there may have been 4. The dancing stopped for a little during the commotion but the music never stopped.

The Teacher guides me into the concrete block with the typical coal burning stove and the large platform covered in carpets with tapestries hanging along the walls.

There is the cloth opened up with 3-4 different types of bread and some candy. I’m handed a cup of milk tea, politely, with two hands.

“Eat Eat.”

“Okay.”

I sit there and people take their turns coming in to look at me. I’m on display, nothing new. Two girls get close and I smile and say hello. The men of course are much more relaxed to make their attempts to talk to me.

Approached by the officers, I’m asked for my ids.

Handing them over, “Boss” – the one in charge, pretends to look through them as if he knows what he is looking at. Here we go, this is when everything is going to begin to change…and it’s not going to be for the best.

Teacher asks me if I want to eat some lamb, if I CAN eat lamb. I say sure.

The children are beginning to come and look at me. Of course I smile and say my hellos. The children are smiling, although some are shy and stand behind their parents. I begin feeling the women warm up.

It’s dark outside, a man inserts a lightbulb outside so the dancing can continue.

“Teacher” repeatedly comes in to make sure I’m okay, every time reminding me to eat and reminding a woman to fill my tea. He wants me to dance but I repeatedly remind him, “I can’t”. Kazakhs actually have an exceptional dancing ability.

One tall man comes in with a felted white hat on that says “KZ” embroidered in blue. Every time a new addition arrives, he is told that I’m American and the smiles are exchanged. Big smiles…authentic warm welcomes.

“Teacher” pushes a boy of around 8 years old to me. He tells me he is one of his students.

“Hello. Welcome to my home.”

I express myself with the biggest smile and say, “Thank you. What’s your name.” I give him something easy because I know if a successful dialogue passes between us, this will give the boy confidence and hopefully continue on.
“My name is (insert Kazakh name here).”

The whole room laughs, in a good way, and encourages the boy to speak more. There is some clapping. The boy is smiling.

“Boss” is now telling me that when they are finished, the police will take me to a place to sleep. There is nowhere for me to stay here. I know this is complete BS and if they weren’t there I’d be staying with some local family, warm and well fed.

The boy and I continue on in very basic English, “Teacher” is beaming.

An portly old woman sits next to me, closely. The women begin entering and smiling at me.

I know this game. Get in well with the children, show myself as a woman with a love for children, and things begin to fall into place. If I were living in a small community where we don’t have visitors, let alone foreign guests, I would be weary of any stranger that appeared. They are just protecting their families and I appreciate and understand this. After doing this long enough, I also know the game. Generally, don’t get to chatty and smiley with the men either. As soon as a woman warms up to me, I will latch onto her and leave men behind.

This is beginning to happen.

The lamb arrives. It’s nearly a complete lamb on a silver platter.

It’s placed in front of me on the platform. “Teacher” sits next to me and “Boss” takes off his shoes and climbs up on the platform to my right.

“Teacher” offers me baijiu. “No.”

I can feel the women let their guard down even more. I sense them smiling and beginning to see I’m not that different from them. Beating that awful stereotype of American women.

I deny multiple offers of baijiu. “Boss”, who is the officer in charge, has taken down about 10 shots of baijiu. One after the other. This is beginning to worry me. I question how am I going to get out of this. He tells me that shortly we will leave.

“Teacher” has handed me a large knife to cut pieces off the lamb.

“I can’t, I’m sorry, I don’t know how to eat.”

He smiles, takes the knife off and cuts me off a nice fatty piece. Oh god, here we go again, how am I going to do this.

Chew chew chew chew chew, gulp.

I’m handed another, a little less fatty. He’s cutting faster than I can chew and gulp. Eventually, I have a little handful of mutton and a little handful of half chewed, large fatty pieces of spit up lamb.

The old Kazakh woman hands me a sugar cube. I smile, “Thank you”. She returns the smile with a gentle nod of the head. The women and children, especially the two girls that have been there since the beginning, are getting closer and closer to my left.

“Teacher” keeps trying to take me to dance. I keep trying to get my camera out to get photos but “Boss” and his minions are preventing all my free movement with their controlling eyes and the fear that is beginning to build.

The music is loud, everyone is dancing. “Boss” tells me it’s time to go and “Teacher” drags me out into the dance floor. I’m guided to the DJ where he introduces me to an older man, where I am introduced as an American. I’m directed to stand next to him so a photo can be taken. I shake his hand and smile at the DJ. “Boss” is looking for me and he is drunk.

I take a deep breath and I know everything is about to change as soon as I leave this village. As soon as I put my bike in the back of that truck. (My stomach is turning just remembering the point where everything is about to change.)

Pushing my bike up to the pickup, it’s to be loaded into the back over the tailgate and onto farm tools and hay. Another car is being loaded up that will be traveling with us. I repeatedly remind them NOT TO LIFT FROM THE SADDLE…”BE CAREFUL OF THIS!!!!!” Pointing to the triple crank as it’s precariously thrown in. Double checking to make sure my fuel bottle hasn’t fallen out.

Nothing worst than a bunch of drunk men wanting to show off their muscle and intellect. Wait, there is…

THIS SUCKS.

Blitzed “Boss” gets in the passenger seat and a drunker Kazakh gets into drive.

Slowly down the street, through the dunes with a star filled sky, I can feel the bike bouncing around in the back. I pray that it’s okay, but there is nothing I can do at this point. This is stressing me, I hate the police. I really really hate the police.

I can feel the truck moving from side to side of the road. He’s not going too fast and there is a car in front of us. I’m assuming he is just following the taillights at this point, or his drunk vision.

“Boss” keeps asking me stupid questions and I respond with “I don’t understand what you are saying” or “I don’t know”. If I say “I don’t know” he responds with “Ai Lun, why don’t you know” and using this strange voice. A voice a man in authority would not use.

Over and over, these trivial questions that I can barely make sense of are coming in my direction.

He offers me a cigarette. I take it and smoke it. I’m stressed, I’m scared, I’m worried.

“Ohhhhhh, Americans smoke?”

“Yes.”

At this point I’m just answering questions with yes or no or maybe, with no real idea of what I’m saying but giving him stupid answers to his stupid questions.

At this point, in such a short ride, he has put his hand back and shook my hand telling me he is glad to meet me…oh, about a half dozen times, if not more. In these handshakes he repeatedly takes his middle finger and rubs it in my palm. I pull away quickly and firmly. This happened to Brandon in Tibet and we never figured out what it meant. We had assumed the same that it was something vulgar.

“Aren’t you cold? You aren’t wearing enough clothes. Look at my jacket, it’s very thick.”

He turns from his side view of me to completely around where he squeezes my arm but then moves his hand up and down my upper arm in a caressing, yet extremely firm, movement. Removing his hand he goes directly to my thigh and begins groping it telling me I don’t have enough clothes on.

I immediately and firmly remove his hand and push it back to him. I’ve had enough of this.

In a matter of 15km, I have had to tell the driver to watch the side of the road about 4 times! He’s nearly driven off the road more than a couple times and then “Boss” shouts at him, like the driver is a moron.

I’m watching the road, shivering, scared.

We turn off the tarmac onto gravel/sand. My natural defenses are turned on. I know I have to cry now…I have to cry as much as possible. There are visions of me being driven out to middle of nowhere with a drunk Kazakh police officer. I wouldn’t think this, BUT, I’ve already been groped twice in 15km. Also, from my past experience, the desert doesn’t contain the most sane folks of China. Visions of being locked in a room for hours, repeatedly being told I was going to die if I said anything…is flooding my memory.

I let it all out. The tears are flowing.

“Where are we going? Where are we going? Where are you taking me? I’m scared. REALLY…WHERE ARE GOING…where are you taking me? I’m scared.”

Boss turns around and lights my face up with his cellphone.

“Why are you crying?”

“I’m scared, where are you taking me?!”

“Don’t worry, it’s nothing” says the Kazakh man. I was really hoping he would worry about me and know something was wrong.

“Boss” repeatedly asks me why I’m crying. “I’m the police, it’s no problem, it’s very safe, don’t worry.”

I continue to cry. There is nothing I can do at this point. Everything is out of my control – I imagine myself ditching my bike and stuff, jumping out of the car and run into the desert.

They point ahead to the lights and tell me that the police station is right ahead.

“Why are you crying Ai Lun? Why are you crying? Why are you crying? Why are you crying? Don’t cry. Don’t be scared. We are the police.”

It seems that I’ve set them off enough to push him off of me for awhile.

We arrive outside the locked gate of the police station and the Kazakh stops and turns of the engine. The car that was traveling with us is parked behind. Boss stays in the truck with me while the driver exits and walks towards the back of the truck.

I feel very strange, physically. Is there an earthquake? What’s going on? Why do I feel like I’m moving? The truck is rolling down the road towards the wall of the police station. Boss is turned around looking at me and I point ahead to the wall and steering wheel and begin screaming “HEY HEY HEY HEY!!!” and shaking my hand and pointing. The Kazakh jumps in and makes an attempt at controlling the truck while braking. Not very successful.

Boss grabs the steering wheel and it drives off the embankment into a ditch, through a fence, and stopped by a small tree.

Boss gets out and expresses his ignorant manliness by a lame attempt at pushing the truck out of the ditch with the Kazakh driver trying to rev the engine up and backwards.

(I hate Boss, I wish the gears had slipped in that truck and ran over his fat face.)

Extra hands and we are finally out. Boss gets back in the truck and starts laughing about how he thought it was an earthquake, then shouts at the driver.

We unload the bike with again special attention called to the saddle and the crank. Of course as soon as it’s on the ground one of the younger drunk officers makes an attempt to get on and give it a ride. I push him back and express very firmly, “NO.”

I push the bike to the station with the 3 uniformed officers, including Boss, and we enter to be greeted by warmth and another desert camo dressed officer. Took notice of the SWAT/riot gear sitting in the entryway.

Boss shows me his id and credentials which mean nothing to me. I know enough about desert/basin dwellers to know that the people stationed out here can’t be the greatest of the force. There is a reason these morons are in the middle of nowhere.

Sitting down Boss sits across from me looking at my Passport.

“You are so beautiful ‘pretty girl’ (美女).”

“No, I’m not”.

He hands over my passport and visa to the other officers to photograph and enter my information.

“Yes, you are. You are so beautiful. When are you leaving tomorrow?”

“Uh, 8:30” but then I remember that sunrise isn’t until after 9:30 so I go back and reply with, “around 9:30”.

“Yes, you can’t go too early. You are too beautiful, the wolves will eat you.”

The only wolf I see, and will see, is your fat face holding back your fangs and drool.

He gets on the phone and there is some movement and progress being made around the office. My passport and visa are handed back to me and I’m told that we will be going to his friends who has a place for me to sleep for the night.

Outside we discuss the situation of my bike outside and if I have anything that will be damaged by the cold. As I rumble through one of the panniers they get frustrated, especially Boss, and he dismisses me and directs the officers to take the bike up the steps and inside.

Again, BE CAREFUL OF THE SADDLE!!! Of course every DAMN time, they want to lift from my beautiful, newly repaired, Brooks. I pull one of the officer’s hands off the saddle. I’m getting fed up with this shit.

I help direct the bike against the wall next to the SWAT gear.

We walk through a pitch black field with the tall officer and Boss. There is a dim flashlight, which they don’t use for most of the way because obviously they’ve stumbled drunk through this cow path before.

I see some typical concrete block Chinese homes, about a dozen. It’s pitch black except for the lights on in a small home with a concrete wall around it. Boss tells me that the couple with the little boy at the Kazakh village will be there along with his friend.

The door open to the home and I see 2 women, 1 man, 1 officer, and a little boy around a table with a large amount of food. One woman exits, whom I haven’t seen before, and leads me to a door that opens to a two bed guest sleeping area. The small coal stove is going and the room is quite warm. I set down my bag and gratefully say “Thank you, it’s very comfortable”. I’m hoping this will be the end until morning and lock the door and be rid of them.

No, Boss instructs me to go have dinner with them all. So far, with my personal reactions with Boss and observing his power over the other 3 officers…I know it’s not up for debate.

“No no no, I’m okay, I’ll just rest here.”

“No, eat together.”

I enter the living area and sit at one end facing the door. If you know Chinese culture, the guest of honor usually sits at one end facing the door.

The food is simple, good, Chinese food. Conversation basic and trying to help the little boy with his English. The boy is to my left and a lower ranking officer from the Kazakh village to my right they were there upon my arrival.

Dinner is short for the us before Boss starts ordering shot glasses and busting out baijiu. Boss passes one to me and I let him know that I do not drink…I WON’T DRINK, “I can’t drink baijiu. REALLY REALLY REALLY, I CAN’T DRINK BAIJIU, it will give me diarrhea and make me throw up”. I have to keep all my senses as alert as possible.

Boss is getting very frustrated with me and another woman, who I find out is pregnant. She is told it’s not problem, I guess fetal alcohol is NO PROBLEM IN CHINA?!?! We are getting bossed and I finally say I will drink a beer and she agrees to a fruit beer, basically a pineapple O’Douls.

The “cheers” begin. For hours this goes on. Boss and cronies make me chug my entire glasses of beer with their shot of baijiu. Ok folks, I can drink Chinese beer, it’s never been a problem…only the headache afterwards. I’m drinking tea still, to keep the drunkies away. When I say make, Boss likes to scream at me a lot. Shouting orders the drunker and drunker I watch him.

Conversation turns to why was I crying and I said it’s because there were no women around and I don’t trust men. I have met bad men before and had problems. The women completely understood where I was coming from.

THEN…Boss tells me he had to take me away because he heard some of the younger people talking about cutting my earlobes off for my earrings. My 5rmb earrings! This I find a little strange, as I don’t remember anyone staring at my ears. But he goes on and on about how it wasn’t safe and he had to take me away for my own safety.

Boss continually gives me the damn handshake with the middle finger rub. I see him do it to the single woman living there, the hostess, and she pulls away and slaps him playfully and pretends to be disgusted. So, I’m right. It is vulgar.

I finally ask the younger, tall officer, he’s 24 and I’ve been to address him as “little brother”. I ask him the meaning and he says it means “I love you” in English. Maybe these guys don’t translate “I love you” and “I want to take you to bed” (I’m being easy with my language here) the same way I do.

Little brother and I talk about the Kazakh minority and ask him to teach me some. Boss interrupts this by screaming at him and I about something and now he’s going to sing a song. A serenade of sorts. I had a video but it seems that the undressed officer erased this with many other photos from that night.

At one point when there was dancing with the others and I was sitting at the table, no one was looking and Boss grabs my right breast and squeezes. I push it off and pull away.

A little later he pulls me up to dance for the second time. He is trying to pull on my body where his right hand is. If I had fat there he would be groping it but he’s basically just pinching my skin. I continually try to pull away but at the same time to go along with it the best I can. My bike is locked up and there is nothing I can do. The couple and child have left, but the hostess is still there.

Around 3 in the morning, the older officer but minion is passed out behind me. Poor guy, Boss repeatedly was shouting orders at him to drink and I finally said, “no” when he was passed out and his head on the table. This is one photo that wasn’t deleted and took it after I felt a hand groping my bum.

Boss and the hostess, during another one of his drunken serenades.

“Little Brother” who seems to have a good and warm heart. I kind of feel that I can trust him. The man in the back is the husband of the pregnant woman and father of the child. He returned later in the night and acted very effeminate, he also deleted all my photos off my point and shoot. Take note of the baijiu bottles on the table, there were about a dozen on the floor.

Of course I can’t include everything that happened that evening, because I’d spend all week going into details.

But I did notice Boss getting angry when I was speaking with “Little Brother”. Granted, I was a little tipsy, especially when Boss barks orders at me for not finishing my entire glass of beer during his millions of “gangbei”.

“Little Brother” leaves to go home.

Around 2am he shoves a shot of baijiu in my face and the hostess. He states this is the last for the evening. Okay, finally, I’ll cooperate if I can just go to bed, please. I’m exhausted.

Damn, I hate Moutai…tastes like hot plastic and gasoline!

The hostess is cleaning up and Boss buys 2 packs of smokes from her. He asks me if I’m ready to “rest” I say “yes”.

I assume he is only escorting to my room with his flashlight…but I’m still on guard.

He opens the door and there is still some coal burning and there is no room light so he navigates with the flashlight. I’ve had this happen a dozen times where I have to arrange for bed with their flashlight and then they leave.

I set on the foot of the bed as he adds some coal to the fire. The hostess told me he was a good man and there is nothing to worry about, I’ll never trust a whores opinion again.

I’m looking straight ahead and he’s at my 9 o’clock and I watch his fat fingers fumble to turn of the flashlight.

Every single hair on my body is standing straight on its end…I’m all senses right now. The room is completely black and he walks towards me and I watch the glow of the cigarette.

Sitting down next to me, so that his legs are pressing against the side of mine…I watch the red glow of the cigarette butt fall to the dirty cement floor i n s l o w m o t i o n.

Within an instant he’s on top of me and I scream at the top of my lungs, push him off me, while he tries to tackle me out the door but he’s too drunk. I run into the room with the hostess in hysterics…when I say hysteria…I mean complete hysteria. He’s the police, this could end very badly…I have NO POWER HERE.

She starts screaming at him of what he did and he says,
“Nothing, she just started screaming ‘aaaaaaaaaahhhhhAAahahaha’ and I didn’t do anything”.

Liar!!!!

This goes back and forth between the 2 for about 15 minutes and then him trying to coerce me to go back to the room. Every time he comes towards me I throw myself back against the wall and start screaming. I’m going to act as insane as possible…nothing worst than a crazy ass foreigner.

I start with repeating my “oh mani padme hum”, a Tibetan prayer. I speak it in Tibetan so they are confused with what I’m saying and can’t understand anything. The prayer takes over me like a trance and I have memories of Tibetans and monks and pleasant moments rushing over me.

They think I’m drunk out of my gourd but I’m not. I’m praying because it’s all I have at this point. Over and over and over.

He continually comes over to me and reaches for me, again I throw myself to the back of the wall.

The hostess comes next to me and tries to comfort me. I’m holding on to her crying. She tries to soothe me and says it’s okay and “it’s nothing” “it’s nothing” over and over and over.

Every time boss approaches me, I scream, and she screams at him.

I text Jason to call me. He calls and I hand the phone to her. Her first statement is “I don’t understand you” after Jason asked her what the problem was.

Jason is screaming at her and she is acting like an idiot, saying there is no problem. Jason confirms she is an idiot and tells me to call the police and I say, “he is the police!”.

This isn’t going anywhere and after over an hour Boss is still sitting smuggly in the corner denying anything. Saying he didn’t do anything. Over and over and over…

I take a deep breathe, look him deep in the eyes, stand up…and scream in Chinese, “I’m an American and I’m going to tell the American Government and the Chinese Government and YOU are going to have a big problem. YOU ARE GOING TO HAVE A BIG PROBLEM BECAUSE I’M AN AMERICAN!!!!!”

He’s out the door in 2 seconds.

Little Brother returns and he and the hostess try to soothe me. Little Brother says he will stand guard of my door all night. I say that’s not necessary and I explain to him and the hostess what Boss did. They acted a little surprised and there were some “oohhhhh’s”.

The hostess gives Little Brother and I some drinks to take to the other room because it gets dry because of the coal burning stove. The both escort me in and light 2 candles for light.

Finally, it’s over…not yet.

Hostess tells me to lock the door when he leaves and shows me how, she leaves.

There is something about Little Brother that I found harmless…and I still do, but he is intoxicated. Do not let the guard down.

He sits on the bed across from me and we are smoking cigarettes. He tells me to get ready for bed and he will protect me, reminding me that he is “little brother”. Only the shoes are being taken off and I get under the covers.

A couple seconds later he is sitting on the edge of my bed…tucking me in because he is “little brother”. He then asks if he can sleep next to me.

“NO. You can sleep on that bed.”

“Big Sister, it’s nothing, I’m little brother, it’s okay, no problem. I’ll just sleep next to you.”

Come on…REALLY?! I may have fell for that when I was 16…but really? You think I’m going to believe that line. I laugh and say, “no, you can sleep over there, really, just me here…no room, i need to sleep. please leave and let me sleep.”

This goes on for about 10 minutes of him asking over and over again if he can sleep next to me and that it’s nothing.

At this point I’m just laughing at him, poor dear boy, “No.”

Then we get to the point where I’m telling he needs to leave, nicely. That I’m tired and I need to rest because I have to ride tomorrow. Okay, on one condition…that we kiss.

HAHAAHAHA…REALLY!?!? I have to kiss you for you to leave. Little brother you are talking to the WRONG kind of big sister.

He points to his lips, “here”.

“No. Please leave I need to rest.”

“No? Why?”

“Because, you are little brother and I want to sleep.”

Again, we are going around in circles about this. He asks for one on the cheek. “No.” After some time negotiating my services to him he settles for letting him kiss me on my forehead, after I denied the lips/cheeks/etc.

I’m under the covers with them pulled up to my neck at this point. I say I will allow it as long as he promises to leave afterwards.

The covers are pulled up to my eyes just so I can peer enough over them. He kisses me gently on my forehead and I can feel him moving downwards as I fight pulling the covers upward. This is ridiculous…I start saying, “okay okay okay go go go okay go” as I sink further under the covers and making my head disappear to the best of my ability.

After about 5 forehead to crown of head kisses he leaves. I jump up and lock the door. Good Night!

It is also illegal for me to have photographs of Chinese police, but what they did was completely illegal so I’m exposing their scandalous ways.

Xinjiang route dedicated to Masato, a friend/cyclist, hit by a car

July 2011
It was near the border of Yunnan and Sichuan, I had taken a back road from Zhongdian…it was where I lived with the nomadic milkmaids, and I was on the side of the road snacking.

I was beat. It had been constant climbing…a steady incline…and needless to say I had lost, then found broken, my only pair of prescription eyeglasses. Luckily I had a pair of sunglasses but can be inconvenient at sunset and after…that’s another story of how I toured China with no eyeglasses for 2 weeks. As I sat on the side of the smooth tarmac without another soul in site I see a loaded cyclist.

You have to be kidding me!

His name is Masato (Japanese) and he had been living in Chengdu and was touring Western China. He could speak almost perfect English and his Mandarin was quite good too.

We decided to meet at the next town to rest after exchanging phone no.’s. He was headed to a park/Mountain…I think it being called Yading. I decided to go there to after chatting with him.

I found myself on a mountain pass and the wind was strong, the sign said around 4700m, and the sun was setting. To make a story short: he texts me letting me know he is down the mountain and found a luguan. I’m trying to get over this pass and before I know it I’m descending 10km in blackness with no eyeglasses…and I’m freezing. I don’t stop to dress because I’m racing to get to the bottom because of vision problems.

Anyhow, Masato and I stay at the same hostel for 2 days, then travel to the Mountain Park together with a group of Koreans…we all become quick friends. Masato and I stay together at the hostel, as we ran away from the Korean snore’er. We stayed one more day at the original hostel and he left 1 day before I to head to Litang.

On the way to Litang, I met 3 Chinese cyclists coming from Litang. They told me they had met Masato and he had lost his hat. I assumed they meant his helmet and that was such a pity. Masato and I still communicate via
SMS. In Litang, after I met the infamous Brandon Wallace, and we went to a little restaurant together…one of the locals thats famous with the foreigners told me he met Masato and he had lost his knit cap – not his helmet.

Masato and I reunited briefly again in Kanding, where this photo was taken.

Anyhow, Masato headed to Chengdu and then to Xining then onto Xinjiang. You readers know that Brandon and I headed to the land of awesome.

When I was in Tibet, I got a message from Masato. He was in the hospital and had been hit by a car on the way to Kashgar. He was recovering from surgery and would have to return to Japan. I just received an email from him telling me his back has been broken and has metal plates. He told me the police informed him a Uyghur man hit him and did stop to help take care of the matter – thank goodness. The roads out here, and in Inner Mongolia, go on and on and on and very straight at times. So, people do not practice safe driving out here.

I want to say that not a day goes by on the road that I don’t think of Masato. Thoughts of Masato also reminds me to stay off main thoroughfares. I may get lost, or add days to my tour without real km progress, but…I’ll take my time to prevent my possible death…

So to YOU…MASATO…my Xinjiang route is for you, my friend. Get well soon and I wish you a speedy recovering.

June 04 2010 The Day Before My Birthday

I was riding leisurely down a country road, hardly a car in sight, just passing horses, carts, and their drivers.

About a kilometer ahead I noticed something that just didn’t look “right”. I saw a horse coming towards me at a faster pace than I had ever seen before. The horse is getting closer and I can see there is no driver and it’s picking up speed and his mane is flying behind him. I see a commotion coming behind the cart at a much slower pace. Immediately, I take my bike to the side and jump off my bike, grab the camera, and walk very quickly ahead. From childhood, I know a spooked horse is not something you want to get to close.

A quarter km from me the horse collapses. I run ahead. These are those photos. You, reader, will notice a lapse missing from these. As I stood near photographing a group of 5 boys on bikes were next to me. I could see what the problem was, the cart poles were under the horse. I walked over, set my camera on the ground, and quit being a photographer and became a helpful person. Within a couple of minutes, the other boys had come over. We pushed down on the back of the cart while trying to pull back at the same time.

Finally, we accomplished it. I spoke nothing to the driver, nor to the boys. Passing the driver a couple hours later, after my rest on the side of the road, we exchanged glances with cheerful eyes and a slight smile – a simple acknowledgement.

There was a moment, holding that camera, taking photos, not sure what I should do…………..

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“The” Room.

I’m going through photos, some editing, some thinking…and I thought I could handle looking at some photos.  But, I enlarged it and I got a big lump in my throat, my arms went numb, and now I kinda feel like I want to vomit.  But…this, for you my reader.  The room I was locked in for over 3 hours having my life threatened and knowing what he was planning on doing.  I do have a photo of “him”…but I don’t know if I can edit that one yet.  (I shoot RAW).

Can you imagine if I had let it all end here? Gross.
Learned lessons:
1. don’t be so exhausted you accept help from strangers – that don’t speak Mandarin to the laoban/laobanniang (I can’t understand Mongolian).
2. never stay in a lu dian room without a window.
3. never EVER let your guard down.
4. let him think you have given up the fight and when he leasts expects it…WHAM!
5. sometimes when you ask for real help, some people do not want to get involved or help.

I hope that SOB was in a motorcycle crash.

Story time: Kittens, Inner Mongolia, Next Life, and Ringworm.

It was July 31st 2010.  I have no photographic proof of this place, it was just one of those moments that a photograph could never explain this experience.  I have a snapshot from the road.

This town is, according to my records, is Abag Qi 阿巴嘎旗, Xilin Gol 锡林郭勒盟off Route 101 in Inner Mongolia on the way from Chifeng to the Mongolian/China border.

We stopped here for lunch.  We had been making good time against the headwinds of Northern China.  I learned that the wind comes down full force after 5 pm and will whack you around until very early dawn.

You can spot these towns in the middle of nowhere, from about 25km away.  In Xilin Gol, there is NOTHING.  Just a lot of up and down and up and down and up and down.  Nothing substantial…slight incline with an unexciting decline with a slight headwind to take ALL the joy out of it.  Your still putting in force going down…I hate that.

I’m sure there were growls of hunger in my stomach as I was approaching this town.  Usually, at the first sighting of life, if alone, I let out a big ass sigh of relief and murmur something motivational under my breath like, “just a little more” or “you can do it”.  But with company, there is usually an exchange of smiles, or a thumbs up, or a pointing into the horizon, and maybe even a “hell’s yeah!”

This town probably got a “Thank god” or “You hungry?” or “We’d better stop”.  More than like it was a mixture of all three with the stress on stopping.  If you take a look at Google Maps you can see there are very few towns/villages through Xilin Gol.  It’s Grasslands, some Desert, and some salt lakes.

Upon approaching, I can see new hotels being built along 101, the typical mid tone smooth grey shell that is ever present in growing China.  In the middle of nowhere I see an inkling of life improving, and inkling of hope, a glistening of capitalism and wealth.

Taking a right turn into the city, we are greeted with freshly paved roads, new looking houses, building cranes, and big poster of Deng Xiaoping.  Something similar to this

It’s one of those towns where you ride down a big hill to arrive in this little gem of a place.

This place is strange.  Very new, clean, pleasant, quiet…I think, this is a little undiscovered wonderful place.  It’s very similar looking to a city in the US.  There aren’t many people out and (I believe) its Saturday or Sunday afternoon.

Jason tells me to choose the place to eat.  I walk in, and in 3 months touring, and a year and a half of living in China, this is the first time “the record skipped” when I walked through the beaded curtain.  They love the beaded curtains in the North.  I hate beaded curtains because they love to get stuck in your spokes.

The place is packed, people go back to their business and the waitress attempts to speak English to me.  She’s high school age and of course absolutely adorable.

I remember the congee was AMAZING!

After a nice hearty, early lunch, we cross the street to sit in the shade in the city square.  There is a fountain, flowers, fresh benches with awnings.  In the North the mid sun is intense.  It’s a dry heat so it’s not so bad but that sun will burn you right up.  It’s decided, I will eat some additional snacks of chocolate and ice cream…do a little organizing and repacking and just chill’lax until about 2:30.  So we have about 3 more hours until the wind will blow us nearly backwards.

I’ve finished applying sunscreen to my pasty, now extra pasty, body and hear something.  A sound that perks my ears up and sharpens my eyes instantaneously!  There are 2 old ladies sitting near us talking quietly…it’s not them…I hear it again.

“Jason, do you hear THAT!?!?”

“What?”

I look ahead and see a group of 3 boys near the fountain.  The fountain is filled with water…they are doing something in the water.  Laughing, pointing, pushing one another to look at something.  They pull something out and set it down….

I hear the most painful and heart breaking “meeww meewww meewwww meewww….” not even a “meow” but little painful chirps.

The boys…I know boys will be boys…especially 5-7 year old boys with nothing better to do…

Standing up with more purpose than I have felt in awhile, I walk over and see a black kitten the size of my fist wobbling along the edge of the fountain…SOAKING WET.  The boys look at me, grinning, point to the kitten and say “Cat”.

My hands go right on my hips and comes out “What are you doing?!  Cat’s don’t like water, you shouldn’t be doing this.  Where are your mothers?”  The grins turn to a horizontal line and they know from my tone I am not pleased.  Now, in Chinese, “cats don’t like water, don’t do this”.  I don’t know what to do…I can’t grab it and take it with me.  If I returned with a kitten to where Jason was sitting he would not be happy with my choice.  What would we do with it.

I have to turn away and walk, furiously, with tears building up in my eyes.  “They are torturing a kitten over there”.  I sit there, watching them lift her back up and dunk her in the water.  I count the seconds before I hear her cry again.  It’s too long.  They are pushing her to her limits.   I can’t do this…”Jason, we have to leave, I can’t do this.”

(If I had been alone, by myself…I PROBABLY would of taken her with me.  Either I would of gone back to the restaurant to ask for help from the waitress or I would of gotten on my bike, rode up to them, snatched the kitten and ride off as fast as possible.  After that, maybe find a lu dian to feed and dry her and just let her go on her way.)

A man approaches to tell them to leave.  Jason goes up to the man and explains what they are doing.  The man explains he knows they are evil kids but it’s out of his control because he isn’t not their father.  Two boys pack the kitten up in a shoe box and walk across the street with their arms around each other, like long time cronies.

I can hear the crying.

We ride away and I see the boys hiding behind a SUV snickering as I ride by and I slow down to scream “you are NAUGHTY NAUGHTY LITTLE BOYS!!!!”

The crying rings through my head for hours.

A headwind from hell…or rather, North.

We can’t ride much more during the day.  I’m getting sun burned with my poor choice in a sleeveless jersey and not enough sunscreen.

Camp.

My reasoning for camping next to power lines is because too many motorcycles ride through the Grasslands, all willy nilly, or maybe worst, a jeep.  I figure a telephone pole will prevent me from getting accidentally flattened once the sun sets.

It’s a predictable cold and windy night.  As I fall asleep I wonder about that kitten.

When I wake…the first thought…”I hope she died”.  No more torture.

3 Weeks ago, my bike love has been replaced with Laoshu.  She found us with missing patches of hair, snotty nose, and mucous from her eyes.  At night, curled up around my neck or on my pillow, she would sneeze and cough.  Always little snot bubbles from her nose when she would wake up (she’s sleeping in a box right now that contains steel for bike building).  I nursed her with antibiotics and we bathed her once a week.  I’m nursing my ringworm away.

The pharmacist here has not seen something like this and we were awarded with a tube of Herpes medicine.  Nothing like pure strength bleach to knock out the 7 ringworm patches I have.

Laoshu may be her name for now, but I want to name her “Abag Qi”.  She especially loves having her paws rubbed and played with.  I swear they have more webbing than other cats, I bet she can swim too!

When I was lounging on the couch with her one night, I looked into her eyes, and  I KNOW I wanted to save her 4 months ago.  It sounds silly and all new age and stuff…but this kitten…we’ve crossed paths before.  She follows me where ever I walk, with me accidentally kicking her, sleeping on my lap whenever she gets a chance.

Her balance isn’t too good…but her fur has grown back, her sickness has disappeared, and she gets crazier than I have ever seen a kitten.  She’ll take a ribbon and run up and down the hall with it.  I can’t figure out if she’s cat, monkey, puppy, horse, mouse…I thought she looked a little hyena when I first met her.

All Signs Pointed to “No Go”…and more…

The last time I visited here, we were going to ride around Mongolia.

Well, it was frigid and there would be intermittent rain – BESIDES the hell of a wind.  I can deal with wind when I know there is a town ahead, because you can’t camp in this type of wind.  We moved about 30km in about 3-4 hours.

We passed an Italian that had crossed over from Russia and he had a mountain bike.  The road would disappear and the terrain would be trying.

After sitting on the side of the road debating, feeling defeated, we turned around. 

I woke up with a cold, and lied in bed, stuck in Ulaanbatar for a week.  We decided to take a train back to Hohot/Huhehaote (bad idea).

What I learned about cycling Mongolia – I was very ill prepared.  My advice:

1-travel North to South, the wind is hell.

2-extreme weather, pack accordingly and drop the panniers and add a cart (food, lots of water, winter gear, 4 season tent, etc.) 

3-mountain bike necessary

4-a gps device to give you coordinates OR a satellite phone OR be fluent in Mongolian/Russian

5-a high tolerance for drunks and boiled lamb…lots and lots of boiled lamb

I lost a considerable amount of weight because of my sickness and the awful food.

Would I like to attempt Hell-golia again.  Sure.  Better prepared.  You bet.

It’s been awhile since this so my feelings aren’t so hurt, but I did feel like a failure.  I have to remind myself that being an explorer sometimes means having to turn back.  Jason was even less prepared and the last thing I wanted to do was drag him out to the middle of nowhere – just to send him back with hypothermia and a broken bike.

Oh, don’t let anyone tell you that Mongolians know English – bull. 

We were lucky to find a man at the train station, that reminded of my dad.  (There is a possibility that American Indians came from the Mongolian region).  He spoke enough English to speak to some random dude because we had to fill out paperwork for customs. 

I was afraid of this but didn’t want to admit to it. 

It took 4 hours and a lot of paperwork, footwork, and money.

Well….when we finally arrived in HuHeHaote, you could of found me crying in the train station.  Turned out that we had to get off at the border to take care of paperwork for our bikes.  When was my luck going to turn…really?  God, can you hear me???

We have to go back to the border.

No train tickets, only 2 trains a week.  Go get bus tickets and we are approached by a private driver – we can leave that day!  125rmb a person,he even helped us find a bingguan for 70mb.

So, if you have ever lived in China – you know the drill.  Guess how long it took to take care of the paperwork?!?!

Literally, 3 minutes and 4rmb!

We go back to HuHeHaote the next day.

With all this extra time there, we pass the time at a video arcade.

The bikes arrived – safely.  Found a shop to repair my derrailleur – only one cog ring doesn’t work now – rather than 3.

Nothing too noteworthy since leaving HuHehaote – oh, Jason replaced my point and shoot camera with a Canon S90 – it’s pretty friggen awesome!

We did stay in a prostitution hotel, and was awoken twice by our neighbor being serviced.  Prostitution here is strange, to say the least.

Route 110 from HuHeHaote sucks!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  The first day to BaoTou, we looked like coal miners.  The coal mining and the trucks loaded with this was flying everywhere.  We have had only 1 day out of 6 (left HuHehaote last Thursday am) where we weren’t rinsing grey water off our bodies. 

3 days ago, the side wind was so bad it was blowing Jason and I all over the road.  It was a dangerous wind.  It always happens after 5pm and of course was coming from the North….

Except today!!!!  We are traveling South and have a hell of a headwind.

I finally exited Inner Mongolia today and landed in NingXia.

Yesterday, as we are riding along the Yellow River, you see a strip of sand (that we are riding through), then a stip of green, the river, another strip of green, then MASSIVE SAND DUNES!!!

Hey China!  You are turning into a giant sand box.  There are hundreds of dried river beds that once branched off from the river.  I’m riding through imagining what this part of the country looked like 200 years ago.  I bet it was the land of milk and honey…seriously.

Hey China! Quit strip mining, at least have some beautiful mountains in your sandbox.

The pollution has been outrageous since leaving HuHeHaote and traveling West.  Grey skies and the sides of the road are grey/black from the coal particles.  I really can’t imagine what my pink lungs NOW look like.

I’m now 50km North of YinChuan.  I got yelled out today because I took pictures of some men striking outside a power plant.  Jason translated the signs saying “Goverment workers are people too”.  I got surrounded by a bunch of men and just deleted it just to get them off my a$*.  The last thing I need is the cops arriving.

Well China…now that you are #2 in GDP, you are going to have to face up to a lot of stuff.  And this announcement is very loud and EVERYONE knows about it.  Even the poor government workers barely making a living wage.

Good luck with that.

Don’t think I’m hating…I’m really glad to be back in China.  The food, the language – THE PEOPLE.  I LOVE THE PEOPLE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  Even the prostitutes…they haven’t really been given another option to make a

2 Week Recharge and then off to Mongolia (be sure to use the 110 and not the 220)

Jason has been updating this for me, but this is yours truly.

Well, after the awful fiasco in Xin’BaErHeYouQi around Hulun Buir, I took a train from Wulanhaote to Chifeng.

What happened that was so awful?  I’ll skim the surface for you.  I met 3 young men, ehem, let me rephrase, I met 2 young men and 1 monster.  After treating me to dinner I found myself having the monster “help” me to find a place to sleep for the evening.  I was locked in a room for 3 hours knowing that his intention was rape and possibly steal my belongings.  After 3 hours of me pleading and crying for release and him repeatedly telling me he would kill me – I got away.

The scream I let out still doesn’t even sound like my voice.  The next 5 minutes are a haze.

2 nights later I stayed on a Mongolia “Dude Ranch”.  I needed that.  These people gave me some faith in humanity.  The 3 people were “Mongolian” but I have realized there is a difference between ethnic lineage of Mongolian and those that live culturally as Mongolian.  Mongolians LOVE to drink…they LOVE to sing…they LOVE Americans.

There was a boy on the ranch – “Bao’tur”.  He made me very nervous – even behind his silver reflector aviator sunglasses – I could see that he was one of the most beautiful boys I have ever seen.  His delicate and such unique face framed by soft curled dyed brownish hair.  It was not a sexual attraction nervousness, let me say that, but the fact that he was BEAUTIFUL.  Jason says, “that guy looks weird” – you may think that too – but this boy was beautiful.

When I was practicing English with “Bao’tur”, “But’tur”, “Nancy”, and “Jake” – Bao’turs’ voice would go very high pitch and awkward sounding.  He made up for this silliness by the his natural appearance riding the horses – with no saddle.

I slept in my first yurt.  It was a cement one, a permanent one.

I returned to my Chinese “family” in ChiFeng last Saturday.  After another “boy” tried to scam me and who knows what else at the train station in Wulanhaote.  Luckily I stopped that one before there even was the option.

Greeted at the train station at 5:30 am by my dear friend and “sister” Lotus.  Captain was there too.  It was so wonderful to see familiar faces and feel true, genuine love, from friends and family.  While in Chifeng, I was on the radio station speaking Chinese, danced for a large group of Eighth Graders, and had “little rain drop” (Lotus’ dear daughter) tell me my arms are like peaches.  I have hairy arms…you should see my legs!!!!

After spending a relaxing, yet hot, weekend in Chifeng, I arrived in Shanghai Monday night.  I’ve never been one to run to the Gate and throw my arms around anyone.  But I shuffled (flip flops) past everyone and ran into Jason’s arms.  Yes.  Like a movie.  My luggage being one very dirty tanktop and pants and a load of Inner Mongolian Milk candy and Cheese.  Gifts.  Dirty clothes and candy.

I have officially hit “Dirt Bag” status – and so proud of it.  People are amazed by my tan lines.  I’ve been told I look like a Chinese farmer and the man next to me on the plane kept looking at my arms and then his.  He was a little corn’fused.

On July 1st, my final riding day of NorthEast China – I hit 5000km.  If you do the math, I did this in 2 months – with more than plenty rest days.  I plan to do the next 2 months, 6000km.  This will be Mongolia.

Jason will be joining me for Mongolia – but don’t worry – I still plan to make a record amount of solo kilometers through China.  I guarantee that.

While in Shanghai, I will be eating NOT Chinese food, though I have had 2 Chinese lunches.  I lied.  Let me rephrase…I will not be eating Chinese food when we can afford not too.  Still have got to reserve money.  The attempted rape drained 1000kuai out of my account really fast.  Taxi ride to next town and an air conditioned hotel.

I’ve got a great paying job this week and that will more than definitely put my finances back to where they were before I started.

One massage thus far, as I hope to regain feeling in my left middle finger.  I lost feeling and it’s completely numb – during the first week of my ride.  Pinched nerves?

I’m going to go through some photos and maybe put a couple up here…I know you are dying to see some.

Recently, I’ve had correspondance with your recent comment’or Edward Genochio and new correspondance from Evan Villarrubia, Portrait of an LBX www.portraitofanlbx.com

Ed and I share a lot of similar stories and he’s been a great guy to talk with when I’m feeling beat the hell up.

Evan and his cycling companion are still on the road in China.  I got a really nice email from him giving me props for doing this.  He said that he and his buddies have often discussed how difficult this would be for a woman…well, I’m doing it.  And to hell with that monster – I will NOT let any person ruin this for me.

I’ll keep you all up to date

2 Week Recharge and then off to Mongolia (be sure to use the 110 and not the 220)

Jason has been updating this for me, but this is yours truly.

Well, after the awful fiasco in Xin’BaErHeYouQi around Hulun Buir, I took a train from Wulanhaote to Chifeng.

What happened that was so awful?  I’ll skim the surface for you.  I met 3 young men, ehem, let me rephrase, I met 2 young men and 1 monster.  After treating me to dinner I found myself having the monster “help” me to find a place to sleep for the evening.  I was locked in a room for 3 hours knowing that his intention was rape and possibly steal my belongings.  After 3 hours of me pleading and crying for release and him repeatedly telling me he would kill me – I got away.

The scream I let out still doesn’t even sound like my voice.  The next 5 minutes are a haze.

2 nights later I stayed on a Mongolia “Dude Ranch”.  I needed that.  These people gave me some faith in humanity.  The 3 people were “Mongolian” but I have realized there is a difference between ethnic lineage of Mongolian and those that live culturally as Mongolian.  Mongolians LOVE to drink…they LOVE to sing…they LOVE Americans.

There was a boy on the ranch – “Bao’tur”.  He made me very nervous – even behind his silver reflector aviator sunglasses – I could see that he was one of the most beautiful boys I have ever seen.  His delicate and such unique face framed by soft curled dyed brownish hair.  It was not a sexual attraction nervousness, let me say that, but the fact that he was BEAUTIFUL.  Jason says, “that guy looks weird” – you may think that too – but this boy was beautiful.

When I was practicing English with “Bao’tur”, “But’tur”, “Nancy”, and “Jake” – Bao’turs’ voice would go very high pitch and awkward sounding.  He made up for this silliness by the his natural appearance riding the horses – with no saddle.

I slept in my first yurt.  It was a cement one, a permanent one.

I returned to my Chinese “family” in ChiFeng last Saturday.  After another “boy” tried to scam me and who knows what else at the train station in Wulanhaote.  Luckily I stopped that one before there even was the option.

Greeted at the train station at 5:30 am by my dear friend and “sister” Lotus.  Captain was there too.  It was so wonderful to see familiar faces and feel true, genuine love, from friends and family.  While in Chifeng, I was on the radio station speaking Chinese, danced for a large group of Eighth Graders, and had “little rain drop” (Lotus’ dear daughter) tell me my arms are like peaches.  I have hairy arms…you should see my legs!!!!

After spending a relaxing, yet hot, weekend in Chifeng, I arrived in Shanghai Monday night.  I’ve never been one to run to the Gate and throw my arms around anyone.  But I shuffled (flip flops) past everyone and ran into Jason’s arms.  Yes.  Like a movie.  My luggage being one very dirty tanktop and pants and a load of Inner Mongolian Milk candy and Cheese.  Gifts.  Dirty clothes and candy.

I have officially hit “Dirt Bag” status – and so proud of it.  People are amazed by my tan lines.  I’ve been told I look like a Chinese farmer and the man next to me on the plane kept looking at my arms and then his.  He was a little corn’fused.

On July 1st, my final riding day of NorthEast China – I hit 5000km.  If you do the math, I did this in 2 months – with more than plenty rest days.  I plan to do the next 2 months, 6000km.  This will be Mongolia.

Jason will be joining me for Mongolia – but don’t worry – I still plan to make a record amount of solo kilometers through China.  I guarantee that.

While in Shanghai, I will be eating NOT Chinese food, though I have had 2 Chinese lunches.  I lied.  Let me rephrase…I will not be eating Chinese food when we can afford not too.  Still have got to reserve money.  The attempted rape drained 1000kuai out of my account really fast.  Taxi ride to next town and an air conditioned hotel.

I’ve got a great paying job this week and that will more than definitely put my finances back to where they were before I started.

One massage thus far, as I hope to regain feeling in my left middle finger.  I lost feeling and it’s completely numb – during the first week of my ride.  Pinched nerves?

I’m going to go through some photos and maybe put a couple up here…I know you are dying to see some.

Recently, I’ve had correspondance with your recent comment’or Edward Genochio and new correspondance from Evan Villarrubia, Portrait of an LBX www.portraitofanlbx.com

Ed and I share a lot of similar stories and he’s been a great guy to talk with when I’m feeling beat the hell up.

Evan and his cycling companion are still on the road in China.  I got a really nice email from him giving me props for doing this.  He said that he and his buddies have often discussed how difficult this would be for a woman…well, I’m doing it.  And to hell with that monster – I will NOT let any person ruin this for me.

I’ll keep you all up to date

I would love to hear from you!