Bikepacking West Sichuan: Part 2 - meeting the Tibetans
Not quite sure which one of us looks like they’ve had the harder life in this picture…😂
I had covered only 45km the previous day as the lake and mountain pass took it’s toll, but the next day was physically much easier going, as I covered 140km down the valley to the next mountain pass. The roads were paved once more, but the area remained remote. Curious children peered at me from behind their mother’s legs in the small villages I did encounter, and as I reached the end of the valley these became fewer and farther in between. The last 20km was on a road straight from an adventure book - it wound along the face of the steep cliffs that lined the edge of the valley as it narrowed, with parts of the road blown away at points by rockfall. Looking forward to reaching the next mountain pass at the end and reaching hiking trails again, I arrived at the last village by late afternoon. It was a weird place, houses perched along the edge of this mountain road, hugging the cliff face and looking like they were going to fall into the abyss. I had a sense of foreboding as I passed a slapdash attempt at a checkpoint on entering the village, but the man dressed in a scruffy old uniform sleeping in a tent at the side of the road seemed not to have seen me. However, stopping at the only shop I could find to stock up on food for the mountain pass ahead proved to be my undoing.
The suspicious locals must have informed the village guard, and as I set off again a car pulled up and two men got out, shouting at me to stop. I tried the tactic of ignoring them and pedalling away as fast as I could, but they overtook me and blocked the road. The men represented the self-styled local government, and there was no way they were allowing a Covid-carrying foreigner through their village. All my protests, and even attempts to call the Sichuan government and ask them to intervene and talk sense into these men, were to no avail. They wouldn’t accept that I had the same documents and Covid test results as any local and should be allowed to pass, and the government helpline simply told me that every village had the right to enforce Covid policies as strictly as they wished. As anti-climactic as it seemed, my ambitions of reaching Yunnan had been dashed. I had no choice but to retrace my steps. Annoyance and frustration coursing through me, I cycled back the way I came, but the only guesthouses I found would predictably not accept foreigners. With night drawing in again, I quickly found the best camping spot I could by the road and settled in for the night.
“I felt broken. But after a tough night of reflection, I realised that not reaching my destination didn’t really matter”
I felt broken. I had set off with the aim of practicing a long trip on the bike, had picked a challenging and inspiring route, and yet had been thwarted at every turn. But after a tough night of reflection, I realized not reaching my destination didn’t really matter. This trip was all about getting the practice I needed to be able to cycle back to the UK. Encountering hardships and difficulties were only going to increase my flexibility and resilience and make it more likely that when that trip arrived, I was ready. With a journey like this, it shouldn’t be about reaching a goal destination - it should be about learning and having fun.
With this in mind, I set off the next morning simply to find the highest, most remote mountains in the area and enjoy the challenge of getting there. I set off up the Gonggushan valley towards the mountains behind Kangding. As the air got thinner again with the extreme altitude and the roads once again turned to dirt tracks and finally herdsman’s paths, I felt alive. I stayed the first night in a small village which turned out to be the last permanent settlement along my route. The next day was beautiful - stopping at herdsman’s tents and being invited in for tea and snacks, finding a fruit and vegetables seller who had braved a trip up the valley to flog his produce to the nomadic herdsmen who flocked to the high pastures at the height of summer, and enjoying the first fresh fruit I had had for days. The herdsmen were enjoying it too, as I watched their children laughing and rolling around by the streams, enjoying the strawberries that must have been a once a month treat for them. I stopped worrying about reaching a particular destination and did what took my fancy. I saw some high peaks of 5,000 and 6,000m on the map, so fashioned my bikepacking bags into a makeshift rucksack and set off to try to climb the nearest of them. On crossing the ridge prior, I realized the 6,000m peak was out of the question. It’s snow covered sides loomed ominously, with the only break in the whiteness being bare rock cliff faces that dared anyone to try to conquer them. The 5,000m peak looked more achievable, with no snow at this time of year, but after starting out up it’s side I lost my confidence as the light faded. There was no one else in this particular valley, which was a beautiful feeling during the day, but oddly disconcerting as night approached. I decided to cut my losses and retreat to the main valley with the comfort of the herdsmen’s tents.
As I was setting up my tent for the night, a huge herd of cows started coming past me, chased by three women. One of the women saw me, and shouted across to me that I shouldn’t sleep alone in my tent, but that I should come back and join them at their camp. I hesitated, but they were insistent, and I followed them. As soon as I reached their tent and met the woman’s two young children, I was so glad I did. Children in the mountains are the epitome of life - ruddy, red faced and full of boundless energy, they never fail to bring a smile to my face. These two were amazing, a boy and a girl aged five and seven. The boy immediately wanted to show me his favourite cow. He sprinted off after a small calf (it was still twice as tall as him) and wrestled it to the ground, imploring me to then come over and pet it. Unsure what to do, I gingerly rubbed the poor cow’s head, but I would soon become used to his antics. He proceeded to unsuccessfully try to teach me to crack a whip, played football with me, and challenged me to running races, which was the last activity I needed to engage in, fatigued as I was with the cycling and hiking and with the small matter of being at 4,800m altitude. His sister was slightly more sensible, but still a delight. She chatted away and showed me around their local area, telling me all about how their life in the high mountains played out.
When it came to time for dinner, I was humbled by how kind this host family were. They asked for nothing from me, yet cooked up a what was for them a feast - milky tea with a dollop of butter, full of intense flavours, home-cooked bread and cheese that tasted strong, like it was straight from the cow. It was further proof for me that the kindest, purest people are those that have the least. This thought was just milling around my head when I discovered that they are also by far the most trusting. The lady’s husband arrived towards the end of dinner, and his wife casually introduced him to me and told him I would stay the night with her, her mother and the children. He appeared completely nonplussed at the thought of this strange foreign man staying alone with his wife and children and, after he had eaten dinner, headed out to drink with his friends in the neighbouring tents, not to be seen again that night!
The herdsmen’s children were full of energy and life - although they did make me fear for the safety of my bike!
When it was time to say goodbye to the family the next morning, I felt sadness overwhelm me. Here was a family with nothing, living day-today in one of the least hospitable places in the world, and yet they were so pure, untainted by the pressures and problems of modern life, thinking only of how they could help people they met, rather than reasons not to. But it also gave me hope. We think of ourselves and the lives we live in Europe, the US, China etc as the centre of the universe. But the reality is that there are billions of people living in poverty in places around the world whose lives most of us never experience. The goodness of these people gave me hope that actually, despite the never-ending stream of depressing news that fills the media in the developed world, people at heart do make the world a better place.
The next day I crossed the final mountain pass and headed down towards Kangding. It was tough going, with overgrown trails, rocky terrain and my first puncture of the trip to deal with. As I approached civilization, I was again exposed to the suspicion and barriers that authority provided. On the edge of a building site at the foot of the mountains, I was accosted by an official who shouted at me and perhaps for some unfathomable reason that only makes sense to a Chinese bureaucrat during a period of restrictive anti-Covid policies suspected me of being a spy, demanded to see my documents. After initially trying to send me back up the mountain and not allow me through the site, he eventually escorted me through and sent me packing down the road to Kangding.
I was done. I was back to the world of suspicion and 24-hour Covid test requirements, and that just didn’t sit well with me after the most beautiful couple of days in the mountains. This place was geographically so close, but couldn’t have been further away in terms of the mindset and temperament of the people. I found the first bike shop I could and shipped my bike back to Shanghai, following it the next day (after a chase around two hospitals to get my Covid test certificate) on a bus to Chengdu, the provincial capital, and then on to Shanghai. The trip had been from a practical sense a failure. I hadn’t reached my goal and had ended up simply cycling around in circles for ten days. But the memories I had made in the mountains were priceless.
Finding out that travel isn’t always bliss… navigating the alleyways of the Marrakech Medina, with a surpise around every corner.