Friday, 18th December, 2015
- Day 108/298
- 36%
A long day in the saddle yields good progress amid questions about what it means to be productive.
A productive day
Good progress.
I awake to blaring techno from below, an effective if somewhat offensive alarm which forces me to get moving.
Retrieving clothing from my makeshift drying stand I wonder how long it will remain olfactorily okay. Yesterday I tried to buy some deodorant but found that the large supermarket only sold high-end fragrances. So when dressing in still damp fabrics, I layer wool before synthetic in an effort to contain my moist musk.
Browsing booking.com I lock in my optimism by renting a room in Yuanping, over 100 km away.
Emailing my contacts to inform them that they can now track my progress via TrackMyTour (opens new window), an interactive map whose companion app allows me to drop waypoints as I go, I'm annoyed when my first commenter asks Where are you now?
Out on the road, I'm now riding exclusively on the shoulder.
It’s easier than transitioning back and forth, even though the road would be twice as fast.
Averaging 13-15 km/h I aim for the upper limit, aided by a rational fear that if I don't I might not make Yuanping in time.
The red trucks still dominate and it occurs to me that they could just be driving around in vast circles and not actually transporting anything.
Because for all the productivity on parade, prosperity seems a distant dream. The homes I've been into are basic, reliant on coal stoves and communal living. Any spare rooms are purely functional, devoid of the clutter derived from discretionary income. People only possess what they actually need - cheap Chinese-made appliances, the ubiquitous electric element, in the hotels a TV, a way to tune out and distract oneself from reality.
Maybe the language issue obscures more, micro-enterprise. It just seems like people are focussed on surviving rather than thriving, doing the best they can with what they've got.
Trucks, people, productivity. I recall the border town of Erenhot/Erlian or somewhere nearby. There, a tech market housed a glut of lookalike products. Someone sat in every shop waiting to sell something to anyone but no one was buying anything because it was all the same. Many small storefronts gave an illusion of productivity but it was all just busy work.
Maybe motion is part of that illusion. The trucks, driving in circles. People, ready to serve. But also me. When I am in motion I feel like I am achieving something, but perhaps it's a mental trick and I'm actually not.
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Stunning scene.
Shiny me.
At 1pm I reach a junction where despite my best efforts I'm distracted by shiny things.
There's a stunning painted nature scene, depicting past or future, reality or fantasy.
And there's a sculpture with mirrored metal globes, a different viewpoint from the bathroom mirror. More alien, perhaps more what the locals see.
Continuing down the highway I take the left for Taiyuan where I rejoin the G208.
The trucks continue straight ahead, making the new road much quieter.
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Red rimmed.
Small bridge.
At half past two I pass over a small bridge in a small town rimmed in red.
Glancing to my right to admire a partially frozen river, when I look back I see a van overtaking a truck and now hurtling directly towards me!
Mentally calculating the probability of collision, in the blink of an eye he's gone and I'm left reflecting on the need for constant vigilance. Size matters out here and many larger vehicles ignore the needs of smaller ones altogether. When they overtake one another there really is no room for error. You can’t be looking around like a tourist, that’s for sure.
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Mountains through the trees.
Mountains ahead.
Yanmen Pass.
Tantalising glimpses of mountains signal the approach of Yanmen Pass.
Several hours later I'm riding over it, sustained by moreish biscuits.
At half past seven I stop for dinner, where a teenager attempts to take stealth photos of me as I eat.
I finally arrive at Yuanping just after midnight, exhausted.
Following the booking.com map to the Yuanping Xinghe Guesthouse, when I finally find it the door is chained shut. I can see late night TV playing in the office so I knock on the door. A curtain twitches and a lady’s face appears, but five minutes of waiting yields no one, so despite having pre-paid I head off in search of a hotel with a better attitude.
This comes in the form of the nearby Thank hotel, an establishment which is gratefully much more receptive to late night guests.
I've ridden almost 133 km today over 12 hours, a duration so profound that even my cycle computer can't display it. A productive day indeed.