Motorcycle Misadventures in China: October 18

Coming to you from an outer Heibi province city just sprung from the seeds of Chinese capitalism, the Great Wall cringing in horror on the hill and the Mongolian ponies trying to outrun us, three honorable foreign ladies loud on Chang Jiangs and fat on plentiful autumn dishes.

Between bouts of necessary motorcycle maintenance I was urged by Diny to buy fur-lined motorcycle pant fronts — gortex on the outside, fur on the inside, you just stick them on the front of your leg and velcro them on, and Voila! Also, like her, I bought fuzzy mitts for my handlebars with fleece inside and again, gortex (or similar) on the outside. You tie them on and slip your hands into them to work the brake and throttle. Total cost, 70 Yuan=$10. Okay…so the fur is fake. I thought I was being frivolous until about dusk when the temperature dropped maybe thirty degrees and we rolled into town and asked for the nicest hotel and sped there as fast as we could.

That’s saying something when you’re entering a place that looks like a combination of Reno and Burning Man. China’s architects are into neon, and big time. Every new building whether it’s a car dealership or a restaurant looks like a casino, and the roads are full of vehicles of all vintages making noises and erratic movements. And to top it off, every new building site is cleared of evil spirits by a big dose of fireworks, and that can happen when you’re just happening to be riding by or at three in the morning. Work never stops here.

Somehow, the three of us are staying toether. It’s wonderful to ride with two such excellent women. We are each daring and cautious in compatible  doses and travel together well in very tough conditions screaming and smiling and curious and horrified and impressed with each new moment.

Entering a town/city is always a Big Adventure because things get tight right away. On the highways the small vehicles stay to the right and the big vehicles stay to the left and the medium sized vehicles take the middle, generally, but in the towns the large and the small vehicles decide they want to switch places at  random moments and the medium sized vehicles weave through the mess. It is more like a dance than driving, a dance with twenty partners at a time, each one anticipating the next move of nineteen others. Really, it’s quite elegant, unless someone balks.

At dusk we arrived but passed the road that led into the city center, belatedly realizing it, and making a U-turn was out of the question so we turned around in a parking lot and headed down the wrong side of the road, hugging the curb (what there was of it), to the light. We were in the process of breaking every known traffic law on the books when Teresa saw two traffic cops and decided to stop. Duh! I thought. But they were very friendly and pointed us in the right direction to the best hotel in town.

We rode up right onto the big wide shiny marble walkway out front, lit up with neon and very casino looking to me, I’m still trying to work out those pictograms — and the staff came running out, jogging in front of us to show us where to park behind the hotel. We dismounted and Teresa grinned and said, with her teeth chattering, "Worth it at any price," as five people grabbed our bags, helped me cover the bike, and led us inside to a vast golden lobby tiled in white and furnished with burnished gold leather couches and chairs under glittering chandeliers.

The lengthy black and inlaid burnished copper front desk was staffed with three young women who gave us the prices and we chose single rooms with Internet not above the kitchen for 280 Yuan = 37.25 USD, with breakfast, too. Two bellmen took us to our floor where three attendees led us to our rooms and when they were gone we changed and hustled to the restaurant where we proceeded to have absolutely the best meal of my trip so far served by seven wait staff, and that’s saying something because every little podunk restaurant here serves outstanding food. Tonight we gorged on dumplings, eggplant, soft rounds of tofu the size and shape and almost the texture of scallops, carmelized mung bean balls rolled in popped rice, orange squash cakes, jasmine tea, the local beer. 

We were back in our rooms by 8:30 and will regroup in the morning at 7:00 to recreate our game plan. A cold front is apparently coming in, and so we know that the first order of business is to find  those coats we see a lot of the old guys wearing on their motorbikes. They’re thickly padded army green jackets, maybe they’re down, maybe they’re fur-lined, we don’t know yet but we will soon — and they have black furry collars and are an absolutely necessary addition to our wardrobes.

Here’s today’s photo album. Thanks to Teresa Howes for many of the photos, especially the ones with me in them.

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