Waah Waaaaaaaaaaah!!!!! The truck comes roaring up from behind, honking its horn as I begin my climb up the Pazhou Bridge over the Pearl River. My left hand is gripping my handlebars, while my sweaty right hand tries to hold my slippery camera without shaking it too much. With quick glances, I look at the screen for a second and try to frame a good picture. Then I look down at the road to make sure my wheel isn’t straying into the convoy of trucks on my left or into the tall concrete Jersey block on my right. I’m also scouting for chunks of brick, glass and scrap metal as I rev up my cadence so I don’t get dropped by my two strong riding mates, Brendan and Nelson, visiting from Portland. My heart is pounding. I’m holding my breath so I don’t inhale too much truck exhaust. Lastly, I’m thinking how crazy I am. Is getting a decent photo of the climb over the Pazhou Bridge really worth risking my life? Well, yes it is.
Crossing the Pazhou Bridge was always my favorite part of the weekday rides I used to do with a small group of neighbors when I arrived in Guangzhou three years ago. I always got my butt kicked in the sprints, but I could usually redeem myself when climbing the bridge. Our ride was on a 30-kilometer out-and-back route, and we would hit the bridge at the midpoint. Three years ago, I don’t remember the traffic being that bad. We rode at dawn so there weren’t many vehicles. But now, there seems to be a constant convoy of trucks during all hours of the day. I’m guessing many of the early morning drivers have been behind the wheel all night, fighting sleep or jacked up on who knows what.
Nelson (blue) and Brendan (black) attacking the Pazhou Bridge.
The trucks hog the roads, giving cyclists a lane that’s barely half a meter wide. The road is usually bumpy, covered in blobs of concrete that were dripped from mixer trucks and allowed to harden before they were cleaned away. The northbound part of the bridge usually has migrant workers on bikes salmoning, or riding against traffic, and they’ll stick close to the shoulder and force you to swerve into traffic to avoid them.
Once on a group ride, I launched a blistering Marco Pantani-like attack at the base of the bridge and opened up a big gap. But in the middle of the bridge, a truck had spilled a bunch of gravel, and I had to slow down as I struggled to stay upright while riding through the patch of rocks. The group caught me, so I had to throw in another Pantani attack near the top. Luckily, I still had the legs to do it. It’s still one of my fondest cycling memories.
The southbound lane often has people trying to push or pedal heavily loaded three-wheel bike carts up the bridge. One morning I passed an elderly woman trying to get her shipment of vegetables over the bridge. As I rode by, she said to me in Cantonese, “Can you help me please?” Now that’s a bad way to start your day! Using a Chinese dialect to ask a geeky foreigner in Lycra for help!
The morning I shot these photos, we encountered the guy below with the load of oranges. My riding mates were lucky to zip around him just before a huge container truck caught up to us. I was busy shooting photos and got stranded behind the orange cart just as the container truck pulled up beside it, merged slightly into the lane on his left and just stopped! Traffic on the bridge was blocked for a half minute, and I had to unclip and wait in a cloud of black exhaust for traffic to flow again. Another Pazhou memory.
So after I got dropped by the cyclists, the guy pushing the orange cart came along and dropped me, too! It was a bad day!
I’ve spent 13 years of my life in so-called Greater China (Hong Kong, mainland China and Taiwan). Without a doubt, my favorite place to ride is Taiwan. It’s got everything: fantastic mountains, terrific food, friendly people, beautiful nature, decent weather and great bike shops. Earlier this month, I was planning a four-day trip to the island. A day before my departure, I caught a bad stomach bug. The five-day forecast also included heavy rain. I debated a bit about whether I should bring my bike as I had planned. In the end, I decided that even if I had to pull over to puke every kilometer in torrential rain, I was still going to ride. I just couldn’t pass up an opportunity to ride through Taiwanese mountains again. It did rain and I suffered a bit with the gastrointestinal issues, but as usual Taiwan really rewarded me and I’m glad I did it.
I did my usual thing and stayed at a small motel in the Tienmu neighborhood in the capital of Taipei. Tienmu is at the base of Yangmingshan National Park, so after a five-minute spin from the hotel door, the road starts climbing out of the Blader Runneresque urban densepack and into the lush subtropical forest that covers the Yangming Mountain range. The first 10-kilometer climb gets you into the park, where you’ll find a Starbucks coffee shop. I can’t think of many other climbs in China that deliver you to a Starbucks. Many folks won’t think this is a good thing, but I’m not one of them. I’ve done enough of the rough and remote thing.
The night before, I bought three big chunks of banana bread for my ride, so I decided to stop at Sbucks to enjoy some with a cup of joe. But I forgot that Starbucks opens at 8 a.m. in Taiwan and it was 7:30, so I decided to just have my snack on the patio. A young woman inside the cafe saw me and came to the door. She said, “Sorry, we’re not open yet, but can I get you a glass a water? How about a chair, too?” In Guangzhou, I would have been told to scram until the store opens.
She called herself "Winnie" and she was wonderful. She apologized for not being able to open the store earlier and offered me a glass of water and a chair. She was amazed that I planned to ride 80 km in the rain.
Yangmingshan is full of natural sulphur pits. The steam rises rises from the hills in several areas, and the rotten-egg stench of sulphur fills the air.
The rice crop is just getting started. In a month, this will be a brilliant green carpet of rice plants.
My favorite climb goes up and over Yangming Mountain and down to Jin Shan Beach. There were a few dedicated surfers waiting for waves when I stopped to watch them.
This food truck sells some awesome waffles with whip cream on the coastal road that passes Jin Shan Beach. It’s at the mid point of my ride, and I was really looking forward to stopping to have a second breakfast. I was crushed to see that he wasn’t open.
Waiting for waves at Jin Shan Beach.
Like in mainland China, convenience stores in Taiwan sell chicken parts. But they also have chocolate-covered Belgian waffles. Boo yah!
Stopping at a flower farm on the climb back over Yangming Mountain.
This guy marveled at how high my seat was and said to his friend, "Look at the long legs on this guy!"
One of my all-time favorite switchbacks at the base of Yangming National Park.
At the 10-kilometer mark, it looked like the road might just corkscrew around Bei Feng Mountain for the last 2 kilometers to the summit. But I wouldn’t know for sure until I turned a sharp curve that would give me a good view of what was ahead. As I rounded the corner, there it was: the final segment of road that just snaked its way up one side of the mountain. It was Medieval in its cruelty. It didn’t look real. It looked like part of the set of a Lord of the Rings movie. I thought for sure that I would pass Frodo and Sam plodding along the road.
The red dot is Taishan, and the black star is Guangzhou, the home of Waffles & Steel.
This was my cool-down ride after Sunday’s 8.4-kilometer race up Bei Feng (or North Summit) Mountain near the city of Taishan in the southern province of Guangdong. The race didn’t finish at the summit, and I’m not sure why. I’m thankful it didn’t because the final ascent to the summit was an absolute killer.
The entire climb – from the race start to the summit – was 12.5 kilometers and we gained 873 meters in elevation. The average gradient was 7 percent, but it hit 20 percent in some areas. The views were breathtaking, with green valleys, lush forests and reservoirs. The mountain was undeveloped, nearly pristine. It was another reminder of how fantastically beautiful this country can be. In so many ways, China reminds me of the American West. Wherever humans settle, you’re bound to see some of the most tragic eyesores created by man. Depressing strip malls, drab homes, monotonous agriculture, abandoned rusty junk. But if you can get away from “civilization,” you’ll meet nature at her breath-taking best. Soaring mountains, vast deserts, thick forests, raging rivers. All in a land that has yet to go gaga over jet skis, bass boats, mobile homes and ski resorts.
I’ll shut up now and let the pictures tell the story, with a little help from captions.
Source: Banovic Data & Graphics Industries
Backing up a bit: This is the scene we saw as we drove toward the race, looking for the starting line. Just beyond the rice paddies lies the source of our pain.
We often felt like we were climbing into the sky.
This is the last chain-busting segment of the climb to the peak. I wanted to shoot it while I was climbing but I really needed both hands on my bars because it was such a brutal climb.
My goals for the 8.4-kilometer Bei Feng Mountain climbing race were pathetically unambitious. First, I wanted to hang with the peloton for at least the first 200 meters, until the starting-line crowd could no longer see us as we disappeared around a sharp bend and into a heavily forested area. In China, races usually start out super fast, with riders going balls out berzerk the second the gun goes off. I don’t have a fast-twitch muscle in my body, so this is a serious problem for me. I’m purely a strength, or endurance, cyclist who does better when the serious climbs come at the 100-kilometer mark. My second goal was not to get swallowed up by the B Group peloton, which started 2 minutes after us.
To my great relief, the peloton took off at a sane pace, and I was still in the mix after 500 meters when the road started to turn up. Surprisingly, I was still hanging on at the 1-kilometer mark when the incline started to bite really hard. Then the hammer went down and the tempo quickly picked up. I was gasping for oxygen and my legs already felt drenched in lactic acid. A second later, I went flying out the back door – cycling jargon for being dropped hard, being left for dead by the pack. Joining me in the caboose of the pain train were three junior riders who were put into the elite A Group division at the last minute. They were teen-age stick figures, weighing about 40 kilos each. They were long on promise but short on conditioning. It looked like a good “youth vs. experience” battle was brewing between us.
Brendan powering across the line.
Up the mountain, my friend Brendan – the only other foreigner in the A Group – was holding his own as usual. During his four-year stint in Guangzhou, Brendan has been the fastest expat racer by far – truly in a league of his own. Currently riding for Trek’s team, he rarely missed a race in the area and often traveled to other parts of China to compete. He’s spent a lot of time on the podium and was always in contention, even when working his butt off for a teammate. This is outstanding for someone with a demanding job, a wife and two kids. Most of the Chinese riders are young single guys who don’t have to juggle so many heavy career and family demands. Brendan has become a legend in the local racing scene and learned enough Mandarin to be able to chat with the local riders, who obviously have an immense amount of respect for him. Bei Feng was his last race before moving back to the U.S. Although he has been scaling back his training because he’s been busy preparing his move, he was still able to finish fifth, 4:21 ahead of me and fast enough to be included in the award ceremony. It’s going to be a long time before another person like Brendan comes along in Guangzhou, and for sure he’s become a permanent fixture in the local cycling lore. He should be commended for his athletic talent and passion for the sport as well as the role he played as a diplomat for cycling and his country.
Shortly after the 2-kilometer mark, a couple of B Group riders hammered past me. I did a shoulder check, just dreading the possibility of the rest of the peloton bearing down on me. It wasn’t, though, so I pushed the pace and tried to stick with the B Group leaders. By the 3-kilometer point, I had picked off two of the junior riders who were in serious difficulty. I knew that the road would level out between the third and fourth kilometers, so I powered past the third-and-last junior rider, who was racing in a wife-beater T-shirt. At the 4-kilometer mark, the road kicked up steeply for a few 100 meters before leveling off. The rest of the race was like that: short steep climb…short stretch of level road…killer switchback…level again…brutal short climb…false flat…then the final 200 meters or so were up a steep incline to the finish line.
This graphic was supplied by the race organizers. A more detailed analysis by Banovic Data & Graphics Industries puts the total elevation at 469.3 meters, distance at 8.41 kilometers and average gradient at 5.9 percent.
Source: Banovic Data & Graphics Industries
I accomplished my two feeble goals: staying with the group for the first kilometer and fending off the B Group peloton. I did have an unstated goal, which I fell far short of. I didn’t want to finish last. I was hoping that one of the elite riders would go out so hard that he would blow up spectacularly so that I could reel him in. It didn’t happen. I finished exactly 9 minutes behind the winner, Xu Rujie, who crossed the line in 25:27 at an average speed of 20.75 kph. I tooled along at 15.33 kph to finish in 34:27. The rider who finished just in front of me got me by 38 seconds.
The winner, Xu Rujie, flying up the last climb.
I’m trying to remember the last time I finished last in a race. I’m pretty sure it was in high school when my track coach still wasn’t sure what kind of a runner I was. He put me in the 400 once, and I’m pretty sure I finished last. It’s one of those youthful traumas you try to forget, I guess. Anyway, after that race, my coach started having me do what we called the “graveyard shift” – running the mile and two mile in the same meet. He quickly figured out that my legs only got going after running the mile event.
Observe the dork in polka dots placing last. Next time, he'll show up in a yellow jersey.
Check out the video of the race here. The funny thing is that they apparently edited out Brendan and me. Or maybe they didn’t even shoot us. I don’t know why they would do this. Perhaps the race organizers signed up for a cheaper form of insurance that wouldn’t include foreigners. But I noticed the video did include a Japanese rider. I’m trying to imagine the reaction if Asians were edited out of a video shot of a race in America or Europe. To be sure, I’m not upset about this. I’m really more amused and puzzled. It’s weirdness that I became accustomed to long, long ago.
I’m just happy and grateful no one made any wisecracks about my polka-dotted jersey and my last place finish!
Next: The fantastic post-race ride
(Editor’s note: Waffles & Steel takes great pride in the fact that most of the photos used on the site are produced by our own photographers. But due to the difficulties posed by China’s Great Firewall, our photos couldn’t be uploaded today. The wonderful photos were found here. There are many more so check them out.)
The polka-dotted jersey is worn by the King of the Mountains – a cyclist with super human abilities to climb faster than anyone else in a race. I had no business wearing the dots Sunday when I lined up for a race at Bei Feng Mountain in southern China. But there I was with the mammoth measles all over my torso as I stood on the starting line with the elite A Group – 11 riders who looked like they were born to climb. They were super skinny, whippets on wheels whose lightness of being gives them a huge advantage when the road turns up. Any extra gram that won’t help you get up a mountain can drag you down. Climbers are maniacs about weight.
I might have missed it but I don't see an ounce of fat here. (More about the guy in green in a later post.)
If I had known I would be racing, I wouldn’t have had the chutzpah to put on the polka dots. I missed the deadline to sign up for the competition, so I had planned to cheer on my friends and then spend the rest of the day cycling in the spectacular mountains. I wore my polka-dotted jersey because it has roomy back pockets that I planned to stuff with a rain cape, snacks, camera, mobile phone, pump, tubes and any gear my friends might need me to haul for them. I also thought it would be OK for a geeky cheering roadside fan to be in red dots. Most importantly, the spots professed my love for the climbing part of bike racing. With most sports, the competition gets more interesting when the game gets faster, when the action speeds up. But it’s the opposite in cycling. When the great stage races – Italy’s Giro, Spain’s Vuelta or the Tour de France – head into the mountains, the tempo slows but the heroism, drama and pain increases. It’s in the mountains where we see races blown open by spectacular ascents. We see leaders crack. We see horrific, sometimes deadly, accidents. We see riders dueling on mountain slopes and switchbacks that would leave most humans gasping for air and drowning in lactic acid. This is why I love the battle for the polka dots.
But as I packed my gear bag, a wise voice inside my head told me I should bring another jersey – just in case I ended up racing. As usual, I ignored the voice. When I was already out the door, I found out a friend overslept and wouldn’t be competing, so I decided to race under his name in the elite competition. But I felt awkward and embarrassed when I thought about racing in polka dots. They sent a bold message – I can kick every one’s butt – that a rider of my age, talent and form just can’t back up. Indulging in wishful thinking, I started to wonder if the Chinese would really interpret it that way. The dots come from a European cycling tradition that they might not truly understand or appreciate. That silly theory was shot down as soon as I lined up for a race. A Chinese rider approached me and said, “Hey, everyone is talking about you because you’re wearing the King of the Mountains jersey. They’re worried about you. They think you’re really going to be good.” Oh jeez.
Riding down a road that’s heading straight into a mountain range. Feelings of trepidation about the pain ahead. Self doubt about whether you can really get to the top this time. Worries about the constant threat of mishaps, mechanicals, danger. It’s all racing around your brain as you get closer and closer to the mountains. It’s one of my favorite parts of a ride. In the picture above, the monster covered in clouds on the left side of the photo is Nankun Shan (“shan” means mountain in Chinese). It probably offers the best climbing in Guangzhou. Last Saturday, I rode it with my fellow explorer, Brendan. In about five hours, we covered about 110 kilometers in rainy and often bone-chilling weather.
Every ride in China is an adventure for us. A journey full of challenges and the unexpected. The last time we did Nankunshan, construction crews had ripped up a long section of road to the base of the mountain. All we had to ride on was a bumpy, slippery ribbon of mud, sand and rocks. We were hoping the project was completed. We were disappointed. There were a couple kilometers of road that were still unfinished, and we had to shift into cyclocross mode and power over it. Our bikes quickly became filthy and the gritty mud clogged up my brakes.
The morning drizzle made matters worse, and sometimes we had cars and buses riding on our wheels. There was no room for error. With a slip and a fall, we could quickly find ourselves beneath a vehicle.
We finally made it to the front side of Nankunshan, a 17-kilometer climb that kind of ebbs and flows. Some sections will dunk you into the red zone, but you won’t be there for too long before the road levels out a bit and you can recover. The gradient isn’t too painfully steep. But Brendan found a side road that offered a chain-busting, quad-shredding 1-kilometer climb.
He bravely completed the nasty climb, while I wussied out, fearing I’d pull a muscle or pop my chain, which should have been replaced a few months ago.
Here’s a profile of the climb:
Source: Banovic Data & Graphics Inc.
The climb up the front side of Nankunshan ends at this ornate gate.
Beyond the gate, there’s a parking lot, where hawkers have set up rickety stands and sell all kinds of things to the tour bus crowds. The gal below is selling “Tofu Flowers,” a type of custard made from bean curd.
There was another woman selling these critters: rats – with their heads and tails still attached – that have been dried, smoked and flattened.
While I was looking at the rat jerky, an elderly Chinese tourist walked up to the booth and said, “Oh, rats!” She spoke with a burry Beijing accent, so I asked her if people up North eat rats like this. She scrunched up her nose and said, “Oh no, we would never eat rats!” The Cantonese are famous for being adventurous eaters. The gal below assured me that rats are very tasty and are good for your hair.
We often ride down the back side of Nankunshan, then turn around and do an out-and-back course. On Saturday, though, we took a different route that was more of a roller coaster ride with a bunch of climbs that were tough but no longer than 3 or 4 kilometers.
The scenery was mind-blowingly lush. It was like we were riding through a jungle. A thousand shades of green. Ferns, elephant grass, palm trees with massive leaves and bamboo galore.
This is the biggest tree I’ve ever seen in China. A whole colony of Ewoks could live in it. Usually when a tree gets this tall, the Chinese will chop it down. It’s dangerous or blocks a road project or it’s just too damn irresistible. With all that wood, you can smoke a million rats!
I’ve never seen this before in China. The massive tree trunk had a cavity – or a grotto – that people were using as a shrine. They tacked up prayer ribbons and had burned incense.
A village in a mountain valley. I would love to buy one of these homes and use it for weekend climbing training camps.
A narrow passage at the top of one of the climbs.
We always stop in one village that has a long line of shops that cater to the tour bus crowd. Each shop sells exactly the same thing. Things go in and out of style and season. Once, the hot item was pickled hornets displayed in huge jars. This time, everyone was selling bamboo shoots, which are delicious.
The long descent off Nankunshan was more painful than the ascent. That’s because the weather never warmed up and the rain was worse. It was like standing under a cold shower. My shoulders and back started seizing up on me. I started worrying about muscle spasms. My quads felt like semi-thawed hamburger meat by the time I got to the bottom of the mountain and had to get through the muddy, ripped-up section of road again.
By the time we plowed over the muddy road, our bikes were filthy, and we weren’t looking forward to putting them into the mini van. Then we met this happy-looking guy above. He had a roadside car-washing operation. He sprayed down both of our bikes for less than $1. Then he asked us to join him for tea! Like I said, there’s always an adventure.
I was just starting the climb up Bapian Mountain when I came across this curious piece of rubbish. I got me thinking about something I read a couple years ago. An American guy racing in the Tour of South China blogged about what was apparently his first visit to China. One day he posted a photo of a big billboard that showed a scantily clad lingerie model. He was surprised to see such an overtly sexual ad in China, a communist country he thought would be extremely prudish and puritanical. I guess he thought he would just see women in baggy blue Mao suits buttoned up to their necks.
Sure, the Chinese can be conservative about sexual matters. But in so many other ways, they are OUT OF CONTROL. The government often turns a blind eye to the vibrant sex trade in southern China and most other parts of the country. Police are paid off. Officials are often the best customers. Occasionally, there’s a crackdown. But pretty much, it’s business as usual everyday. I’m talking about brothels that are disguised as “sauna” and “massage” joints. Many of them in Guangzhou are huge operations that are lit up like Las Vegas casinos at night. Pornography is sold on the streets by guys who whisper, “Psst…sexy DVD?” when they walk by you. I frequently get text messages on my mobile phone from outfits promising “relaxation.” I’ve stayed in numerous hotels – some of them with five-star ranking – where at about 10 p.m., the phone rings and there’s a sweet voice on the other end asking me if I require service. Often, when I’m walking to my bus after work, a young guy will approach me and slip a business card into my hand. The card with have 2-3 thumbnail photos of topless women, and there will be a phone number I can call for service. There’s also a little “menu” that says “office girls, virgins, Russian models, factory girls…” Sometimes, I’ll open my office in the morning and find that overnight someone slipped one of the cards under my door. I’ve got a whole stack of them in my file cabinet. I’ve been saving them like baseball cards to give to a friend as a gag gift.
I began translating the titles and quickly realized that my vocabulary for Chinese sexual slang is severely limited. I'm truly a bike geek. I'll take a stab at the main title, though. Errrr, is it "Swap your wife, swap your addiction?" I warmly welcome any corrections or better translations!
Getting a massage is an important part of cycling culture. After a long ride, it’s a terrific feeling to have a well-trained masseuse soften up your muscles and push out all the lactic acid and other nasty stuff from your legs. Although massages are cheap in China (oh, about $10-15), I rarely get them. It’s silly, but I have a hard time working up enough nerve to go into a place that I haven’t established is “legitimate” or not. I’ve been in a situation where I said I just wanted a “healthy massage” but I kept getting the sales pitch for the “happy ending.” It’s not relaxing when every 10 minutes you have to say, “No, really, I just want a simple massage.”
Once I went to a massage palace in Macau, the former Portuguese enclave in southern China that is now the only place in the country where casino gambling is legal. After I entered the place, I was seated in a large room with row after row of reclining chairs with TVs and women serving tea. A couple of Chinese gamblers sat next to me and they told the manager they were interested in female company. Almost immediately, a long line up of young ladies – all beautiful but apparent surgically enhanced – appeared and the men began shopping. They picked a couple and slipped off into a private massage room.
The manager wasn’t happy when I said that I just wanted a “healthy massage.” He said, “OK, that’s fine. But you can’t choose the girl!” He sent me off to a room with a stocky middle-aged woman who looked like she could have been picking cabbages in Sichuan a week earlier. She was a bruiser. The first thing she did was remove her shoes, climb onto the table and start walking up and down my back. Crunch, crunch, crunch. It wasn’t what I call healthy.
I suspect the person who watched the DVD also painted this on the road.
Switchbacks galore. Stunning mountaintop views. A mellow average 7.3 percent gradient. Almost no traffic. Bapian Mountain is incredible. I knew I was in for a treat. I saw pictures of the climb a few days before Saturday’s ride. But the real thing far exceeded my already-high expectations. That’s such a wonderful feeling.
Bapian Mountain is in Qingyuan, a third-tier city about a 1.5 hour drive north of Guangzhou. Qingyuan is a mildly industrial town – big enough for a KFC restaurant – that seems to be shifting into tourism. Mountain valleys were crowded with hot spring resorts and restaurants. There was a small river that’s used for tubing and rafting. But for me, of course, the best attraction is the 7.5 kilometer climb (see profile below) up Bapian. The insanely technical, twisty-curvy road leads to some kind of signal intelligence station or telecom tower. Again, it’s another one of those things that could have been built by the Dharma Initiative.
I don’t recall seeing any guardrails along any part of the climb. In some spots, the road runs across a ridge, with steep drop offs on each side of the road.
We only saw one car – an SUV – on the road. However, there were a few motorcycles ridden by guys who were apparently illegally harvesting bamboo shoots, which people love to eat here. I’m quite fond of them myself. You’ve got to be careful with the motorcycles because the Chinese like to cut their engines when they’re descending to save gas. So you can’t hear them coming, and it’s easy to collide with them when they come flying around the blind corners.
My friend Brendan discovered this climb. He’s done more exploring in this part of China than any other expat cyclist that I know. He’s also an incredible climber.
Dancing on the pedals close to the top.
The ride started with a classic gawkfest. Our mini van parked near a roadside chicken coop. The three guys (above) watched us slip into our bike kit. They even watched as we rubbed lotion on our butts to guard against saddle sores. In my culture, if a man is dressing near you, you move away, turn the other way or at least avert your eyes. In China, you light up a cigarette and move in for a front seat view. The funny thing is that the chickens didn’t gawk at us. The guy in the wine-colored jacket on the far left was the most shameless.
I don’t know if it was fog or pollution or a bit of both, but it’s too bad we didn’t have a clear view because the scenery is spectacular. I kept getting mad at my camera for only capturing a fraction of the beauty.
A mountain goat’s paradise. The road just goes everywhere. I saw the Google Earth picture (below) before the ride and couldn’t believe the climb could really have so many switchbacks. It’s really a mind-blowing experience for a guy who grew up in one of the world’s flattest places.
Source: Banovic Graphics Inc.
Brendan was doing the climb one day and was startled when a metal hoe came crashing down on the road about 10 feet from him. There was a small group of women working on a ridge above him. They were preparing to descend the mountain and just started tossing their tools down onto the road without checking if anyone was there. It’s just typical for China.
Waah Waaaaaaaaaaah!!!!! The truck comes roaring up from behind, honking its horn as I begin my climb up the Pazhou Bridge over the Pearl River. My left hand is gripping my handlebars, while my sweaty right hand tries to hold my slippery camera without shaking it too much. With quick glances, I look at the screen for a second and try to frame a good picture. Then I look down at the road to make sure my wheel isn’t straying into the convoy of trucks on my left or into the tall concrete Jersey block on my right. I’m also scouting for chunks of brick, glass and scrap metal as I rev up my cadence so I don’t get dropped by my two strong riding mates, Brendan and Nelson, visiting from Portland. My heart is pounding. I’m holding my breath so I don’t inhale too much truck exhaust. Lastly, I’m thinking how crazy I am. Is getting a decent photo of the climb over the Pazhou Bridge really worth risking my life? Well, yes it is.
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