China vs US: Crawling with critters

A couple days ago, I began describing some of the differences between riding in southern China and the Midwest of America. I want to continue the theme today.

Critters - One of the many odd things about my riding experience in China was that I rarely saw any wildlife. True, much of my cycling was done in a polluted, chaotic and sprawling metropolis that was barely fit for the 10 million humans who lived there. But I also rode a lot in undeveloped mountainous areas – like Nankunshan and Maofengshan – surrounded with lush subtropical forests, places you would think would be crawling with all sorts of critters. However, the only wild creature I remember seeing was a lime green lizard with really bad timing. He ran in front of my front wheel on a steep mountain descent, and I’m afraid I crushed his spine. I did see plenty of rats in the city and a turtle or two in the Pearl River by my home, but I can’t recall seeing any squirrels, rabbits or deer in rural areas. It was as if the countryside were stripped of all wildlife during China’s many famines. The Chinese have a knack for driving nature to the mat and getting it into a deadly choke hold. (OK, my Czech, German and Irish ancestors arrived in America after the white man wiped out the buffalo.)

My friend Brendan and I saw a huge rat climbing the garbage-shrewn bank of this stream near Bapian Mountain. We stopped and stared at it for five minutes. I snapped some photos but the rat just looked like a black blob.

The province where I lived, Guangdong, is home to the Cantonese – famous for being adventurous eaters: dogs, cats, frogs, scorpions, turtles. You name it, they’ll pick it up with their chopsticks. One of the cruelest, most disturbing things I’ve seen in my life was on display in Guangzhou’s famous Qingping market. It was some sort of small deer stuffed in a cage. The cage was so cramped that to get the animal to fit into it, the butcher had to hack off the deer’s legs at the knees. The creature stared out at me, eyes filled with pain and fear, with four bloody stumps sticking out of the cage. I witnessed this when I was a language student in China in the late 80s, but I can still close my eyes and see that animal.

In stark contrast, America’s rural and suburban Midwest region seems to be full of wildlife. I’ve been seeing a lot of wild geese. On one ride, they blocked the road, and I had to unclip and stand there with a guy in a big pickup truck, waiting for them to waddle slowly away as if they owned the road. If they tried a stunt like that in China, the whole flock would be captured with nets and on sale in the nearest market within minutes. I’ve already mentioned the raccoons in a recent post. Deer are everywhere. Yesterday,  I was riding home in the middle of the afternoon when I  saw a big fat pear-shaped brown mammal lounging around on my neighbor’s front yard. I quickly ruled out the dog or cat possibility. It looked like a beaver without the flat tail (I saw a beaver on another outing!). I’m certain it was a wood chuck. My neighbor behind me said she had a family of them living under her deck. Before I passed the creature, it woke up and scampered away.

I like to ride hard,  hammer down the road like everyone else does. But I also love cycling because it’s a great way to get out and see things. I’m always ready to stop my workout to gawk at wildlife. I like the feeling of being in the presence of something that lives in another world with different rules and cares. It’s always a thrill. It’s also comforting. The presence of wildlife tells you that you’re living in a place that’s healthy enough to support all kinds of life. You’re not living on a factory floor or a toxic waste dump.

UPDATE: After reading the post, Brendan found a great picture of the rat at Bapian Mountain and shared it with me:

Mudslide Alley: Riding along slippery slopes

It’s the rainy season in Guangzhou and that means mudslides. Lots of them. On Sunday, I rode out to Maofeng Mountain, about 35 kilometers from my home. There’s a guard post on the road that goes into the hills, and it had a sign warning drivers the road was closed because of landslides, or landslips, as the British call them. A metal barrier was also pulled across the road.

Most mountain roads have guard posts, and dealing with the trolls who work inside them is an important skill for cyclists in China. I was determined to do some climbing on Sunday, so I opted for the classic “dumb foreigner” act and rode past the guard without stopping. I didn’t even look to see if anyone was at the post. Usually one of three things will happen. 1) The guard will notice you’re a foreigner and ignore you because he doesn’t want the hassle of dealing with you. 2) The guard will jump out of his booth and start screaming at you in Cantonese but won’t chase you because he’s too lazy or must stay at his post. 3) The guard will scream at you and when you don’t stop, he’ll hop on a motorcycle and chase you down.

I got chased down once by a guard on a scooter at Nankun Mountain. I was about a kilometer up the road riding like I stole something when he caught up to me. The conversation went like this:

Him: You can’t ride here!

Me: Why?

Him: You can’t ride here!

Me: Oh. Why?

Him: Because you can’t ride here!

Me: OK. But why?

We went back and forth like this about five more times. Finally, I asked if the road was being blocked because of the threat of landslides, and he nodded his head “yes.” I guess it was a secret that he was instructed not to reveal. Also, people in authority positions often don’t feel any obligation to explain themselves in China.

A couple months ago, I got to Niutou Mountain and discovered that the road was closed because of the threat of landslides. But the guard at the foot of the mountain let me through. He said, “I know that if I block you, it will break your heart so you can go. But be extremely careful!” It’s the two faces of China. One is blindly obedient, a slave to rules, serving without question. The other is mellow and laid back with the attitude that rules don’t need to be followed all the time.

On Sunday at Maofeng Mountain, after I passed my fifth mudslide, I started getting the willies. I was riding alone, and I started wondering how long I’d be trapped under a thick layer of mud before someone would find me. Actually, I was more worried about a boulder slamming into me and knocking me out. I eventually cut the ride short. As they say in China, “An quan di yi!” (Safety first!).