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 The
first thing you notice about Tibet is its assault on all previous conceptions
of scale. The plateau is endless, the mountains massive, and it’s
capped by a piercing, limitless sky that by 9 am has bleached every colour
out of the landscape.
This may not sound overly
appealing, especially if your transport is a bicycle. Three weeks of riding
almost 900km across this country involves being wind blown and sand blasted
at high altitude, chased by wild Tibetan dogs, children, meandering yaks
and some seriously aggressive nomadic sales women. But cycling also offers
a rare chance to access the detail of Tibetan life ... not to mention
the promise of developing great legs while eating large helpings of egg
and chips each day.
Our route took us along
the Friendship Highway that links China and Nepal. While certainly ‘Friendly’,
‘Highway’ is a generous description for a fire trail that degenerates
into corrugations, rock and ice. Mountain bikes are de rigeur and even
with suspension a cyclist knows where their butt is at the end of the
day. The other physical challenge is riding at altitude. Your body can
feel very dislocated - like you know your legs are down there but just
can’t be sure exactly where. Our route crossed nine passes (up to
5220 m) and took in Everest’s northern base camp in the Rongbuk Valley.
Even if you have the lungs of a mountain goat, it’s worth taking
time out in Lhasa to acclimatise and explore this cosmopolitan capital.
From a strategic position in a tea house, a traveller can idly watch nomads
clad in cowboy hats clean goat skins as Chinese soldiers saunter past
heading discretely for the local brothels. People from Tibet’s three
regions converge here. Monks and the relocated Chinese population congregate
in the market squares where your senses are assaulted by the cacophony
of street of hawkers, the rising smell of jasmine tea and steam from food
carts. From the 7th century Potala Palace, row after row of concrete construction
clashes with cobbled streets and jumbled houses. Cyber cafés serve
chocolate brownies and yak burgers, and from their doors leak the sounds
of Aerosmith and the Venga Boys.
Once on the road, average
days saw us cycle 60-80 rough kilometres, so training was essential even
on this vehicle-supported trip. After bailing on the first 5000m pass,
I realised that coasting the few kilometres to Bondi Beach once a week
for a latte may not have been quite enough preparation. Along with fitness
is a need for flexibility. Lapses in concentration as a result of the
spectacular views led to several solid meetings between ground and body.
I escaped with only scratches and bruises, dirt encrusted hair and a mysterious
rash.
The conviction to stretch
each morning lasted about two days despite the stiff hips and knees. Sub
zero mornings are not conducive to such bravery when your joints feel
like they are frozen together. From the last pass we could see the storms
of winter closing in on Everest. But the pleasure of cycling through snow
flurries was worth the pain of frost-nipped hands that lingered a good
few hours afterwards.
A quick mechanical course
is a good idea. There are stretches of straight, very straight, road
- sometimes an entire day would pass with only a couple of bends and
often
you're out there alone. The wind swirls in the wide valleys, throwing
dust devils hundreds of metres into the air. A headwind, side-wind and
tailwind all hit you at once. At times the dust is so bad it is impossible
to see more than a metre ahead. Luck was on my side, and in almost three
weeks of cycling I suffered no mechanical failures and only one flat
tyre.
Even then the support team magically appeared, my bike flipped over,
wheel off and spare tube installed before I could stamp my foot and say "I
know I’m a girl but I can do it myself!".
There is something very
satisfying about being wrist deep in chain grease and allen keys after
a year in Corporate Land, with nothing more physically taxing than a
walk
to the biscuit tin. Tibet is seriously dry and dusty. Only industrial
strength quantities of engine oil successfully lube the chain - and it’s
always fun to get a smidgeon on your back rim to spice up life on the
next big descent. And BIG is the word. If going up is sheer masochism,
the descents are pure adrenalin - complete with corrugated scree and
bull
dust switchbacks, ravine drops and turquoise lakes at the bottom.
There are some local
hazards to avoid, like the Tibetan mastiff. They litter the roadside,
mostly sleeping, and are best left to lie unless the prospect of rabies
appeals. Also neither maps nor Tibetan guides are particularly accurate.
Our guide Tashi sang a very nice rendition of ‘Take Me Home, Country
Road’, but was never quite sure how much further we had to go and
couldn't fathom why we didn't want to jump in his nice jeep to get there.
Such obstacles reinforce the need to pack a sense of humour along with
your knicks. The bike is the beast of burden in Tibet: people and dead
animal carrier; puller of produce, tools and small children. But touring
is still a novelty - anything more contemporary than your sister’s
first bike is likely to be intensely admired. Helmets and lycra shorts
cause amusement, not to mention groping (by women as much as men).
And finally, a couple
of insights for the Tibetan traveller. In monasteries, always look up.
In the shadows lurk half-lit figures and watching Buddhas. And on the
bike, look back after every few kilometres. And listen. In a jeep, all
you can hear is the engine. But on a bike you learn that Tibet is marked
out by the sound of prayer flags, yak bells and the wind
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