I am writing from an internet cafe in Ningxiang, a small town west of Changsha. It is 7pm. I'm exausted and full. Dinner was "larou," spice cured meat served with a big pile of winter melon and fresh chillis. Hunan food is fantastic if you can take the heat.
Hunan cooking tip: next time you eat rice, spare the soy sauce. Instead, mix a little bit of red wine vinegar with a good hot sauce or chilli paste. Dip your chopsticks in a little bit of the mixture before each bite of rice.

I am staying next door in a small, clean, cheap guesthouse. My room in Hong Kong was smaller, dirtier, and cost five times as much. Economics is amazing. 

It took lot longer to find a bicycle than I had hoped. In the past, I have only bought cheap bikes. This time I wanted a decent bike, but not too expensive. The first two shops I went to were only selling thousand yuan and up import mountain bikes. Other people pointed me to second hand places where you could get a bike for ten yuan. I wanted neither. Finally I found a place selling mid-range mountain bikes and a few other odds and ends. I picked up a normal looking, well made new bike for the comparatively hefty price of 500 yuan ($75 CAD).
I admit, I have buyers anxiety. Whenever I buy something important I worry endlessly that it may not be the right one. I doubted my bike, took it back to the store, nearly returned it, then decided to just get it adjusted. I'm glad I did; it has served me very well today. I forgot to take a picture, but I'll grab one tomorrow.

I had to cross town again to find a helmet; they are only sold in specialty stores here. On the way I came across a strangely familiar hotel. It turned out to be where I stayed two summers ago when I was attending a Chinese competition in Changsha. Maybe I'll have time to talk about this later, but suffice to say I went on television and became very slightly well known very briefly.

Two years ago Changsha was blazingly, insufferably hot. Today was chilly enough for a jacket, but not for long underwear or a scarf. It cleared up later in the day and I even got some sunshine.

I finally got on the road at about 2:00pm. I have realized an interesting truth about asking directions in China. Everyone knows how to get around a city, but nobody knows how to get out of it. Ask directions to a bus station half way across town: no problem. Ask how to get to a village two kilometres outside the city limits: you're crazy. I suppose most people travel from town to town by bus, so it pays more to know where the bus station is than the next town.
Either way, getting out of big cities is a mess. Downtown is simple, and the roads in the country are simple, but there is fuzzy world in between that body quite controls.

Speaking of control, I surreptitiously snapped a picture of these two on my way out of the city. These are chengguan, or city managers. A Chinese friend once told me, "America has terrorists; China has the chengguan." They are responsible for bylaw enforcement, some traffic law, zoning enfringements, and generally keeping everything looking harmonious. As a result, they are perhaps the most disliked public figures around. Here they are giving some poor motorist a parking ticket when all he wanted was a bowl of noodles.

Below is a view of the Xiang river on my way out of Changsha. Just before I took this picture I noticed a Daoist monk listening to an MP3 player. That must be a good omen. I wonder what he was listening to? Taylor Swift, I hope. 

The road today passed through soft rolling hills, scattered with a few factories, vegetable gardens and fish ponds. I passed one enormous construction crane factory, and one row of summer homes for the ridiculously rich, bedecked with bronze cupids and meticulously trimmed hedges.

I only biked for three and a half hours today before the sun began to creep threateningly towards the appartment buildings of Ningxiang.

As she showed me my room, the woman running the guesthouse picked up the TV remote and asked, "Do foreigners know how to use these?"

I know I'm in the country.

Regards,

Niko

It is about 7:30 in the morning in Changsha, Hunan province, People's Republic of China. It is just getting light outside. I rolled into town about an hour ago on the overnight K9018 from Shenzhen. I only bought a hard seat ticket, so I spent the night fitfully trying to find a way to sleep, dozing, or sitting awake imagining dozens of ways to engineer a more comfortable hard seat car.  

Before I go any further, let me explain why I am here. In about two hours, when shops begin to open, I am going to go out and buy a bicycle. I am then going to ride that bicycle to Guiyang, 645km away as the crow flies. I am going to do this in about 12 days. Or that's the plan, anyway.
And, internet cafes providing, I will share this all with you.

I am going to be biking through a region called Xiangxi (湘西). This simply means western Hunan province; 湘 is the character symbolizing Hunan and 西 means west. Xiangxi is much more than just a district on a map, however. In Chinese mythology, it is the center of sorcery and arcane mystery. Xiangxi is home to demons, ghosts and spirits. The bodies of the dead walk at night on a long march back to the place of their birth. Witches plant mystical worms in the flesh of their victims to control their every move.
Or so I hear.

My plan for this trip is to be as prepared as possible without actually knowing what I am getting into. I have maps, I have a route, I have clothes and supplies and emergency equipment. That being said, I have no idea what the road will really be like or what I will find there. That's the fun of the whole thing, really.

I hope you will stick with me,
and I hope I don't get eaten by Chinese zombies,
but it would be kind of cool if I did.

Regards,

Niko