I am writing from an internet cafe in Xindianping. This place feels a little like what an internet cafe would be like in the old west. The whole building is rough wood, with wooden dividers between the computers, and a dim yellow light.
My body complained at me a lot today. It can't do this too much more, it said, not at this pace, not for this long, not if it gets much harder. My legs and body I can handle; with enough rest they will revive. My knees, though, I am worried about. My knees were complaining a lot, and they are things that can just give up on a person.
My body complained at me a lot today. It can't do this too much more, it said, not at this pace, not for this long, not if it gets much harder. My legs and body I can handle; with enough rest they will revive. My knees, though, I am worried about. My knees were complaining a lot, and they are things that can just give up on a person.
Well, here is where I stand. I have seven days left before I meet my parents in Guiyang, and 390 kilometres of road in front of me. On the upside, that means that I don't have to keep this pace up, I can slow down a little and let myself recover. That being said, there is going to be some tough biking ahead. I want to ride all the way into Guiyang, but I am becoming aware that my body's ability to endure this life, not just its ability to cross certain obstacles, is becoming an issue.
Snow over the Wu River
I left this morning in a light sprinkling of snow, west along the Wu River. The highway was mostly even, with a few small rises and falls and one small mountain around noon. Despite the size of the road, the country was fairly empty. I passed a few small villages, but mostly just scattered houses, snow dusted cabbage beds, and quiet silver river along my left side.
I am in Dong country now. The Dong are sharp featured, long nosed people. When I catch one out of the corner of my eye, I often think I am seeing a westerner until I turn to look. They speak in a heavy accent, but with a slow drawl that actually aids comprehension.
At 4pm, the light snow built up into a howling snowstorm. Despite hopes of reaching Xinhuang, I was forced to stop over in a small village 30 kilometres short. The Dong woman running my guesthouse is 63, she told me proudly. She says at this age, she can't handle the cold anymore. Here they have a slightly different mechanism for keeping the family warm. A large wooden box the size of a hot tub sits on the floor, with a rim along the inside for sitting. On the bottom are wooden slats, covering clay bricks that have been heated over the gas stove. The family sits in the box, covering their laps with a quilt to keep the heat in.
My host asks me if my family sits around the fire in Canada. Yes, I answer, but not quite like this. I try to explain, but I'm not sure how much she understands.
Regards,
Niko
I am in Dong country now. The Dong are sharp featured, long nosed people. When I catch one out of the corner of my eye, I often think I am seeing a westerner until I turn to look. They speak in a heavy accent, but with a slow drawl that actually aids comprehension.
At 4pm, the light snow built up into a howling snowstorm. Despite hopes of reaching Xinhuang, I was forced to stop over in a small village 30 kilometres short. The Dong woman running my guesthouse is 63, she told me proudly. She says at this age, she can't handle the cold anymore. Here they have a slightly different mechanism for keeping the family warm. A large wooden box the size of a hot tub sits on the floor, with a rim along the inside for sitting. On the bottom are wooden slats, covering clay bricks that have been heated over the gas stove. The family sits in the box, covering their laps with a quilt to keep the heat in.
My host asks me if my family sits around the fire in Canada. Yes, I answer, but not quite like this. I try to explain, but I'm not sure how much she understands.
Regards,
Niko
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