After I thought about what I wrote about below, I began to realize that it is time to be gone from China. It is a great place for adventures,
and the people really are friendly and helpful, but eventually it gets to you. When I was living in Lanzhou at the turn of the decade (the end
of the eighties and the beginning of the nineties) the native-English speakers got together quite often to share experiences. It wasn't long
before these get-togethers turned into gripe sessions. Since we were all there of our own free will, and maybe should go home if we didn't
like it there, we instituted a new rule that complaining was no longer allowed. But if you had a good story, we all wanted to hear it. So,
please read these reports as good stories, not as complaints.

July 31, 2002 - from AnZoa (or Anze, depending on which map you look at), a county town about 70km east of the bigger city of LinFen in
central ShanXi Province.

But first, how I met the Swiss cyclists and other things that I got when I needed them.

When you ask a Chinese for directions, you can never be sure if you will end up where you want to be, which is why I usually ask the same
thing again further along to make sure that I am going the right way.

Besides the way that I entered FuXian, where I sent my previous newsletter, there are three main ways out. One goes to north YanAn, the
communist headquarters, another south to Xian (Terra cotta warriors), and a third east on route number 309 that I have been on since the day
I left Lanzhou. There is also a local road that goes south to who knows what villages in that area. During supper the day before I left, the
proprietress phoned her husband to come see the foreigner. He came and very shortly exhausted my limited vocabulary. Then he asked if it would
be OK with me to have my picture taken. While we were waiting for the photographer to show up, I asked about the road to Xian - because the
map shows it and my road running together for a while. But the road to Xian and the direction Xian is in (south) aren't the same. From that
conversation I get the direction to Xian.

The next morning I headed south - in the direction of Xian - on the main street where my hotel and everything else were. I should have
realized sooner that such a road would have lots of truck and bus traffic - but here there was none. I was on the local road to who knows
what villages. Finally just as I was leaving town I decided that I had better ask if this was the road to Xian - and it wasn't, so I
backtracked all the way to the beginning of the main street where I was when I came into town two days earlier. There the main road goes under
the railroad tracks - just like it shows on the map, and enters another whole separate section of town. Finally the road to YanAn branches off
to the north, and I am almost on my way.

Just after that, there is a road sign with an arrow pointing to YiChuan, and a number telling how far. There are not many such in
China, so when I get one I stop to check my map, and to write the number of the distance marker that I should expect when I get there.
This has been important ever since Saryozek in Kazakstan, where my odometer quit working due to faulty installation of the wiring back in
Saginaw.

There I was writing in my map, when this little kid comes running up to me yelling, "liang ge ren, liang ge ren, (two people, two people)."
What is going on, I wonder. Then I look toward where he is pointing, and there are three hotel clerks standing on the steps of their hotel.
One of them is holding up two fingers and yelling the same thing. Is this a new way of propositioning a foreigner? I think not and decided
to find out more. When I walk over to the clerks the one is still yelling and holding up two fingers. The only thing I can think of is
that they have two foreigners in their hotel and we should have a chance to connect. So I ask if they are American or English. The answer
is English, and they also have bicycles.

Off we went to the third floor to knock on their door. One of the few welcome door knocks in China, I am sure. More about that later, but
these guys assured me that they were glad to see me, and in fact I was the first Westerner they had seen since leaving Beijing. They were not
English, but rather Swiss - two brothers who spoke fluent English, as do most travelers from Europe. We were going in opposite directions so
spent some time comparing notes. After a photo session on the hotel steps I was on my way with two vital bits of information. The first was
that I was about to start on 80km of construction - but a lot of it was smooth and quite rideable. The second was that starting from the Yellow
River (border between Shaanxi and Shanxi) I faced a 1000meter climb.

A lot of the construction was smooth, because the Chinese are building their new roads to last. Part of that is proper foundations packed
really solid with big rollers that are not only heavy, but vibrate as well. Large sections of this 80km had one lane of this packed
foundation that made for good riding. The rest of the time, the clay that used to be under the old road was at least rideable most of the
time. I didn't make it all the way the first day. That was a pretty good day though, as it rained just enough to kill the dust and give the
construction workers the day off. The next day, it was dry and someone thought that it would be a good idea to send a water truck through to
kill the dust. It did, but put a lot more water on the road than the rain did, leading to a lot of mud. Several times I had to stop and
scrape mud from between the tires and the fenders so the wheels would go around again.

After an early start due to loud music at 5:30 from the house next door to the motel I stayed in, made it to YiChuan in time for a late
breakfast. The cook at the restaurant/motel from the night before put so much salt into the food I had for supper that I didn't want to risk
eating there again. A very helpful guy at the breakfast restaurant helped me make a phone call to Ruth, and then took me to find Internet
access - his buddy borrowed some guy's motorcycle and I followed them deeper into town to two different computer places, but neither would
connect to the Internet, so I left. Otherwise this might have been a good place for another rest day - but in the long run I found a better
one that evening. These computer places are used mostly for game playing, and I think competitive with others at the same place, as the
computers are all on the same local area network. I think some people also use chat programs. Who they chat to, I am not sure. 

My map shows a town a little before the road reaches the Yellow River, but no such town. In fact the only real town is across the river. But
just within sight of the bridge is the Huang He Bing Guan (Yellow River Fancy Hotel). Why not give it a try? It is in the shape of a "U" with
the open end facing the river, and a gate in one leg, near the bottom of the "U". When I got to the inside of the "U" there was nothing and
no people. Finally I found someone sleeping in front of a TV in the room next to the reception desk room. Then some guy came to see what
was going on, and waked the desk clerk from in front of the TV. During this time I had a chance to look at the price list to see that regular
rooms were very expensive by my standards. There was also a six-bed room (dormitory) that was more reasonably priced when you pay for only
one bed, and that is what I pointed to when things began to get organized. We all confirmed that was what I wanted, and then the clerk
took me for a look, but not to that room, rather to a regular two-bed room with attached bath (with working plumbing) and a separate alcove
with a small table, some chairs and a TV.  Same price. I took it on the spot. My guess is that they don't get many guests, and that the beds in
the dormitory were not made. This was easier for the staff.

Now about that knock on the door. We had a thunderstorm that afternoon. No electricity. But I usually am ready for bed by dark anyway. I have
concluded that the kind of cycling I am doing is not for people my age. I run out of energy a lot faster than I used to. Anyway, it was well
after dark. The Chinese had come out of wherever they keep themselves during the day, to make noise in the evening hours - which is why I had
my earplugs in. I thought this would be a quiet place, but I have come to realize that the perfect example of an oxymoron is, "a quiet Chinese
hotel."

I was in bed, and fast asleep when this knocking sound filtered through my earplugs and my drowsiness. It sounded like someone pounding on the
concrete floor in the room above. I hoped it would not last long. Then it came again, and finally after a third time I was awake enough to
realize that it was a knock on my door. I haven't yet come to ignore knocks on the door (mostly because it doesn't do any good), so I put on
my pants and went to open it. There was no one there, but this 12-year old kid who was the most important reason for earplugs earlier came
running over, bringing a hotel clerk with him. She was so happy to find me in, so she could give me a candle - until I yelled at her for waking
me up. Why they didn't distribute candles when it started to get dark, and they be some use, I will never know - and the same thing happened
to me last night. 

More hills, and I didn't make it from LinFen in one day so stopped at another motel in another small town. Another thunderstorm and another
candle. This time, in order to get a cross breeze, I had my door propped open with a stool and one of my panniers on the other side to
keep it from banging in the breeze. For the first time in several days I dozed off right after I lay down, but it was clearly too good to be
for real. You guessed it, another knock to deliver a candle. This time the knocker could even see that I was in bed and asleep. There is a lot
of one-track mindedness here. These are two examples.