University Students’ Summer Cycling Adventure on the Xinjiang-Tibet Highway

       Stretching over 1,100 kilometers from Yecheng in Xinjiang at 1,360 meters above sea level to the Xinjiang-Tibet border at 5,397 meters, the “Xinjiang-Tibet Highway” traverses five peaks exceeding 5,000 meters in elevation, and is known as the “world’s highest-altitude road.” Gravel, heavy snow, headwinds, oxygen deprivation, along with the lurking wolves and desolate no-man’s-land, shroud it in an air of mystery and peril. Yet, it is precisely this treacherous route, daunting even for motor vehicles, that could not stop the wheels of cycling enthusiasts.

　　This summer vacation, two second-year graduate students, four graduating seniors from Huazhong University of Science and Technology, and one graduate from Lanzhou University chose such a “grueling path,” spending 16 days cycling from Xinjiang to Shiquanhe in Tibet. “Compared to the desolate Xinjiang-Tibet Highway, the Sichuan-Tibet and Yunnan-Tibet routes, with their ample supplies and numerous guesthouses, have it way too easy.” “yuanQ,” a female graduate student from Huazhong University who returned to Wuhan early after completing the ride, had been sunburned black. Her delicate fingers were covered with dead skin parched by the high-altitude dry wind. “Sleep in Dead Man’s Valley, pee at Jieshang Pass, take a bath in Bangong Lake—only then can you say you’ve truly completed the Xinjiang-Tibet Highway.” She smiled as she flipped through her diary, recounting her and her companions’ “Xinjiang-Tibet Adventure” to the reporter.

 

Highland Warriors

 

Arduous Journey

 

Simple Meals

 

 

 

　　July 13, 2012 – Sunny

　　Departure！For a goal we’d been preparing for nearly a year. Tibet is a sacred place for cyclists, and our choice to start from Yecheng in Xinjiang meant we could foresee the challenges ahead.

　　Let me introduce my teammates first. Our team leader Xiaoqi (pseudonym, male) and tail rider Liufeng (pseudonym, male) are both second-year graduate students; Liu Meimei (pseudonym, female), Maomao (pseudonym, male), and Baozi (pseudonym, male) are graduating seniors. The six of us—four guys and two girls—became friends on the school’s cycling forum and had all previously cycled to Tibet once. But taking on the Xinjiang-Tibet Highway? That was our first time.

　　There was also another teammate we “picked up” at the starting point—Xiaomao (pseudonym, male), a student from Lanzhou University, who had already been cycling solo for two months before meeting us.

　　In May of this year, we began preparations. In addition to standard gear, we purchased tents, sleeping bags, sleeping pads, gas canisters, and stoves. Online sources said that apart from scattered road construction sites, there was nothing else along the Xinjiang-Tibet Highway, so most of our rest stops would involve camping outdoors. Worried about running out of water, each of us also carried seven or eight liters, bringing the average load per person to nearly 20 kilograms.

　　Team leader Xiaoqi was always concerned about whether the two girls could handle it. I confidently told him: Who says women are inferior to men！

　　We never expected the altitude sickness to hit so hard.

　　According to the itinerary, we were supposed to reach Mazar Pass within the first three days, and spend the night at a road maintenance station (a road worker building) at an altitude of 4,555 meters. But unexpectedly, Liu Meimei and I suffered particularly severe altitude sickness these past two days—chest tightness, swollen hands and feet, purple lips—and had to rest after cycling just a short while.

　　Last night, when we were still 8 kilometers away from the station, we simply couldn’t cycle any further and had to push our bikes. Every five minutes of pushing, I had to stop and gasp for air. What should’ve been a one-hour walk took me three hours.

　　A whole night of snowfall. Waking up in the morning, before we could even admire the stunning snowy scenery, we were stopped by an endless stretch of muddy road. It took us five or six hours of pushing and pedaling intermittently, our bike wheels caked with thick mud. On the 11-kilometer climb up Mazar Pass, I vomited four times. The Xinjiang-Tibet Highway is no joke.

　　Due to the two-hour time difference between Xinjiang and Wuhan, we set off at 10 a.m. every day, cycling for 12 hours and covering about 80 kilometers. The daily itinerary had to be strictly followed; otherwise, the entire journey would be thrown off schedule.

　　Today we crossed Heiqa Pass, and the final 7 kilometers were a mix of dirt roads, muddy paths, and fords—the bike could barely move. To make matters worse, it was an extremely steep uphill, forcing everyone to push their bikes forward with all their might.

　　The most frustrating part? Team leader Xiaoqi and tail rider Liufeng fell ill, with the team leader’s condition being particularly serious. He was sent to a clinic for oxygen and IV treatment. Getting sick in high-altitude areas is no laughing matter—seeing him weak and drained, we were all very worried.

　　July 20, 2012 – Overcast

　　A brief rest stop, everyone regrouped, and the journey continued.

　　From Kangxiwa Pass to Dead Man’s Valley, it was basically a “desolate, Mars-like” no-man’s-land. We traveled this stretch for a full three days. Though called a no-man’s-land, we barely even saw grass. All we could see was endless saline-alkali land. The most common animals were black crows.

　　This was the stretch where we were most worried about our safety. Before the trip, fellow travelers online mentioned that wolves often appear here, and hearing wolf howls or seeing their paw prints is common. So we proceeded with extreme caution, fearing an encounter with these unfamiliar “friends.”

　　For two or three nights in a row, I went to bed with a dagger in hand, too afraid to sleep too deeply. Even in my dreams, I couldn’t escape the haunting presence of wild wolves. Fortunately, the journey was safe, and we never actually encountered any wolves.

　　The Xinjiang-Tibet Highway rarely passes through towns or villages, so there are very few small shops where we can restock supplies. Since we couldn’t carry too much weight while cycling, our daily food supply was limited. Sometimes, a can of eight-treasure porridge and a few pieces of compressed biscuits counted as a meal.

　　To avoid collapsing from exhaustion, we still cooked something hot every night using a stove and gas canister. Most of the time, all we could manage was noodles boiled in plain water. Though not very tasty, compared to compressed biscuits, it was practically a delicacy. Along the way, Baozi kept saying, “When I get home, I’m going to eat boiled sliced meat every day.” Who wasn’t I, fantasizing about fried chicken legs while swallowing my saliva?

　　Dead Man’s Valley is called that because the oxygen level here is only 40% of that on the plains. Most people experience severe altitude sickness when they come here. Some have spent the night in Dead Man’s Valley and never gotten up the next morning.

　　We arrived at Dead Man’s Valley at night, the darkness so thick you couldn’t see your hand in front of your face. We had been traveling along a water-crossing road with extremely rough conditions. To ensure everyone’s safety, we had to count heads every so often.

　　There were stories of people dying along the way. We even spotted from afar an abandoned building—said to be the site of many deaths—half-submerged in water, which was eerie in the pitch-black night. But we were in a hurry and had no time to dwell on fear.

　　When we reached the lodging spot, I looked up and saw a sky full of stars, even the Milky Way was visible. The scenery was absolutely breathtaking. “The most splendid view lies atop the most perilous peak”—that’s exactly what this felt like.

　　Today we took a photo with wild Tibetan antelopes！

　　As we neared the Tibet border, we had spotted a few Tibetan antelopes. Most of the time, they would watch us from a distance, very cautious. This time, a slightly braver antelope ran onto the road. It didn’t flee when it saw us. We were thrilled and stopped the bike, hoping to walk over and take a photo with it. But the moment we took out our camera, it became alert and ran off. Still, I managed to snap a photo with it in the background—pretty cool, right?

　　Actually, though the journey was tough and dangerous, there was also a lot of joy.

　　Xiao Mao always carried a guitar with him. Every night when we rested, as long as he had the energy, he would play the guitar and sing for us.

　　After 16 days of arduous trekking, we finally arrived at our destination—Shiquanhe today.

　　The first thing I did upon reaching the end wasn’t eating or sleeping—it was taking a bath, and I soaked for a full two hours. Throughout the journey, we ate and slept outdoors, and since we couldn’t casually use our drinking water for other purposes, we had to give up bathing. Cycling is definitely a sport that demands more from girls than boys.

　　Since I had some matters to attend to back in Wuhan, I flew back to Hankou as soon as the trip ended. The other teammates planned to continue enjoying cycling in Tibet. Baozi and Maomao intended to ride all the way to Nepal, while our team leader Xiaoqi planned to cycle the entire 219 National Highway to Lhatse.

　　Back in Wuhan, I did the math. For this Xinjiang-Tibet cycling trip, due to my scheduling issues, I spent 6,000 yuan just on round-trip airfare. Many might not understand why anyone would spend so much money to endure hardship. But I think the greatest appeal of this journey lies in its irreplaceability. Ten thousand yuan can take you to many places, but if I hadn’t cycled the Xinjiang-Tibet Highway this time, I might never have the chance or stamina to do it again—and I wouldn’t have had such great teammates by my side either. A piece of my youth would’ve been missing.

　　Nothing is so difficult that it can’t be accomplished—that’s the deepest impression these two cycling trips to Tibet left on me, and my biggest takeaway.