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A 60-year-old from Shanxi pedals 20,000 km across 23 provinces in 141 days

Published: 2026-09-24 👁 100 views
Last updated 2026-09-24 — Zhang Xuguang in Tibet. Zhang Xuguang takes a photo with tourists at the China Peony Garden. From Shanxi to Hebei, south to Hainan, through Guangdong, Guangxi, Yunnan and Guizhou, entering Tibet via Sichuan, reaching as far as the China-Nepal border. Just a bicycle, a helmet, plus maps, tools, rations, and clothes. Sometimes staying in cheap hostels, sometimes crashing at villagers' homes, or...

Zhang Xuguang takes a photo with tourists at the China Peony Garden

 

    From Shanxi to Hebei, south to Hainan, through Guangdong, Guangxi, Yunnan and Guizhou, entering Tibet via Sichuan, reaching as far as the China-Nepal border. Just a bicycle, a helmet, plus maps, tools, rations, and clothes. Sometimes staying in cheap hostels, sometimes crashing at villagers' homes, or camping in the wild. At every stop, he’d get a postmark at the post office as a souvenir; each night, he’d jot down the day’s experiences in his diary. Riding solo for 21,000 km, crossing 23 provinces (municipalities and autonomous regions), traversing most of China—all in just 141 days. When such an epic journey is linked to a 62-year-old man, admiration and curiosity are the universal reactions.

 

  A Dream Fulfilled

      Qiaobei Village in Xiaoyi City, a nationally recognized model village. Rows of two-story buildings are neatly arranged, and one of these buildings—a small two-story house along the street—is home to the elderly cyclist who traveled across China: Zhang Xuguang.

      Zhang Xuguang, a man who can’t sit still, a curious soul. Even in his youth, he loved cycling to unexplored places, and biking across China was a lifelong dream. “Back then, life at home was tough, but now it’s getting better, and I can finally do what I’ve always wanted. Biking across China not only fulfills my own wish but also lets more people learn about Shanxi, learn about Xiaoyi, while promoting our model village.”

      Once a dream takes root, one begins preparing for its realization. Cycling poses immense physical and endurance challenges. For this reason, over the years Zhang Xuguang has kept up daily exercise to boost his fitness and honed wilderness survival skills through simulated scenarios. Studying China’s diverse terrains, acquiring knowledge on outdoor survival, cycling techniques, and route planning—these have all been essential parts of his long-term preparation.

      On Zhang Xuguang’s desk lies a little notebook labeled “Zhaidi Pi”—what does that mean? A closer look reveals it’s a phonetic annotation of “GDP” in Chinese. Flipping further, many simple English phrases are annotated similarly. With only a primary school education, he uses this method to “cram” a foreign language. With his son’s help, he also learned how to use a camcorder, camera, and send text messages on a cellphone.

      This way, Zhang Xuguang prepared in his own ways. His “quirky” efforts did not go unnoticed. Before departure, the leaders of Qiaobei Village and local entrepreneurs pooled money to buy him a specialized bicycle worth over 5,000 yuan, provided cycling gear, and covered 20,000 yuan in travel expenses. They also made him a small red flag to promote Xiaoyi and Qiaobei.

      On February 24, 2012, Zhang Xuguang set off on his cycling journey.

      Starting from Xiaoyi, he passed through Hubei, Hunan, and Guangzhou to Hainan, ventured into Yunnan and Guizhou, reached Tibet, traveled along Inner Mongolia to the three northeastern provinces, and finally looped back through Beijing and Tianjin, returning to Shanxi on July 13.

      Over the 141 challenging days, he covered 21,000 km, spending around 30,000 yuan (still within budget).

      To preserve firsthand records, Zhang Xuguang stuck to his own methods of documenting his daily journeys. The result: nearly 60,000 words of cycling diary entries, over 4,000 photos, and a wealth of video footage.

      Hardships were inevitable, but the rewards were boundless. “During the ride, rugged mountain paths led to twists and sprains, even bleeding—but I gritted my teeth and pushed on. I lost weight, felt more energized, and my mood improved. It was tough, but overall quite smooth. Maybe because what I was doing was meaningful, fate was kind—I faced no real dangers, except being bitten by a Tibetan mastiff in Markham, but it wasn’t serious.”

 

  Beauty and Hardship, Known Only to the Rider

      “The scorching sun blazes like fire, wheels roll on and on. Fear no peril, let future generations sing my fame.” This is a playful verse from Zhang Xuguang’s cycling diary. Solo travel is destined to be grueling. Most of the time, he rode alone, occasionally meeting fellow cyclists who were soon left behind. It was this tenacity and perseverance that carried him to the Qinghai-Tibet Plateau, known as the “Roof of the World.”

      In Ya’an, Zhang Xuguang set off with a group of over ten riders. But by the time they reached Markham, only Xiao Peng remained—and even he quit after reading online reports about professional beggars ahead and fearing danger. Zhang Xuguang pressed on. Carefully navigating to Markham, his bike’s brakes and gears broke with no repair options nearby, forcing him to proceed slowly. Rocks rolled down slopes, roads turned muddy, rain, snow, and hail came suddenly, and winds nearly blew him off his bike. Still, he persevered until Lhasa.

      “A mountain needs no great height to be famous if it cradles immortals; water needs no depth to be sacred if it hides dragons.” Liu Yuxi’s famous lines from “Inscription on a Humble Dwelling” aptly describe the mountains and waters of the Qinghai-Tibet Plateau. “I thought I’d be overjoyed upon reaching Lhasa after all the hardship, but the serenity there is something you can only truly grasp when you’re there.” Blue skies, white clouds, snow-capped peaks, yaks… Recalling that long-dreamed-of sacred land, even half a year later, Zhang Xuguang remains enchanted.

      Tanggula Mountain, located at the junction of northeastern Tibet and Qinghai Province, means “mountain on the plateau” in Tibetan and “a mountain too high for eagles to fly over” in Mongolian—its treacherousness is clear. There, Zhang Xuguang was warmly hosted by Tibetan locals. Drinking butter tea and eating yak meat, he couldn’t have been more content. Before leaving, he handed his only banana to a Tibetan child, who popped it into his mouth peel and all. A postal worker told him that due to limited transport, many herders never get such fruit. “Along the Qinghai-Tibet Highway, there’s a town called Yanziping where winds and rains are fierce. I pedaled over 100 km without seeing a single house—that’s how I climbed out of there.” Speaking of the “dangers” on the road, Zhang Xuguang remains upbeat because “the beauty overshadowed the risks.” Towering mountains, white clouds, endless pine trees, and vast birch forests. By day, wisps of smoke rise from rooftops, and radios crackle intermittently inside homes; by night, the land glows deep blue under starlight, and the silent mountains feel like a vacuum.

      Reality snapped him back to focus when swarms of horseflies descended—Zhang Xuguang swatted with a towel in one hand while gripping the handlebars and pedaling hard with the other.

      Zhang Xuguang rode every day, sleeping only five hours. When passing villages, he stayed with farmers; in desolate areas, he pitched a tent. “I like quiet, untouched nature. In places like Golmud, I often slept on the ground. I rarely used the tent—it was too much hassle to set up. I had to eat well every day, especially in harsh environments; otherwise, I’d have no energy.”

      Even so, the physical toll was significant, especially in frigid highlands where his weight plummeted. “Maybe blessed by fate, when I was utterly desperate with no food in sight, I’d somehow find something—a half loaf of bread, half a bottle of mineral water, half a pack of instant noodles… It really felt like facing death.”

      Beyond the moving landscapes, he was deeply moved by the kindness of locals. “I received so much care along the way—hotel owners washed my clothes, restaurant owners and fruit vendors refused payment, passersby gave me meat and fruit, some even cheered ‘keep going’ or asked ‘do you need help?’…” “Stamping my diary at every post office went smoothly too—that was their encouragement to me.”

 

 Life Goes On, Cycling Never Stops

      On the first day of his journey, February 24, 2012, Zhang Xuguang rode 170 km. After that, he averaged 200 km per day, peaking at 350 km in a single day. The intense physical demands caused his weight to drop from over 80 kg at the start to 60 kg upon return.

      Yet Zhang Xuguang found joy in it. He embraced cycling as a life passion and an integral part of his lifestyle. “As long as I’m alive, I’ll keep riding. Even at 80, I’ll still be on my bike.” He relishes the feeling of being “on the road,” aiming to leave footprints in every corner of the world.

      Beyond enjoying the scenery and promoting his hometown during his 21,000 km ride, Zhang Xuguang has another “big” dream—to personally advocate for cycling as the most eco-friendly and economical mode of transport.

      Cycling, or bicycling, should be a widely loved outdoor recreational activity, yet in China, the gap between “China having the world’s largest number of bikes and cyclists” and the actual “cycling sports population” is huge. Zhang Bin, an official from the Chinese Cycling Association, once cited figures: China has hundreds of millions of cyclists, but only about 1 million cycling enthusiasts, and a mere 2,000 registered athletes. In contrast, France, with a population of just over 65 million, has nearly 50 million cyclists and 500,000 registered athletes. The disparity is stark.

      Clearly, cycling is a niche sport in China. For the general public, bicycles are primarily seen as a means of transport. While Western developed nations have transitioned bikes from transport tools to vehicles for tourism, fitness, and fashion, in China, with the explosive growth of private cars, people are increasingly distancing themselves from cycling—and suffering from a host of resulting traffic, environmental, and health issues.

  As we reflect on this, a 62-year-old man, driven by his dreams, has integrated cycling into his life and found joy in simplicity: "Driving is too fast, walking is too slow—only cycling allows you to capture the beautiful moments of life. I want to promote cycling as a sport. If more people can join me in riding, their health will improve and their lives will become happier."

  As long as you're on the road, you're happy. Zhang Xuguang already has new plans this year—he intends to cycle along the route to Xinjiang and then to West Asia, and he also wants to visit Taiwan. His even bigger goal is to travel around the world.

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