Yesterday morning, 38-year-old Song Jianhua had just finished his regular weekend 20-kilometer cycling training. The slightly cool autumn breeze brushed his tanned face, his forehead still glistening with sweat. Facing the wind, he stretched out his arms, closed his eyes, and fully savored the refreshing feeling after exercise. “I absolutely love the feeling of sweating after a bike ride—you can really feel closer to nature,” he said, opening up as he recounted his cycling stories.

　　“I’m going to cycle to Lhasa.”

　　Song Jianhua owns a car at home, but he rarely drives it. He believes a bicycle is more suitable for his current lifestyle. “It’s low-carbon, environmentally friendly, good for fitness, convenient, efficient—not affected by traffic jams or restrictions, and the cost of travel is low. There are so many benefits to cycling.” He pointed to the car parked in the corner of the residential area and said, “Look, I could leave this car parked for months, but I could wipe this bicycle down several times a day.”

　　Previously an employee at a bank in Mentougou District, Song Jianhua’s life followed a strict nine-to-five routine. In 2009, by chance, he met a cycling enthusiast named Mr. Sun. Encouraged by him, Song Jianhua spent 2,000 yuan on a mountain bike and later invested another 2,000 yuan or so to replace parts like the saddle, handlebars, shock absorbers, and brakes—thus beginning his bond with cycling.

　　With his professional “steed,” Song Jianhua and his cycling friends expanded their routes from the Ling Mountain and Baihua Mountain areas in Mentougou District to Hebei and Shanxi. As he kept practicing, his cycling skills improved, and his desire for long-distance travel grew stronger. One day, an idea suddenly “popped” into his head: “I’m going to cycle to Lhasa.”

　　“By the beginning of this year, I’d been cycling for three years—a time when you’re bold and adventurous. When I told my family and friends that I wanted to cycle from Beijing to Lhasa, many said I was crazy or sick. My parents, being older, also opposed it, worried about my safety. But I’m a bit stubborn—I’ll see anything through once I’ve set my mind to it.” Song Jianhua and Mr. Sun searched online for cycling travel guides written by enthusiasts and studied maps for over two months. Feeling confident, they decided to set off in April.

　　However, Mr. Sun, a private business owner, had a more flexible schedule, while Song Jianhua had to work every day—even with leave, he couldn’t take more than a week off. This posed a dilemma. “There was no other way—I felt that one should sacrifice something for their dreams. I told my boss that when my contract expired, I wouldn’t renew it. I considered it voluntarily giving up the job.” And so, on the morning of April 9, Song Jianhua and Mr. Sun set off from Mentougou toward their dream destination, Lhasa.

　　“I decided to cycle the Sichuan-Tibet Highway alone.”

　　To carry enough gear, Song Jianhua attached three large panniers to the back of his bike, packed with almost everything imaginable. “You name it, it’s probably there—various batteries, chargers, bike repair and tire patching tools, needles, thread, paper, pens, clothes, medicine—totaling 35 kilograms.” He pulled out the three blue panniers from his cabinet and showed them to the reporter with a smile: “Don’t think I overpacked though—lots of things didn’t get used. But better safe than sorry, right?”

　　Meanwhile, Mr. Sun had “some bad luck.” During the 20-day ride from Beijing to Chengdu, his bike tires got punctured five times, and four spokes broke. He encountered plenty of misfortunes along the way, wasting a lot of time and energy. On May 2, the two finally reached the most challenging part of their Beijing-Lhasa journey—the Sichuan-Tibet Highway.

　　Seeing the azure sky above and the distant, continuous mountain peaks, their excitement overshadowed their fatigue, and they pedaled faster, reaching Mangkang in Sichuan in just four days. Unexpectedly, this place became the bittersweet spot where they parted ways.

　　“That morning, as soon as we started, Brother Sun’s bike started acting up. Then, as we rode, the derailleur broke. There are 12 mountain passes on the Sichuan-Tibet Highway, 10 over 4,000 meters above sea level and 2 over 5,000 meters—without a derailleur, it’s simply impossible to ride,” Song Jianhua said. That scene later played over and over in his mind like a movie—he remembered it all too clearly.

　　With no other choice, the two hired a local vehicle to transport their bikes to a nearby town for repairs, but after visiting two counties, they couldn’t find anyone who could fix that kind of derailleur. That night, the exhausted pair returned to their hotel. Mr. Sun’s family called to persuade him to go home, and coupled with the many setbacks along the way, Mr. Sun decided to give up cycling.

　　That night, the two could only ease their disappointment by drinking continuously. Later, both had had a bit too much and ended up hugging each other on the bed, crying their hearts out—one grieving over having to give up so close to achieving the dream, the other worried about facing the tough journey ahead alone.

　　“We cried our eyes out. I knew then that I’d have to continue alone. At the time, Brother Sun also tried to persuade me to go back with him, but I felt that if I did, the past 20-plus days would have been wasted—it’d be such a pity. So, I decided to cycle the Sichuan-Tibet Highway alone.” The next morning, Song Jianhua saw his friend off and then continued on alone toward Lhasa.

　　After entering the Sichuan-Tibet Highway, Song Jianhua set off at 6 a.m. every day, cycling for about 12 hours, covering an average of 100 kilometers daily. “Every two days, I’d climb a mountain. When I got hungry at noon, I’d stop by the roadside, sit down, and eat a steamed bun with pickles. I had to stick to the planned distance each day—if I rode too slowly, I wouldn’t make it to a place to stay before dark; if I rode too fast, I couldn’t go any further because there were no inns to rest along the way.” Song Jianhua said that on the Sichuan-Tibet Highway, he’d meet many fellow cyclists every day. “There might be a hundred or so people setting off together in the morning, but once we started riding, you’d hardly see anyone else because everyone rode at different speeds. Often, for ten hours a day, you’re only accompanied by your own shadow, the howling wind in your ears, and the undulating mountain ranges—it’s an indescribable feeling.”

　　Song Jianhua admitted that in the days following Mr. Sun’s departure, he’d thought about quitting too. Sometimes, he’d face uphill stretches several kilometers long, coupled with headwinds, making it nearly impossible to ride—sometimes he had to push his bike. “When I was tired, I really wanted to throw the bike down and sleep on the roadside. But I also knew that once I stopped, I’d be even more reluctant to move. And on the mountains, the temperature gets scorching hot at noon, but once the sun sets, it plummets to around zero degrees.” He said the hardest times were when no one spoke to him for long periods, and all he could hear was the sound of the wheels rubbing against the ground. “Back then, I relied on listening to songs on my MP3 for mental support—I must’ve listened to ‘I Believe’ hundreds of times.”

　　“Physically exhausted, but emotionally joyful.”

　　Overcoming the psychological fear and loneliness, Song Jianhua gradually adapted to cycling alone every day, but he remained cautious in everything—whether cycling, eating, or finding accommodation.

　　“I often ate at roadside stalls—stir-fried pancakes, noodles, stuff like that. Every time I ate, I’d ask the vendor for two cloves of garlic, eat one with the meal, and pocket the other, just in case I got sick from the food.” Sometimes he got lucky and stayed with Tibetan families, eating some meat, drinking some liquor, and writing in his diary. Those days were physically exhausting, but emotionally fulfilling.

　　One of the most memorable experiences was staying at a semi-underground guesthouse—15 yuan per room per night, which was pretty cheap for the area. Exhausted, Song Jianhua saw the bed as if it were family and dove under the covers as soon as he took off his clothes. But when he pulled the blanket over himself, he found it unusually heavy. When he lifted it, he realized it was full of a crusty mixture of dirt and human oils. He put on a raincoat and lay back down to sleep.

　　The next morning, he asked the owner, “Don’t you wash your blankets here?” The owner’s response made Song Jianhua laugh. “Washing one blanket here costs 6 yuan, but buying a new one only costs 7 yuan, so we change them once a year. Maybe you just happened to get the one that was almost a year old.”

　　What truly frightened him was one downhill ride. “After riding uphill for ages, you’re completely exhausted. Then suddenly you hit a downhill stretch, and your natural reaction is excitement—you don’t have to pedal, so it’s easy to forget to brake. The speed can reach 60 kilometers per hour—just like a car—and sharp turns make it very easy to fall down the mountain. That time, I just happened to see two people ahead slam on their brakes and fall. That snapped me back to reality. If I hadn’t seen them, who knows what could’ve happened...”

　　And so, he rode past the snow-covered scenery of Ranwu Lake, bathed in the sunlight at the Mila Pass, and cycled all the way to Lhasa. By then, 43 days had passed since he left Beijing.

　　“When I saw the sign for Lhasa, I was so excited I didn’t know what to say. I felt my efforts had paid off and that I’d achieved my dream.” After resting in Lhasa for two days, Song Jianhua took the train back to Beijing.

　　In his own words, this cycling experience taught him the meaning of perseverance and the value of dreams. Now, he’s found a new job at a travel agency. His job has changed, but his passion for cycling remains unchanged.