At 1.85 meters tall and 150 pounds, Shen Kun, a young man from Nanjing Medical University, looks fair-skinned and gentle—far from wild—but he has a “wild” hobby: high-intensity outdoor activities. Solo cycling, backpacking, and wilderness camping are among his favorites.
Though low-key in demeanor, his “achievements” are startlingly impressive: since his first long-distance ride from Nanjing to Xi'an in 2008, he and his Merida Duke mountain bike have covered over 10,000 kilometers, including three rides of more than 1,500 kilometers. His cycling routes have taken him as far east as Lianyungang, as west as Lhasa, as north as the capital Beijing, and as south as Hainan Island. He has placed in the top five in the individual category of the Nanjing Longwangshan Nanda Cycling Invitational three times and was the champion in the university group four-person relay at the 8-hour endurance race hosted by Nanjing Giant.
Shen Kun once rode a grueling 463 kilometers in a single day; he cycled 243 kilometers in one day at an altitude of over 4,000 meters, conquered Tibet’s 5,010-meter-high Mila Mountain, and survived a nerve-wracking 60-kilometer descent from the Baima Snow Mountain in Deqen, Yunnan. Last July, after hiking through Tibet’s Motuo region for half a month, Shen Kun set off from Lhasa along the Sichuan-Tibet Highway, riding 1,800 kilometers all the way to Lijiang.
The Most Demoralizing: Just Kilometers from the 5,000-Meter Summit
Over 10,000 kilometers, Shen Kun pedaled his bicycle, measuring highways, provincial roads, and mountain passes wheel by wheel… He never gave up—except for that short stretch during his reverse ride along the Sichuan-Tibet route. It was when he was just a few kilometers away from the summit of Mila Mountain in Songduo Township, Tibet, at an elevation of 5,010 meters. Around 4 or 5 p.m., Shen Kun was utterly exhausted. That day, he had ridden 150 kilometers at high altitude, carrying over 10 kilograms of gear, pushing his physical limits. Cold, hungry, thirsty, and tired, surrounded by nothing but wilderness, he felt utterly hopeless.
“Cycling requires managing stamina, with techniques for climbing, breathing rhythm, and rest intervals: climb at a steady pace, breathe deeply and slowly. Take a 5–10 minute break every 5 kilometers,” Shen Kun told reporters. “That day, I wanted to keep going, but my legs just wouldn’t cooperate. My breathing was labored, and stopping too often to rest or hydrate drained me completely. In the end, I just couldn’t hold on.” Even with his strong will, Shen Kun could only gaze helplessly at the summit. Looking around, the 5,000-meter-high mountain was deserted. He had no choice but to wait by the roadside, pathetically flagging down a passing Tibetan truck, then descending to a halfway lodge for the night.
Shen Kun has traversed muddy paths, waded through sludge, climbed snow mountains, and once cycled for three hours in the rain. He has stayed in cheap little guesthouses, squatted over makeshift toilets made of a few wooden planks, and dried his soaked clothes and shoes by a campfire. He has endured a week without a shower and withstood the scorching sun while cycling. His knees also suffered from overuse due to rainy rides, now aching whenever it rains.
The Most Terrifying: Running Through a 20-Square-Kilometer Leech-Infested Area
Hiking through the Motuo area of Tibet, one must pass through a 20–40 square kilometer stretch of virgin forest, half of which is densely populated with bloodsucking land leeches. A fully engorged leech can be as thick as a human pinky finger. “Every leaf on the trees was crawling with leeches. One end clings to the leaf, while the other’s sucker floats midair. The moment they touch a person, backpack, or object, they latch on—anywhere,” Shen Kun described, leaving even the reporter horrified.
“In this 20-kilometer zone, my teammates and I moved quickly the whole time. You can’t dawdle for even a second, let alone take a break or put your pack on the ground, or more leeches will swarm you.” Everyone wore gloves and tied their clothing tightly, and if they needed something from their packs, they had to keep them on and ask the person behind to help. “Every few minutes, I’d have to check my head, neck, and face. The slippery, soft leeches cling tightly—if you feel one, you can’t just yank it off. You have to take off your gloves and slowly pry open the edges of its sucker to remove it.” Every time they crossed a bridge, Shen Kun and his teammates carefully checked themselves inside and out. “It was truly horrifying—there were big and small leeches everywhere. It was disgusting.”
The Most Dangerous: A Path Just a Foot Wide with a Raging River Below
Shen Kun claims he didn’t encounter too many dangers while cycling, but the trek through Motuo was full of peril. Located in southern Tibet, near the China-India border, Motuo is known as the “hiker’s paradise.” There are no highways, only endless virgin forests and nonstop rain. “As soon as we set out, our feet were soaked—it wasn’t a place for humans to walk.” They passed through areas that had recently experienced landslides and mudslides. “But it wasn’t as terrifying as what’s said online.” “When we reached Tiger’s Mouth, carrying backpacks weighing dozens of pounds, we had to hug the mountain walls with our arms spread wide, walking right against the cliffs, where the path narrowed to just a foot wide, with the roaring waters of the Yarlung Tsangpo River below,” Shen Kun recalled. “When it rained, we avoided wearing plastic raincoats if possible, because in such places, if the raincoat snags on the cliff or you lose your balance, it’s extremely dangerous.”
There is a bridge over the Yarlung Tsangpo River, known as the “Bridge of Death.” It consists of iron chains on both sides with wooden planks laid across. Due to the region’s abundant rainfall and constant humidity, many of the wooden planks are rotten. Travelers shouldn’t carry too heavy a load and must tread carefully. A Tibetan friend of one of Shen Kun’s teammates died here years ago when he stepped through the rotting planks and fell into the river. Hearing about these life-threatening experiences, Shen Kun admitted he had imagined such scenarios himself. In his travel journal on July 2, 2011, he wrote: “I felt very uncertain, somewhat hesitant, and worried about going to Motuo. If something really happened, the consequences would be unimaginable. What’s meant to be will be—just go with the flow!” “But I just wanted to go, to complete this unique experience,” Shen Kun said. That simple motivation kept him going. “But I had to be fully prepared and think things through beforehand.”
Shen Kun was born in Suqian, Jiangsu, a place that gave birth to the legendary Western Chu overlord Xiang Yu over a thousand years ago. Seemingly influenced by his ancestors and local spirit, Shen Kun describes himself as “stubborn, not one to back down. Once I decide to do something, I must do it—no matter what my parents say.” Shen Kun’s parents only know he loves to cycle around, unaware of the wealth of adventures he’s actually been through.