Sheltering from the sun from Ken Roberts on Vimeo.
Ken describes Turpan, the hottest place in China, and the lowest, some five hundred feet below sea level
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Sheltering from the sun
September 14th, 2010Looking for John
September 13th, 2010
I was searching for John. Or at least his Information Cafe. Had a mention in my less than reliable guide book. The same one that, earlier in the day, had steered me towards a local hotel. Excellent value for money. Must have been. Boarded up.
Beneath dusty vine trellises, I’d wandered a little off the main tourist thoroughfare. Trusting, with some trepidation, the map I’d gleaned from the guide book. Looking for a sign. There were quite a few. Around the side of a hotel, across a deserted car park, through an archway, more trellis work. Eventually the cafe.
Quiet. A few fellow Westerners. An American, two French, a couple I thought, and a young Japanese man. Seemed five would have been a crowd. Discussing the attentiveness of Chinese students studying English, their ability for critical analysis, to question rather than accept at face value.
I chose to engrosse myself in the menu. Mostly European flavour, some obligatory Chinese options, pricing somewhere in between. Turpan was a tourist town. I’d stick with a coffee. And perhaps some fries. Needed to replenish my salt levels. And see if John appeared.
Highs and lows in the Gobi
September 12th, 2010Turpan. Claimed to be the hottest place in China, the record a little shy of fifty degrees centigrade. And also the lowest. Surrounding area about five hundred feet below sea level, the third lowest Depression in the world. My GPS receiver made it twenty eight feet, but close enough. Near enough to sea level, ironic for a place almost as far from any ocean as you can get.
The heat is enveloping, yet dry and not unduly oppressive. And ideal for growing grapes, for which the region is renowned. In the town, pedestrian thoroughfares shielded from the harsh sun by trelliswork woven with vines.
But none of this would exist were it not for some inventive irrigation, the town a literal oasis in an otherwise barren, inhospitable Gobi desert. Supplemented today to quite a degree by a growing tourist trade. With prices to reflect this.
Magic plastic
September 11th, 2010
Normally I jealously guard just two things. Practicalities you understand. My wallet. And my passport. In China, add my phrase book, frustratingly limited though it is. And a small, laminated plastic card. Describes my venture in Simplified Chinese, and asks that you help make my journey safe.
I’d similar cards for Europe and Central Asia but none had ever had quite the impact as my Chinese one. Opened doors. Literally. Where, in all probability, I’d have been turned away from shelter, I’d be allowed to stay. Sometimes for nothing, perhaps just the equivalent of a few pounds.
But it’s usefulness extended beyond just a room for the night. Struggling in the midst of the Gobi desert, barely able to stop the bike from flipping over in gale force crosswinds, the card allowed me to quickly explain to a passing lorry driver what exactly I was up to. I’m sure he’d have helped in any case. But, if he ever thought otherwise, it did show there was some purpose to my apparent madness.
Neither backwards or forwards
September 10th, 2010The situation wasn’t quite desperate, but it was looking dire. Despite no obvious abatement in the weather, I’d decided to make a run for the town of Turpan. I’d reckoned on thirty miles or so, and knew I could walk that in a day if it came down to it. What I’d overlooked was the sheer strength of the crosswinds, and the propensity for a fully loaded touring cycle to act like a sail. And a large one at that.
Started well enough, the wind directly on my back. But, as the road gradually curved further east, it became increasingly difficult to control the bike. I pressed on. Towards the wind farms, their huge rotors stationary rather than risk damage in the gale. Soon forced to walk, riding now quite impossible. Hoping conditions would improve ahead. Impossible to judge. The flat, bleak, rocky landscape devoid of any feature to indicate wind strength. Not even a culvert to provide shelter.
The wind strengthened, stiff gusts becoming steady, unrelenting. My pace rapidly falling away, struggling just to keep the bike upright. Almost an hour to cover less than a mile. Retreat a no more appealing prospect than going forwards. Or feasible, conditions worsening.
Brief respite as a passing lorry driver stopped a short distance ahead of me. No hard shoulder, instead coming to a halt on the inside lane of the dual carriageway. Apologetic that strapping the bike safely onboard would be an impossibility. I nodded in reluctant agreement. A few minutes shelter, enough to consume some chocolate, replenish my energy levels.
As he pulled away I spotted another lorry, parked up on rough ground a few hundred metres away. Must have stopped whilst I was having my break. Glimmer of an idea. Spurred on by the prospect I might be able to hitch a lift, it appearing possible there might be room to secure the bike, I pushed on. Hoping the driver didn’t head off before I reached him.
Took about twenty minutes to stow the panniers in the cab and lash the bike down onto boxes of bottled water in the open-topped trailer. Buffeted by the wind, the driver then obliged to manoeuvre the lorry so I could safely open the passenger door. Then off to Turpan.
Making a run for it
September 9th, 2010Making a run for it from Ken Roberts on Vimeo.
Ken describes his plan, despite continuing gale force winds, to run for the Turpan
Ken’s vital statistics
September 8th, 2010A few facts and figures about life on the road… strictly to entertain and amuse
Greatest weakness – decent cup of black coffee – on a mission to find the best…
Second greatest weakness – my razor – nothing comes close to a good wet shave – not a huge fan of beards, indeed, never dated a woman with one, and no plans to start now..
Third greatest weakness – fluffy towels and a hot shower – it’s not a crime you know – dreaming that is!
Fourth – and final – greatest weakness – cotton boxer shorts, one pair carried, special occasions only. Along with my deodorant.
Favourite television programme – “Shoestring” – early 80s drama about private eye Eddie Shoestring, filmed in and around Bristol and Bath, lead played by Trevor Eve – three episodes available on www.trevoreveonline.com – am almost word perfect now!
Favourite internet radio station – UK’s Absolute 80s – www.absolute80s.com – fortunately without a ’no repeat’ guarantee!
Food I miss the most – rum truffles, the proper ones made from old cake, laced with essence, or even the real stuff
Favourite weather – nothing beats a nice temperate climate, just like that in Blighty…
[Editor: That’s enough for now.. Back to the Gobi]
Hidden worlds
September 7th, 2010Quite by chance I’d stumbled across the gay and lesbian community during my travels through Central Asia. Whilst same sex relationships are not illegal in the countries I’d passed through, they are far from socially acceptable.
A hidden world, quite unfamiliar to me, tolerated in the cities by predominantly Muslim societies, the odd clue in listings magazines, clubs that drift around between venues, a brief mention in the guide book, little else. Places where one might meet, discreetly, even if the location is sometimes quite public.
Denied the de-facto freedom of expression of identity taken for granted in most Western societies, family pressure to conform to accepted norms, and the result? Shell marriages, even emigration to more tolerant nations. Terribly sad.
Getting the story out
September 6th, 2010Getting the story out from Ken Roberts on Vimeo.
Ken discusses the importance of sharing his experiences on the road with others, and reveals some of the tools he uses to achieve this
[Author’s note: Video recorded prior to the end of the first year on the road, but publication delayed due to absence of WiFi to upload]
Frustrated in the flea pit
September 5th, 2010
Feeling trapped, frustrated, in my flea pit, I’d resorted to re-reading a few pages I’d earlier downloaded from fellow cyclist Steve’s website. He’d come this way a few years previously, also in late summer. I hoped for inspiration. And I found it. Descriptive, but succinct, prose that resonated sharply with my own experiences earlier in the day.
Perhaps, as he’d done, I should have pressed on towards Turpan, discreetly declining Police advice to stop. Were conditions out there tougher than those Steve had faced? I wasn’t so sure. Even the wind direction he described tallied to a tee.
I’d learnt that whilst conditions were expected to ease overnight, it’d be a fairly marginal improvement. And that’d taken a while to determine, my phrase book not well suited to explaining even the rudiments of the Beaufort Scale. Force five on the stern, shifting to the port quarter later.
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