It is 5:15 am. We have been up all night getting the bikes and gear ready for the 6:30 am departure.
With a half-hour's sleep, we roll the bikes into the hotel lobby in the pre-dawn darkness. There we meet the guys, earnest and ready to roll. We take photos together in front of the hotel. On a small Walkman they record some narrative for a newspaper back home. And off we go.
The five of us roll down empty streets as the first light creeps over Golmud. The pace seems a bit fast, as ever it is when new groups cycle together. Everything is untested. Bags start falling awkwardly to the side of the bikes. Boots chafe against ill-placed panniers.
By the time we hit open road the team is comfortable and relaxed enough to slow down and stop occasionally to get things stored right. There is a mood of giddiness among us now. We're on a tarmac straightaway free of traffic, so we break out of single file and ride in a clump of Sino-American excitement.
It's getting-to-know-you time and our Mandarin skills are being maxed out. Brice might be a few feet ahead asking one bloke how many kids he's got. I'm trying to get everyone's Chinese animal signs sorted out, a way to get at their ages. One is 25; the other two are 45 and 46 but don't look anything like it. They are asking about our favorite sports and exercise regimen, trying to establish fitness levels.
Rightly so. These guys are triathletes and they look strong. Well, at least two of them do. They're excited to know that Brice is a swimmer and they're impressed by his times. Their bicycling club is organizing a winter mini-triathlon and they invite Brice to come up from Hong Kong to participate.
So we're all getting acquainted. Everyone is in high spirits. One guy is up in front singing at the top of his lungs. He's the small and skinny guy, and he's the leader of their group. This trip was his vision and he organized it. He arranged the press coverage back home and he records the narrative. He is Gong Jianping. In China, the surname goes first.
Cycling south from Golmud one leaves the Qaidam Basin and heads for the Kunlun Mountains. The flat earth gives way to mountainous terrain before the real Kunluns are reached. Jagged spires erupt in front of us, throwing the landscape into a jumble. These are the foothills. As the road makes a turn for these a structure comes into sight, at the far end of our road where the foothills begin.
Gong Jianping brings the five of us to a stop in the middle of the road. "That's the checkpoint up ahead. Let's all switch helmets to make you blend in a little better." We do that and set off for the checkpoint. Approach is a tad nerve-wracking. Silence has replaced our giddy banter, jokes and songs. Butterflies occupy my stomach.
Tibet is a "special district" within Chinese tourism law. Foreigners are supposed to requisition a travel permit to visit the place. The rub is that travel permits can't be obtained individually -- they come with packages that you buy. Many individual travelers land up in Golmud hoping to catch a bus into Tibet. These folks are smartly rounded up and forced into buying a package tour. Their names are put on a 'group permit' which they never see. The cost? Upwards of $200.
So in Golmud we stopped by the Public Security Bureau office -- normally the Chinese body in charge of dealing with foreigners -- to try to get around these shenanigans. I'm confident in our Chinese and we can usually make a good impression.
They said they couldn't help with any 'permits' -- we'd have to arrange our Tibet travel through CITS (China International Travel Service), the same folks who arrange the $200 bus tickets.
Our thinking is 'hell with that.' We'll go with our Hangzhou friends and see what happens.
We cycle to the checkpoint single-file, the two foreigners bringing up the rear. A police officer wanders lazily out of the hut and Gong Jianping, already through the checkpoint, yells out to him. "Hey there! We're Hangzhou people!" The guy smiles and nobody stops.
We cycle 200 meters further and begin pinching ourselves.
We cycle 400 meters from there and start celebrating.
The road initially takes the foothills head-on, up and down long sweeps of earth. The mountains here are barren, not a strip of green to be found. They are beautiful in their own way. We're cycling fairly hard, everyone anxious to prove his mettle. Our Chinese friends are members of the "Zhejiang Bicycle Racing Association." Zhejiang (pronounced "jay-jiang") is the name of their province; they live in the capital city, Hangzhou (pronounced "hahng-joe").
The road eventually finds a river to follow and that we do, gradually working our way up from the approximately 10,000-foot (3050 m) elevation of the Qaidam Basin.
By 2 o'clock we call in at a gas station for some water and rest. Gong Jianping, Gao Ceng (at 25, the youngest of the group) and Brice fall asleep inside. Yu Fangkun and I wait outside, drinking hot water.
By afternoon the road becomes steeper and the mountain slopes more impressive.
By 6 o'clock we land up at a small village called Nachitai. It is situated in a river valley with grassy slopes and grassy bottom; near the road is a mountain spring. The water bubbling up is pure and fresh. As clean as water gets. It is delicious and we drink it by the liter. Across the street a small Han Chinese truck stop is cooking up noodles and as soon as they're served we're in there slurping them down like the world is about to end.
Gong Jianping wants to cycle the 38 kilometers from here to Xidatan, which will be our jumping-off point for the first pass en route: Kunlun Pass (15,910 feet; 4850 m).
I am quite spent. This is our first day of cycling. I'm not in peak condition anyway and probably need a few days to get into intense cycling mode. I'm impressed that we've already put in 90 kilometers today. And above all that is the elevation gain. We're already at 4600 or 4800 meters. I am also a bit surprised that Jianping wants to keep it going: he was bringing up the rear over that last 30 kilometers, the steepest road so far. But his logic is this: if we get to Xidatan today, we can bag Kunlun Pass tomorrow, just two days out of Golmud. What he isn't considering, and isn't even aware of, is that once you cross Kunlun Pass, you are on a high part of the Tibetan plateau, cycling above 15,000 feet for a couple of weeks. So it doesn't make sense to rush up to altitude. It does make sense to give the body time to acclimate. The last thing anyone needs is acute mountain sickness (AMS).
These are my sentiments and I express them to Brice in English. He sees my point but he could also make it to Xidatan, for he is in superb shape. "I could go either way," he says.
Gao Ceng and Fangkun are absent as Jianping and I conduct discussion one-on-one. I'm beginning to feel like a spoiler, probably everyone but me wants to keep moving upwards. Having reached an impasse with Jianping, I walk out for some fresh air and find the other two Chinese men outside with Brice.
"We also do not want to go," Gao Ceng tells me. I'm shocked. "This place is nice and we've found an excellent site to pitch the tents," down in the grassy valley by the river.
Hearing this news, Jianping relents and we take the bikes down to the valley. He's a bit pissy, having lost face in the exchange.
The location is beautiful and quiet, until spectators arrive. We're about 200 meters off the road, but the residents and passersby -- mostly truck drivers -- have nothing better to do than wander down for a first-hand look at the itinerant cyclists and their curious abode.
Groups of men stand with arms crossed, staring at us or smothering our companions with questions. Still, night brings a starry sky the likes of which I haven't seen in some time. We sleep quite well in the tents.