自行车故事

I parted ways with the last two compatriots. There was no celebration, no welcoming party, nor even any beer shared between us. Just haggard smiles and near broken joints, muscles begging to be set free of the instruments of our suffering: our bicycles.

The havoc at the bus station- imagine how stuffed China is normally and then double or triple it due to GOLDEN WEEK- was compounded by us having to lug our bikes around, over, and sometimes through throngs of Chinese. We walked around the entire compound to where the buses where, and then we were lead back into the station. Waiting in line amidst hundreds, we finally made it to the bus before being told our bikes wouldn't fit, and finally being told to wait for a bigger bus. The bigger bus arrived and other passengers pressed ahead quickly filling it with luggage, but the four of us silently and roughly shoved our bikes into the bus's underbelly while ignoring the protests of passengers and station workers.

Hangzhou was worlds apart from Shanghai. The air was fresher, the locals warmer and welcoming (sometimes too welcoming), and the trees and water within the city softened Hangzhou to the point where I decided I would want to try and live there. We drank beers, and decided to test out the nightlife in the City of Parks and Flowers. I may have just made up that name up. We quickly found that no matter how blunt we were about not wanting to encounter 小姐 (prostitutes by any other name) our taxi driver turned escort for the night kept taking us to proper KTVs. Proper KTVs have 小姐, and maybe some singing but mostly 小姐. We finally ditched little Rico, our taxi escort, paid no heed to the others trying to recruit us, and ended up at a little bar where everyone who stepped up to the mike for karaoke sang like a pro. The four of us were tired, and after some shoulder slapping went home to the spa. I didn't even get a massage.

"We were f''ing dumb to do this, man." Snow Job looked at me as we waited for the elevator. We stood in embroidered silk pajamas and velvet slippers, the uniform of the 顾客 in VIP. We had just dropped an unhealthy sum of money on a VIP service that offered really really good fruit...and that was about it. We had just woken up after a fitful sleep and the worst massage of Snow Job's life. I looked at my watch. It was five in the evening.

The four Joe's walked into that Spa/Massage Parlor/Hotel just hoping for any kind of reprieve from our journey. Dark colored wood, velvet reds, cool marble, and statues of Greek Gods greeted us upon entry. I felt my mood lift. We checked in and rushed for the showers and spa. The place was vast, the 服务员 were polite and only slightly irritating (as opposed to Shanghai where they just follow you too damn close), and there was a pool of fish to nibble your skin and make you laugh like a school girl. Sauna, shave, cold water, hot water, you name it they had it. We dried up and it was suddenly time to choose a massage. Beach Head and Lifeline went for Thai and Regular. I was clean and comfortable and about to choose a Thai massage for myself when Snow Job pushed me with the back of his forearm like he was trying to keep me from butting in line.
"Whoa whoa whoa, how about the VIP?"
I couldn't decide at first but it was expensive, so I ultimately said no. We rock paper scissored for it and I still won so the answer was still "no." Then he hit me with truth.
"My boy in Vegas spent $1000, U.S. (a lot of stress on the '"S.'") on VIP at a massage parlour. We're on vacation and we just biked 2000km, man!"
We turned to our friends who'd been waiting for a good 5 minutes for us to decide.
"See you guys tomorrow."
We headed up to the 7th floor where ordinary customers weren't allowed to go, nearly holding our breaths for whatever lay behind the closed door of secrets that was 东方 Spa VIP.

Watched Snow Job and Lifeline get into the cab, and then we pressed on for the last 20+ km of our ride. My knee was starting to hurt real bad after twenty minutes, and we were hungry so we stopped to eat at a roadside deli. I was worn to my bones and now whenever we stopped I had to stop myself shivering from the night cold; my body and brain couldn't handle the ensuing interrogation from the deli owner but luckily Beach Head was able to obliged. Apparently we were the only Americans ever served there. We finished our food and left without a word. By the time we had entered the outlier of Hangzhou I wasn't sure why I was excited to go there in the first place. At a split in the highway we called Lifeline and I pictured the two of them by a fireplace eating chocolate for some reason. A cab came and thankfully whisked us for another 20 km to the spa. I was never happier to be in a cab my whole life.

We biked and biked, no one really talking to each other. Just bike. Set the pace if you're in front. 30 minutes at a time. Or was it an hour? 20km at a time, more if we can do it. The roads were nice sometimes. Sometimes they were frightening. Ignore the aches and grime covering your body like dirty skin-tight film. Just keep on biking.

Snow Job lost his pedal, and I wanted to go back to Jia Xing and spend the night. But he persevered on one pedal until we found a bike shop. In the dim light, Beach Head and I waited for our two guys and the shopkeep to return from a parts store, and mused about how his camera probably equaled a year's salary. Wry smiles were all we managed anyways, recently.

By the time we reached the city of Jia Xing, we were famished and in need of rest. The part of the city we biked through was like a poor man's Shanghai. The lunch was substantial and nothing special; walking through what appeared to be the main road in town provided us with little to stimulate our low morale. We debated whether to continue or stop there, and the will to burn on prevailed. It was getting to night as we exited that forgettable place.

I missed the turn. After Beach Head's speech on the lead man setting a good pace, I said I would go first. Put on my headphones, cranked up the volume, and let fly. I didn't even look back as I powered ahead, and when a hill came I focused on my front tire and disregarded cramping thighs. Almost half an hour passed and I looked behind me. No one. I opened my phone and saw text messages from all three Joes. I paused in the sun, suddenly very tired. I paused for a long time, and headed back to the convenient store we had set out from.

After McDonald's Lifeline took the lead and we were off, biking through the city of Shanghai and leaving all the pollution and skyscrapers in our wake. Beach Head and I sported masks, and we stopped often to take pictures and check out the map. I didn't look at the map too much myself but instead fiddled with my knee brace or hat or sunglasses before reaching a status of comfortability. Hills sucked as we exited the economic capital of Shanghai, but the air put strength in my lungs and in my legs, and after some three or four hours we decided to get some supplies at a 超市 and apply some sunscreen. It was there we had to analyze our pace and goal time...a war room meeting of sorts.

The night before the trip, I wanted to get a lot of sleep. My girlfriend had helped me pack, my body was ready, the fraternal team of Joes (we each had a nickname from the cartoon Hawk, Beach Head, Lifeline and Snow Job) was prepared for a sometimes tough but mostly pleasant bike out of the city and into the countryside. I had drifted off to sleep when my phone rang. It was a number I didn't recognize and I picked up. "Bla bla bla ren ren zhu moik blah". So it was a Chinese guy I didn't know. I told him he dialed wrong and hung up. Immediately he called back and sounded more agitated before he literally LAUNCHED into a stream of apparently the only English he knew: "FUCK YOU, FUCK YOU, FUCK YOU, FUCK YOU!" I was needless to say very much awake at this point. I told him the same in Chinese, turned off my phone, mulled what had just happened in my head. I was angry enough I couldn't fall asleep for the better part of an hour, but finally decided I wasn't going to let some random phone call affect the journey of a lifetime.