It was the 6th of June but my D-Day landing in Gansu province did not go quite according to plan. Cycling over the Yellow River bridge in Zhongwei, I was faced with a daunting wall of loess cliffs and crags. At the junction to the road that led up into these hills and beyond across the plateau, was a sign saying that that the route was closed due to construction work. Below it were instructions for a detour via an alternative highway that ran to the south east, which would add an additional 100 kilometres to the day’s journey to Xingren (兴仁) and the country town of Jingyuan (靖远). I had no choice but to take the Tengger desert highway to the west. After a quick bit of roadside research on my phone, I found that I could likely get to a town called Jingtai (景泰) on a slightly longer route towards Lanzhou.
After backtracking through Zhongwei I got on to the road that passed the Shapotou desert park. This was at a bend in the Yellow River where the road and river diverged: I would not get to see the next section, known as the Black Mountain Gorge (黑山峡, Heishan Xia).
This ‘trackless’ section of the Yellow River that I would be missing twisted for 200 kilometres through the remote low hills of the loess plateau south of Zhongwei. It was an arid and sparsely populated area with little rainfall, poor vegetation and intersected by steep ravines. There were a few farming settlements along the banks of the river that dated from the times when traders riding goatskin rafts used them as stopping places on their journeys from Lanzhou to Yinchuan. The villagers also used to fish in the river for a species of carp known locally as ‘pigeon fish’ because of its narrow head and pointed mouth. However in recent times the numbers of this copperfish had been in decline because of pollution and because of the building of dams that prevented the migration for spawning.
The desert road diversion that I took was not like the flat straight highway that I had ridden along two days before towards Wuhai. The first part was a twisting route through low hills alongside a rail track. The road was choked with heavy trucks and there was no shoulder on which I could avoid them. Even worse, much of the road had a crash barrier that prevented me from pulling off the road whenever I saw trucks coming up behind me. It was extremely dangerous and I decided to turn back if the situation did not improve after the next big curve in the road.
After a nerve wracking half an hour the road widened and began a long gradual ascent that took me all morning to reach a small truckstop village called Gantan (甘塘). I chose to have lunch at one of the shacks that had a sign denoting it was a Sichuan restaurant. The manager greeted me in halting English and told me he had studied for a term in Melbourne. He insisted on speaking English throughout my stay, which I prolonged by an hour to charge my battery.
I had been feeling a bit depressed and anxious on the long climb up to Gantan: the landscape was bleak and I had little idea what lay ahead towards Jingtai. My spirits were raised when I saw another cyclist ahead of me, paused by the roadside and taking a selfie. He waved me to stop and introduced himself as Lun Hui, an amateur cyclist who was on a week-long excursion from his home in Wuzhong towards Lanzhou. He was a cheerful and down-to-earth character who mocked my elaborate e-bike and panniers, pointing to his simple pedal bike and saying: “What do you need all this for?” He had only one bottle of water and a flimsy windproof jacket over his lycra cycling gear. We cycled together for a while, but split up after Gantan because my e-bike was so much faster. We exchanged WeChat details and pledged to meet up again in Jingtai.
After Gantan the road levelled out and continued across a highland plateau of scrubland, ringed by brown rocky crags. A rail line straddled the landscape some distance away and passenger trains that hauled slowly across looked like something on a train set.
Eventually the road inclined downhill and after another desolate truckstop, crossed the border from Ningxia into Gansu.
Late in the day I reached a junction where the left hand option took me down into greener landscape with trees. I was physically and mentally exhausted by the time I arrived on the main street of Jingtai. It was a small town with a mostly Muslim population, and I got a few stares after I left my hotel and walked the streets looking for somewhere to eat. I wasn’t having much luck until I got a message on my phone from Lun Hui. He had arrived and was just ordering some dishes at a nearby restaurant - would I care to join him? He sent me the address via WeChat and I was soon tucking into a delicious bowl of braised beef and peppers, the local specialty. Lun Hui started a livestream to show his wife and kids some video of his new foreign friend, and we both raised a can of beer to the camera to toast our safe arrival and for the road ahead.
Studying my route map in the Jingtai hotel room, I realised there would be an opportunity the next day to get a glimpse of the Yellow River where it runs through the Black Mountain Gorge. A spur road from the main highway south to the next major town of Baiyin (白银) went to a place called the ‘Yellow River Stone Forest (黄河石林) Geological Park’. This was at a bend in the Yellow River where the loess pinnacles were particularly dramatic. It had recently been developed as a tourist attraction and now had a visitor centre and even some hotels.
The unique landscape had made it a popular place for filming Chinese movies, but the Stone Forest also had a more tragic recent history. In May 2021 an extreme hail storm hit runners taking part in an ultramarathon being staged around the hills of the Stone Forest and 21 competitors went missing on a high altitude section of the 100 kilometres course, and died of exposure. The deaths had occurred after dark in a remote area of the hills above the Stone Forest, where there was no shelter and no phone signal.
I checked the weather forecast before I set out from Jingtai and it predicted a fair day with no rain. I did have to battle with a strong side wind as I headed across the loess plateau. I had parted ways with Lun Hui, who had opted to take the slightly longer but higher quality major highway route to Lanzhou. The minor road I took towards Baiyin was empty of traffic and an eerie experience. There were a few villages along the way, but they appeared deserted and their brown brick structures merged into the similar colours of the bare rocky hills in the background. The wind picked up in strength and I found that I was having to pedal even while heading downhill. I hesitated at the turnoff for the Stone Forest, but was urged on by the local shopkeeper who told me it was a ‘direct’ 24 kilometres to the river, along a good road.
My apprehension appeared justified when about a third of the way along the road I realised my rear wheel had another slow puncture. I struggled in the wind by the roadside to pump up the tyre, hoping it would last another 15 kilometres, and continued on through an increasingly remote and barren landscape. The road undulated up and over a series of low hills and there was little other traffic. I was looking forward to there being some kind of tourist village when I arrived, and had even pre-booked a room at the Stone Forest Hotel.
When I pedalled down the last couple of kilometres to the ‘Geological Zone’ entrance, I found a large, mostly empty car park and a visitor centre with just a handful of visitors. I paid 88 yuan for my ‘old person’ entrance ticket, but was then told by the guards on the road barrier that I was not allowed to take my bike any further. Like so many other tourist parks in China, the Stone Forest required visitors to ride in a minibus along a set route, with the option to get off at various viewing points. It didn’t make any difference when I told the gatekeepers that I was staying at a hotel within the Stone Forest village area - they said I would have to leave my bike outside overnight in the car park and pick it up in the morning. This meant I would have to remove my four bags - and the two heavy batteries and cart them on the bus about a kilometre to the hotel. I could not be bothered to argue with them
I was tired, hungry and had a puncture to fix. I had some instant noodles from the shop at the park gatehouse and set to work replacing my flat tyre. After that I wandered over to the viewing platform where I could look down and see a small section of the Yellow River, far below. The access road to the village below was a twisting switchback, but it was not so steep that I could not manage it on the bike I had been allowed to.
I decided that would be enough of a view, and to move on towards Baiyin. I got my ticket refunded and departed the Stone Forest, glad to leave its unwelcoming staff and bad vibes in my rear view mirror.
There was plenty more bleak terrain to pedal across that afternoon but at least after I regained the highway it was mostly downhill to Baiyin. There was something about the empty brown hills that induced a sense of doom and despair in me, and I looked forward to getting away from them when hopefully I got to Lanzhou the next day. I also looked forward to having a break there and having the opportunity to get some better tyres that would be more puncture resistant than the ones that had now failed me several times.
As it turned out, it took me another 80 kilometres through loess hills and two more flat tyres before I finally made it to Lanzhou. Baiyin had been a welcome dot of urban civilisation after the ride through the wilderness. There was a sense of joy in seeing familiar things such as a municipal bus and people out jogging. The All Seasons Hotel provided me with crisp white sheets and pillows, and the supermarket next door had Kronenbourg Blond beer for 17 yuan a bottle.
The final leg of this second stage of the Yellow River trip took me from Baiyin up into the hills and through a ‘pass’ before descending to a fertile plain around Gaolan County (皋兰县). I used my last spare innertube to repair another puncture on the way, and then had just one more hill to conquer before a long descent into Lanzhou. I hoped the new innertube would last, and it did for most of the way.
On the outskirts of the big city I had to stop again outside a BMW car dealership to pump up the tyre. The staff came out and offered to help, but I told them I had made it this far and was determined to continue even if it meant pushing the bike the last eight kilometres into the city. Fortunately my minipump did the trick and I arrived at Lanzhou’s bridge over the Yellow River by late afternoon. I had completed the ‘ji curve’ to Inner Mongolia and out again.
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