I foolishly thought the ride over the mountains of Kanbula would be my last big day of ascents on the bike. The next day’s trip from Guide to the Longyangxia reservoir didn’t look so bad on the map, but would actually make the Kanbula section look like a walk in the park.
My destination was one of China’s largest and most important hydropower projects - the Longyang Gorge dam and solar farm. Built in 1987, the Longyang dam was not as large as the Three Gorges project, but its 178 metre dam wall held back 27 billion square metres of water, with the reservoir covering an area of more than 380 square kilometres in Qinghai. The dam project had displaced thousands of local Tibetan herders and farmers but also created new industries in solar power and fish farming.
In more recent times Longyangxia had become a symbol of China’s move into renewable energy. The hills surrounding the reservoir were covered by four million solar panels, covering an area of more than 27 square kilometres, and visible from space. The solar farm generated 850 MW in electricity, said to be enough to power 200,000 households. And in a unique arrangement, the solar power supply was set up to feed into the national grid in coordination with the power from the dam, which eliminated the ‘peaks and troughs’ of the solar supply alone.
The combined solar and hydropower electricity supply from Longyangxia of 1.5 billion kilowatt hours per year was said to be equivalent to saving around half a million tons of coal per year.
The dam was situated at the end of the 40 kilometre long Longyang gorge, which as I had discovered with the other gorges along the Yellow River, was inaccessible by road. I would have to ride around it. My map app showed that the most direct route from Guide to Longyangxia ran up into the hills around the northern edge of the reservoir.
It was a pleasant sunny morning when I rode down the main street of Guide and turned downhill to a bridge over the Yellow River. I was now on a plateau, with a wall of loess cliffs running parallel to the river on the opposite bank. The first stage of the journey took me 20 kilometres along a quiet riverside road through farming land in the lee of the loess cliffs. I was soon feeling hungry despite having had breakfast, and stopped at the village of Laxiwa (拉西瓦) when I saw a woman selling ‘home made noodles’ from a stall by the roadside. However what she served up on the flimsy table was a bowl of ‘liangpi’ (凉皮), a Shaanxi specialty of cold wheat noodles with a dash of chilli oil and green vegetables. Not being able to stomach it, I diplomatically asked her to put it in a container for me to take away.
The road turned away from the river at the Laxiwa dam and headed up into the hills. It was a shallow gradient highway running through a wide valley flanked by brown hills. Despite the moderate incline, I really struggled to make headway even in the easiest gear - I could only assume it was the high altitude that made the pedalling so difficult. Higher up the valley I passed through villages of Tibetan homestead farms and a couple of small Tibetan Buddhist temples. After a couple of hours I was out into a wilderness of open grassland hills. At the head of the valley I could see the road snaking away to the left and up to a pass at the top of the ridge. Already tired, I upped the battery power assistance and pedalled upwards towards the prayer flags fluttering at the pass. Knowing that I had to cover 100 kilometres over the hills this day, I was again struggling with ‘range anxiety’ while trying to balance the need for pedal assistance against the need to conserve battery reserves for later in the day.
On reaching the prayer flags I found they marked a false summit. What looked like the top of the ‘ridge’ from below was just the first of a number of stages in the uphill road journey that continued around corners to reveal yet another ‘summit’ ahead. The most disheartening was a final narrow passage between two hills that led me out into a more open grassland plateau. There were a few cars passing me on this road and I followed their course as they continued to ascend along a series of long zig zags high up into the hills in the distance until they were too small to be seen. I almost gave up at this point. I had an overwhelming feeling of fatigue and listlessness that I should have recognised as symptoms of altitude sickness: I was now at almost 4000 metres.
I was constantly thirsty and had used up much of my water supply as well as draining most of the bike battery to get to this point. I ran the calculations through my head on the distance travelled to try to estimate where the ‘point of no return’ would be. I told myself there was still the possibility that I could return to Guide and try to take a longer but more level route to get around the massive circumference of the Longyangxia reservoir. As an alternative, I eyed the occasional vans and pickup trucks that were coming up the road, and wondered if I could hitch a lift and get them to carry my bike on the back towards Longyangxia. In the end, I reluctantly got back on the bike and resumed my weak and slow progress up the road.
I was rewarded after about 40 minutes by an easing of the gradient, and a new view of the road turning westward and running across open grassland on which sheep and cows were grazing. About a kilometre away I could see a cluster of Tibetan marquee tents on the grass beside the road, with a few cars and motorbikes parked around them. When I reached them there was nobody around - but the white tent had a sign saying ‘restaurant’ on it. I peered inside the deserted interior to see a table and chairs arranged around a simple stove that was still warm.
As I returned to my bike parked on the road, a couple of young Tibetan guys drove up on a tractor and waved a greeting. “Do you want to eat?” they asked. I certainly did.
Back in the tent they handed me a food menu with photos offering noodles and roubing (肉饼) - meat pies. Yes please! They busied themselves putting some dried peat blocks on the stove and gave me a glass of tea to drink while preparing the dumplings. All of a sudden I felt renewed and confident I could get to Longyangxia after all. The two young guys even allowed me to plug my bike charger into their solar powered electricity outlet.
When they arrived, the dumplings tasted like one of the best meals I had ever eaten. The Tibetan guys told me they were from a nearby village and were up here to manage the sheep and cows, and the restaurant was a side business catering to the increasing number of tourists on ‘self drive’ tours going to Longyangxia. They reassured me that the road from here onwards was ‘mostly’ level or downhill.
I set off across the grassland in a much better frame of mind and with two bars added to the battery charge. I managed without pedal assistance for a while because the road was level and then began a long and gradual descent as the road headed back in the direction of the Yellow River. I passed more Tibetan tents and further down cycled through a small settlement where I was waved at by three young Tibetan women who were dressed up in smart fashionable attire as if about to go out into town for the evening. It was another 40 kilometres of road to Longyangxia across the undulating grassland before the road plunged down into a huge dried-out river bed.
I thought it would be downhill all the way but there was one final ascent under a line of crags until I reached a turning point high above the Longyangxia gorge. Another triangle of prayer flags fluttered in the wind at the point where I stopped to survey the majestic views over the gorge and beyond.
The road beyond took me down into the small settlement of Longyangxia. Constructed in the 1990s to service the dam and associated power projects, it was too small to call a town. It was now looking to tourism as a new economy, and there were several places advertising ‘salmon’ (三文鱼) from the reservoir. Diners sitting at tables along the outdoor terraces of these restaurants gave Longyangxia the atmosphere of a Mediterranean holiday village. Unfortunately for me I was turned away from the ‘Holiday Hotel’ because they did not accept foreigners and had to search out a slightly more expensive place further down the road.
After a simple dinner of wonton soup, I went out to see the dam. It had now become part of the tourist drawcard for Longyangxia and there was even a cafe up the hill that had been put there specifically so visitors could get the perfect location photo for their social media pages. The wide expanse of the reservoir was on a scale much greater than the one I had seen at Liujiaxia, but it looked plain and artificial. The surrounding hills were barren and there were no roads or settlements along the shoreline, only distant outlines of solar panels.
There was a tourist motor cruiser that did trips on the reservoir, but the only other thing I could see on the water were some circular frames for salmon farms. The clear waters of the lake were said to be a perfect environment that produced a very unique and edible type of fish, but a diner in one of the town’s restaurants later told me that the fish bred in the lake were actually rainbow trout rather than salmon. Longyangxia had become one of the main sources of ‘salmon’ in China, he said, but the local product was actually freshwater trout and quite different from sea salmon.
Back at the hotel, I had to face up to the decision I would soon have to make on which route to take beyond this point. Longyangxia was another pivot in the course of the Yellow River. The flooding of the surrounding area to create a 60 kilometre-long reservoir concealed a change in direction of the river, which turned back on itself in a long V-shaped loop over Qingdao’s Amdo Tibetan grasslands.
If I was to continue upriver I would have to turn south and then east from here and go back in the direction of Sichuan, where the river had its ‘first bend’. But I was now entering the upper reaches of the Yellow River where the river ran through sparsely populated grasslands. The few roads in the area ran across the river’s path, not alongside it, and there were sometimes only small towns separated by 100-200 kilometres of wilderness.
After Longyangxia I had the option of taking a road around the north of the reservoir from a town called Gonghe (共和) in Hainan county (海南藏族自治州). A turnoff from this main highway went south towards the territory of the Golok Tibetans. The only town that was even close to the Yellow River was one called Xinghai (兴海). I decided to aim for there, and would ask for more information once I got to Gonghe the next day.
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| Guide to Longyang |
第20章：龙羊峡的太阳能发电场和假鲑鱼
我愚蠢地以为翻越坎布拉山脉的旅程将是我最后一次重要的骑行攀登。第二天从贵德到龙羊峡水库的路程在地图上看起来并不算太糟，但实际上，坎布拉路段看起来就像公园散步一样轻松。我的目的地是中国最大、最重要的水电项目之一——龙羊峡大坝和太阳能发电场。
龙羊峡大坝建于1987年，规模不及三峡工程，但其178米高的坝墙拦蓄了270亿立方米的水，水库覆盖了青海省380多平方公里的面积。大坝项目迫使当地数千名藏族牧民和农民流离失所，但也催生了太阳能和水产养殖等新兴产业。
近年来，龙羊峡已成为中国进军可再生能源领域的象征。水库周围的山丘覆盖着四百万块太阳能电池板，覆盖面积超过27平方公里，从太空中清晰可见。太阳能发电场发电量达850兆瓦，据说足以为20万户家庭供电。而且，太阳能发电的布置非常独特，与大坝的电力协同输送到国家电网，从而消除了太阳能发电的“峰谷效应”。
龙羊峡每年15亿千瓦时的太阳能和水力发电量，据说相当于每年节省约50万吨煤炭。
大坝位于40公里长的龙羊峡的尽头，正如我之前发现的黄河沿岸其他峡谷一样，这里无法通车。我只能绕行。我的地图应用程序显示，从贵德到龙羊峡最直接的路线是沿着水库北缘的山丘向上行驶。
那是一个阳光明媚的早晨，我骑车沿着贵德的主街骑行，然后下坡来到黄河上的一座桥。此刻，我已置身于高原之上，对岸是一堵与黄河平行的黄土峭壁。旅程的第一段，我沿着一条宁静的河滨公路骑行了20公里，穿过黄土峭壁背风处的农田。
虽然已经吃过早饭，但我很快就感到饥饿。在拉西瓦村，我看到一位妇女在路边摊位上卖“自制面条”。然而，她在简陋的桌子上端上的却是一碗“凉皮”，这是陕西的特色冷面，淋上少许辣椒油，再配上青菜。我实在吃不下，便委婉地请她装进餐盒里带走。
道路在拉西瓦水坝处转向，不再沿河而上，而是向上延伸至山间。那是一条坡度平缓的公路，穿过宽阔的山谷，两旁是褐色的山丘。
尽管坡度适中，但即使使用最轻松的挡位，我也很难前进——我只能猜测是高海拔让骑行如此困难。沿着山谷向上，我穿过了藏族家庭农场的村庄和几座小型藏传佛教寺庙。几个小时后，我进入了一片开阔的草原丘陵荒野。
在山谷尽头，我可以看到道路蜿蜒向左，一直延伸到山脊顶部的山口。 我已经很累了，我加大了电池的助力，骑着自行车向上骑行，朝着山口飘扬的经幡前进。我知道今天要翻越100公里的山丘，我又一次陷入了“里程焦虑”的泥沼，同时还要努力在助力和为当天晚些时候节省电池电量之间取得平衡。 到达经幡后，我发现它们标志着一个假山顶。从下方望去，看似“山脊”的顶峰，但这仅仅是上坡旅程的开端，旅程蜿蜒曲折，前方还有另一个“顶峰”。
最令人沮丧的是两座山丘之间最后一条狭窄的通道，它引领我进入一片更加开阔的草原高原。路上有几辆车从我身边驶过，我顺着它们的路线前进，它们沿着一连串长长的之字形山路蜿蜒而上，直达远处的高山，直到山丘变得渺小得难以辨认。
我几乎放弃了。我感到一阵强烈的疲劳和无力，我本应意识到这是高原反应的症状：我现在已经爬升至近4000米的高度。 我一直感到口渴，为了到达这里，我消耗了大量的水，自行车的电池也几乎耗尽了。
我心算着行程的距离，试图估算出“不归路”在哪里。我告诉自己，还是有可能回到贵德，然后尝试走一条更长但更平坦的路线，绕过龙羊峡水库的巨大围墙。作为替代方案，我 我偶尔会碰到路上驶来的面包车和皮卡车，心想能不能搭个便车，让他们把我的自行车驮在车后，去龙羊峡。最后，我还是勉强骑上自行车，继续我那虚弱而缓慢的骑行。 大约40分钟后，我终于感到值得，坡度缓和了一些，公路也随之向西拐弯，穿过开阔的草地，牛羊正在草地上吃草。大约一公里外，我看到路边的草地上搭着一排藏式帐篷，周围停着几辆汽车和摩托车。
到达帐篷时，周围空无一人——但白色的帐篷上挂着一块“餐厅”的招牌。我往空荡荡的帐篷里望去，只见一张桌子和几把椅子围着一个简陋的炉子摆放着，炉子还有些余温。 当我回到停在路边的自行车旁时，几个藏族小伙子开着拖拉机过来，挥手打招呼。“想吃点东西吗？”他们问了。我当然问了。 回到帐篷，他们递给我一份菜单，上面有面条和肉饼的照片。好的，谢谢！
他们忙着把一些干泥炭块放在炉子上，一边包饺子一边给我倒了一杯茶。突然间，我感觉焕然一新，更有信心我一定能去龙羊峡。那两个年轻人甚至允许我把自行车充电器插到他们的太阳能插座上。 他们到达时，饺子的味道是我吃过的最好吃的之一。
藏族小伙子告诉我，他们来自附近的一个村庄，来这里放牛羊，这家餐馆是为越来越多去龙羊峡自驾游的游客提供的副业。他们告诉我，从这里往后的路“大部分”都是平路或下坡路。 我出发穿越草原，心情好多了，电池又多了两格电。由于路面平坦，我骑了一会儿，不用踩踏板。之后，随着道路返回黄河方向，我开始了一段漫长而缓慢的下坡路。
我经过了更多的藏族帐篷，继续骑行，穿过一个小聚落，在那里，三位年轻的藏族妇女向我挥手致意，她们穿着时髦的服装，仿佛要进城过夜。接下来的40公里路程穿过起伏的草原，到达龙羊峡，然后路突然下降到一条巨大的干涸河床。 我以为一路都是下坡，但最后在一排峭壁下爬升，直到我到达龙羊峡峡谷上方的一个拐弯处。
又有一面三角形的经幡在风中飘扬，我停下脚步，俯瞰峡谷及更远处的壮丽景色。 之后的道路将我带入龙羊峡这个小聚落。龙羊峡建于20世纪90年代，为大坝及其相关电力项目提供服务，规模太小，称不上一个小镇。如今，它正将旅游业视为一项新的经济支柱，有几家餐馆打着“三文鱼”的广告。食客们坐在这些餐馆的户外露台上，让龙羊峡弥漫着地中海度假村的氛围。
不幸的是，我被“假日酒店”拒之门外，因为他们不接待外国人，我不得不在路的更远处寻找一家稍贵一点的酒店。 吃过简单的馄饨汤晚餐后，我出门去看大坝。它现在已经成为龙羊峡的旅游名片之一，山上甚至还有一家专门为游客打造的咖啡馆，方便他们拍摄完美的外景照片，上传到社交媒体。
水库的规模比我在刘家峡看到的要大得多，但看起来却很朴素，像是人工建造的。周围的山丘荒芜，湖岸边没有道路，也没有定居点，只有远处太阳能电池板的轮廓。 有一艘旅游摩托艇在水库上巡游，但我唯一能看到的就是水面上一些圆形的鲑鱼养殖场。
据说清澈的湖水为孕育一种非常独特且可食用的鱼类提供了完美的环境，但后来镇上一家餐馆的一位顾客告诉我，湖里养殖的鱼实际上是虹鳟鱼，而不是鲑鱼。他说，龙羊峡已成为中国“鲑鱼”的主要产地之一，但当地出产的实际上是淡水鳟鱼，与海鲑鱼截然不同。
回到酒店后，我不得不面对一个即将面临的抉择：从这里出发该走哪条路。龙羊峡是黄河的另一个枢纽。周围地区被洪水淹没，形成了一座60公里长的水库，掩盖了河流方向的改变，它最终在青岛安多藏区草原上形成了一条长长的“V”形环路。
如果要继续溯流而上，我必须从这里向南再向东，折回四川，那里是黄河的“第一个弯”。但此刻我已进入黄河上游，河流流经人烟稀少的草原。这一带仅有的几条道路并非沿河而建，而是横穿河道，有时只有小镇与小镇之间相隔一百到两百公里的荒野。
过了龙羊峡，我可以选择从海南藏族自治州共和镇绕水库北面走一条路。从这条主干道拐弯向南，通往果洛藏族地区。唯一离黄河较近的城镇叫兴海。我决定去那里看看，第二天到共和镇再打听更多信息。
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