It had taken me eight difficult days pedalling uphill from Lanzhou to get to Qinghai Lake, but only two days freewheeling much of the way back downhill again along the main highway.
I lost almost 2000 metres in altitude when I descended from the lake and returned via Xining to the Lijiaxia reservoir outside Lanzhou, where I had passed through on the way up. This would be my gateway into Gansu towards the first bend of the Yellow River.
My journey down started on the dual carriageway alongside Qinghai Lake. It was a long flat ride along the shoreline until I left behind the amusement rides and entered an ethnic Tibetan truckstop town of Daotanghe (倒淌河). From here it was a short but nerve wracking ride to Sun Moon Mountain (日月山, Riyueshan) along a modern highway hemmed in by crash barriers and with no shoulder on which to dodge the speeding cars and trucks.
Sun Moon Mountain was a significant landmark in Chinese history and mythology, traditionally marking the edge of the Han Chinese world. In the flat-earth beliefs of ancient China it was believed that travelling beyond this point would take you to the otherworld place where the sun and moon went to after they set. The ‘mountain’ was actually a couple of relatively low grassy mounds on top of which were pavilions dedicated to the sun and moon respectively.
It was said that in the year 641during the Tang dynasty the minor royal Princess Wencheng (文成公主) paused here to prepare herself for the journey out of China and into Tibet. She had been sent by the Tang Emperor to Lhasa in a diplomatic alliance-building gesture to be married to the Tibetan ruler King Songsten Gampo.
In the late spring of 2025, Sun-Moon Mountain was a beautiful spot set amid green grass-covered mountains, but it was swarming with tourists whose cars and coaches clogged the side road from the motorway. Since I had made such fast progress I abandoned my plans to stay here for the night and pushed on towards Xining.
The road from here tilted downhill and it remained that way for much of the way back to the big city, making me realise how much I had gained in the last few days. With little pedalling to do and only light traffic on the road back from the plateau, I zoned out and listened to music on my earbuds.
I survived a thunderstorm on the road approaching Xining by sheltering under a railway bridge for 20 minutes. The outskirts of the city were a jarring reintroduction to the modern Chinese world: there were Disneyland-like entertainment complexes whose garish hotels were adorned with dolphin sculptures. Around another bend I came upon a real estate development that had been modelled on European buildings: one apartment block was in the style of an English church, complete with spire, another was like a clone of Amsterdam canal-side houses and had its own windmill. In the parkland of the Xining suburbs I enjoyed the luxury of a separated lane for cyclists but had to share it with picnicking motorists who set up barbecue stoves on the path and sat around under flysheets they had strung from tree branches.
Once across the sprawling city centre I made for the youth hostel where I’d stayed on my previous visit more than a decade ago. At that time it had been a lively and sociable place run by a Chinese woman who had returned from studying in Europe and understood the tastes of western backpackers and ‘eco-tourists’ interested in Tibetan culture. Sadly with the decline of the backpacker market in China the hostel had turned into an empty shell of its former existence. I was the only guest and was ushered into a shabby room that lacked even the most basic guesthouse amenities such as towels and hot water.
The one place I wanted to revisit in Xining was its grand Donguan Mosque (东关清真寺). In 2012, I had photographed its porticoed facade flanked by a couple of four-tiered minarets and topped with a bulbous green dome. I barely recognised the same mosque in light of its sinicisation. Like its smaller counterpart in Yinchuan it had undergone major building work to decapitate the minarets, which were now clock towers. The Arabic-style dome had been replaced by a sloping roof that might have been taken from the Forbidden City.
I recalled the fake church that I had just seen in the suburbs of Xining: it seemed acceptable in China to have architecture that emulated foreign places of worship so long as it was for real estate development rather than religious purposes.
The road back towards Lanzhou provided another epic day of downhill cycling. I barely used the battery assistance as I pedalled through a series of ‘new town’ developments in Ping’an (平安) and Haidong (海东). The high-tech factories, shopping malls and neatly manicured gardens of gated communities were all in line with China’s vision of ‘high-quality development’ for the 21st century. But to the casual visitor like me they were a bit dull.
I had the high speed rail line alongside me for much of the way to Minhe (民和), and had to start pedalling again and using up the battery power. I knew there would be some uphill sections beyond the town so I stopped to charge the battery at a friendly Muslim restaurant.
There was more open country and spectacular scenery when I crossed into Gansu from Qinghai beyond Minhe, with the road passing through the mountains via several tunnels. A tributary of the Yellow River flowed on my left and I seemed to slow down as I looked for signs of the major turnoff towards Liujiaxia. There was now a lot of traffic on the road coming out of Lanzhou and I had to contend with heavy trucks bearing down on me as they used the oncoming lane to overtake slower counterparts.
It was five o clock by the time I reached the turnoff, and I was almost tempted to continue on the main highway into the ‘civilisation’ of Lanzhou. I was tired and saddle sore after a long day on the bike and the side road to Liujiaxia looked like a lonely and badly-maintained route. I wanted to stop and put my feet up and have a beer, but had no alternative but to press on for what I thought would be another 30 kilometres towards Liujiaxia.
It actually took me another two hours of thankless pedalling to get to Yongjing. I’d misread the map and only realised at the last minute that the direct road went over some high mountains. I opted instead to follow the longer road that ran alongside the Yellow River, which added another 15 kilometres to my pedalling but I assumed it would be level. It wasn’t, and I was a very exhausted rider when I eventually rounded the final curve of the river and faced a 12 kilometres final stretch past riverside glamping sites and picnic tables to arrive in Yongjing just in time to be soaked by a thunderstorm.
This time I headed straight for the posher Fumen hotel that I had envied from a distance on my first visit. It was indeed an excellent choice, especially for a bedraggled, road weary and thoroughly wet cyclist who had covered 350 kilometres in two days.
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