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 641, during 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. And it was hard to believe that this county was the hometown of the present Dalai Lama, who was born in nearby Takster in 1935.
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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| Route: Qinghai Lake to Liujiaxia via Xining (click on image to enlarge) |
第22章 西宁的备选方案
从兰州一路骑车上坡到青海湖，我艰难跋涉了八天；而沿主干道下坡返回却只用了两天时间。当从青海湖下降近2000米海拔，经西宁回到兰州郊外的李家峡水库——这是我当初上行时途经的地方——这里将成为我进入甘肃、前往黄河第一弯的门户。
下行的旅程始于青海湖旁的双车道公路。沿着湖岸漫长平坦的骑行后，我离开了游乐区，进入藏族卡车司机聚集的倒淌河镇。从这里到日月山是一段短暂却令人神经紧绷的行程：现代高速公路两侧只有防撞栏，没有应急车道可供躲避疾驰的车辆。
日月山在中国历史与神话中具有重要地位，传统上被视为汉地的边界。在古代中国的"天圆地方"观念中，人们认为越过此地就会到达日月沉落的异界。所谓的"山"其实是两座低矮的草坡，顶上分别建有日亭与月亭。相传公元641年唐朝文成公主曾在此驻足，为远嫁吐蕃松赞干布的行程做准备。
2025年春末的日月山绿草如茵风景秀丽，却被游客车辆堵得水泄不通。鉴于行进速度超出预期，我放弃了在此过夜的计划，继续向西宁进发。从这里开始道路持续下坡，让我真切意识到过去几天累积的海拔提升有多可观。高原返程路上车流稀少，我几乎无需踩踏，戴着耳机沉浸于音乐之中。
在临近西宁处，一场雷暴迫使我在铁路桥下躲了二十分钟。城市郊区的景象粗暴地将我拉回现代中国：迪士尼风格的娱乐城里，俗艳的酒店装饰着海豚雕塑；另一处转弯后，欧式房地产项目赫然出现——一栋仿英式教堂的公寓楼顶着尖塔，旁边阿姆斯特丹运河屋复制品还配有风车。西宁郊区的公园设有专用自行车道，却不得不与在步道上支起烧烤炉、在树间拉起遮阳布野餐的车主们共享。
穿越 庞大 的市中心后，我找到了十多年前住过的青年旅舍。当年这里由一位留学归国的中国女士经营，是热衷藏族文化的西方背包客与"生态旅游者"的社交天堂。可悲的是，随着中国背包客市场的萎缩，旅舍已成空壳。作为唯一住客，我被领进一间连毛巾和热水都没有的破旧房间。
西宁我最想重访的是宏伟的东关清真寺。2012年我曾拍摄过它柱廊立面两侧的四层宣礼塔和绿色洋葱形穹顶。如今在"中国化"改造下几乎认不出来了——与银川那座小清真寺如出一辙，宣礼塔被改造成钟楼，阿拉伯风格穹顶换成了紫禁城式的斜顶。这让我想起西宁郊区那座仿教堂建筑：在中国，只要是为了房地产开发而非宗教目的，仿造外国宗教建筑似乎是被允许的。
返回兰州的路程又是史诗般的下坡骑行日。穿过平安和海东的"新城"开发区时，我几乎没用电助力。高科技工厂、购物中心和门禁社区修剪整齐的花园，无不彰显中国21世纪"高质量发展"的愿景，但对我这样的匆匆过客而言略显乏味。
前往民和的路上高铁线始终相伴，之后不得不重新踩踏消耗电力。知道出城后还有上坡路段，我在一家友好的穆斯林餐馆停车充电。
越过民和进入甘肃后，开阔的原野与壮丽景色重现。公路隧道群穿山而过，左侧黄河支流相伴。寻找刘家峡岔路口时，来自兰州方向的车流骤增，不得不在大货车借道超车时奋力周旋。
下午五点到达岔路口时，我几乎想继续沿主干道进入兰州的"文明世界"。整天骑行后疲惫不堪，而通往刘家峡的支路看起来荒凉失修。渴望停下喝杯啤酒休息，却别无选择，只能继续我以为只剩30公里的路程。
实际又艰苦骑行了两个小时才到达永靖。误读地图的代价是：直通路需翻越高山，只得选择沿黄河的远路，多骑15公里——本以为平坦实则不然。当最终拐过最后一道河湾，顶着雷暴完成最后12公里河滨露营区路段时，我已精疲力竭。
这次我直奔上次遥望过的豪华福门酒店。对两天骑行350公里、浑身湿透的风尘仆仆骑行者而言，这确实是上佳选择。
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