Yunnan Cycling Diary: When Wheels Rolled Through Scenery, I Finally Understood the Vastness of Life

Before I Set Out, I Never Thought I'd Cry Like That

On the last night before the cycling trip ended, I wrote on my social media: "When this journey is over, how I will miss it." At that moment, my heart felt damp and soft, as if soaked through by Yunnan's rainy season. I knew that something was quietly approaching its end.

But what truly broke me wasn't how many mountains we crossed, nor how many rainstorms we endured—it was the moment of parting.

The day they left, the sunlight in Shangri-La was blindingly bright. I had rehearsed this farewell countless times in my mind—I told myself it wasn't a permanent goodbye; as long as the bond remained, the ends of the earth were just a step away. But when their figures disappeared around the corner of the alley, tears still surged uncontrollably from my eyes.

In that moment, I understood that the hardest thing to let go of during a journey is never the scenery, but the people who have shared the rain with you, pushed the bike alongside you, and split a bowl of noodles with you.

Departing from Kunming: A Spontaneous Adventure

On June 12, 2016, Old Tang and I flew into Kunming from different cities. Changshui Airport was plastered with Yunnan tourism posters, colorful and vibrant, as if walking through the entire airport meant you'd already explored all of Yunnan. On the large lawn opposite the airport, four bold red characters read "七彩云南" (Colorful Yunnan)—I couldn't help muttering, "Isn't it supposed to be colorful? Why is everything in red?"

Once Old Tang arrived, we ate rice noodles (米线), strolled around Dianchi Lake, and had our cycling gear shipped over. Everything was ready. On June 19, 2016, two people with almost no cycling experience set off on a bike journey from Kunming to Shangri-La.

There was no detailed route plan, no professional training—just Old Tang's three months of solo cycling experience beforehand and a map of Yunnan Province that we'd studied for about five minutes. Strapped onto the rear rack was nearly thirty pounds of gear. My heart was full of curiosity and excitement, but I had absolutely no idea what lay ahead.

Cycling Lesson One: Ideals Are Plump, Reality Is Skinny

On the first day out of Kunming, at 10 a.m., we stepped onto the pedals with high spirits. Passing through Anning City, rolling past Caopu Town, by 5 p.m. I was completely exhausted, without even the strength to lift my legs.

But the most绝望 (despairing) part? No village ahead, no inn behind.

That first night, we camped on an empty lot by the roadside in Lubiao Town. Rumbling trucks roared past all night long, and combined with the dampness of sleeping in a tent for the first time, I tossed and turned until 3 a.m. without closing my eyes. The next day, before dawn, we hit the road again on empty stomachs.

So don't listen to those pretty words about "cycling equals freedom and the horizon." What is cycling really like? It's heat, hunger, exhaustion, and fear taking turns attacking you. It's every pedal stroke feeling like a battle against your own will.

But precisely because of that, the joy of every safe arrival feels extraordinarily precious.

On the second day, we passed through Tuguan Town. When we reached Lufeng, the national highway was under construction, forcing us onto mountain roads. Endless uphills—when we couldn't ride, we pushed the bikes. We pushed for what felt like forever, our willpower nearly shattered. Just as we were about to set up camp on a tiny patch of ground with a cliff on one side and the road on the other, two passing policemen appeared like saviors sent from heaven. They led us out of the deep mountains and delivered us safely to Yipinglang Town.

I've often thought since then that those two policemen's appearance felt like a twist of fate. Without them, there wouldn't have been so many stories to come.

Yipinglang: Gentle Time Surrounded by Mountains

Because this was my first cycling trip, my joints started acting up, forcing me to stay for two days in this small town embraced by mountains. Amid the green hills and clear waters, white houses were scattered here and there. An elderly lady sat by the roadside selling plums from her own yard—one yuan per pound, and surprisingly, not sour at all. I gave her some change, and she didn't bother counting it, just smiled warmly at me.

In that moment, the peace made me forget the fatigue of the journey, forget that I was far from home, and even forget why I had come. It was this kind of simple tenderness—far more unforgettable than any magnificent scenery.

After a day of rest, we set off again. Our second camping spot was by a small river in Shaqiao Town, Nanhua County, Chuxiong Prefecture. We arrived before sunset. I stepped onto the wet grass, wanting to explore further, but ended up soaking my shoes in mud. By the time I returned to the riverbank to wash them, the sun had completely set.

The river surface reflected the faint light of the sky. In the distance, a few dog barks echoed. Across from me were rolling mountains; behind me, pink clouds colored by the setting sun. I crouched by the river, scrubbing the mud off my shoes bit by bit, and suddenly an indescribable feeling of gratitude welled up inside me.

I said to myself: What better scenery could life possibly offer?

Meeting the "China Light-Chasing Cycling Team"

After passing Xiazhuang, on the road toward Xiangyun County in Dali, we met Brother Yi, Congcong, Old Duan, and Little Ye. What a chance encounter this was—if any single moment had been different, we might have passed each other by.

Brother Yi gave our little group a name: "China Light-Chasing Cycling Team" (中国拾光骑行队). He explained, "Because we're all single guys. As we ride and pick people up along the way, soon we'll become '拾光' (ten singles)—a play on words meaning 'picking up light.'"

The day we met them was the farthest I'd cycled since starting, and also my first time riding at night. When darkness fell before we reached our destination, we attached our night-riding lights. Congcong led the way, Old Duan brought up the rear, and tiny dots of light flickered through the night. That day, I became especially brave and didn't fall behind. At 10 p.m., we finally arrived in Xiangyun County. For the first time, dinner wasn't just the two of us—six people gathered noisily around a table, sharing stories from the road.

The most interesting gain from a journey, truly, isn't the scenery—it's the like-minded people willing to walk alongside you.

Dali: Steamed Buns by Erhai Lake and a Sincere Apology

Xiangyun County was only a few dozen kilometers from Dali's Old Town. The next day, the weather was perfect. Erhai Lake was just as beautiful as I had imagined. The six of us threw our bikes aside and ran to the lakeside to bask in the sunshine. The azure water, low-hanging clouds shrouding the distant mountains, the bright sun overhead, and a gentle breeze carrying a faint fragrance.

In the midst of such beauty, Congcong was gnawing on a steamed bun (馒头) and ordered me to capture that "annoying" moment on camera.

We stayed for five days at the Dali Baihe International Youth Hostel. We often cooked for ourselves—making dumplings, hotpot, and rice noodles. The hostel's kitchen wasn't free to use, and when the owner quoted a high price, we'd cook hotpot in the courtyard using our gasoline stove. On the day we left, the owner suddenly came to apologize to me, saying that since the kitchen had never been opened to guests, she didn't know how to charge us. If we could stay a few more days, she said, we could use the kitchen for free.

I was pleasantly surprised. That sincere face was the last impression Dali left on me, and I still think of it often to this day.

Lijiang: Collapse, Lies, and Kindness

The road from Dali to Lijiang wasn't smooth—endless ups and downs stretched on and on. While climbing a particularly grueling slope, I finally broke down. I threw my bike to the side of the road, ran up the hillside, and burst into tears. I didn't know why I had come here, what any of this meant. I was not only exhausting myself but also dragging my companions down, forcing them to accommodate me.

They quickly comforted me, stuffing snacks into my hands. The more they did, the harder I cried.

Later, I found out that on the road from Tiger Leaping Gorge to Shangri-La, Xingxing called and said, "There are lots of downhills ahead—it's easy from here." I believed her, lifted my spirits, and kept going. After passing through a tunnel, there was no downhill. After climbing another stretch, still no downhill. Eventually, I realized it was just a kind lie—but it worked. When your willpower has completely collapsed, sometimes you really need a little deception to guide you forward.

Shangri-La: Zhihui's Family Hearth and the Final Farewell

From Lijiang to Shangri-La, what was supposed to be a two-day ride took us three days. On the hardest day, we were caught in a downpour near Tiger Leaping Gorge Town. Soaked to the bone, we finally found a village restaurant to take shelter, but the owner wouldn't let us camp in the yard. We had no choice but to keep riding in the heavy rain. Rainwater poured into my eyes, salty and stinging, making it nearly impossible to see the road ahead.

Just when we were about to give up, Brother Yi called: "There's a village ahead. A Yi ethnic family is willing to take us in."

The family had a young girl named Zhihui (智慧), which means "wisdom." She was a teenager, mature and shy. Her mother cooked us a big pot of cured pork (腊肉). We sat around the hearth, eating to our hearts' content. The next morning, when we tried to offer money to Zhihui's mother, she flatly refused. Congcong left behind his copy of Sophie's World, which he had been carrying all along.

After I returned to Beijing, I stayed in touch with Zhihui. She called me "big sister," and I bought a few more books and sent them to her. I wonder if she's finished reading them.

Shangri-La was the last stop of my cycling journey. Originally, I had planned to ride all the way to Yubeng Village, but for some reason, I felt that wasn't the right place for a farewell. I stubbornly stopped in Shangri-La. And they didn't leave either—they stayed for ten days.

Of course, I knew why. Though we had only known each other for a little over twenty days, in those days we had cycled together, climbed mountains together, and endured rain together. I had been looked after by all of them, practically pushed all the way to Shangri-La. This kind of bond, forged so quickly, made it impossible to say goodbye.

But all good things must come to an end. I wrote passage after passage in the notebook they had bought, hoping we could meet again someday. Little Ye left me a can of Want Want milk, and I gave him my sunglasses—he would carry them with him into Tibet, as if I were going along too.

Epilogue: What Better Scenery Could Life Possibly Offer?

The further that journey recedes in time, the clearer it becomes to me. Standing at a distance, looking at myself from another person's perspective, I think: To have had a journey like that, I can be content for the rest of my life.

Later, Congcong, Old Duan, and I had a brief reunion in Beijing. Then they returned to their respective cities. Little Ye and Brother Yi are still in faraway Lhasa, working while planning their next adventures. I want to keep going with them, but many things in life aren't simply about wanting—sometimes you need the right moment.

I sometimes think that life is made up of countless moments we can remember. That journey gave me so many unforgettable moments. What more can I do but feel grateful?

If our缘分 (destiny) isn't yet exhausted, let's meet on the road.

Cycling Dates: June 19, 2016 – July 11, 2016
Route: Kunming → Anning → Caopu → Lubiao → Tuguan → Lufeng → Yipinglang → Chuxiong → Nanhua → Shaqiao → Tianshentang → Xiazhuang → Xiangyun → Dali → Eryuan → Xiyi → Songgui → Heqing → Lijiang → Xiaozhongdian → Tiger Leaping Gorge → Baoshan → Shangri-La
My Teammates: Old Tang, Brother Yi, Old Duan, Xingxing, Congcong, Little Ye
Farewell for now!

A Few Tips for Cycling Beginners

1. Don't overestimate your stamina—On my first day, 40 kilometers made me question my existence. Know your limits and build up gradually.
2. Reliable gear is a must—Tent, rain cover, repair tools—don't skimp on any of them. They can save your life in a pinch.
3. Your riding buddy is the best scenery—Finding a trustworthy cycling partner matters far more than finding the perfect route.
4. Accept the breakdowns—Crying on a bike ride is normal. Falling apart is normal. Cry, then keep riding. That's the reality of cycling.
5. Cherish every chance encounter—The people you meet on the road may become your most precious memories.