A Ride in the Clouds

The afternoon is warm and a cooling breeze blows over the land; it's Tuesday and have nothing to do so jump on my bicycle and attempt to find the elusive "Second-hand Bike Market."  The Market, I'm told,  is the place where I will be able to find a Flying Pigeon, an old bike I've been trying unsuccessfully to buy from old men, the only people who still ride them.  Since nobody in China knows how to give directions or can tell me the exact location of anything, I ride aimlessly hoping to happen upon the Market.

Fail.

No matter.

The dusty asphalt turns to dirt and wanders into little farm plots just outside of town. I follow the dirt road into another miserably verdant plot and find myself on the airport runway! I stand. I lay. I look around. I'm confused. Nobody to run me off? I'm fairly sure this is unsafe. Further off farmers haul vegetables across the runway, a lucky shortcut for this poor lot.

I retrace their paths into other plots where exposed septic tanks evaporate under the open sun.  The rows of corn and watermelon amidst which they sit will be the recipients of human and animal waste in a few days. Gross? Yes. But I appreciate the honesty with which they do this.

I ride on. The people here are extremely friendly and all smile at my presence, a gesture I return.

Nearer the Han Tai River vegetables give way to rice and farmers are busy replanting rice into flooded fields [Initially the rice is planted densely in small plots then replanted into larger fields and the plants given space to grow. I suspect this is done to allow for an extra harvest of fast-growing plants such as greens or sprouts]. The green color of rice plants is incredible for its purity and vitality and stands in stark contrast to the back-breaking labor involved in its production.

My ride continues through hamlets consisting of anywhere from 10-50 densely-constructed homes. The majority have been rebuilt out of brick or stone but vestiges of mud-brick homes remain-- some still inhabited; others slowly returning to the Earth.

The villages are connected by a new concrete road about two meters wide which must be greatly-appreciated by the farmers living in these villages. Oh, and by me (and my aging body)! I do venture onto dirt roads within the villages but more often than not (5-3) I am chased out by dogs, less friendly to outsiders than their owners.