February 10, 2016
South on the X448 and S325
the longer way
When writers Ed Jocelyn and Andrew McEwen were preparing for their Long March book in 2002, they walked through Licun. I bypassed it yesterday, but while there they were introduced to a man named Chen Yingchun, who was born in 1913. He’d have been around 21 when the Reds marched through Licun.
Like lots of others, young Mr. Chen decided to join them. Many were coerced. He probably thought it'd be an adventure.
He’s very likely dead now. When the two writers met him, he was already deaf, but his granddaughter told them he’d turned back near the town of Xinfeng, saying that Nationalists soldiers attacked at the river there and he got cut off from the main column. He said it took a week to march that distance, something like 150km. I'm hoping I’ll be there before dark. I think it's about another 80km.
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I spent a while updating the journal, but at least the washing up on the roof is more or less dry by 10 o’clock, when I decide it's really time to get going. The think fleece cycling bottoms are still a bit damp and get strapped to the rear of my bike, so the sun might finish the job off. Hopefully the nice weather will continue so they can get stuffed in a pannier. My shorts are making their debut! It feels like summer.
It's almost 11 o’clock by the time my wheels had made it to the top of the smooth, 2km gentle climb and the gas station sitting at the junction with the main road - the still pretty tranquil X448.
Unfortunately the English speaking woman isn’t around - it'd be nice to quiz her about a tiny side road that will make a very decent shortcut, one saving me something like 30km of riding.
Aware that it will be easy to miss the tiny side road, I ask a few different people about the tiny village of Citangli, where the junction with a track veering SE is. Some have never heard of it and it'as hard to see the screenshots on my tablet in the bright sunlight. Frustrated, I go into one lady’s dim shop, located down some wooden steps and a place that sells the usually drinks and cheap snacks, where the screen becomes more visible.
After 20 minutes trying to get info' and enjoying a free sweet bottle of drink, it seems the junction is further down the road. Her husband squints at the images on my tablet and asks me my age and a host of other questions. They don’t seem to grasp the obvious fact that I only speak English.
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Again, the friendliness of people is what comes through, even though the help I need isn’t forthcoming. Quite quickly, the misconception created from various sources, including some journals here, dissolves. Yes, drivers honk for no real reason. Big deal. And although you see animals butchered on the road, it's there for all to see. Reality check: butchering happens in the West, it just goes on behind the closed doors of abattoirs. There is kindness, generosity, help, encouragement and empathy.
By way of example, two teenage girls are stooped beside the road, scrapping at the soil with pieces of stick as I pedal along. It doesn’t seem like they are gardening, as the ground is a real mess of rocks and rubble. Then I spot a cat near them, prostrate on the tarmac. It has clearly been hit by a vehicle. They are digging it a simple grave.
Further along the route, quite a few cars are parked and people are clearly up to something. Then I see a humble temple. Prayer flags are fluttering in the stiff wind that has been in my face all day and I decide to go in and take a look around. It isn’t as ornate as the ones in Taiwan, which are OTT. It is obviously quite new and people inside are intrigued and ask various questions, but with nothing much happening, I head off south.
Every little road on my right seemed a likely candidate for the shortcut, but there was no Citangli village. I stopped in one place and got a cold drink and an apple for a late lunch. Then after going through one place on my map – Maling – I knew the turning must be coming up, but when I called in at another small village shop full of men playing cards, they told me that Citangli was 5km back. That was that plan out the window.
It was just a matter of cycling until I found a B&B. At around 5pm and after asking various people, I found it in a village that didn’t amount to much. For 60rmb, I got a good sized room with two double beds, one of which looked like it needed incinerating. Tomorrow I would be in Xinfeng. It was only 45km away.
Today's ride: 50 km (31 miles)
Total: 527 km (327 miles)
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