Today, I was supposed to ride a bit south then a bit more east before riding northeast and crossing a mountain range to Danfeng County.

Supposed to be.

Didn't do that.

Instead I went by west by northwest to the Shanyang County county seat and a place where I could take the bus to a city with a bike shop. I won't have a clear picture of how completely trashed my brake pads are until I'm at that bike shop sometime tomorrow afternoon but I'm reasonably sure that the total lack of stopping power on the front is matched by a bit of dodginess on the back.

There's a few short descents that I take very carefully but, by and large, the whole route is a nice gentle uphill through a river valley. It's a G route national road but—per the comments section—despite it looking like the sort of road that's been relatively important for the past few centuries, it's only been labeled as such since some time last year.

Scenery is lovely if not exactly enthralling or compelling. Lots of smart old buildings that survived long enough that they probably won't be able to get knocked down (which is not to say that funding to repair them will materialize, just that they are no longer classed as "dangerous eyesores" needing to be removed as soon as possible).

I love the rooflines around here. Lots of gray ceramic roof tiles and, on the peak, a pair of decorative birds and the characters 福 (fortune) or 囍 (harmonious marriage).

When I arrive in town, the bus station that I aim for turns out not to be the right one and it's a comedy of errors trying to get directions to the right one as none of the people hanging around after-hours can read a map and neither I nor my GPS recognize a single one of the landmarks which I'm given.

Eventually it works out though.

Find the old station. Find a place to fix the camera strap that broke this morning. Get a very very thin outersole added to my leftfoot sandal as the lift on the rightfoot was made too thick, then go in search for dinner and lodging.

I'm displeased that the "perfect" appearing hotel that clearly used to be the best of the crop near the bus station is closed but, within 100m of my discovering that they not only appear not to have used sunset as an excuse to turn on the lights but are also locked up tight, a woman calls to me "you looking for a room?" because she's got a tiny hotel near the long distance bus station and everyone she doesn't know at 9pm is someone who very likely is a customer.

Do I get registered? I don't know.

Like my faux Sheraton, she accepts a copy of the Form and instructions to not merely photograph it but to give it to the police. Like the faux Sheraton, she accepts my warning her that the police may choose to come by the hotel. However, unlike the faux Sheraton, no police ever come either in the evening before I sleep or in the morning before I depart.

With this being a real low class bus station hotel, I'm reminded why I like the quirky cheap places. A scrubbed clean tile floor is ever so much better than a rarely vacuumed carpet. No froufrou ideas of decoration to collect dust or grime either.