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Our motorcycle convoy leaves for Wuwei very early under an overcast sky. We travel smoothly and
without any incidents worth mentioning. The long snow capped mountain ranges on both
sides of a flat plain funnel us deeper into the narrowing Hexi Corridor. We pass many flocks of grazing
sheep and mulching yaks. We see remnants of that mighty edifice known as the Great Wall,
but here it is so worn and damaged it gives no hint of its former strength.
The sky darkens, the wind whips up, and the heavens open, drenching us with a cold and
rare desert rainstorm. This drives us to seek shelter in a roadside inn where we have lunch.
And what a magnificent meal it was! We are served large bowls of succulent sheep meat
boiled with chili peppers, onions and scallions. The flesh flakes off the bone and melts in our
mouths. It is washed down with a special tea seeped with many varieties of dried fruits and
nuts and sweetened with big lumps of rock sugar. Hand-torn noodles in a steaming broth
chases the last of the cold from our bodies.
Blooming fields of yellow
chiao mei flowers blanket the valley as we travel westwards. We arrive in our hotel in Wuwei after clocking an easy 277 kilometers. For dinner we are served
excellent local delicacies such as donkey soup, sliced camel paw, and tomatoes sprinkled
with sugar.
Wuwei once went by the name of Sinju and was inhabited by idolaters and Mohametans
with some Christians. This country was once teeming with wild life. Cattle, wild and
domesticated, some big as elephants and very handsome in appearance were a wonder to
behold. The best and finest musk in the world came from a small gazelle-like animal that
lived in this region. Pheasants twice as large as ours as well as other gaily colored birds were
once numerous.
Today this area is very different indeed. Han Chinese, Mongols, Tibetans, Moslems,
and Uygurs reside in this vicinity. The desert is fighting to take back the land, and the people have
countered this encroachment by planting an amazing 68 million fast growing poplar trees.
The horizon line used to be considered each
olden days ideal
traveling distance. A camel was able to sustain a 600 lb. load for 20 miles daily
for an average pace of 2 mph. Our Harleys can carry this exact
same weight but we cover the same twenty miles in a mere half
an hour.
Later in the day we have to negotiate three very bad road sections. The rough roads damage
some motorcycles as metal parts crack and break. We stop for repairs in a town
called Shandan which was once the imperial pastures and home to over a hundred thousand
of the kingdom’s finest horses. Not one horse can be seen today but donkeys abound.
The local people are much surprised to see our strange convoy and they crowd very close
to us in wonderment to witness all that we do. For many of these people we are the first
foreigners they have ever seen, and believe me when I tell you we make for a very strange
sight, being so large in stature, clad in black leather, talking in a strange tongue, and masters
of such fantastic vehicles.
In the afternoon we ride parallel to the Great Wall which is so eroded that in parts it is merely
a knee-high fence. It’s condition improves and we soon ride through one well preserved gate
and see firsthand how formidable this barrier once was to the enemies of ancient Cathay.
We arrive in Zhangye after the shortest mileage leg of our journey. This same 238 kilometers
would have taken the old caravans one week to complete, only if luck was with them.
Zhangye used to be called Kan-Chau and was once a large and splendid city and the capital
of the whole province. The people were very religious and had temples built to all faiths.
Huge statues of Buddha were said to be completely covered with gold, but alas, no traces of
these fabulous idols remain.
Today there is little resemblance to past glories. The townspeople now make their living as
shovel and pick men and are busy moving the earth everywhere using no machines at all.
Here too, they plant millions of trees, and each morning, work groups gather with their
long-handled tools slung over their shoulders and go out to dig and to plant.
For this entire day and for two days thereafter we pass thousands of people all toiling under
the intense desert sun excavating the longest ditch this world has ever seen. Other work groups
numbering 100 men, carry long coils of black cable on their shoulders, waiting to bury
it in the newly-opened earth.
Halfway into our day’s drive we are at the narrowest point of the Hexi Corridor. The northern
and southern snow-capped mountain ridges which have peaks over 18,000 feet and which
box us in are here only 15 kilometers apart. To the north of those summits is the emptiness of Mongolia and below
the southern mountain range lies the Himalayan plateau which is impossible to traverse.
Where
the Hexi Corridor ends, the desert turns nasty and hostile. Tornadoes by the dozen
form all around us and are a frightening sight. They twist across the roadway and if we are
caught in the middle of one the sand rips at our exposed flesh and wrecks havoc with our
engines.
The mountains grow small in the distance and our eyes gaze on the vast and featureless
desert for the first time. One wonders how ancient travelers could ever have crossed such an
inhospitable landscape. And it is a fact that most journeymen did not complete
their journey and did meet their end, and old
records reveal that quite often whole caravans, sometimes consisting of over 1000 camels
laden with riches, disappeared forever and still lie under the shifting desert sands.
We arrive at our caravansary in Jiuquan safely and with much respect for the merciless power of the desert.
Jiuquan was once known as Su-chau and was famous for its rhubarb that grew wild in the
mountains. The brown-skinned inhabitants lived by the produce of the soil. They were
idolaters and Christians and paid tribute to the Great Kahn.
The old kings of Cathay had their subjects build 99 signal towers between here and the
capitol in Beijing, some of which still stand. Messages could be sent by smoke and fire across
this vast distance in only one and a half days, while a rider strapped onto a horse, going at
breakneck speed night and day, and changing mounts hourly, could only cover at most 250
miles each day. This is an amazing statistic in itself and is nearly half of our best mechanized
pace.
Our first stop this morning is at Jiuyuguan which is the western terminus of the Great Wall.
This is the site of a great fort and it is indeed very well preserved. One is moved to strong
emotions imagining all the history that has taken place here. Jiuyuguan has always been
considered
the end of Chinese territory and the beginning of the frontier. Beyond was under no ones’
control or protection. Nomads and barbarians did what they pleased with any
trespasser they could catch.
So many battles took place here over the centuries that untold thousands of good men
perished on this very spot. One can envisage the wall’s defenders watching in horror as a
hundred thousand Mongol horsemen came pouring over the low mountain pass, charging
pell-mell across the flat desert plain, each defender knowing he had but minutes to live, with
no hope of escape or surrender.
Eastbound
travelers arriving from no man's land, exhausted and barely alive after a month-long desert passage, the first sighting of this fort was ecstasy and a sign of salvation. While to
outbounders, the sight of this same fort filled them with despair because it could be the last piece of civilization they would ever see again.
After finishing with these reveries we remount our Harleys and head back down the Silk
Road into the desert which now stretches for 1500 uninterrupted miles to our west. Today is
one of our biggest mileage days and we leave post-haste.
In mid-afternoon we pass a herd of wild Bactrian camels, which are the two humped breed.
They grazed on scrub plants sprouting amidst a deserted city worn down to nubs and half
buried by the blowing sands. These were the choice animals for caravans because they could
withstand greater temperature variations while requiring less food and water then the single
humped Arabian camels.
Our good progress is halted by a road construction and we steer our machines through
desert sand so fine it offers no resistance or support. Many of the bikes fall down. Back on the
road the heat liquefies the tar and forces it to the surface and our tires make moist, sucking
sounds as we pass over this.
We can smell the greenery of
the oasis town of Dunhuang long before we arrive. In the old days it would take
ten days to reach Dunhuang from Jiuquan, but we cover the same 400 kilometers in a
leisurely 11 1/2 hours. It is said by the elders that many years before motorized vehicles,
thirty days were needed to reach the next water stop on our itinerary.
We pause for a rest day in Dunhuang because there are many items of interest that should
be experienced here. Dunhuang lies at a fork on the Silk Road. The southern route goes into India
and this is the reason why so many Buddhist pilgrims have passed this way. We visit the
Mogao caves where scholars from all over come to study the oldest examples of Buddhist art
and religion, left as offerings by these pilgrims. Some are still perfectly preserved by the arid
climate.
The people of Dunhuang
today make their living from tourism. They even charge the traveler money to enter their desert and climb on their sand dunes. These sand dunes are a marvel
to behold. They stretch as far as the eye can see and the biggest measures 250m in height.
The next morning we leave for
Hami, which was once called Kumul. This town lies between
two great deserts—the Gobi and the Taklimakan, which means in an ancient tongue “those
who enter do not return”. The inhabitants in ages gone by had the reputation of being a very
gay folk who gave no thought to anything but making music, singing, and dancing, and taking
great delight in the pleasures of the body. If a stranger were to come to one of their houses he
was given a very warm welcome. And the host was said to bid his wife to do everything that
the guest wishes, including lying in the same bed. The women were beautiful and vivacious
and always willing to oblige.
Needless to say all our road-weary wheelmen were agog with anticipation to see if the
passage of time had much changed the character of these people. Alas, we discovered that
things are indeed much different these days. But we do make excellent time today hurtling
towards our visions of paradise and the long, straight road quickly slides backwards beneath
our bikes.
The desert terrain is constantly changing character as stony ground turns to gravel, which
turns to sand, gets blown into dunes, until, by midday, we find ourselves in a moonscape of
sharp, scorched, granite peaks and valleys gouged from black rock. We finally reach the end
of Gansu Province and before we can pass into the next province called Xinjiang Uygur
Autonomous Region, we must bid our fine escorts farewell and greet our new escorts headed
by a Kazak giant who firmly takes charge.
Underway again we hit a fierce windstorm. The winds howl out of the northeast and are
strong enough to push man, beast, and machine to the ground. Often these winds stir up the
sand, turning the day into night, but this fate we escaped. We fight the gusts and keep up a
good traveling pace as we cross the final section of the Gobi desert. The road is so straight it
is incredible to witness and the emptiness of the countryside is beyond description. Suffice it
to say that it was nearly forty kilometers after entering this new province before we came
upon any man-made structure and even a longer distance until we passed the second one.
There isn’t another place on earth with so much empty and desolate land. We finally arrive at
our night's lodging after a very exhausting ride.
Over 400 kilometers lie between Hami and Turfan which had the old name of Kara Khoja.
The people of Turfan once were idolaters, but many Christians, Nestorians, and some
Saracens dwelt there as well. This land has been growing grapes for over 2000 years and a
very fine wine is made here. These people say that the king who originally ruled over them
was not born of human stock but arose from a sort of tuber generated by the sap of trees.
We ride gradually downhill all day because Turfan lies near the bottom of the Tarim
Depression. Learned men say that this depression is the second lowest land point on earth,
being 505 feet below sea level. It is also taught that Turfan is the furthest city away from any
ocean and it is also furthest away from any Harley dealer.
In the morning we sight a new snow-capped mountain range to our north. The ancient
kingdoms tapped into the melting snow by digging long tunnels from the base of the
mountains across the desert floor. These buried canals, called karez, bring water were none
fall and allow the people to practice desert agriculture, and this irrigation system is still in use.
The character of the people is changing. These people call themselves Uygurs. They are of
European-Turkish stock and look and dress like gypsies and speak a language of their own
and worship Mohammed. All the signs are printed in Arabic as well as Chinese. We pass
through many small oasis towns all being karez irrigated.
By five o’clock we enter Turfan and see life unchanged from centuries past. All traffic on the
local streets is either human or animal powered. The favored mode of travel is two wheeled
donkey carts. Naked children bathe playfully in the canals. The old men wear square
embroidered skull caps and long coats with baggy pants tucked into their black boots. They
leave their chin whiskers very long and stroke them as a sign of respect. As we chug pass
them on our cycles, startled, their necks wrinkle as they crane around for one last look at our
most unusual convoy. The city streets are canopied with grape vines and provide cooling
shade. Grape vines are everywhere as are their drying sheds.
In the evening, entertainers tell the story of their people with music. They attire themselves
in lustrous silk fabrics; skirts of crimson, pants of gold, and vests the color of the setting sun
on the sand, all trimmed with golden braid. The women are very beautiful with pointed chins
and pouting lips, dark eyes over high cheekbones. They wear their hair in up to 10 long
braids that reach down to their calves. The men are rugged and strong as they are
tempered by the desert. The Uygurs are a curious people and are eager to speak with and know about
foreigners who are few and far between.
At Turfan the
traveler on the Silk Road chooses between three branches. One skirts the northern edge of the Taklimakan Desert. This was the preferred route into India but was prone to
bandit attacks. Or one could choose to cut straight across the desert’s center to avoid the
robbers but then the harsh physical elements had to be dealt with. This middle route is now
forever closed because China uses the center of the desert to explode its nuclear bombs. The
third route cuts north over the Tian Shan mountains to Urumqi and then westwards into
Central Asia and Europe. This is the way we go.
The last day of our journey dawns. It is only a short ride so we sleep late and do sightseeing
in the morning. We visit the ancient city of Jiohe whose earliest records are fixed at 770 BC.
Jiohe is a natural island fortress gorged out by a river. If you kick at the dirt you can find
human bones just under the loess surface.
The drive to Urumqi was difficult because the road surface was very bumpy and not at all
pleasant. There were no incidents worth recounting. Urumqi is a large city devoted to heavy
industry. The chimneys touch the clouds and belch out a thick smoke that darken the day
and dampen the spirit. The king here is commerce and the people worship money. The
buildings are concrete and square and soot covered.
We have finished our journey all safe and sound and the only
traveling left is a short ride to
Heaven Lake for a day to spend lolling in a high alpine setting. Heaven Lake is a relief to the
eyes after 10 days of desert. Animals, water, and greenery abound in profusion. The land is
so fertile that people live off its bounties without any hardships. Families still live in felt
covered tents called yurts, and wander about tending their herds.
You have now heard all about the Silk Road, about the cities and the customs of the people.
Many more wonders not mentioned await the intrepid explorer. Today, trains, buses, trucks,
jeeps, horses, and camels all ply the Silk Road. It is open to all. But if you want to go on a
Harely, it will be a long, long time before other such machines will have permission to travel
along this most famous byway called the Silk Road.
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